Cyber Chronicles 1: Crimson's Effect

Chapter 16: Lincoln (Past)

As Lincoln stared at the mirror, an eerie red aura enveloped him, casting an otherworldly glow. His eyes widened as he took in the surreal sight—his once blonde hair now a peculiar mix of half brown and half fading blue. The red hue in his eyes created a stark contrast to the familiar coffee brown he was accustomed to.

Sitting up, Lincoln realized his arms were no longer confined by the chains that had restrained them. A sigh escaped him as he attempted to quell the turmoil within. This room felt strangely familiar, yet different from the gruesome scenes etched in his memory.

"What am I...?" Lincoln mumbled, his bewildered gaze fixed on the reflection that seemed to be evolving before him. Unbeknownst to him, the observing doctors stood in awe of their victorious experiment.

"It worked! You have the power!" the lead scientist exclaimed, unable to contain his joy at the apparent success of the experiment.

Lincoln, still lost in his thoughts, stared at his hands as the red aura gradually faded. The surreality of the situation began to settle, memories of the experiment flooding back. He had expected death, yet here he was—alive and imbued with newfound strength. "So that's what this is..." he mused, grappling with the weight of his transformed existence.

"How do you feel?" the scientist asked, his excitement palpable.

"Strong. But also tired," Lincoln replied, his demeanor blunt and to the point.

"You're not going berserk, nor do you seem to have any permanent side effects," the scientist observed, eager to unravel the mysteries of Lincoln's transformation.

"What about-" Lincoln began, but halted as he caught another glimpse of his reflection. The red hue in his eyes had faded, and so had the blue in his hair. However, the experiment had clearly taken its toll, leaving a lasting impact—his hair, once blonde, now seemed destined to be a permanent shade of brown.

"Your hair is the least of our worries, kid," the scientist said with a taunting chuckle, dismissing Lincoln's concern. "So, this is what the beacon is capable of..." he continued, his fascination undiminished.

"What is a beacon?" Lincoln questioned, his curiosity piqued.

"I've no idea myself. But it seems they were right; there was something you possessed that made the trial successful," the scientist replied, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

"I see..." Lincoln sounded, grappling with the implications of his newfound essence.

"Now then," the scientist said, approaching Lincoln with an intensity that betrayed his eagerness. "Shall we run more tests?"

"Can it wait? I just woke up," Lincoln requested, a touch of exhaustion in his voice.

"No, no, no. I've waited decades for this moment! I cannot wait for another second! There's so much that needs to be done. I need to find out what kind of power you have, and what you can do with it. If it kills your neurons like it did previously—there's so much to observe. Oh, I waited four extra years, especially for this moment, I'm so excited," the scientist gushed with laughter, his enthusiasm contagious.

Lincoln's eyes went wide at the man's words as he turned to look at him, his gaze hardening. "What did you just say?" He asked, a sudden shift in his expression indicating a deepening realization.

"What might you mean?" the scientist innocently inquired.

"Did you say four years?" Lincoln pressed, a mix of disbelief and dread coloring his tone.

"I know, right? For four years, we had to keep watch over you without being able to do anything. It's insane!" the scientist replied, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within Lincoln.

Lincoln buried his face in his hands. Has he really been in a coma for four years? He planned to quickly finish the experiment and escape the place before his family and friends got too worried. Possibly make it in time for his parents' funeral. 

But four years? What had he missed? Was Kate doing okay? How old would she be now?

Lincoln gasped and looked at the mirror again. He hadn't noticed before, amidst all the chaos, but now he saw a full-grown beard across his chin, and his hair was almost to his shoulder level. 

Was he really twenty-one? 

His hand roamed around his face. "You kept me here for four years..." Lincoln muttered, his voice filled with disbelief and a hint of anger.

"What was that? Now, now, stop wasting our time. Let me take off your leg shackles, and let's get to the facility," the scientist urged, oblivious to the internal turmoil he had triggered.

"Leave me alone!" Lincoln cried, his frustration and confusion building, as a surge of energy emanated from him, sending the scientist crashing into the door.

The guards, alarmed by the sudden outburst, rushed towards Lincoln, and panic ensued. Flashbacks of a familiar icy cave flooded Lincoln's mind, and a primal red tint took over his vision. In a fit of chaos, crimson shards materialized around him, slashing through the air and cutting down everything in their path. The room descended into a nightmarish tableau of violence and blood.

Lincoln struggled to draw breath, each inhalation a laborious effort as he confronted the gruesome aftermath he had caused. 

Panting in short, frantic breaths, he clutched his chest, the taste of bile lingering in his throat. His legs shook beneath him, and the realization of his newfound freedom from the shackles prompted him to roll off the bed. A guttural sound escaped him as he retched onto the bloodied floor, his body quivering with the aftermath of his unleashed fury.

Gasping for air, Lincoln attempted to scream, but the air felt thick and suffocating. His eyes darted to the bloodied mirror before him. In that reflective surface, he was met with a visage that evoked sheer horror. The eyes staring back at him were a deep crimson, his hair had transformed entirely into a haunting shade of blue, and his entire being radiated with dark crimson energy, an ominous aura enveloping him.

A primal scream tore through his lungs and throat, echoing the horror he felt at the monstrous image he had become. The sound reverberated in the room, a symphony of torment and despair.

The scream continued until, overwhelmed by the horror before him, Lincoln succumbed to unconsciousness.