The Shadow Lords' Asylum

Flynn, 29 years old. Three years ago.

"Feels like I'm going insane. It's a thief in the night to come and grab you. It can creep up inside you and consume you. A disease of the mind, it can control you. It's too close for comfort. (...) Better think twice, your train of thought will be altered, so if you must falter, be wise. Your mind's in disturbia, it's like the darkness is the light. Disturbia, am I scaring you tonight?" – Rihanna, "Disturbia".

They had come to take me yet again.

I had so hoped they'd forgotten about me... so many days they just threw food inside the big holding cell and let the eight of us wrestle it out, trying to get – not full, but to have the pain of hunger subside a bit. I knew I had never been this thin. How I longed for a slice of chocolate cake, an apple, a carrot, anything fresh... We were eight because two had already perished. Even if we wouldn't kill one another, the hunger had no such qualms.

But now, more pressing concerns. Blinding white figures grabbed my arms while casually casting the familiar paralysing spell on all of us. They dragged me through the door. I didn't try to resist anymore. Their faces were unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, exchangeable, I knew none of the wardens and at the same time I knew them all. They were all the same. Faceless. Mindless. Perhaps they too had been controlled like me once. Outside the cell, they chained my arms and allowed me to walk.

Good boy, Jamie.

My mother's voice. I shook my head hard, but without much hope. The voices had long since become too strong to battle with such simple measures. I knew it was them, it had to be them. But as she continued to tell me I was doing so well to just obey the wardens and how she loved me because I was helping them so much and not resisting, I felt a lump rise in my throat and my eyes water. I couldn't help but feel a little proud of myself at her praise... and guilty for falling for their ploys.

The wardens took me to the small lab and strapped me to the one slab in the middle of the windowless room. I stared at the ceiling and felt my eyes dry up again. This I was almost prepared for – almost, after months of endurance...

Another voice appeared in my head – or outside of it? I couldn't tell anymore – as the lights went out. I stared into the darkness. The voice was cold, precise, uncaring.

"What is your name, inmate?"

"James Wynstorm", I answered quietly. I had no hope. Nothing left. Emotionless.

"What is your race?"

"Human."

I knew the blast would come before I even finished the thought, let alone the word. A scalding hot icy cold forceful slam violent shake electric blast. I felt a weak scream erupt from my sore throat as the pain shook me. This answer always prompted an attack, but it was not a lie! I was human. At least I didn't know what else to be.

"We have seen you show innate power. Tell us how you attained it."

I braced myself. "I did not attain it, and therefore I cannot", I replied.

SLAM. PAIN. My fingers cramped hard even after the crackling had stopped, but I could not stretch them to relax them. I gritted my teeth.

My mother's voice. Don't fight it, Jamie. Tell them.

My father. Jamie, you know you should help the Wardens. They're trying to do good. That's more than you ever accomplished.

"That's not true!", I snapped. My temper still, seldom, flared at the unfairness of the lie. Even though after months of this, I wasn't even sure if it was a lie anymore.