12. Psycho

"It's your one-year anniversary. Did you know that, inmate?" Fern taunted. Apparently I had an annual appointment to attend, a debrief of sorts, to discuss my progress as a patient.

I hadn't seen Micah since she'd left me at the mercy of the Terror Squad, and I couldn't help feeling I had lost.

Fern led me further into the castle, down passageways I'd never ventured to before.

My hackles raised at the change of location. The corridor looked exactly the same as every other: clean, grey, bland. But it felt different, more clinical—plus a hint of misery, coating the walls. My jaw set as my eyes scanned the surroundings, instincts enhanced, searching for any threats.

Turn back.

Fern opened a random iron door that looked 100 years old and stepped aside for me to enter. I arched a brow and turned 180 degrees, intending to backtrack.

My ego got the better of me. I believed my reputation and status alone would be enough to protect me from future conquest, from letting idiots attempt to touch, or even be in the same vicinity as me.

So far, I'd been accurate. My stay here was fucking depressing, but during this year of incarceration no one had ever dared to challenge me, preferring to leave me to my self-inflicted wallowing and self-pity.

Until now.

I was jerked backwards by my jacket, and without hesitation I twisted, using the momentum to forcibly ram my fist into Fern's nose.

A resounding crack and painful cry rang in my ears, causing a manic grin to spread across my lips. It didn't falter when four guards swarmed into the corridor, rushing to aid their boss.

Even without my suppressed Variant, I was more than equipped to deal with these low-grade security guards.

Ludus Maximus was the criminal syndicate renowned for producing elite fighters and indestructible soldiers. Specialising in MMA, weapons and all aspects of mortal combat. And me? I was the best of them all.

They will kneel and beg for mercy before Psycho, the undefeated champion of the motherfucking Caverns.

My shoulders rolled back, severing the last vestiges of restraint holding my festering rage. "Let's play."

Fern backed away, cradling his nose, blood seeping through his fingers as he cowered in shock. His minions didn't waste time invading my space.

The first crouched low, launching to tackle me to the ground. I used his neck as an anchor, tipping him off-balance, the force pushing him headfirst into the hard stone wall. He toppled to the ground, gravity doing the rest.

The remaining three shuffled closer, warier in their approach. At least they were smarter.

Fern remained an overzealous bystander.

"Pussy," I mouthed.

His impressive scowl carved deeper into his ugly face, but it still wasn't enough to lure him into the fold.

I had to control my position. If they closed the circle at my exposed back, that would be the end for me and my reputation.

Reluctantly, I side-stepped into the padded cell, backing into the furthest corner. A full-length mirror dominated an entire wall, reflecting the scene from all angles.

I'll enjoy this.

I tracked their advance with a predator's precision.

They all followed except for Fern, who locked the iron door behind them, enclosing a supposed clinically insane psycho in a room amid three victims.

The first came tunnelling forward, her motions amateur at best. She was the only female in the group. I panicked. I'd never hit a girl before.

Reacting on instinct alone, I blocked her assault, and when my punch was about to make contact, my fist unfurled. Instead she copped an open-handed palm straight across the face, the slap hard enough to snap her neck to the side. She was dazed, her footwork shotty when she tipped to her knees.

"Sorry," I said, in a tone that wasn't sorry at all. "Gender equality and all that."

Crouching low, I had little time to prepare for the next. His face was red, eyes bulging from their sockets, veins popping from his flesh.

"You have to lay off the steroids, man. They won't help you in this fight."

His reply was a chesty snarl, more animal than human. I was impressed. If it was anyone else, they'd probably be intimidated.

We parried a few shots, his technique better than the last one. In the end, his anger overshadowed his defensive skills.

When he charged forward for an offensive strike, I dodged. Rotating back to build momentum, I launched a kick forward. He raised his arms to defend his head, realising too late that wasn't my aim. My boot ricocheted into his solar plexus, his chest concaving at the sudden impact. He immediately keeled over, gasping for oxygen to fill his deprived lungs.

I cracked my neck from side to side, ready to disable the third and final, when a distinct click and sharp hissing sounded from above. Gusts of white vapour filtered through the vents in each corner of the ceiling, the space filling with thick smoke at an alarming rate. The two guards closest to the oncoming gas began to cough and clutch at their chests.

Fuck this for a joke.

I ripped my jacket off and knotted the sleeves tightly around the lower half of my face as a makeshift filter. Using my last remaining strength, I proceeded to slam against the mirrored wall, hoping it led to an adjoining room, knowing I'd never get through the iron door.

Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out!

My steps staggered, my feet heavy.

It was harder and harder to lift my limbs. My brain was foggy, thoughts delayed and disjointed. All my focus was consumed by the one and only need for escape.

My throat contracted and my legs buckled beneath me as I faltered down to one knee.

The mirrored wall in front abruptly cleared into a window, blue eyes staring back at my crumpled form, filled with sheer hatred.

Fern held his crooked nose as blood continued to pour down his body. He pushed a button on a side panel and spoke into a microphone, his voice rebounding through the room.

"You really are a fucking psycho, aren't you? That's why you're here, so we can cure you."

"YOU'RE A FUCKING PUSSY ASS BITCH!" I screamed, my throat strained from the poison. Raising a finger, I pointed straight at the vile fucker through the display window. "I'm going to fucking kill you," I promised.

He laughed. The idiot actually laughed at me.

My body shook from murderous intent. Or was it from the medication racing through my bloodstream? Either way, I was lost to it.

"You, kill me? After what they have planned, I find that hard to believe." He laid a red-stained hand against the glass, smearing the surface with his decrepit lifeforce. "You think you're special? You think you're important? They're going to drill a hole in the middle of your fucking skull and turn your brain into goo. When we see each other again, I'm going to have to talk to you in single syllables. I will remind you of this little conversation, but I doubt you will even remember," he finished with a triumphant grin.

In one last-ditch effort, I roared with all the energy I had left, my fist launching forward, using his head as the target. My bones screamed at the force—which was entirely worth it when the window splintered on impact. Absolute satisfaction buzzed through my system as the last image I processed was Fern's face, draining of all colour. The protective glass between us shattered to the ground, and I along with it.

Shadows dancedat the edge of my vision, light intermittently filtering through before evading me once again. Distant voices resonated through my hazy mind, trying to differentiate each person and what they were saying.

Scuffed footsteps approached my limp body (that would not respond to any of my demands). "Look at this damage. I told you I wanted this to be clean. There are four unconscious staff members here, Fern. Why was the gas released while they were still in the room?"

"I apologise, sir." I know that voice, that surly bastard's voice (which was thankfully still laced in pain). "It required a lot for us to detain him. We could only subdue him through the gas, which wouldn't have been effective if the rest of my team weren't able to keep him here."

A dramatic huff immediately followed, which could only belong to Manager Burner. "It's too late now. Take him into theatre. Dr Mudlark has everything prepared. We are going ahead as planned."

"Yes, sir." The gutless pussy.

Distantly, I could feel my body being dragged and lifted (not fucking gently, either). Up and down stairwells, pushed and pulled through doorways, the turbulent motion making me dizzy.

One image recurrently dominated my mind: the mysterious siren who charged into my life. During my whole stay in Oakview, she was my one single regret, the aftershocks of her loss cutting deeper than the knife she'd previously held against my throat, more directly stabbing into my chest.

They strapped my limbs and head to a wheeled stretcher in the centre of a clinical operating room, surrounded by hospital trolleys of medications and equipment. A high-pitched sound pierced my ears, the distinct hum of a power drill rotating at speed. Fern's words played on repeat.

They're going to give you a fucking lobotomy. Get up. GET UP!

I thrashed against the restraints, releasing a desperate, almighty roar.

"Calm yourself, child. Stop moving. I don't want to make a mess." Dr Mudlark's words spurred me on, slurred profanities and growls spilling from my mouth as the buzzing grew louder. I could have sworn the fucking drill was right next to my ear, when a door slammed open with a resounding boom.

"DROP YOUR FUCKING HANDS RIGHT THIS SECOND, BEFORE I PULL THIS TRIGGER AND IT'S YOUR brAINS THAT SPLATTER THESE FUCKING WALLS!" A familiar voice thundered through the space, the constant hum subsiding as the machine paused.

"Doctor Chaser? Where'd you get a gu—"

"I said. Drop. Your. Fucking. Hands." Her voice flipped from outward screaming to barely audible, which was even more terrifying. No one could deny she was not playing around. She had come for me.

My golden girl.

Impressively, Dr Mudlark didn't back down, and actually tried to one-up the woman. "I am following the treatment plan, as per his initial evaluation twelve months ago."

"I am his doctor now. How dare you commence an operation of this magnitude without my input or consent? Leave, before I report you to the authorities for your inhumane practices."

"Women," he scoffed under his breath.

"What did you say?" her voice dipped lower in menace.

"Nothing, nothing."

"You will no longer have any contact with my patient. If I hear that you have so much as looked through his file? You. Will. Regret. It. Do you hear me? That means all of you."

They all agreed with under-toned grunts. Three sets of hesitant footsteps shuffled out the door, which was slammed shut and locked behind them.

My chest glowed and if I wasn't physically inept, I'd readily drop to my knees and worship at her altar. I felt the exact moment the tight restraints were pulled and loosened from my body. A gentle hand tracked down the side of my face, the impression delayed but so welcome. Then a sharp sting lanced in its place.

My eyes flickered open and my vision cleared on the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

Micah King.

I almost laughed at the fucking absurdity of it all.

"Did you just giggle?" she gasped in disbelief.

"Did you just slap me?" was my slurred reply.

"Sorry?" she asked with nil remorse written into her features whatsoever.

Oblivion was fast approaching. I could feel the drug sedating my system, distorting my senses, when all I wanted was to stay right there—in that moment with her.

"You stopped them from cleaving into my brain. Maybe you should have let them. I am insane, you know."

"If being a Variant makes you insane, then I'm just as insane as you are. No one deserves this type of barbaric treatment, Psycho."

"August," I muttered.

"August?"

I groggily lifted my hand, a stray finger outlining her plump lips.

"Don't call me Psycho. Call me August."

A trace of a smile lifted beneath my fingertip. "Sleep, August. I'll look over you."

And fuck me, did I believe her.

As blackness invaded my awareness once more, I welcomed the onslaught without any regret or anger.

I had given her my name—and with it, so much more.