Danger Kid

Chapter 1

I feel it as it scrabbles through my brain. It's almost as if there is, a small whispering man crawling through the recesses of my mind.

We've named this sensation "The Call."

Every deviant experiences The Call. It's something which doesn't afflict the minds of normal humans, at least not to the extreme extent to which it assails the mutated consciousness of a deviant.

To be fair, despite the personification, The Call isn't actually a living entity. Probably. It is how we describe the instincts, subliminal drive, and chemical reactions characteristic to us deviants. It's actually potentially useful, seeking only to protect its host. When our ears are assaulted by loud sounds, or are eyes by bright lights, The Call dulls these senses so as to protect us. Sometimes it even dulls pain.

The Call does more than that though. Half of survival is mentality. The call conditions our emotions. It whispers to every deviant, making him or her need to seek dominance. To see another deviant become more powerful you, whether in strength or position, is literally painful. The Call will trigger our nerves if necessary, making them burn, causing us to envy and hate. It gives us little choice but to claw for the top.

The Call could be considered a separate identity, individual from the deviant mind, as if there was another consciousness existing within us. A skeptical normal human would say The Call is just a deviant's method of justifying his or her aggressive behavior. A normal human doesn't know, though. They haven't felt The Call consistently pressing against the inside of their skull, as if trying to get out. Sometimes when it gets crazy, you have to grab your head because you think maybe that will help it stay intact.

The Call is ever present, and can never be completely vanquished. With the right help though, it can be caged. Right now, within me, The Call is prowling about, angry and restless, barely contained.

No more idle thoughts. I must focus.

My setting is in direct contrast to my mind. A soft instrumental music creates a peaceful ambiance. My eyes are closed, but I am well aware of the cube of a room that surrounds me. Its walls are illuminated with a white light that is even softer than the music. The room is large, stretching away from me for several yards in every direction. Despite its size, the room also seems confining, probably since I realize I am hundreds of feet below the earth's surface. On a far wall is the only exit, a steel elevator that leads up and up until it reaches the surface.

I sit on a soft couch. Opposite me sits a man, one of the world's top therapists. He is gaunt, his face characterized by a grey goatee and near expressionless eyes. This man has trained for years to treat deviants. Among the other small staff of psychologists, he is one of Gauntlet's highest paid employees.

His pay is trivial if you contrast it against how dangerous these therapy sessions are for him. Though they help me control my emotions, they also run the risk of pushing them over the edge, since emotions have to be kindled into activity and identified before my psychologist can extinguish the bad ones. To tame a lion you first have to find and capture it.

I realize suddenly that I don't even know his name. My curiosity opens towards him. What kind of suicidal lunatic would choose to counsel people like me for a living?

I decide to listen to him again. His voice is steady and brave.

"Consider those who impede you, Adam, those who stop you from being the best, the alpha. It frustrates you, right? You hate them," he muses to me.

"Not really," I reply. Yes, actually, it is true, duh. I just went on about this. But I hate to be characterized by my impulses. Gauntlet wants to tame me so that I don't explode, so that I am a better tool for the government. For me though, it's more. These sessions are the key to me being who I want to be. They are what tames The Call. I choose who I am. I am independent from the rest of my closed little world of mutants. Perhaps I am something more than just a body...