The obstacle course stretched out before me, vast and daunting. It wasn¡¯t anything I hadn¡¯t done before, but the fast-spinning metal poles and swinging wrecking balls never failed to make me anxious before I threw myself in for another go. I¡¯d been hit by them more than enough to know how much they hurt. Still, this sort of training was necessary for my rehabilitation, so I steeled myself and prepared to do another run-through, aiming to beat my personal best under Father¡¯s watchful eye.
It had been three months since I woke up in that room, cold and confused, lashing out at anything that moved. If not for Father, I would probably still be in that helpless, animalistic state. He took me in when no one else would, taught me how to speak, and read and write; how to be a functional human being again. I was in an accident, apparently, injured badly enough that when I woke my mind was completely blank, bare of even the most basic muscle memory. Father¡¯s treatment may have fixed my body, but my mind still needed hands-on work; work that he tirelessly took upon himself. He spent countless late nights with me, speaking to me, reading to me, letting me get a feel for English again. He allowed me to lean on him while I was relearning how to walk. He spoon-fed me when I lacked the coordination to feed myself. There was still a lot that I didn¡¯t know, and I got confused often, especially when he used bigger words, but he said that was okay. I didn¡¯t need to know everything. So long as I did good, and he gave me that warm, tingly smile, nothing else really mattered.
Apparently, I used to be something called a ¡®superhero¡¯ before my accident. I would use this strange power I had to take down criminals and bring them to justice. If I ever wanted to be able to do that again, I needed to train. My body may have been passably functional, but it needed to be exceptional, or so Father said. He always smiled when he talked about me being a superhero again, so I knew that was where I needed to focus my efforts.
¡°Jordyn? What are you waiting for?¡± Father asked, his voice gravelly and stern.
I snapped out of my thoughts. ¡°Sorry, Father. I was just preparing myself.¡±
He shook his head and something inside of me shrivelled up. ¡°Not good enough, Jordyn. Do you think the criminals will wait for you to be ready? You need to do what I ask when I ask, not when you think you are ready.¡±
I clenched my fists, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. ¡°S-sorry, Father.¡±
¡°It¡¯s alright, Jordyn. Now, go.¡±
I wasted no more time, charging forward as Father started the timer. I needed to do good on this to make up for my blunder before. Father had spent so much of his time and energy on me; I couldn¡¯t let it all be for nothing.
The beat of my feet against the floor fell into a rhythm as I jumped, dodged, and dashed my way through the course. I¡¯d been running it for over a month now, and it was quickly becoming second-nature. I knew exactly when to duck my head to avoid the spinning beams, how to deftly move between the wooden knives shot from the walls, and just which way I should step to avoid the pitfalls in the floor. The burn in my lungs and legs was distracting, but I didn¡¯t let it slow me down. Just like Father always said: ¡®Pain isn¡¯t real.¡¯
Something looked a little different about the second set of spinning poles, but I ignored it. The course was always the same every time I ran it; I was probably just thrown off because of Father¡¯s reprimand. They always stung in a way I didn¡¯t know how to deal with.
I leapt into the fray of rapidly spinning wooden beams, ducking the ones at head-height and hopping over the ones aiming for my legs. It took a little bit more focus to ensure I wasn¡¯t hit this time; it seemed as though the poles were spinning faster than usual. Still, with all of my practice, I was making good time. My personal best wouldn¡¯t know what hit it.
Crack!
Something slammed into my shin and my leg buckled from under me. That was fine, this wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d been knocked down. I made sure to roll out of the way of any on-coming beams so I had a safe spot to catch my breath in before continuing.
Then the pain hit, so hard and so strong that I immediately gagged from the shock, agony shooting up my leg like bolts of electricity. It was hard to breathe. Hot tears spilled from my eyes as overwhelmed sobs tore from my throat. I looked down at my leg to see what was hurting me so bad and almost threw up. My shin had already turned an ugly purple, and the rest of the limb below that point was twisted unnaturally. My heart lurched.
¡°F-FATHER! HELP!¡± I shrieked. The pain was too much; my entire body was locking up, too afraid to move in case I made it worse.
¡°What are you doing, Jordyn? Get up. Keep going.¡±
Disobeying his orders hurt almost more than my snapped leg, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to move. ¡°I- I can¡¯t! It hurts! Father, please!¡±
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¡°That¡¯s not good enough! Use your shadows, steel yourself! The course is not over until you complete it! Get up, girl! Your pain is not real!¡±
The thought of going on made me want to curl into a ball, but I did as I was told. Father¡¯s orders came before all else, especially my own comfort. I owed him my life; a little pain meant nothing in the face of that. I reached out to the shadows around me, wrapping them around my injured leg like a splint. My skin turned black, sucking in all of the light around it, but the pain did lessen somewhat. A whimper escaped my lips as I forced myself up. Shards of agony stabbed my flesh every time I put weight on my leg, but it was manageable. I could move, albeit slowly. So much for beating my personal best.
It took an embarrassingly long time, but eventually I was able to limp my way to the end of the course, receiving more than a few extra bruises from the traps I was unable to dodge due to my injury. I collapsed at Father¡¯s feet, dropping to my knees with my head hanging low as sweat dripped from my brow.
¡°That was disgraceful, Jordyn. Even your first attempt was better than that.¡±
I bit back a sob. ¡°I¡¯m s-sorry, Father. M-my leg, it-¡±
He grabbed a fistful of my short hair and tugged my head up, slapping me across the face. ¡°I don¡¯t care for your excuses. If you allow something as trivial as a broken leg to slow you down, the criminals out there will tear you to shreds. You should have learned by now how to use your power to protect yourself against this sort of thing without my instruction. I¡¯ve already spent so much time healing you; I will be very disappointed if it turns out to all be a waste. Are you a waste of my time, Jordyn?¡±
¡°N-no Father! I¡¯m not a waste!¡±
He let go of my hair, allowing me to sag back down to the floor. ¡°Hm. I expect not. Remove your shirt.¡±
I blinked up at him. ¡°F-Father?¡±
He struck me again, hard enough to whip my head to the side. ¡°If you cannot even follow a simple order without talking back, how can I expect you to perform well in the field?¡±
I didn¡¯t make the same mistake twice, pulling off the black, skin-tight garment as quickly as I could.
He nodded his head to the side, indicating a metal pole in the corner of the room, with two handles sticking out of it on either side. I¡¯d yet to learn what purpose it served, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.
¡°Grab the handles of that pole and remain on your knees.¡±
I shuffled over with my head down, each drag of my injured leg across the floor causing tears to spring up in my eyes. The metal of the handles was cold under my palms, numbing my fingers. The rough floor dug into my knees uncomfortably. Father was moving around behind me, and every time it sounded like he was approaching, I inadvertently flinched and shied away. Anxious curiosity burned in the pit of my belly. What was this all about? I risked a question.
¡°Father, wh-what¡¯s happening?¡±
¡°You need to learn how to ignore pain, Jordyn. The only way for you to do that is to experience it. It isn¡¯t real; just chemical reactions in your brain. You must internalise that.¡±
¡°I- I don¡¯t know what that means, Father.¡±
He ignored me. ¡°While this is because you failed today, it doesn¡¯t have to be a punishment, Jordyn. Consider it a lesson; a lesson on conquering pain. If you use your shadows to protect yourself from this, or let go of the handles at any point, I¡¯ll have your other leg broken and forbid the medics from repairing it. Remember: pain isn¡¯t real.¡±
¡°Father, I-¡±
SNAP
All of the air rushed out of me and a line of fire lit up across my back. It was so sudden that I couldn¡¯t stop myself from crying out. Surely that wasn¡¯t what he meant to-
SNAP
My stomach rolled uncomfortably as the strike shook my entire body. I couldn¡¯t help but scream as the pain echoed through me.
¡°FATHER! FATHER, P-PLEASE STOP!¡±
¡°Be silent, girl! Who told you you could speak?!¡±
SNAP
His command overrode even my most basic need to express the utter agony I was in, and the following scream got caught in my throat. Shadows flickered and writhed underneath me, licking up my legs out of protective instinct before I forced them back down again, Father¡¯s warning ringing in my mind.
SNAP
SNAP
SNAP
It felt like it would never end. My vision darkened at the edges. My abs clenched and a surge of bile spilled from my mouth. Warm blood dripped down the burning, torn skin of my back, my anguish heightening with each consecutive blow.
Pain isn¡¯t real Pain isn¡¯t real Pain isn¡¯t real Pain isn¡¯t real Pain isn¡¯t real
SNAP
SNAP
SNAP
SNAP
SNAP
Seconds passed, and no new wave of pain came. I gasped, sucking in as much air as I could to refill my lungs before it was all inevitably expelled again by another strike. My ears were ringing so loud I could barely hear anything and my entire body felt numb aside from the battlefield that was my back, which was still sending lancing aftershocks deep into my muscles even as time continued to press forward with no hint of the next lash.
¡°You may release the handles, Jordyn.¡±
I let go and my whole body went limp as I dropped to the floor into a puddle of my own blood and vomit. The movement sent arcing memories of fire through my torn-up skin, and a sob slipped from between my clenched teeth.
¡°Clean yourself up and report to the medbay when you are ready. After that, head straight to your room. Do not expect dinner.¡±
All I wanted was a warm meal and for the pain to stop. ¡°Wh-whyyy?¡± I moaned.
¡°I will not reward mediocrity, Jordyn. You did poorly today, and as such, you will not be receiving dinner privileges until you beat your personal best again. Be better.¡±
His footsteps echoed as he walked out of the training room, leaving me alone to cry. This was my own fault. If only I¡¯d been good like he wanted, he wouldn¡¯t have had to hurt me like that. I never wanted to disappoint him like that again.
¡°I¡¯m s-sorry, Father¡ I¡¯m sorry.¡±
Jordyn鈥檚 Training, part 2: Questions
6 MONTHS AFTER WAKING
My eye twitched as the needle sunk into the skin of my cheek again, but I avoided wincing at it. The pain I was feeling wasn¡¯t real, and I was strong enough by now to understand that. Thanks to what Father did to my back, I was forced to endure that irritating sensation for weeks and weeks on end, until eventually I learned to ignore it, just as he wanted. I pulled the suture through and out on the other side of the mostly-stitched slash wound across my face, separating it from the needle and tying it off. There, done.
I examined my face in the mirror, taking pride in my work. It was a lot shoddier than what the medics could do, but it was my first time suturing a wound, so that was to be expected. Father had banned me from the medbay so that I could learn to treat my own injuries as the difficulty of the obstacle course ramped up. This particular one was made by a knife launched from the wall that I had been too slow to block with my shadows. It was my mistake, and as such, it only made sense that I would be the one to fix it. After all, ¡®what self-respecting 26 year old woman doesn¡¯t know how to stitch their own wounds?¡¯ or so Father said. Apparently, I was 26. That was good to know. I had been wondering how old I was recently.
The cut stretched all the way from my cheekbone to the bridge of my nose. If it had been even an inch higher, it probably would¡¯ve taken out my right eye. As it was, though, it was just a flesh wound, and it would heal in time. Meanwhile, the constant itch would be a good reminder of what happened when I made a mistake in the obstacle course. I was getting good at blocking and deflecting the knives with my shadows, but evidently, I needed more practice
The door to my room opened and Father stepped in, walking over to me near the desk. He leaned down, peering at my stitched-up face. For a moment I thought he might have been about to reach out and touch me, and excitement flooded my chest, but instead he just stood there, hands behind his back as he examined my work. I tried not to let the disappointment show in my expression.
¡°Hm, a little messy,¡± he said. ¡°But I suppose that¡¯s to be expected for your first attempt. Good work, Jordyn.¡± He smiled, and my whole body lit up with giddiness.
¡°Thank you, Father.¡±
He checked his watch. ¡°It¡¯s just about time for lunch. Would you accompany me?¡±
I nodded and we left my room, heading through the winding hallways of the facility towards one of my favourite places: the mess hall. Nothing was more satisfying than a warm meal after a hard training session, and ever since I regained my dinner privileges, I¡¯d been able to visit it that much more often. Not to mention, it was the place where I was most likely to run into the other people at the facility outside of Father and the medics. We would have conversations and I¡¯d learn about all sorts of things that Father hadn¡¯t deemed necessary to teach me. I didn¡¯t resent him for it; I understood that he needed to prioritise my physical training, but it was fun learning new things. Speaking of which¡
¡°Father, permission to ask a question?¡±
He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Granted.¡±
¡°If you¡¯re my father, why don¡¯t we look the same? And, where¡¯s my mother?¡±
He stopped walking, his brows furrowing into a frown. ¡°Where did you hear about this?¡±
¡°Mr. Sadler, from R&D. He was telling me about his family and he mentioned a few things I didn¡¯t understand, so I asked some questions. He told me what parents were. But, if I came from you, how come we look so different?¡±
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I thought it was a reasonable question. My skin was tan, and my hair and eyes were dark, while Father was pasty and pale from top to bottom. His nose was thin where mine was wide, he was tall where I was short, and even when I looked at his face next to mine in the mirror, I couldn¡¯t see a single similarity. Based on what Mr. Sadler said, that didn¡¯t make sense to me.
Father hesitated. ¡°Well¡ I suppose you take after your mother. In fact, you¡¯re the spitting image of her. Unfortunately, she¡ passed away a few years ago.¡±
¡°Oh¡ How?¡±
Father began walking again, sudden enough that I had to jog to catch up to him. ¡°No more questions, Jordyn. You just need to focus on your training. Don¡¯t worry about anything else, alright?¡±
Oh well, I could just ask again some other time. I sucked in a breath and puffed out my chest. ¡°Yes, Father.¡±
He smiled again, and my whole body tingled. ¡°Good girl. Keep up the good work and you¡¯ll be able to start combat training soon. Oh, and make sure you cut your hair before you go to bed tonight.¡±
I frowned, running a hand through my hair and taking a black lock between my fingers. When I first woke up after my accident, I had no hair. My head was completely smooth. It always upset me for some reason when I saw myself in the mirror. Ever since then, it¡¯d been growing at a steady rate, and the longer it got, the happier I was with it. Nowadays, my fringe was long enough to reach my eyes if I didn¡¯t brush it away. I liked it, and I liked the way it made me look. The thought of cutting it when it had finally reached a point I liked was like a punch in the gut.
¡°But¡ But I like my hair like this.¡±
Father raised an eyebrow. ¡°Cut it, Jordyn. That¡¯s an order.¡±
I wilted, trying to hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. ¡°Y-yes, Father. How short?¡±
He peered at me, and it felt as though his gaze pierced through my body, layer by layer, through my skin and fat into the muscle beneath, and further still until it reached my soul. No matter how hard I tried to hide it, he knew exactly where to look to find the small glimmer of hope I was burying; the hope that he would only make me cut a little bit off. His head cocked to the side like a predator eyeing its helpless prey.
¡°On second thought, buzz it all off. If your helmet comes off in battle, your hair will be a liability. You don¡¯t want any criminals to be able to grab it, do you?¡±
I couldn¡¯t help it. I started crying, even while trying to nod and confirm the command. ¡°Y-yes, F-Father.¡±
¡°Really, Jordyn? Waterworks again, over a little haircut? You¡¯re a grown woman, you need to start acting like it. No one will take you seriously if you become hysterical whenever you don¡¯t get your way.¡±
¡°S-sorry, Father,¡± I said, trying to hold in my hiccups as best I could. He was right, of course. He was always right. Father knew best. I shouldn¡¯t get so upset over such a simple ask; cutting my hair was the least I could do after everything Father had done for me. So what if looking in the mirror upset me again? I just wouldn¡¯t look. It was fine. I could do it.
We continued on in silence to the mess hall, where we both grabbed trays and filled them up from the bain-marie before finding a table to sit at. Since it was midday, most of the tables were already taken, but when Father and I approached one, everyone sitting there immediately got up and left, taking their food with them. Apparently, Father just had that sort of influence on the people here. They¡¯d never done that to me while I was on my own before. It disappointed me, to be honest. I¡¯d been looking forward to talking with them.
I could still feel the tears in the back of my throat threatening to spill out as I sat down across from Father, but with the promise of a nice meal of chilli and rice in the very near future, I could ignore them a little easier. I grabbed my fork and was about to dig in when Father stopped me.
¡°I didn¡¯t give you permission to eat, Jordyn.¡±
I froze, staring at him. He cocked his head meaningfully and I put my fork down before I could upset him any more.
¡°Good.¡±
Father started eating. He didn¡¯t speak to me once during his meal. All I could do was sit there and watch as he polished off his tray. My face began to itch around my stitches, and when I moved to scratch them he glanced at me pointedly. I dropped my hand and remained still.
Eventually, he finished, promptly standing up and leaving his tray on the table. We made eye contact, and finally, finally, he said;
¡°You can eat now.¡±
Father left the room, and I was left alone to finish my meal in silence, wondering what I¡¯d done so wrong.
Jordyn鈥檚 Training, part 3: Final Exam
9 MONTHS AFTER WAKING
I paced back and forth in my room, going over anatomical structures and the body¡¯s weak points in my head. Today was the day; my final combat exam until Father approved my deployment and I was allowed to work as a superhero on the streets again. I was so excited to finally go outside after so long cooped up in the facility! I wanted to learn what the sun felt like on my skin, and breathe in fresh air that hadn¡¯t been filtered through the building¡¯s air-conditioning system. My training had become particularly brutal ever since I started combat training, and Father had become twice as strict, but soon, all of that effort would be worth it.
I flicked my wrist, pulling a whip of shadow from the ground and lashing it forward at the empty air, imagining my target collapsing in a heap from my attack. Combat training usually involved practising with instructors or taking out a set number of dummies as quickly as possible, but today I would be fighting actual criminals. Hardened, violent bad guys, dead-set on cracking my skull open and spilling my brains across the floor, or so father said. The thought made my stomach swirl, but I¡¯d been practising hard for three months, working myself to collapse day after day, building my muscles, studying cqc techniques, researching the structure of the human body to better understand how to take it down efficiently, taking hit after hit to further engrain Father¡¯s mantra into my soul.
It was difficult. Regardless of whether or not pain was real, those injuries still affected me, still slowed me down, even if the sensation they were causing was fake. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn¡¯t completely internalise the concept of pain not being real. Even after countless late nights spent digging knives into my skin to practise ignoring the sensation, I could just never block it out completely, and then the tears would inevitably come as well. I¡¯d gotten better at holding back my emotions when things were upsetting me, just like Father wanted, but I still had some work to do. Even my other emotions were beginning to be marked ¡®off-limits,¡¯ like surprise and excitement. Father said that I needed to start suppressing them. Expressing emotion was a distraction, and I needed to keep them to myself. It was what everyone else did, apparently. I guessed I just still had a lot to learn about how to function as a person again.
The door opened and I immediately spun around, straightening my back and clasping my hands behind myself, standing at the ready. Father stood in the doorway, looking me over appraisingly.
¡°Are you prepared for the final exam, Jordyn?¡±
I nodded. ¡°Yes, Father.¡±
He nodded in turn. ¡°Follow me. I have something for you.¡±
I held back my curiosity as he left the room, falling into place a half-step behind him and to his right, as he¡¯d been training me to do. We made our way through the hallways of the facility with purpose, scientists and other personnel ducking out of our path lest they be caught up in Father¡¯s intimidating aura. I found it funny that they were all so afraid of him; the edge of my lip quirking up despite my attempt to hold back my grin. He was only scary when you made him angry or disappointed him in some way. As long as you were good, he would treat you with the respect you deserved. Granted, he had been smiling at me a lot less over the past few months, and he had barely touched me outside of painful reprimands ever since my early rehabilitation had finished, but that was simply because I didn¡¯t need those things to motivate me anymore. Following Father¡¯s commands was its own reward.
We reached a door and Father unlocked it with the keypad on the wall before entering. It was dark inside, but as the door slid closed behind us, a light turned on, illuminating the room, and the surprise that laid within.
A suit of hi-tech jet-black armour stood at the far end of the room, so dark that it seemed to absorb the light around it. I stepped closer, overtaken by awe, before glancing back at Father as if to confirm what I was thinking.
¡°It¡¯s yours, Jordyn. It took a long time to finish. I trust you¡¯ll take good care of it?¡±
¡°Y-yes, yes, of course. Th-thank you, Father,¡± I stammered out, tentatively reaching forward to touch the armour. The metal was cool under my fingers ¨C strong and sturdy. The thought of donning it alleviated some of the apprehension I was feeling towards the exam. Even if I took a few hits, this could protect me. ¡°Can¡ Can I put it on?¡±
¡°Go ahead. There are latches under the armpits.¡±
Sure enough, I found them right where he said, and when I pulled them, the armour opened up like a blooming flower; the front of the chestplate coming away in my hands as the arms and legs split apart at the front to make way for my limbs. The inside seemed to be padded with some soft material.
¡°Lightweight, sweat absorbent, self-cooling, and strong enough to stop a bullet from a sniper rifle,¡± Father said. ¡°Designed to generate shadows between the joints regardless of light level to allow you to fight with your powers no matter the situation. Each piece can be removed separately, or it can all stand together as it is now. It¡¯s a work of art, tailor-made to your exact measurements and requirements. You should be very grateful, Jordyn. This suit cost a lot of money to make.¡±
Grateful didn¡¯t even begin to cover it. My entire body shook with excitement. ¡°I- I don¡¯t know what to say¡¡±
¡°Put it on, Jordyn,¡± Father said, sounding a little impatient now. ¡°Your exam begins soon. There will be consequences if you are late.¡±
That got me to move. I turned around and backed into the armour, pulling the chestplate into place until the latches clicked. It was a tight fit, but not uncomfortably so, pushing my breasts securely against my chest while still leaving enough room that it wasn¡¯t suffocating or restricting. With that connected, I moved my arms and legs into their respective limbs of the armour and it closed around me, the seams sealing shut. Now fully closed in, I stepped forward. It was surprisingly easy to move in. I jumped up and down a couple of times just to test it, and it didn¡¯t feel any different than if I¡¯d been wearing my regular clothes. There was a mirror in the corner of the room. I approached it, anxious to see how I looked.
Usually, I made a point of avoiding mirrors. Between my unwillingly shaven head and the scar on my face that had become jagged and bumpy after getting infected thanks to my poor stitching job, they generally brought more pain than benefit. Today, however, it was easy to overlook all of that. The armour fit me like a second skin, following the contours of my body with only a little added bulk, aside from the neckline, which stretched almost all the way to my chin with protective plating. The darkness of it only seemed to deepen the blacks of my eyes and hair. I looked¡ intimidating. I supposed that was a good thing.
Father stepped behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. My heart jumped in excitement at the extremely rare touch, only to fall again when I realised I couldn¡¯t feel it at all through the dark metal.
¡°Does it feel good?¡± he asked.
I nodded, tapping my fingers against my chest and noting how I couldn¡¯t even feel them when I used force. It was a little disconcerting. While the armour certainly made me feel powerful and protected, I also felt¡ locked away from the outside world, in a way. Even more than I already was, stuck in the facility.
Father walked away, returning after a few seconds with something black in his hands. The helmet; the final piece of the armour. On the surface it looked like a simple chunk of smooth, mostly rounded metal, with no visible eyeholes, but I knew better than to believe that. The front-facing part had a ridge along where the eyes should be, and another travelling downward through the middle, giving the whole thing the affect of a menacing frown. I didn¡¯t think I wanted to put it on with the way the rest of the armour was making me feel, but with Father¡¯s clear insistence, I knew I had no choice.
I pulled the helmet over my head and the woman in my reflection disappeared; replaced by a faceless, dark soldier. Just as I¡¯d thought; I could still see somehow. A number appeared in the corner of my vision, and I recognised it as my heart rate; 82 beats per minute. Apparently, the suit was monitoring my vitals somehow as well.
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¡°From now on, you will wear this armour at all times, except for when you are in your room. Do you understand, Jordyn?¡±
Something inside of me sunk. I supposed I should have expected this. Of course I would need to wear my armour all the time to be an effective superhero. I just¡ didn¡¯t like how I couldn¡¯t see my face at all anymore. I didn¡¯t like that I couldn¡¯t feel the breeze of the air-conditioning, or the touch of my own skin when I hugged myself. Was this what it meant to be a hero? If so, I wasn¡¯t so sure I wanted to be one anymore. Still, I owed it to Father for saving me, and it was what he wanted.
¡°How will I eat?¡± I asked, my voice coming out deep and electronic-sounding. It made my gut wrench.
¡°The mouthpiece of the helmet can be removed. Now, answer the question, Jordyn. Do you understand?¡±
¡°I understand, Father.¡±
He smiled, and while it did make me feel all tingly like usual, it couldn¡¯t hold back the shadow of regret hanging at the back of my mind like a noxious cloud. This was just my life now, I supposed. Free to move around the facility mostly at will; yet still locked behind a screen, unable to actually reach out and touch anything with my own fingers. It brought back memories I¡¯d almost forgotten; of being surrounded by nothing but green, warm and protective, but keeping me secured away from the world beyond. Apparently, this was a recurring thing for me. I was better off just getting used to it.
¡ª
I stood in the centre of the room, fists clenched, heartrate rising, waiting in horrible anticipation for the exam to begin. My rapid breathing was making the inside of the helmet humid and muggy, but there was no way I could take it off, considering the threat I was about to face. All of the doors were locked, and there weren¡¯t any windows, but I knew Father was watching somehow. Sooner or later, one of those doors was going to open, and criminals would come pouring out, ready to slit my throat. I needed to be ready.
Sure enough, a buzzer went off, and a door in the far wall opened. Three people in orange jumpsuits stepped out - two men and a woman - peering around the room before focusing on me. They each carried a weapon; a tire iron, a knife, a baseball bat. Adrenaline rushed through my body and I dropped into a fighting stance, prepared to take them on.
None of them approached. They watched me, sizing me up and circling around cautiously, but no one moved in for an attack. I didn''t understand. Weren''t they supposed to basically be bloodthirsty animals? These people just looked¡ scared.
I remembered what Father had told me; about how I had to be aggressive when it came to criminals, and how they would hide their intentions behind a sob story and a sad expression. Just because these people looked scared didn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t about to jump at me. I had to take the initiative. One of the men was the closest; a bald man with a beard. He was my first target.
I charged towards him, gathering shadows from the seams in my armour and balling them around my fist. He stumbled backwards in surprise at my rush, but I didn¡¯t give him the opportunity to get away, sending a spike of darkness at his legs. It sunk into his knee with a horrible crunch and he screamed, dropping to the floor.
The attack got the other two moving, shocked out of their attempt to lull me into a false sense of security. The woman with the knife lunged, but I grabbed her wrist and twisted it around behind her, tugging and pulling her shoulder out of its socket before kicking her back to the ground.
Another door in front of me opened and three more orange-suited criminals came out. I was about to move towards them when something smashed me in the back of the head. I stumbled forward in a daze and turned to find the last man from the first batch, bat primed for another swing. My armour had defended me from the brunt of the hit, but the concussive force still had me stumbling, and the shock made my adrenaline spike even further. The bat came at me again, but this time I was ready, ducking under it and sending my fist into the man¡¯s gut. He doubled over and I swept his legs out from under him, grabbing the bat on the way down and breaking his arm for good measure.
A hit to the back of my knee had my leg buckling, but I managed not to trip, turning and sending a wave of shadow out to make some space between myself and the next batch of enemies, launching them back a few feet. There were two in front of me, and-
The third appeared from outside of my vision and swung a crowbar into my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. My fist shot out and slammed into his face in response, crushing his nose and probably a few teeth as well. Shadows lashed as he stumbled back, whipping about and cutting his arm almost all the way through. He screamed and dropped the crowbar. The sound made me feel sick.
Another door opened. More criminals rushed out. The other two were still coming at me. I pulled my shadows back and launched them at one man, sending him flying across the room. The other took the opportunity to jam a knife into the space between my shoulder and chest plates.
My muscles seized, pain rocketing through my arm. I cried out and my shadows flared, slashing through the air in front of me. There was another scream, and a spurt of blood obscured my vision. I stumbled back, frantically trying to wipe it off. I heard another door open. Something hit me over the head and I fell. I tried to roll away, tried to make some space, but my back hit a wall. My chest hurt. I wasn¡¯t getting enough air. Something banged against the armour over my abdomen, then again, and again.
The lights went out.
I screamed, my shadows rampaging in the sudden darkness, tearing through flesh and breaking bone with reckless abandon. Black tendrils wrapped around my body, cutting into my skin and drawing blood. I cradled my head, curling in on myself and trying to regain any semblance of control over my powers. My helmet came off and I sucked in as much air as I could. I needed to get the armour off. It was suffocating me. My heart was going to explode. I scrambled at the latches under my arms, trying to find purchase on them with shaking, slippery fingers.
Just as quickly as they had turned off, the lights came back on again.
Everything was red.
Every person in the room aside from me was dead, lying scattered in pieces all over the place, blood and viscera painted across the floors and walls and my armour. I¡ I wasn¡¯t supposed to kill them. I was only supposed to incapacitate them. This¡ It wasn¡¯t supposed to happen like this. I was going to fail. Father was going to be disappointed. The thought made the shadows in the room flicker angrily and I flinched away from them.
The door to the observation room opened and I yelped, sending lances of shadow flying towards the danger. The door quickly shut again, and a hissing sound filled the room. The scent of gore was quickly replaced with something sweet, and my eyelids grew heavy. I tried to stand up, but my legs weren¡¯t responding. Darkness was closing in again. It¡ It was almost comforting now. I stopped fighting it and fell back against the blood-slicked floor, letting my eyes fall shut and succumbing to the encroaching sleep.
¡ª
I woke up in my room, staring up at the ceiling. Pain radiated from my shoulder, and a headache was pounding against the inside of my skull, but overall, I seemed to be alright. That horrible choking panic was gone, and my skin felt fine where I¡¯d thought my shadows were cutting me. Carefully, I lifted my head, looking down at myself. I was in my underwear with bandages wrapped around my injured shoulder, that black armour nowhere to be seen. It would be a lie if I said I was upset about that.
Father sat at my bedside, watching me with a sharp expression. My breath hitched, heart rate spiking. I¡¯d failed the exam. I¡¯d failed him.
¡°I¡¯m disappointed, Jordyn. Such a strong start, only for you to lose your composure halfway through, and in such an explosive manner, too. You¡¯re lucky that all of those prisoners were convicted death row inmates, or we would be in a lot of trouble right now.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s clear. I¡¯ve been too soft on you. I¡¯ve allowed you too many freedoms. I¡¯ve allowed this weakness to fester inside of you, and now I must cut it out.¡±
¡°B-but Father-¡±
My voice cut off as an incredible pain shot through my system, seizing up my muscles and arching my back. A strangled scream squeezed its way out of my throat. Arcs of burning agony travelled down my limbs through my nervous system, coalescing in one tiny, white-hot point in the back of my neck. I couldn¡¯t breathe, my lungs unresponsive to any request for air. My tendons strained under the pressure being forced upon them. Muscle fibres tore and ripped. Joints creaked and groaned under the weight of my own body pulling itself apart. I was going to die.
Just as quickly as it began, the pain stopped. I slumped back onto the bed, panting and writhing, heart thundering in my ears.
¡°You will not speak to me out of turn, Jordyn. You will not act out of turn. If I do not order you to do something, you will not do it. You will not speak unless I order it. You will not eat unless I order it. You will not even go to the bathroom unless I order it. Do you understand?¡±
I shakily nodded, too scared to open my mouth lest the pain started again.
¡°If I order you to do something, you will do it immediately and without question. You will stay by my side at all times unless I tell you otherwise. You are not a person, Jordyn. You are a weapon. I created you to be the sword of my conquest, and I can just as easily discard you, just as I have discarded those who came before you. You are lucky that I have even given you a name. You are nothing more than the Seventh Attempt. There can just as easily be an Eighth.¡±
I didn¡¯t understand what he was saying. None of it made any sense. ¡®Created?¡¯ ¡®Seventh Attempt?¡¯ I didn¡¯t know what that meant. He was my Father; obviously he created me, right? I nodded along just to be safe, despite my lack of understanding.
Father sighed. ¡°The next exam is in three months. Do not disappoint me again, seven.¡± He stood up. ¡°You will remain in your room until I come and get you tomorrow. I suggest you spend your time thinking about exactly why you failed today.¡±
With that, he walked out. I watched the door shut behind him, the interior keypad¡¯s screen turning red to signify the exterior lock. My ears rang. My chest hurt. My insides felt hollow. I looked back up at the ceiling and did my very best to keep my tears from falling out. Good soldiers didn¡¯t cry, after all.
I couldn¡¯t afford to fail him again.
Jordyn鈥檚 training, part 4: Deployment
1 YEAR AFTER WAKING
An arm broke under my fist, the elbow joint bending backwards with an awful crack. I let go of the screaming criminal, spinning around with a kick to the head of the one sneaking up behind me. He stumbled backwards and I kept up my momentum, spinning again and gathering shadows behind my leg. The added force of the darkness when my armoured boot made contact knocked him straight to the floor, where he stayed, unmoving.
I was almost finished. There were only two criminals left, standing at the far end of the room with their weapons raised. They seemed hesitant to approach. I didn¡¯t blame them. The room was already filled with the limp, groaning forms of their fellows, and they surely knew by now that their fates would be no different. Still, I needed to take them down to complete the exam, and I wasn¡¯t going to fail again. If they wouldn¡¯t come to me, I would go to them.
I sent out a whip of shadow, wrapping it around one of the men¡¯s ankles. The shadow flexed and shrank to my will, allowing me the leverage to pull him off of his feet and fling him around the room, using his body as an improvised wrecking ball against his friend. I released my hold at just the right moment to send the man crashing into the other criminal, smashing both of them against the far wall, knocking them out and completing my final combat exam.
After a few seconds of stillness, the door to the observation room opened. I took a deep breath, blowing out the leftover nerves and letting the adrenaline run its course. A pervasive nausea sat heavily in my gut as I left the exam room, as it so often did after a live combat training session. I hated the feeling of bones breaking under my strength; my victim¡¯s screams ringing through my ears for days afterward. My combat instructor told me that many people feel ¡®alive¡¯ in the midst of a fight; filled with endorphins and running on instinct. I usually just felt overwhelmed and sick. Part of me was honestly a little surprised that I¡¯d aced the exam this time around. I even kept my cool when the lights turned off, forcing my shadows to remain close and defend me until they came back on. I guessed all the extra training just paid off.
¡°Well done, Seven. You passed,¡± Father said, walking up to me. He¡¯d been calling me Seven ever since my last attempt at the exam, though I didn¡¯t fully understand why. He still called me Jordyn when we were alone in my room, but whenever we were out and about in the facility, I was only Seven. When I asked about it, he said that it was practice for when I¡¯m deployed. I wouldn¡¯t be going by Jordyn as a hero, either. He also said that I should start calling him Captain de Vygon or sir when in public, too. I was still getting the hang of it, though.
¡°Thank you, Fa-¡± I paused, clearing my throat. ¡°Sir.¡±
He nodded. ¡°Return to your quarters. Your dinner will be delivered; you may eat it at your own discretion. Make sure you rest well. Tomorrow, we will finalise your deployment.¡±
I lowered my head, insides buzzing with anticipation. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±
With that, I turned and left, following Father¡¯s command and heading straight to my room. Once there, I removed my armour, stretching out my sore limbs and sighing at the sensation of fresh air hitting my skin for the first time in hours. After that, I showered, spending an indulgent amount of time under the soothing spray of hot water, checking over my body for new bruises or cuts from the fight. I usually had a couple lingering around from training (or, in one case, banging my shin against my bed frame) and today was no exception. Thankfully, there was nothing serious. Nothing had pierced my armour this time around. That knife wound from my previous attempt had slowed me down in training for at least a month, and left a nasty scar in its wake. At least it matched the one on my face, not that anyone but Father or myself would be seeing it from now on.
The shower washed off the remaining adrenaline, but I was still restless; excitement at the prospect of finally leaving the facility overtaking all else. I tried reading a book to pass the time, but like always I just ended up doodling in the margins, drawing little pictures to chronicle my day. It was something I¡¯d picked up in the past few months, when my training started getting harder and more painful, and Father became much stricter. There was a lot that upset me nowadays, and since I wasn¡¯t allowed to express that out loud, I had to find other ways to get it out of me. The more I let it build up, the worse I felt, and that tended to affect my performance, which Father was always quick to pick up on. Drawing was the only effective way I¡¯d found so far of releasing that pain; pouring it out through the pencil and onto the paper.
Dinner came and was eaten, the clock ticked onwards, and eventually I found myself growing tired. Even in bed, however, the sleep never came. Every time I thought about tomorrow, anticipation would shoot through me. I¡¯d spent a whole year of my life in this facility, recovering from my accident, learning how to be a hero again, and tomorrow, I¡¯d finally be allowed to leave.
I couldn¡¯t wait.
¡ª
Elevators were something of an enigma to me. I could count on one hand how many times I¡¯d ridden in one. That very first day - the day I¡¯d woken from the green - I remembered being carted into a small box in a wheelchair along with Father, and when the doors opened again, we were somewhere else. It only succeeded in worsening the state of abject confusion I was in. By now, theoretically, I knew they were just taking me to different levels of the facility beyond the access of the stairs in my section, but the novelty had as of yet failed to wear off. Being able to get from one place to another without moving was always mystifying to me.
Today, however, I had to contain my excitement at getting to ride in one. I was at Father¡¯s side, travelling upwards out of the facility for the very first time. He had told me not to expect much action for my first day; he wanted to get me used to the city and my role before sending me on any solo patrols. Should anything exciting happen, it would be the police tracking down a suspect and sending me to apprehend them. As much as I disliked combat, the prospect of any sort of change to my schedule was enticing.
The elevator finally stopped moving, and the doors in front of me opened to a wide, dimly lit concrete room. I followed Father out, stepping around the large, metal, wheeled things lined up in rows all over the place. The urge to ask what they were was strong, but I knew better than to speak without permission. If it was important, Father would tell me in time.
Eventually, we stopped at one of the metal things. It was all black, quite boxy in shape. Father stepped around one side of it, and when I went to follow him, he paused, looking at me with a confused expression.
¡°Oh, of course,¡± he said, a wry grin forming on his lips. ¡°You¡¯ve never seen a car before, have you?¡±
¡°This is a car?¡± I asked. I¡¯d read about them in my books, but due to the nature of the facility, I¡¯d never actually seen one in person before.
¡°Yes. Get in on the other side.¡±
He showed me how to work the door, so I went around the car and followed his command, taking my seat next to him. He strapped himself in, then leaned over to do the same for me, instructing me on how to do it for myself. The day had barely even started and I was already learning so much.
As embarrassing as it was to admit, I did yelp a little when the car started moving, despite knowing to expect it from reading about them. My embarrassment was quickly replaced with awe, however, as we drove out onto the streets of the city.
I¡¯d never seen anything like it before. There were cars everywhere, the roads stretching on as far as I could see, bordered by buildings so tall it was like they were piercing the sky itself. And speaking of the sky! I couldn¡¯t believe just how blue it was! I¡¯d spent my entire life surrounded by greys and whites and blacks. Seeing such a bright, beautiful colour stretching out above me was breathtaking. My heart was pounding in my chest from the sheer amazement alone.
¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± Father asked, no doubt noticing how enamoured I was as I craned my neck to see out the windows. ¡°Welcome to Tombguard, the city of heroes.¡±
I turned and looked at him. ¡°Permission to speak?¡±
¡°Granted.¡±
¡°Why is it called that?¡± I asked. ¡°Isn¡¯t that name a little¡ morbid? Aren¡¯t tombs where people get buried after they die?¡±
¡°I¡¯m glad you asked. It has to do with the city¡¯s conception. A long, long time ago, there was¡ an entity, shall we say. A being of great power that roamed the earth, causing chaos and destruction, subjugating populations to Its will. They called It the Godling, as Its strength was second only to that of what we recognised as a God. It had the powers of creation and decimation, and almost anything that It wished would come to pass with a mere thought. The only thing It couldn¡¯t control was the human spirit. It is said that the ancestors of the de Vygon family forged a blade capable of taking down this monstrosity. After a fierce battle, the beast was impaled with the blade, sealing away Its power. The family imprisoned It, deep below the earth, and this city was built around It to maintain Its cage. It is believed that the blood of the Godling still runs to this day, seeping into the ground and spreading through the earth, and that it¡¯s what gives people like you their powers. That is why there are so many heroes here; proximity to the Godling¡¯s prison increases the likelihood of a child being born with power, but there are also more monster attacks here than anywhere else on earth. The demand necessitates supply. Hence; Tombguard, the city of heroes.¡±
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
For some reason, the thought of whatever ¡®monster attacks¡¯ were sent a shiver down my spine and had my hair standing on end, but I brushed it off. ¡°The de Vygon family? You mean your ancestors were the ones who fought that thing?¡±
Father nodded. ¡°Indeed. Though we no longer have access to the Godling¡¯s prison. That honour passed to a different branch of the family, one that no longer bears the name.¡±
He sounded almost bitter about it. I knew better than to ask what that was about though, so I turned back to the window, taking in the beauty of the outside world.
¡ª
Father took me on a tour around the city, showing me all of the sights, taking me down as many side-streets as he could so that I could start to learn the layout. I wasn¡¯t sure how I was going to manage, though. The whole thing was like a maze! There were so many twists and turns, and after a while, a lot of it started to look the same. I supposed it would probably be easier once I got on top of the buildings, as heroes apparently often did. I¡¯d just have to wait and see.
We were pulled up at a stop light when it happened. A shout from the side of the road caught my attention.
¡°Hey, stop! Thief!¡±
My whole body lit up with adrenaline. This was it! My chance to take down a real criminal! I looked to Father for approval.
¡°Go ahead, Seven. But be gentle. You want to make a good first impression, after all.¡±
I nodded, removing my seatbelt and all-but launching myself out the door. The commotion was happening outside of something Father had told me was called a ¡®general store.¡¯ There was a man at the door, angrily shouting, pointing down the street at another person who was sprinting away, something cradled in their arms. I wasted no more time, using my shadows to fortify my legs and propel myself forward.
Father had specified to be gentle, so I didn¡¯t bother using my shadows for anything else, just crashing into the criminal and tackling them down to the ground, pinning their arms behind their back. Two loaves of bread and a carton of milk scattered across the ground in front of us.
¡°Ah! What the hell?!¡± the thief said, craning their head around to look up at me. It was a young man, probably not much older than me. ¡°Please, it¡¯s just a little food! I¡¯m just trying to feed my family!¡±
I knew how it felt to go hungry, but that didn¡¯t mean I could go easy on this guy. He was a criminal, after all, and they would always try to spin a tale to convince me to let them go. I tightened my grip as he futilely struggled against it.
¡°Argh! What kind of superhero are you?! This isn¡¯t your job!¡±
I wasn¡¯t certain I had permission to speak, so I kept my mouth shut. Otherwise, I would¡¯ve argued against that. This was what I had been training for my whole life ¨C as far back as I could remember, at least. What else could my job possibly be?
¡°Backup is on the way to take him to the station,¡± Father said, approaching us. ¡°Good work, Seven.¡±
¡°Thank you, sir.¡±
By then, a crowd had started to form, watching the scene unfold.
¡°Is that a new hero?¡±
¡°I¡¯ve never seen them before.¡±
¡°That black armour is scary¡¡±
¡°Are they working with the police?¡±
Father stepped around me, facing the amassing group of people.
¡°The show¡¯s over, folks! Nothing to see here, just Tombguard¡¯s newest hero doing her job. The police will be here soon, so I¡¯d advise you all to clear out.¡±
The crowd took Father¡¯s advice and dispersed, leaving us alone with the owner of the store, who came over and picked up his discarded stock.
¡°I¡¯ve never heard of a hero working with the cops before, but boy am I glad for it now, Mr¡?¡±
Father smiled, holding out his hand to shake. ¡°Andreas de Vygon, Captain of the 23rd precinct, and the handler of our newest superhero; Seven.¡±
¡°Well, thank you, Captain. Thank you both. I¡¯ll be sure to let everyone know that the 23rd has the backs of us business owners, unlike the rest of the Heroes¡¯ Union, those freeloading bastards.¡±
Father laughed. I had to take a second to process it. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever heard him laugh before.
¡°Oh, I assure you, Seven is not part of the Heroes¡¯ Union. She actually helps the city.¡±
¡°Ha! You said it! Well, I¡¯ll see you around. Feel free to stop by anytime for a discount!¡±
The man left, and the police arrived not long after, rolling up in one of those black and white cars I had seen after departing from the facility elevator. Two more men stepped out; one in a blue uniform, and the other dressed a little more casually in a button-up and trenchcoat. Both of them peered at me curiously before approaching.
I let the one in blue take over in handling the criminal, finally climbing to my feet and returning to Father¡¯s side, where the other man was. His light brown, grey-streaked hair was messily slicked back, and the lower half of his face was covered with stubble. He looked me over with an unparsable expression.
¡°So,¡± he said. ¡°This is Project Genesis, huh? Shorter than I thought they¡¯d be.¡± His voice was husky and deep.
¡°This is Seven, Detective Matthews,¡± Father corrected. ¡°The product of Project Genesis.¡±
Detective Matthews grunted. ¡°How¡¯d you convince a hero to work with us, anyway?¡±
¡°That¡¯s confidential, detective. Now, don¡¯t you have a shoplifter to process?¡±
He sighed. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±
A loud crash from down the street caught everyone¡¯s attention. My heart felt like it stopped in my chest at the sight of what caused it.
It was like a section of the ground itself had come alive. A huge, pinkish mass of tentacles and eyeballs rose out from a destroyed section of road, coated and shielded by the concrete and asphalt sticking to its blotchy skin. It thrashed at everything around it; ripping out lampposts, throwing cars, smashing buildings, enraged at the sheer concept of life itself, not able to comprehend why it had been forced to be.
Why has it been forced to be? It thinks this is a question one should ask itself, little shadow.
¡What? Whose voice was that? The words echoed through my skull like a concussion; their source utterly unknown but their sound viscerally painful; a thousand nails driving their tips into my brain with every syllable. As quickly as it had begun, however, the words and their suffering disappeared, and I was left to wonder if either had even existed in the first place.
¡°Are you afraid, Seven?¡± came Father¡¯s voice from my right; deep and solid and beautifully real, tearing me back into the physical world.