The Coward

The pain coursed through every nerve of his body, annihilating all coherent thought. A grown man would have cried out.

The boy barely flinched.

He was used to much worse than that.

From behind the glass, his mother looked on. He was tied securely to a table, with a myriad of shiny objects, often sharp, pointed at him, and dozens of electrodes plastered on his body. Absently, he wondered what data his mother hoped to gather from this test. For that matter, what data she wished from any of these tests.

The pain came again, stronger.

He smiled, although without any mirth. In a very real sense, he lived for the pain. He had been created for it, so that the Coward could continue his sheltered life in the back of his head.

Again, stronger.

It was too bad he couldn’t control his powers. That was the purpose of the pain: to bring them to the surface. The strongest person in the universe, and he couldn’t do a thing. If he could, his mother would be a pile of ash.

Again, stronger.

This time it sent him into contortions. Or attempted contortions, anyway. He never managed four without doing more than flinching. He absently wondered how many shocks there would be this time. They had never gone beyond ten, at least.

Again, stronger.

He didn’t even have time to recover coherent thought before the next one hit. He was never sure if it was because they shortened the interval or strengthened the shock, or if they did both. His entire world was the pain.

Again, stronger.

He didn’t bother to struggle, because it did no good. He just let the pain wash away his mind. He let it consume him.

Again, stronger.

It was about now that they began to file in. He wasn’t sure, of course. He couldn’t see anything other than a field of red. But they weren’t there before the fifth shock, and they were there after the shocks had stopped.

Again, stronger.

He could feel it welling up inside him. He didn’t need to think, because it came from a primal level below true thought. His Power pushed at the surface, trying to break through. But it couldn’t, because he didn’t have a target yet. It burned on the inside as much as did the pain on the outside.

Again, stronger.

The Power burned hotter than the shocks. It needed a release, or it would destroy him to get it. But before it could escape, it needed a target.

Again, stronger.

The Power seared him horribly, but he couldn’t release it. Even as he regained his thoughts, the Power only increased its pressure. It was involuntary now; he had no more control over it now than he did before the treatment began. As the red haze cleared, he saw vague figures standing in front of him. He knew that the table on which he was held had been tilted vertically. But that didn’t matter. What mattered were the figures in front of him. Test subjects, no doubt. Victims as much as he. They were cowards, backing against the wall, afraid of him. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that they were things.

And therefore they were targets.

The Power lashed out, finding its release. In a flash of brilliant yellow it turned each figure into a sooty spot on the wall before they could blink. And then it was gone.

He was exhausted, too tired to move even if he wasn’t tied down. The Coward lurking in the back of his mind came forward then, as he always did. Too tired to fight, he felt himself losing control. And he wouldn’t be in control again until the next session. The Coward was the only one he hated more than his mother. His mother was the only one he hated more than his father.

But he would show them.

One day, he vowed, I will be free. I will imprison the Coward in the furthest corner of my mind. I will kill both of you, my dear parents. And then I will find the strongest people in the world. I will fight them, and I will win! I will show you that I am not a Coward!