Boundless

Chapter 2: The Weight of Redemption

The dim light of the prison cell flickered, casting long shadows across the cold, damp floor. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and despair, the walls covered in the etchings of countless inmates who had lost their battles with time. Clay Blue sat on the edge of his cot, his back hunched, his hands resting on his knees.

His once bright eyes were now dull, clouded with the memories of the horrors he had both witnessed and committed. It had been nearly two years since Kurtz, Pressure’s daughter, had broken Malicious’s control over him. Two years since he’d been labeled a criminal, imprisoned for crimes he had no choice but to commit.

He stared at the small, barred window near the ceiling of his cell, the only connection he had to the outside world. The world that had turned its back on him, that had judged him without understanding the nightmare he had lived through. They had no idea what it was like to be stripped of your will, to have your body and mind twisted into something unrecognizable.

A loud clang echoed through the cell block as the heavy iron door at the far end was opened. Footsteps, measured and purposeful, approached his cell. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Clay,” Kurtz’s voice was firm, but there was an undertone of desperation that she couldn’t quite hide.

Clay didn’t move. “What do you want?” His voice was hollow, as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

Kurtz stood in front of his cell, her silhouette framed by the flickering lights. She was taller than he remembered, more confident, but there was a weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She looked at him through the bars, her expression a mix of frustration and something else—perhaps regret.

“I need your help,” she said simply, getting straight to the point.

Clay snorted, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You need my help? That’s rich. Where were you when I needed help? When I was being tortured, brainwashed, turned into a monster?”

Kurtz winced at his words but didn’t look away. “I know you’re angry, Clay. And you have every right to be. But this is bigger than you or me. The world is in danger.”

Clay finally looked at her, his gaze cold and unyielding. “The world? The same world that threw me in here, that labeled me a criminal without even trying to understand what really happened?”

She took a deep breath. “Most of the Garrison has been defeated, Clay. They’re in the hospital, and we’re barely holding on. Malicious is still out there, and without help, we won’t be able to stop her.”

Clay’s eyes darkened at the mention of Malicious. The name alone brought back a flood of memories—pain, anger, helplessness. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. “And you think I’m just going to jump at the chance to save the world? After everything?”

Kurtz stepped closer to the bars, her voice softening. “I’m offering you a pardon, Clay. A chance to clear your name, to start over. We need you.”

Clay stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He approached the bars, standing just a few feet from Kurtz, his expression unreadable. “A pardon,” he repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think that’s enough? You think that erases everything that’s happened? I was under mind control, Kurtz! I had no control over what I did, and yet I was still thrown in here like some common criminal.”

Kurtz met his gaze, her eyes pleading. “I know, Clay. I know it wasn’t your fault. But the world needs to see that you’re not the monster they think you are. You can prove them wrong.”

“Prove them wrong?” Clay let out a harsh laugh. “Why should I have to prove anything? I’m the victim here, not the villain. Your so-called heroes couldn’t even save me. So tell me, why should I bother saving them now?”

Kurtz’s expression hardened. “Because you’re better than this, Clay. You’ve always wanted to be a hero, to make a difference. This is your chance.”

Clay’s eyes flared with anger. “I wanted to be a hero, but that dream died the day Malicious took me. The day I realized that heroes are just as flawed, just as powerless as the rest of us. You want me to fight? To save the world? Maybe the world deserves what’s coming to it.”

Kurtz took a step back, shocked by the venom in his voice. She had expected resistance, but not this level of bitterness. “Clay, please—”

“No,” Clay interrupted, his voice cold and final. “I’m done fighting for a world that doesn’t care about me. Go find someone else to be your savior.”

For a moment, there was only silence between them, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Kurtz’s shoulders slumped, and she looked at him with a mix of sadness and resignation. “I thought you might say that.”

Clay turned away, retreating back to his cot. “Then you should have saved yourself the trip.”

Kurtz lingered for a moment longer, as if hoping he might change his mind. But when it became clear that he wouldn’t, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

As the heavy door closed behind her, Clay sat down on the edge of his cot, staring at the floor. His heart was pounding, his emotions in turmoil. He knew he had made the right choice—for once, he was taking control of his own destiny. But there was a small part of him, deep down, that felt the sting of regret. The part of him that still remembered what it was like to dream of being a hero.

He shoved those thoughts aside, burying them deep within himself. The world had made its choice, and so had he. If the heroes couldn’t save themselves, it wasn’t his problem.

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Kurtz stepped out of the prison into the harsh light of day, the weight of failure heavy on her shoulders. She had hoped—prayed—that Clay would have agreed to help, that he would see the bigger picture. But she hadn’t counted on how deep his wounds ran, how much anger and resentment he still harbored.

As she climbed into her vehicle, she glanced back at the imposing structure of the prison, its cold walls standing as a testament to the world’s failures. She had others to recruit, others who had been imprisoned alongside Clay. They might not be as powerful as him, but they were still needed. And if Clay wouldn’t fight, then she would find those who would.

But as she drove away, a nagging doubt crept into her mind. Without Clay, without his immense power, could they really stand a chance against Malicious? Or was the world already doomed to fall into darkness?

Clay lay back on his cot, staring up at the cracked ceiling. He tried to force his mind to go blank, to not think about what had just happened. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a terrible mistake.

The world outside was falling apart, and he had the power to do something about it. But at what cost? Could he really trust the heroes, the very people who had failed him before? Or was he better off staying out of it, letting the world burn for its sins?

He clenched his fists, frustration boiling within him. All his life, he had wanted to be a hero. But now, he wasn’t sure what that even meant anymore.

As he drifted off to sleep, his mind was plagued by visions of the past—of the boy he once was, and the man he could have been. And somewhere, deep within him, a tiny spark of hope flickered, refusing to be extinguished.