My walk home after gaming with my friends well into the night is one of my favorite parts of it all. The world is silent, and I finally get a moment to think to myself. And just like the weekly chance to walk home with my thoughts, it was tradition for Amelia to offer to drive me home and for me to refuse.

  “Are you sure?” Amelia asks, hanging halfway outside her car.

  “If I wanted to drive, I would have brought my car. I’ll be safe, promise,” I say, shoving my best friend back into her car.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Amelia sighs before settling back into her car. “You’re good though?”

  “Just tired after socializing for several hours,” I say, assuring her.

  “Aw, we love you too.”

  “Pretty sure that was in the subtext, next to 'Amelia, my undying light of a best friend, thanks for dragging me out to socialize even if I need to decompress alone afterwards.'”

  I roll my eyes before waving goodbye. “I do love you, dolt and all.”

  Amelia cackles as she drives away, and I let out a breath of relief.

  She’s infinitely easier to deal with than the rest of my friends, and hanging out with her is almost always end neutral if not end positive energy wise. But I wasn’t lying about being exhausted.

  Now alone with my thoughts, I begin ?the thirty-minute walk back to my apartment, the brisk autumn air keeping me cool as I move.

  As I move down Lincoln, a jogger with her dog is running towards me on the same side of the road, and I move to the other side, giving them a wave and space in the hopes that neither of us feel uncomfortable.

  An electrician van passing by me makes me pause. There were late workers, but few if any would be up now.

  A trio of armed men step out of the van to accost the ?dog walker.

  Her scream is piercing through the night, and I’m already running.

  As one of the armed men turns to face me, my shoulder collides with his torso as I tackle him to the ground.

  “Run!” I yell to the jogger.

  Not needing any more reasons, she bolts, her dog practically dragging her along to safety.

  Now with her out of imminent danger, I shove off of the man I tackled, rising to my feet shakily before beginning to run away as the other two look between us stunned.

  I get all of ten feet before tendrils of red energy lift me into the air.

  “Not who we were aiming for, but a specimen is a specimen, and boy do I hope you turn super so I can kick your ass,” the man I tackled says walking up to me as I spin to face him.

  “What?”

  He doesn’t answer me, throwing me into the back of the van where I land unceremoniously on top of two others.

  With a rumble, the car goes again, and we make more stops, picking up new people on the way.

  By the time there are nine of us, personal space is at an all-time premium, and at least I have none of it.

  I am not being hit anywhere uncomfortable, and I’m doing the best I can to make it, so I’m not hurting anyone.

  It’s going to be okay. There are people out there who can save us. I tell myself in my head, thinking of the news stories of superheroes.

  Surely there’s somebody out there who’s going to come and rescue all of us?

  Right?

  Those thoughts don’t work. There are no superheroes in our city. There was barely any superhuman crime here. The city didn’t warrant a superhero presence, or so I thought.

  It’s been about ten or so minutes since we picked up captive number nine. And I don’t think that they are going to be picking anyone else up. All of us seemed to come in pretty quick succession.

  But what I wouldn’t give for a light to see by.

  The back of their car is pitch black. If there are windows, they’ve gotten so many layers of paint over them that I can’t make anything out of them.

  Only reason I can count the people in the back is because, eventually, my eyes adjusted enough to see a little of what’s going on.

  I can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen to us. I mean, we’ve been kidnapped off the street by at least one super?

  What are a bunch of normal people supposed to do in the face of a telekinetic? And that’s just one member of them. What if the others have powers? I definitely don’t have any hidden kung fu talents that would let me bust out of here.

  I just want to go home. The thought echoes through my head over and over again as if a mantra that if enough faith is put into it, I’ll be teleported home in a flash of silver light.

  I don’t have the faith to give it. All I have is a fervent wish and fear.

  The car slams to a stop, jostling all of us, and the whimpers of pain make themselves known even through the gags.

  The doors slam open, light piercing through the opening, blinding me instantly.

  Even blinded, I feel the sensation of hands grabbing me and pulling me somewhere along with the sounds of muffled conversation.

  Something about how the last batch was mostly failures?

  Batch?

  For what?

  Blinking quickly, hoping that I can clear my vision, I look around to see if I can tell anything about this situation.

  A dank hallway with shitty lightbulbs placed every fifty or so feet?

  The smell is rancid.

  It smells like a giant fucking outhouse, which doesn’t bode well for us, I imagine.

  The thought of death passes through my mind right as a group leaving this place passes by.

  Armored folks, just like the people who captured me, but they aren’t carrying living people as they leave this place.

  I hesitate to call what they’re carrying people if we’re going to be entirely honest.

  If they were human, they’re twisted and warped. Some of them seem to have limbs composed out of metal or extra body parts growing out of them.

  I try to scream through the gag, begging to be let free so that I am not stuck here being turned into one of those things.

  “Quiet!” The glowing man barks, and red energy spins into existence, striking me across the face.

  I let out a whimper of pain and try to curl up as much as I can while being floated through the air.

  A moment later, we are brought in front of a metal door that opens with a hiss.

  Inside is the most depraved-looking hospital imaginable. Hospital or torture chamber.

  Just barely under the sounds of the powerful vents pushing air in and out of this place, I can make out the sobs of pain.

  What is this place?

  “Alchemist! We brought another batch!” The telekinetic man shouts into the room while with another gesture I am sent flying towards a room that seems to have tons of people in it.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Put them with the others. I hope you actually brought a few with the super gene this time,” a robotic voice crackles over a hidden speaker.

  Whatever the conversation is, it’s lost to me. As soon as the nine of us are in this holding room, the door slams shut, and we are left to our own devices.

  This room blows ass.

  At least it smells like one.

  The people here seem defeated. I can’t blame them, but there’s this hollow look in their eyes, as if they’ve already accepted their death.

  I don’t want to die. I think to myself, my mantra changing. Though I guess going home would most likely involve me not dying. At least if we’re not going to get super spiritual about all of it.

  Whatever is going to happen to me doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen tonight, though. Nobody comes in for what seems like hours, and I can feel myself beginning to drift off.

  Even in a place like this, I can hit the point of exhaustion, and with the adrenaline no longer in my system, I don’t have the ability to stay awake.

  At least not for long.

  The feeling of something inside my skin jolts me awake as I try to jerk away from whatever is in me.

  “I’m glad you’re awake, subject forty-three,” someone says, holding my arm in a vise as they stare at a phone.

  Though I’ve never seen a phone that has an extendable syringe that’s drinking my blood.

  I cough in pain, trying to get the gag out of my mouth, to no avail.

  “Alchemist, this one has a dormant super gene marking them as subject forty-three,” the stabber says, pulling out what looks to be a modified piercing gun and putting it up to my ear.

  Before I can even put together what is happening, my ear is pierced and I’m tagged like livestock.

  Another set of hands grabs me from behind and begins dragging me out of the room.

  I would be lying if a part of me isn’t a little pleased to not be in that room anymore, but I don’t think me being subject forty-three is a particularly good sign?

  The horror chamber has changed a little since I was last in here. There seem to be new patients at the tables. Along with a pile of sludge? Held inside of a glass container?

  Please don’t put me in that goop?

  “Note Subject seventeen has finally mutated. Subject appears to have become a sentient slime that corrodes through most things. Could it be that they combined with the acid we put them in and turned their biological matter into living acid?” the robotic voice says, and this time I’m close enough to figure out who—or maybe more accurately what—is saying that.

  A seven-foot creature that seems to be a hybrid of a mechanical squid and a human cyborg. Though why something like that seems to record his notes on a normal cell phone? You’ve got me, chief.

  “Put Subject Seventeen with the other successes so we may begin figuring out how to control them and change their name from Subject Seventeen to Agent Maw,” the cyboctopus says before turning to look at me.

  It has a singular white lens that almost blinds me with the light it’s emitting.

  I try to buck my captors' arms to free myself. To do anything.

  It doesn’t work.

  “Subject forty-three, have you ever wanted to be a super?” It asks me, its voice transitioning to a more conversational tone.

  Super?

  Sure, everybody has thought about what their life would be like if they were a super, but why is he asking me something like…

  Oh.

  Wait!

  Fuck!

  He thinks I have the potential for super powers, doesn’t he? And he’s going to torture me just like that pile of sludge till I either develop powers or die!

  I can feel myself beginning to almost cry hysterically at the idea.

  Yeah, if there were super powers in a bottle, I would almost certainly take a shot to get powers. Torture? No, thank you!

  And super powers are supposed to be cool abilities that help you out! Not turn you into a pile of living sludge!

  I don’t want to be a monster; I don’t!

  “Right, you can’t respond with that gag,” Cyboctopus says, ripping the gag out of my mouth. “Now, do you want to be super?”

  “Let me go home. Please?” I sob.

  “I was hoping for another person to join my mission. The crusade against our oppressors. Well, even if you aren’t a volunteer, you are going to further my research,” he shrugs before putting the gag back in my mouth.

  “Where do you want to place him, boss?” The person holding me from behind asks.

  “Obviously, he goes into the prep room for those with the super gene. However, presuming he doesn’t immediately begin to develop abilities,” the cyboctopus trails off, seeming to consider the question. “I still wish to see the circumstances needed to make a geokinetic, so put him in room seven-b,”

  Geokinesis?

  He wants me to move earth with my mind?

  That’s actually kind of cool. I wouldn't mind an ability like that, I don’t think?

  I mean, everyone has seen TV shows with earth manipulators. It's one of the classics.

  I’m carried into another room, this one full of beds with thick leather straps on all of them.

  In the room at the moment are two other people. I think they were captured with me? They seem vaguely familiar.

  It looks like they also have the super gene or whatever it is since they’re strapped down onto the bed, wires attached to them and some neon red liquid flowing into them through some kind of IV.

  “Three in one batch? Kurt, that's a lot. You didn’t need to get that many successes at once,” a feminine voice says, bringing my attention to a green-skinned woman who makes me feel sick to my stomach upon meeting her eyes.

  “We got nine, which was as many as could fit. Not my fault. Some of them were excellent prospects,” the person holding me, Kurt I guess, says as I’m floated through the air and strapped down into the bed.

  Kurt is the telekinetic.

  I can remember that.

  I stare at him, partly to avoid the nausea gaze from the goblin and partly to see if I can discern anything about him to remember.

  If I escape, I can tell people about the supers here.

  And maybe they’ll call one of the actual heroes from the capital to come and stop all of this.

  I just need to escape first.

  I have no idea how to do that.

  Is my best hope really waiting until I get super powers and then hoping that I can use those to escape? What type of plan is that?

  I’ll have just gotten powers, I'll be a level one character. Everyone here that’s trying to stop me is going to be level two in the best case scenerio for me and there’s a lot of them.

  Escaping with my power is only going to be possible if I can teleport. Or I’m some sort of badass, able to conquer cities from the start.

  Please let me go. I plead with the telekinetic and nausea goblin to no avail after all; it doesn’t seem like either of them are telepathic.

  “Any chance that any of these will turn super instantly?” Kurt asks, leaning against a bed as the goblin lady grabs several wires to most likely stick on me in whatever ways she pleases.

  “There’s always a chance. However, for every thousand dormant super genes, there’s usually just one that has an inactive one. And of that group, for every hundred inactives, there’s usually one who has it fully dominant from birth,” the goblin shrugs.

  “You want me in the room in case one of them goes super?”

  “No, my ability is more than enough to keep them restrained. Unless one loses their eyes or gains the senses to not need them, I can keep them down,” the goblin says.

  “Alright, guess that means I gotta go play with Maw,” Kurt shrugs, walking out of the room, leaving me with just the goblin and the other two I came in with.

  “You know you’re one of the lucky ones. Unless we royally screw up, you’re going to live. Unlike those without the gene. Then we try out some fun experiments,” the goblin says as wires are stuck to me. “Too bad even once this place becomes fully my lab, I can’t change that. Getting actual supers is more valuable than trying out new things,” she says, clicking her tongue as a machine next to me beeps.

  I guess it’s keeping track of all of my vital signs?

  “Alright, so this part is going to hurt a lot,” she says, pulling out a wickedly long needle.

  It also seems thicker than most needles.

  Why, it has multiple barbed spikes poking out of its sides like it’s some kind of thorny branch and inspires nothing except fear.

  “It’ll hurt more once it’s inside. And even more once it’s moved to connect to all the right places. And even more when the serum pumps into you. After all, we need to rewrite is some of your genetics to get better access to your latent potential,” she explains before stabbing me in my left arm.

  I shriek in pain, trying to thrash away. However, the restraints are far more than I can ever hope to deal with. I'm going to be stuck here as their plaything no matter what I try to do.

  I hate getting shots in my dominant arm. Whenever I get to choose, it’s in my right arm.

  No idea why, but that thought is soul-crushing. The whole situation is soul-crushing. But between having my ear pierced to be tagged like an animal and not having any say in any of this, I feel… inhuman. I’m just a toy for these people to play with.

  As soon as I adjust to the pain, it spikes up.

  This isn’t just some needle sitting inside my arm; it's twisting and burrowing around. I can’t help but imagine as if it’s some kind of thorny spiral, each of those barbs piercing another part of my arm so that when they do start the injection, it flows into more of me.

  “Keep screaming, that's my favorite part. When I’m in charge, I think I’ll stop the gags after all. What's the fun if I can’t hear you?” She muses, attaching a tube to the needle in my arm and turning a valve.

  As if in slow motion, I can see the neon liquid slide down the tube, closer to the consistency of honey over some other liquid.

  It’s definitely thicker than blood.

  Even with my brain seemingly processing things in slow motion, I definitely didn’t develop super speed.

  Or if I did, I did not get the strength to break through the straps and run away.

  I watch as the liquid gets closer and closer to me before it slowly begins filling the needle, and then it feels like liquid lightning is filling my body.

  I can feel my body tensing as I try to scream in pain.

  Getting your body rewritten by toxic goop isn’t my idea of a good time.

  “Subject forty-three seems to be awake through the first part of the process,” Goblin says as she shines a light in my eyes.

  The beeping of the machine next to me grows louder and louder.

  She opens her mouth to say something, but a roar breaks through the room, and I can barely make it out from my peripherals.

  The person a few beds over from me has seemed to turn into some sort of mini kaiju looking thing and has torn through all the straps.

  “Subject forty-two, please sit down,” the goblin says, looking at the kaiju and, almost immediately, the monster collapses to the floor and slowly shrinks back into a normal human.

  Some kind of ocular power?

  “Alchemist subject forty-two has transformed. Send Kurt and another mover to transfer them to the loading bay so we can set them up with the controller.” The goblin says before coming back.

  She places a hand against my forehead.

  “Now you’re not going to be bad. Are you subject forty-three?” She says sickeningly sweet.