Containment Protocol: Me

I didn't ask for this power. It started small-heat curling in my palms on cold mornings, a breeze shifting when I whispered. Then the changes grew violent. Storms followed me. The ground cracked under my feet when I lost my temper. I thought I was becoming something extraordinary, maybe even chosen. I was wrong.

They came for me at night. No sirens, no shouting-just the quiet efficiency of people who have done this before. Black suits, blank faces, weapons that hummed with a sound I could feel in my bones. They didn't call me by my name. They called me an 'anomaly.'

Now I'm in a cell that smells of metal and antiseptic, walls too thick for sound to escape. There are no windows, only a single steel door and cameras that never blink. They've given me a number instead of a name, and they speak to me through intercoms like I'm something dangerous they can't risk touching.

They say they're here to 'secure' me, to 'contain' me, to 'protect' the world from what I can do. But I can feel the storm inside me growing stronger every day, pressing against the edges of my control. I don't know if I'm the one who should be afraid... or if they should be afraid of me. Because sooner or later, something is going to break-and it won't be the walls.

They say if I cooperate in their..... experiments.... Things could be better in this metal box of a cell. But who can I trust? Every day, I hear sirens, alarms, and sounds from beasts that can't even begin to take form in my wildest imagination.

They say the correct things..... but is the CORRECT thing the RIGHT thing?