Flight or Fight

3. Welcome to the Family

A bolt of pain – the most excruciating pain you'd ever felt, rushed through your entire body. It jolted you awake, and enough to make you scream out as if your life depended on it. The most agonising scream managed to leave your mouth, hurting your own vocal cords in the process. You couldn't open your eyes. You couldn't move. You tried to move, but your body was resisting your very own commands. You became a prisoner in your own body.

You felt this cold, sharp, metal object run down the bottom of your chest, all the way down your abdomen. You were being sliced open. Bile built up in your throat. You wanted to throw up at the very thought of what was happening to you.

The cold metal movements stopped and pulled away from you. You scrunched up your hands and face, praying this was all just a bad dream. None of it was real. However, the soft hand that stroked your hair, pulled you out of those thoughts – this was very real. A soft feminine hum was above you, hushing you back into darkness.

The man pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose, also fixing how the hat was balanced on his head, using this opportunity to move the pieces of his hair out his face. He stared up at the sky, watching the huge snowflakes still falling; sun rising would be happening very soon. It had been a long night for him – granted he was exhilarated by it, but it took him away from his actual work. He sighed, lighting up another cigar – a luxury habit of his that helped soothe and calm his racing mind. He was certainly putting on the best performance of his life to stay alive and be able to roam 'free' to an extent.

He dreaded to think what Mother was doing to you in the ruined church, exhaling the smoke. He respected how long you managed to survive his game; somehow outsmarting his Lycans. 'What a pity,' he thought. It had been a while since one of Mother's experiments last survived and became something more worthwhile than a Lycan, and he just handed over someone who he deemed intriguing to say the least. He still had your belongings with him; hopeful that you could provide insight on the technology that exists outside of this place. 'Maybe I made a mistake giving her to Mother,' he pondered, hearing your agonising scream for help echo to the outside. He was honestly shocked that you were even still alive.

Wanting to no longer hear your screams; screams that reminded him of his own traumatic operation, he headed towards the village. He hated this place. It wasn't so much that it was a shithole or that he hated the people, it wasn't their fault his mother had shut this place off from the rest of the world, but what he did hate was how they idolised and prayed to her. Not a single day would go by whenever he was in the village, that he'd not hear them give thanks to her. He was sure they went to the tiny church to give prayers to her, every single day. He would even get special attention from them as well, being one of her 'children'. The only advantage he considers from this position is that these people would throw themselves to please him; to satisfy his needs. While at other times, they'd avoid him at all costs when he clearly did not seem interested. He loved how he could strike fear in them just by being there.

Walking down the winding paths, he ended up standing near a statue of a woman with a sword and shield. He often thought of smashing the statue with his hammer whenever he walked by, but Mother had apparently liked it, so he had to reframe from doing it. He continued along the path up to the altar, sighing a breath of relief when the new frequent face was there – Duke.