Chapter Text
Blink. Blink.
White. Cold. Tired. Tired. Tired.
Number 3-10 didn’t really know anything else. Just the white room. Just the glass box. Just the metal in his skin, keeping him from hurting anybody like he’d hurt Mommy and Alphonse when he was little-little-little. Just the wires in his veins and his hair and his whole body, making sure that the good guys knew that he was alive and okay and that he couldn’t do anything bad ever-ever-ever again. They hurt, making little pinches of pain-pain-pain run through his body, but it had been days-months-years. He was used to it. And he was helping heroes. He was being good, and that was Very Important.
Blink. Blink.
White. Cold. Tired. Tired. Tired.
He couldn’t remember how long he’d been in here, but that was okay. He was supposed to be in the box. The box wasn’t home, but it was where he belonged. Home was green-grass-bright-sun-blue-sky. He wasn’t sure if blue and green and sun even existed, though. Maybe it had all been a dream and Mommy and Al were just his imagination. That would be nice. It would mean he hadn’t hurt-hurt-hurt anybody after all. The white-white-white meant that he was in the box, which meant he was safe. He was good. Right?
Blink. Blink.
White. Cold. Tired. Tired. Tired.
3-10 couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember. He’d been kept in what the science-people called “stasis” for years-years-years, drifting in and out of sleep and dreams and white-white-white. He knew he was in here for a reason, though. He was a Gifted, they said, and he knew that meant power-power-power. Everyone was a Gifted, though. The nice people who took him to the box after his Gift went all scary and blew up the house and all the thoughts of everyone for miles-miles-miles poured into his head, they were Gifted, too. They were superheroes! Nefas. He knew that was that they were called. The seven…somethings. The good guys. Weren’t they?
Blink. Blink.
White. Cold. Tired. Tired. Tired.
He hadn’t meant to hurt Mommy and Al. They all said he was something…different. Something scary. A cataclysm, they called him. He knew what that meant, even if he was only four-six-twelve. He was dangerous. His Gift, his tel-e-kin-e-sis, could do scary-scary things, like shatter entire houses and kill innocent people. His mind-reading let him in on every little secret from every single person from the little town of blue-and-green-and-sun. The cuffs on his hands hurt-hurt-hurt, but it was better than hurting other people, than the world being one loud scary sound that he couldn’t get away from no matter how hard he tried. The little beep-beep-beeps from the wires and machines and the voices of the science-people were the only sounds he’d heard since he’d been put in the box, and that was how it should be. It should be. It should be. Wasn’t it?
Blink. Blink.
White. Cold. Tired. Tired. Tired.
…Black hair. Eyes. Smile.
Unfamiliar. Who?
“Almost to the weapon, Hawk.” New voice. Unfamiliar. Who? New-voice-new-face-new-person was smiling, wearing some sort of gold-and-black-and-gray gear that looked like the same material the heroes wore, but he wasn’t a Nefas. 3-10 had met all of them before. This person wasn’t one of them. Who? “It should be in this room, right?” Weapon. Weapon. 3-10 was a weapon. But he was also good. The heroes said so. He was. He was. He was! “Yes, of course I’m being careful, who do you take me for—some kind of amateur? I’m just surprised this thing isn’t more heavily guarded, given…well, everything we’ve heard about it.” A pause. 3-10 tried to focus-focus-focus on the new thing, pleased when the little flares of pain running through his body from his cuffs faded when he thought about something else. “I mean, if it’s that destructive, I would—”
Black hair. Eyes. Smile…smile fading into confusion. Confusion into shock. Shock into horror. “Hawk—Hawk, did you know about—no, no, I’m fine, it’s here, the weapon’s here, it’s just—Hawkeye, the weapon’s a…a person.” 3-10 felt fear-fear-fear and curiosity start to bubble up in his chest, and distantly wished he could move or cry out, but he was in stasis-stasis-stasis and he couldn’t. All he could do was look tiredly at the new person. Right now, he wished the pain-pain-hurt-hurt cuffs were off so he could seehearthink into the new person’s mind and make sure he wasn’t going to get hurt. “Project Catalyst is a kid. A little kid.”
3-10 would nod sleepily if his body would let him do anything other than float in silence. He was little. He was a kid. And the science-people called him “Project Catalyst” sometimes, too, when they were looking through their tablets and other shiny tech things. Al had liked shiny tech-things like that. So had…so had his friend. He’d had a friend.
His brow scrunched up, lower lip wobbling a teeny-tiny bit. It didn’t do that much, only when he felt…things. He didn’t feel things much. Something about the wires and tubes they put into him to keep him from getting upset or scared or sad-sad-sad. The last time he did it, Mommy and Al had died and their house had gotten all blown up. It was for his own good. But…but sometimes he wished he could, so he could cry. He had…a friend. With blue-blue-blue eyes and a shiny-shiny smile and—
Did he hurt her, too? Was that why the Nefas put him here? He didn’t remember hurting her. Or much of the explosion he’d caused. He just remembered hearing a loud noise and his mommy crying out in pain, and then—all that kin-e-tic en-er-gy blew out of him and the house was gone-gone-gone.
He had to get out of the box—he had to find his friend and say sorry-sorry-sorry—he—he—
Pressure built up in his chest and he felt a whimper leave his throat as the pain-pain-pain increased. He tried his very hardest to drag his eyes down to his arms—to veins that glowed white as his cuffs went tight-tight-tight and painful.
The man standing outside made a loud, worried sound, before saying— “Yeah, Hawkeye, I’ve got the device. I’m going to ah…alter the mission.” He tilted his head up toward 3-10 before sighing softly, setting a hand on the glass. 3-10 stared with wide eyes, some of the pressure decreasing as he stared down the new man. “Hold tight, kid, okay? We’ll have you out of there in a second.”
Blink. Blink.
A click of something pressed against the box. A quiet little buzzing that made his hands hurt-hurt-hurt as white glowed around them.
The walls melted away. 3-10 whimpered as the cold air swept over his body, the cuffs aching even more as he tried to use his powers to keep himself in the air, because he had to stay in stasis-stasis-stasis and be good so the heroes wouldn’t be mad. It didn’t work, the metal around his wrists shocking him with pain-pain-pain and 3-10 flailed in shock as electric jolts shot through his body and made every nerve hurt. His whole body hurt, his body crumpling to the ground—
And then wires yanked out of him, dripping bits of blood and strange liquids everywhere, and his eyes went wide—before a wail escaped. The ground was cold-cold-cold and the whole world was getting louder and scary-scary-scary, and he didn’t like it, he didn’t like it, he didn’t like it! His arms and legs hurt and the thin white something he wore was doing nothing to keep him from shivering because it hurt and it was scary and he wanted the box back he didn’t like this he was dangerous dangerous dangerous and what if he hurt somebody, what if he hurt the man because the word was being so loud, whywhywhy—
A gentle hand patted his leg, taking away a bit of the pain for a moment. Something trembled through 3-10’s whole body, and his wail cut off abruptly as he stared up at the man who’d just melted the box. “It’s okay, kiddo,” he said, and 3-10 blink-blinked again. “I’m like you, see?” He flicked his other hand, the one not making him feel—less scared and loud and scared. Fire pooled in the palm of his hand, and 3-10 sucked in a little breath and stared at it.
Blink. Blink.
Warm.
When was the last time he’d been warm?
“Yeah, there we go.” The man snapped, and the fire formed a little fluttering heart. His eyes went round as he stared at it, scooting closer to the warm-warm-warm. He hadn’t been warm since he’d—since the—
“Shh-shh-shh, it’s okay,” the man soothed, and 3-10 realized distantly that he’d started crying again, his body and brain confused-confused-confused and overwhelmed by frightening sounds and sensations he wasn’t used to. The floor and the air moving and the soft humming of thoughts trying to get past the pain-pain-pain from the cuffs. It was all too big and too much and he didn’t get it, so his brain decided that crying until someone made it go away-away-away was best. He hadn’t cried in years-years-years. It hurt, but it felt—relieving. “It’s okay. We’re gonna get you out of here, alright?”
Out of—
Out of—
Out of—
3-10 shook his head frantically, whimpering louder. If he went out-out-out then he could hurt people. He wasn’t like the nice man. They both had Gifts, but his were too-strong and scary and he didn’t like them, he was a Cat-a-clys-m and he could do awful things, had done awful things. He tried to form words like the nice man was, but he hadn’t tried in years and his mouth didn’t remember how.
The man just made a soft sound, not like the science-people made, all sharp and brittle—it was soft, and nice and warm-warm-warm like the fire in his hand. Instinctively, 3-10 lifted one hand (they were small-small-small next to the nice man’s, he realized distantly, somewhere between interested and confused and scared-scared-scared) and tried to pool his power in his hand again, before dropping it with a pained cry as hurt-hurt-hurt shot through it. Ow-ow-ow!
He didn’t like it—he didn’t like it, they hurt and he wanted them off-off-off and—and it hurt, couldn’t the nice man see that it hurt? Help-help-help, he begged, pawing at the strange material the man was wearing, all the sensations too much and too new on his hands and fingers as streaks of glowing white traveled beneath his skin. Scared-scared-scared!
“I know, kid, I know. Hold still.” The hand holding fire in it wrapped around the cuff, and 3-10 shied away with a whimper of fear, squirming on the cold white floor—before staring in confusing as the cuff…loosened. The man noticed his stare and chuckled softly. “Heat makes metal expand. I’m a cataclysm-level Gifted, so it’s easier to get the heat without a raging fire—” 3-10 flinched in shock (not alone? Not the only one? The good guys, the heroes—lied?) and the man seemed to take it as fear, quickly assuring him, “I’m not gonna hurt you, kiddo, just trying to get the nasty metal out, alright?”
No—he couldn’t have it off, he’d hurt everyone—he needed it off, it hurt him—his mind swirled up and down and around in circles as he started to cry again, shaking his head. No-no-no ow-ow-ow wanna—don’t know—don’t understand—
The metal thinned into a big ring, too big for his hand, a thin needle drawing out of a little puncture in his skin. Drops of red-red-red dribbled out, and he stared in horror and relief as the other wrist followed suit, before whining and knotting his shaking fingers in his hair as voices started filtering into his mind—thoughts. Other people’s thoughts. The science-people, most of them asleep and dreaming, and the guards, knocked out and burned, and a whole city (a whole world) outside, millions-billions-trillions pushing into his mind. It was too much and he was too small to handle his own mind, let alone everyone else’s, and he dug his nails into his scalp with a sob. Shut-up-shut-up-shut-up—
Theory of quantum entanglement—
I’m gonna ask Daddy if I can keep the kitty—
Need to get cauliflower for tonight’s dinner—
Four hours ‘til I can clock out—
Ugh, why do people walk so slowly? It’s not like we’re trying to get to class or anything—
Shut up, shut up, shut UP—
Blind dates suck. Why did I do this again—
He stood me up AGAIN? Not this time, fucker—
The Cabal—
They’re here—
THEY HAVE THE WEAPON—
SECURE IT, NOW—
The door slammed open with a clatter that made him wail in terror, and he heard the nice man swear viciously as though from a great distance. His world blinked between white and dark and white and dark and white and dark, his brain swim-swim-swimming through muck as it tried to figure out what it was doing and who was the threat, he could hear yelling but he wasn’t sure if it was his mind or the voices or the outside and the world was too loud-loud-loud and he couldn’t—
Breathe—
Anymore—
3-10’s veins lit up white-and-gold as he threw his head back and screamed, power erupting out of him—
Before the world went dark.