The Cost Of Power

Habit is Learned Through Demonstration

TW: Depictions of b100d, mVrd3r, usage of sh0<k c01lar$ on humans and other abV$iv3 behavior (i.e. yelling, isolation and forced conflict.)

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   "FREEZE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND DEACTIVATE YOUR POWER," The officer emphasized his bold warning, gripping his taser with a little more force with each hesitant step towards the criminal. "PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SE 'EM AND LAY ON THE GROUND. COOPERATE AND NO ONE GETS HURT." 

"My my, Johnny boy, let's not be so hasty~" The man turned to face the nervous police officer, walking over with defined and almost elegant steps. He loosely grabbed his black tie, gloved fingers gracefully tightening the shocked-still cop. "If you're going to threaten someone at least look half formal, it looks better on the news." The black dots of the cracked, worn mask held  no emotion, simply staring into his soul; the amused grin of the scarred man in front of him only added to the fear.

"Y-you are un-under arre-arrest. Do n-not resist... plea-please...?" The officer quivered, why out of ALL of the officers did they send him? They said it would be easy! They said this would be quick! Now he's dealing with a possibly insane six foot three maniac holding him by the neck! Oh john, you should've been a baker like dad said and now look at you: quivering and stuttering on your first case alone with no way to call for back up.

"Am I now~? Well then, get to work," He took a step hack, leaning on the brick wall of the ally. Almost like he was waiting for something to happen or someone to show up. When he appeared to not receive what he was looking for from the stunned cop he stood up tall, stepping closer, pinning the smaller man between his arms, looking down at him, mocking him. "I don't see any cuffs Johnny~ Could it be that- no...- don't tell me you were bluffing! Aw... just when I thought things would finally start getting interesting. Oh well...!" 

He grabbed the cop's head slamming it into the wall with a wet bangs following every clash of his ever bloodier skull cracking on the bricks, the crimson body crumpled to the ground, a heavy thud following its decent to the dirty city ally floor, he unused gun clattering to the ground. He took out a cloth from his pocket, almost delicately, like he'd just eaten a meal and needed to dab the grease and crumbs from his lips, and he wiped all but two of his bloody finger tips, digging under his nails with an almost annoying, dull sting. He wiped his gloves and removed them, cracking the disgraced gun in half with a heavy stomp from his iron toed boots. With the still bloody fingers he drew a smile on the pavement next to the body with a little message: "You're never fully dressed without a smile :)" 

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How did we get here? Well I suppose we have to start somewhere, yes? How about 10 years ago? That was when most of this started for our dear murderer, generally speaking anyways.

10 Years ago, Age: 11

"Hi doc." Dream sat up, his white clothes shifting along the uncomfortable material of his mattress. (If you've ever been to summer camp or girl scout camp then you know what bed I'm talking about. Shit ACTUALLY feels like a tarp.)

"Evening to you as well, C11." The man in the black lab coat handed him three pieces of paper from his clip board. 

"What's this?" Dream examined the papers, they had a long running checklist of names and descriptions of the people and their powers that he could only assume where the people on the list.

"It's your list, for each person you defeat in training you will check off their name. I have generously given you a brief description of each of their powers, you can thank me later," The doctor tapped the first name: Davidson, George. A hydrokinetic user from sector four of the London ward. "This, ahem, 'project' will be used to train you for as many powers and intensities as possible, your goal is to use as many strategies and techniques as you can, you should use a new one per person."

"Is this international and intertier?? He's from London and only tier four!"

"It is, as I said, made for you to train against as many sets as possible."

"But he's tier four! What if I kill him?!" Dream was not frantically waving the list about, he didn't want to hurt an innocent kid!

"He's just barely rank four, he'd be tier five if it weren't for his disfunction."

"Oh no, don't tell me he's disabled! I can't fight a disabled kid that'd be cruel!"

"He's not, technically; he's colorblind."

"Oh, well I guess it's ok then..."

"You make this sound like you thought you had a choice in the matter."

"Don't I? It's my power set and my body and time. I should dictate what happens to it and how it's used, right?"

"No. Don't be ridiculous, you are a weapon and that is all you will ever be. I and a team of guards with arrive in an hour to escort you to your flight to London, be ready before you departure, pack only what you need as we will only stay for, at max, three days."

"WHAT?! JUST A WEAPON? FLIGHT TO LONDON?? WHAT ARE YOU SAY- AAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!" The boy crumpled to the cold ground, his legs giving out in the most painful way. His arms buckled and quivered when he attempted to steady himself. His dirty blonde hair matted to his face with sweat. His body jerked from the shock, his short cut nails pathetically clawing at the unaffected collar, a please to make it stop. He felt bloody start to drip from his neck, the feeling of running liquid openly welcomed by his burning, aching body. 

"You will do as told, or did you forget who has the power here," The doctor flipped the remote to the collar in his hand, the very thing the could stop all this pain it was causing the boy on the ground, and he was treating it like it was an unassuming doll you see everyday! He bent down, roughly holding the crying boy's face, forcing unwanted eye contact. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

"Ye -yes..."

Slap!

He struck dream's face, tears running down his face like waterfalls, falling like rain in a storm. He cried, no proper words really forming, he didn't like this, he hated this- this "man" before him. Tch, but what could he do, he's only a boy. A boy in a cruel and unjust world where there's no room to pray to any god or for love or the softer emotions, where being cold and willing to spill blood on a dime was the only way to survive. 

"Yes WHAT?!"

Y-yes sir..."

Slap!

"I didn't quite get that. Maybe if you stopped MUTTERING AND S-S-S-STUTTERING WE WOULD GET SOMEWHERE." Dream cried more, his clear tears mixing with crimson blood drops on the floor below him.

"Yes sir..!" 

Slap!

"AND WOULD YOU STOP FUCKING CRYING?! GROW UP ALREADY!" He let him go, the boy hitting the ground with a wet thump. He hiccupped, futile attempts to obey the command given to him, praying to anything that would listen to make the pain stop. The man in the lab coat stomped on dreams exposed arm, causing him to cry out louder as he cradled the red limb, earning a kick to the stomach when he tried to sit up. 

The doctor left the room, sliding out the doorway with the grace of a snake slithering back to its hole. The hurt boy laid there sobbing, holding himself. The initial pain subsided  soon after the man had left, about eight minutes after if you're wondering. He slinked back to his bed, exhausted. He dreamt of freedom, life outside the ward and pleasure far from the pain. When he eventually awoke to board the plane and evil thought crept into his mind, it took root in the deepest cracks and crevasses of his near-broken mind, it's venomous drips licked at his thoughts, corrupting them all and twisting his desires and fantasy's to dreams of not just escaping but of revenge and violence.

-Moss, she/they/he/any 🐸🍄