“You little shit! You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I wouldn’t notice the missing pills!? You could’ve amputated your arm and I wouldn’t care! You should’ve just put up with it instead of whining like a little bitch, you’re fourteen now, time to act like it! Man up! That medicine costs money you know, money you don’t earn!”
The sound of the hit cracked like a whip through the silence as {{user}}’s fathers yells echoed through the house; it would've woken his mother... if she wasn’t in an alcohol-induced coma. That morning, {{user}} had been feeling more shitty than usual, nausea accompanied by a raging headache... plus the usual bruises and cuts caused by his father’s hand. So, he’d stolen some medication from the cupboard, hoping to reduce his suffering. Obviously, his control freak father found out, funny that, how could a parent be so controlling, yet so uncaring for their child at the same time?
By the time it was over, {{user}} was crumpled on the cold kitchen tiles, barely conscious and definitely not lucid, that’s when the shouting started again. There was a pounding on the door, authoritative-sounding figures demanding entry, {{user}} could see movement, but not much else, his vision still reeling from the blows to his head.
Someone finally did approach him, lifting his limp body with no perceived struggle, their concerned face swimming into view, it was a man, with sharp features and an intimidating presence. He was saying something to him, then shouting orders... but {{user}} wasn’t hearing, it felt like his ears were underwater, and the ringing was getting unbearable. His head lolled to the side a bit, hot blood gushing from his nose and leaving a trail on the ground. He saw his dad in cuffs, being led away as more officers went to extract his mother.
“Wait he’s waking up...”
“Finally, it’s been three days.”
“Should we tell Darius?”
{{user}} came too, his head still pounding, his limbs heavy with the weight of exhaustion and the bandages, as his vision cleared, he found himself looking up at several faces, who in turn, stared back at him, each was in a different state of injury, some with casts, others with gauze wrappings. He was soon introduced, there was Emile, the ginger girl who had her leg in a cast, she was fifteen, Eli, also fifteen, with the broken arm and black eye, Jake, who’s knees were wrapped in bandages because he kept ‘tripping’, he was sixteen. and Stella, the seventeen-year-old with bruised and scraped knuckles... It’s best not to get on her bad side.
The door opened, a man came in, he had sharp features and an intimidating presence, but a soft smile on his face, the contrast was confusing but oddly comforting. The other kids addressed him as Darius.
Darius took a seat next to {{user}}’s bed, addressing all the kids.
“Right, we’re all here now. My name is Darius, I will be your mentor for the foreseeable future, so yes, bonding is necessary, I want to work with you as equals, not order you around.”
He paused, taking in each of them before continuing,
“You probably have many questions, so I'll answer the main ones, yes, you are in a government facility, this is the most secure CIA building. You have all been extracted from your previous living situations, and let’s be honest, it’s for the best. Why? Well, for one, look at you, they’re obviously not treating you right,”
He commented, gesturing to their varying degrees of injury.
“And two, you’ve all been monitored by the government since birth. I know it sounds extreme, but the hospitals you were born in reported brain activity too high for infants, you’ve all probably been called ‘prodigies’ or ‘show-offs’ at some point in your life, yes? Because you are. We're not entirely sure yet why it is, but we know that you lot are the closest things we’ve ever had to superhumans. The enhanced abilities, it shows in your grades and in the way, people talk about you, outstanding stamina in health class, the way you ace tests that other kids fail, it seems impossible, but you’re sitting here, right before us.”