Present Interlude #3



One guy-- roughly his age, curly red hair, freckles all down his back-- always fought back when the orderlies came. Adam didn't know where the guy got his strength. He'd lost count of how many times they'd strap him into the table and lower that horrific version of a cow milker over his groin. Or pulled plugs of flesh from his legs and ass. Or drew blood. The guy kept struggling and the orderlies kept drugging him up or smacking his kneecaps.

Adam preferred to lie back and think of England. British accents were so hot.

He counted time through sleeps instead of days. Not that it was very efficient but he had a general idea of how long he'd been gone: at least two weeks.

A new type of torture started up just a couple sleeps ago. He was thrown in a cell with another person. Most of the time, they were very obviously mutants. This one girl made him trip out; the ceiling felt like the floor which felt like running water which felt like it was spinning. Five sessions of that and Adam knew he'd never try junk stronger than cigarettes.

This round, a human tornado threw things at him. His aim sucked but those projectiles that hit-- damn! Adam missed the chick with the LSD-powers.

Obviously, he was the punching bag for a twisted version of Xavier's. Just his luck. Adam had envied his brothers' powers when he was younger; shooting gravblasts or making things explode came straight out of video games. This was the grossly unfair level of the game where the lead character practiced his moves on helpless schmucks.

If there was one thing Chris Summers taught his boys, it was how to fight back. Adam leapt to one corner of the room, leading instinctively with one shoulder. When the human tornado slowed, confused, Adam jumped him. His elbow cracked satisfyingly with the tornado's nose and the tornado stopped spinning entirely, staggering back and holding his bloody nose.

"You want to fuck with me again?" asked Adam. "Practice your aim. And for fuck's sake, throw something a little less stupid than pingpong balls."

Two sleeps later, tornado boy came back with a switchblade in each hand.

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