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Fractured	By : NekoMalik Category: DC Verse Comics > The Flash Views: 956 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Flash, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Fractured
- 1
“Did the procedure go as planned?” A voice, familiar but distant, fading in and out as though through a dream.
“Just as we expected, sir, it appears to have worked.” Was this a dream? The second voice seemed clearer than the first, closer. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint where they were coming from, though, and this voice sounded unfamiliar.
“Excellent. Have you tested it yet?” The first voice again, commanding, clearly the person in charge of wherever they were.
“No, sir, the subject is still unconscious. The drugs will take a while to flush out of his system.” The second man sounded nervous, like he was afraid of the first, and he knew the man had reason to be.
“Wake him. I want the freak tested.” Freak? Were they talking about him? So many questions, and his head was refusing to give him any answers. It should have been frustrating but the strange fog around his brain was stopping him from feeling anything at all.
“Administering increased levels of the countering agent, sir.” A woman, this time. Younger than the other two from the sounds of her voice, clear as a bell through the haze. A pinprick, small, almost unnoticeable and the odd floating sensation began to dissipate.
“Excellent work, Martha. Leave the room once you’re done, all of you.” It hurt, god it hurt. The sounds of their voices drilled holes in his eardrums, his body screamed in agony and shards of white-hot light began to invade his vision.
“But sir!” He wanted it to stop, wanted them to shut up, for the pleasant dream-like haze to return, to envelop him in its comforting mists once again. He heard a whimper, close by, was that...was that him? His voice? Another one, and his vocal chords ached, adding to the pain. It was him, after all.
“Do as I say.” That familiar voice, snarling, almost a shout. It hurt, but at least it drowned out the noises he was making, hiding the humiliating sounds from those present. The sound of feet shuffling against a highly-polished floor, and the room was silent, save for the noises he couldn’t contain and the heavy breathing of the familiar voice.
“Pathetic.” The voice came again, followed by a harsh pain across his cheek where he’d been back-handed. “To think I’d ever see the likes of you like this. Look at yourself, crying like a weak little child.” Strong, calloused fingers gripped his face, yanking it forwards and up. Another hand tried to pull open his eyelids, forcing more of the knife-like white light underneath his eyelids, making him cry out in agony.
“Does it hurt? Why don’t you lash out? Hurt me back?” The voice had moved backwards, had released his face from its vice-like grip. It still hurt, though. Everything hurt. And the voice didn’t stop, the man refused to stop, taunting him, hurting him. He tried to lash out, with everything he had he tried. He wanted this man to go away, to leave him alone to the darkness where it didn’t hurt so much, but try as he may he could do nothing.
An unexpected movement, and his body was pitching forward, landing on the hard, sterile floor that smelt of hospitals and medicine. He whimpered, his limbs unresponsive, and simply lay there unable to even curl himself up into a protective ball. The voice snorted at him, and he felt a sharp pain in his ribs, before loud footsteps attacked his ears, moving away from him until they were gone and only silence remained.
“Once he’s able to speak, send for me. Until then, no one goes in and he doesn’t come out, understood?” The voice was quieter now, outside the room, the sound of a door bolting and then...nothing. No sound at all, and somehow that was worse, knowing he was alone, in pain, in some strange god-forsaken place with no idea how he got here or even why. He could barely recall his own name, trying to slip back into oblivion and failing, the new drug in his system holding him in wretched wakefulness.
Hours passed like days, small ripples of strength returning to his unused muscles; just how long had he been confined for? What had they done to him? His mind kept spinning in circles, nothing making sense, memories fractured, broken, missing. Finally, after an eternity of agony, his struggles paid off and he managed to sit upright, eyes still closed against the light that burned so brightly against his retinas.
Footsteps, a commotion outside the room, then someone returning, the noise throbbing against his brain like a jackhammer. “Ready to talk yet, freak?” That voice, the one he can’t quite place, invades his mind cruelly.
“Yes.” He croaks without even thinking, his voice sounding oddly strained and quiet.
“Know where you are?” There was a hint of a sneer hidden in the question, and he knew he was being looked down on, degraded.
“No.” He answers anyway, simply wanting the pain to stop and not really knowing how.
“Know why you’re here?” Why won’t the voice stop? The questions hurt his ears, hurt his head. He knows he hates this man, this familiar stranger, for more reasons than he can put his finger on, and the constant torturous agony only served to heighten that hatred.
“No.” It’s easier not to fight, he decided, easier to show obedience and hope that it all ends soon.
“Know who you are?” He paused at this one, confused as to why such an obvious and easy question made him think so hard. He recalls a name he thinks is his, but nothing else to associate it with, no real memories of anyone calling to him. Friends...family...did he have any?
“Yes.” He finally decides; the name seemed too familiar not to be his, so...why was the doubt still there?
“Try to hurt me.” The voice commanded, and he opens his eyes then, just barely, enough to see a familiar face. Warden, he thinks, from...somewhere familiar, he can’t quite recall. Not a face he likes, he knew that much. He doesn’t like this man. He makes to stand, fails, falling back down onto weakened arms.
“I can’t.” He finally croaked, defeated. He wondered if that’s why he’s there, but then that wouldn’t make much sense, why would they want him to hurt them? Head pounding from too many drugs and too much confusion, he wondered briefly if death would be better than suffering through all of that, but something told him it’s not, that he can’t afford to think like that. He didn’t understand that, either, and that just made the headache worse.
“He’s ‘cured’, the freak can’t hurt anyone any more. Throw him out with the trash.” The man moved away, familiarity gone as unknown hands lifted his limp body to drag him through countless corridors until cold air hit his bare skin and he’s tumbling, down, no one to support his weight any more. A grating noise sounded behind him as the door closed, gravel cutting at his skin as he gulped in the cool night air. He’s cold, naked and alone, but he’s away from those men, and that in itself is a blessing. They can’t hurt him out here, he reasoned. Or, rather, they won’t.
Crawling with as much strength as a small child, he managed to move away from the strange hidden door, concealed in the bricks behind him. It’s dark outside, and in the alleyway there are no street lamps, nothing to hurt his sensitive eyes. He can see again, and it’s glorious, surrounded by dumpsters, rats and several smells he doesn’t want to think about, but he’s free, and the pain is less out there.
He crawls to the end of the alleyway, he knows he can’t stay there, that it’s not safe. He doesn’t know where he can go, or to who, or how, but he has to do something. He’ll die, otherwise. Footsteps, light and with the added clack clack clack of heels. He was within sight but did not move, did not make a sound. She sees him, though, he could tell by her shocked gasp.
“Oh my god, are you al-“ The woman, this new stranger, reached out to turn him, to see what he looked like. He assumed she was checking for wounds, but draws back with a gasp as he finds himself lying on his back. “Y-you’re...” She’s gone then, racing off in the opposite direction, the sounds of her heels carrying back to him long after she’s gone. He wondered what it was that spooked the woman; he couldn’t really see all that well yet, and hadn’t thought to check his own body. It didn’t seem to matter much, though, as within minutes an odd buzzing hum sounded, followed by two more voices, both male, both very familiar...too familiar, yet he couldn’t put names or faces to them.
“Oh god...” One man, the one who didn’t seem to have footsteps, who moved with that odd humming sound, had crouched over him, close enough that he could make out the man’s face. It was odd, covered in red fabric so he couldn’t make out who this new person was. The second man wasn’t too far behind, footsteps light with a slight airy quality to them, as though the man weighed nothing at all. Or maybe that was his imagination, he wasn’t too sure. The drugs keeping him awake were wearing off, and he was struggling to make sense of anything anymore, or even keep his eyes open.
“We need to get him somewhere safe.” The second man finally spoke, close enough that he could hear him. His voice was soft, slightly feminine, but with a rough edge to it. He knew this man, yes, but who was he?
“The hospital?” No, not the hospital, he knew he couldn’t go there. The first man hadn’t sounded malicious, though, so maybe he didn’t know. But why couldn’t he go to the hospital? None of this was making any sense.
“No, too dangerous. We need to work out what happened first, take him to my place.” Red hair, green glasses and a shy smile...a memory? Yes, that was what the second man looked like, with a pretty heart-shaped face and a cute slightly up-turned nose. He was...safe.
“I...know you...” He managed to gasp out, voice quieter than it had been before. He needed water, and food, but his body wasn’t responding properly yet so he knew both of those were out of the question, and he needed sleep more.
“Yes, yes you do.” The redheaded man reached down to stroke his face, so gentle, so very gentle. He sighed into the touch and allowed himself a small smile, hoping the man wouldn’t leave him. “It’s alright, Mark. Everything’s going to be alright.” Mark? Yes, that was right. Strong arms around his limp frame and a sudden rush of air, then a softness beneath him and he finally let himself sleep.
- 1
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Fractured