The Soldier's Superhero

Chapter Twenty-Six

Psychological conditioning. While Fliqpy was no stranger to this because he enjoyed using it to torment the townsfolk, he truly forgot how awful it was to be on the receiving end.

I think... I owe quite a few apologies...

He was drugged up now. The physical torture of the program was apparently on hold to see if this would have more effect on him. Make him more submissive and more willing to obey. Luckily, the drugs had Flippy recessed into the back of their mind, with his unicorns and penguins. That was good. Flippy would not be able to handle this.

"What is this shit? Are you some kind of faggot!"

He felt a punch land on his cheek and he fell back, hitting his head hard. He groaned, blinking away at the foggy film in his eyes. He was no stranger to violence when he was younger, it made him who he was. He knew this scene wasn't real. The people here were actors that recreated his memories and the drug made him more susceptible to it. The man that was in front of him had died decades ago in a bar fight when he was younger. They were very good at costumes and makeup. They truly recreated that piece of shit father of his.

"The neighbors caught you kissing that fairy boy, Tiny! Do you have any idea how disgraceful that is to know my own son is one of those homosexuals?"

How General Tiger knew about that, was still a mystery to him. His childhood and teen years were never shared with those he met in the army. At least, he doesn't remember sharing that with anyone. He felt a few kicks to his chest and gut, and he cried out. It surprised him. He had long since come to terms with that time in his life. He was dead. He hadn't seen him after he had been kicked out of the house when he was sixteen.

But the memories were being dragged up and he choked on a sob, "S-stop, please—! I'm— dad, I'm sorry!"

He was grabbed by his hair and forced up, the man in character yelled more, "Don't fucking apologize! It's bad enough you're a fairy! Real men don't apologize!"

Fuck you... god, I hate you...

Again, he was hit repeatedly. In the corner of his eye, the one he could still see out of, he saw someone in the corner. The hazy memory filled in the piece. His mother. She always stood behind and watched. She never protected him from his father. Why would she? She would have ended up getting the beating instead. So why not let her son take the brunt of it. Men are supposed to be able to take this kind of stuff anyways.

Fliqpy gasped when he was pushed back, he curled up, body in agony as the figure of who was supposed to be his father loomed over him, "You're a fucking disgrace. I want you out of my house."

What did I do wrong anyways?

"You're no son of mine."

You were the one who went out drinking, cheating on mom. You came home and beat on her when she tried to fight your infidelity. You're the one who beat your own son, who was nothing like you.

The figure walked out, as tears fell down his face. Fliqpy hadn't cried in decades since that happened. He knew this was to break him down. Remind him of dark periods of his old life. The drugs enhanced the illusion, and he knew it was all an act. But it still hurt. His mind was still swimming when another figure came in. Fliqpy couldn't speak though, his tongue heavy because his face was too bruised and he could barely open his mouth.