As The World Turns Cold

Confined Secrets

Mischief shined behind his black eyes and the wrinkles around them only added to his demonic appearance. They were all the same. Not one of these men dressed in black had an ounce of humanity left in their bones. This, Mercy knew for a fact.

She'd seen their mangled bodies after the beast had been unleashed upon them and with every body that washed up on the shore; the black-clad men still didn't know what had dismembered them.

How Mercy knew they'd been dragged ashore and slaughtered, she didn't understand. She'd never stepped foot outside of this confined area.

Mercy believed it was her imagination playing tricks on her. It would be believable, after all that she had been through, but something clicked inside her mind every time she thought about the gnarled and stringy bodies.

A fearful part of her believed it was herself, but Mercy had no collective memory of ever killing anyone, much less did she want to.

The syringe cut into the scarred skin at her wrist. Sometimes it broke. When it did, Dr. Snyde would leave only to come back with a much larger, stronger one. Today's syringe needle was twice the size of the last one.

Every syringe left a constant reminder on her skin and a nagging feeling of hate in the back of her throat. One could almost say it tasted like charcoal. Mercy's insides flipped as she held the stabbing pain and hidden gems of scales inside rather than let them show. Not today. She chanted in the crevice of her mind. He must not know.

Her arms tensed, and her fingers gripped the edge of the iron chair she was strapped to. Dr. Snyde drew out his notebook and again he would leave with blank pages.

She would not show her powers brought on by the liquid and her own fragile human DNA. Mercy wouldn't let them have the satisfaction. He didn't deserve it. None of these men did.

Dr. Snyde's lips turned down in a scowl and his shaky hands clenched at his sides. He unleashed a growl so venomous, even the two-hundred-pound guards outside would have cowered beneath him.

Mercy was not these guards. She was full of surprises, but her biggest surprise was not reacting. He threw the notebook against the wall before lunging for her.

Mercy could hear each crack of his scrawny bones as his fist connected with her jaw. Her head whipped around at the contact. She may bruise from that hit, but it did far more damage to him. His hand shook. The fingers were bent at odd angles, as if the contact of her strong jaw forced the bones to shatter. He reeled back from the blow inflicted on his hand, crying out in horror at the excruciating pain of it.

Fire raged within Mercy's eyes and she shut them quickly. She mustn't let them know. Conceal who you are. They will know soon enough, but you must be stronger. You must be ready. Her conscience was always there, reminding her, drawing her back into the depths of reality.

She could feel the blood dripping down from the curve of her lips. The iron taste was bitter and didn't help to calm her jittery nerves. She was on the verge of losing control.

If she lost it, there would be nowhere to go, nothing that could be done to stop her or what they would do. Dr. Snyde grabbed the collar of her shirt and she strained against the gauntlets and chains holding her in place.

Mercy could feel the sharp metal cutting into her wrists and rubbing bone. How many days had the raw skin burned? How long had her second skin failed to protect her?

Her lips drew back in a snarl. So far for concealing emotion. She had officially jumped off the bridge of sanity. Now, she was about to plunge headfirst into the ravine of monstrosity.