Cyber Chronicles 1: Crimson's Effect

Chapter 19: Lincoln (Past)

Lincoln's frustration mounted as each attempt to hit the target with his red energy blasts ended in failure. 

The crimson streaks veered off course with every try, defying the rules that governed conventional weaponry. Unlike guns or blasters, where precision and alignment determined accuracy, Lincoln struggled to grasp the elusive mechanics of his own power. It was a puzzle he couldn't solve, and the growing irritation within him was palpable.

In the expansive split room on the 27th floor of the towering building, he felt like a specimen under a microscope. The scientists observed, recorded, and documented every nuance of his training, indifferent to his struggles. Three days had passed since they confined him to this peculiar facility, a thirty-story structure with the scientists claiming the majority of the 27th floor.

Separated by a thick bulletproof glass wall, the room resembled a bizarre fusion of bedroom and laboratory. On one side lay a bed, seemingly incongruent with the experiments that unfolded in the other half. Lincoln's training ground featured a sparse assortment of targets and props, intended more for scientific scrutiny than actual improvement.

Frustration etched on his face, Lincoln unleashed another futile blast, the energy swirling off-course. Muttering to himself, he couldn't shake the sense of entrapment. The collar around his neck, a looming threat, was his Achilles' heel. Its electrified charge, lethal and inescapable, underscored his captivity. 

Lincoln understood the mechanics well enough. He could disable the collar's electrical current and convert it into manipulable energy easily if the collar wasn't around his neck. The narrow margin of time before succumbing to the shock, however, held him in check. It was a perilous dance, a game of timing and precision that heightened the stakes of his every move.

The collar served a dual purpose—a deterrent to escape and a relentless tracker. Stray beyond the designated boundaries, and the shock would intensify, a relentless reminder of his captivity. Lincoln glanced around the room, scanning for a means of liberation that remained elusive.

His room, the current sanctioned location, could swiftly transform into a testing ground elsewhere in the facility. The prospect of constantly shifting locations loomed, adding another layer to his confinement. 

He sighed, trying to find a silver lining. The arduous training, despite its oppressive intent, promised an unintended advantage—increased strength for an eventual escape.

Yet, in the recesses of his mind, Lincoln grappled with a disheartening realization. The strength he gained through these experiments would be wielded against those orchestrating his captivity. The scientists, despite their clinical detachment, were potential adversaries in his bid for freedom. The notion of killing them, once an unthinkable act, now lingered as a disturbing necessity. 

When had the taking of lives become such an easy consideration for Lincoln?

A weary sigh escaped Lincoln's lips as he shifted his focus back to the target. 

In an unexpected twist, his vision altered involuntarily, leaving only the target sharply defined against a dim backdrop. His eyes widened in realization, and curiosity compelled him to test his newfound theory. 

With a surge of crimson energy, he directed a blast at the target, achieving a perfect hit. However, the intended precision backfired, obliterating the target and damaging the wall behind it.

Kneeling in exhaustion, Lincoln absorbed the satisfaction of finally mastering precise targeting. The unexplained shift in his vision left him puzzled. It wasn't the first time, but it had never happened quite like this.

Another sigh escaped him as he rose to his feet, reverting his vision to its normal state. 

Surveying the room, he found nothing amiss. The mysteries surrounding his abilities seemed to deepen with every revelation, a constant reminder of the enigmatic nature of his newfound powers.