Behind His Smile ~ A Hermitcraft SuperHero AU

Doc

He wasn't always like this. He wasn't always insane. He wasn't always broken. They didn't understand. They didn't understand his goals, his ambitions. They didn't realize his genius. They were fools for leaving. Too scared of what they could accomplish. Of what they could achieve.

Funding for his research was gone. His team of faithful scientists left. Now it was just him, all alone. But he was stubborn. He wouldn't let his years of work go to waste, no, he couldn't. This was his life's work! Even without money or a team, he had to continue. To keep working. He hadn't left his apartment in weeks. He didn't have the money to pay bills or rent. All his money was going towards his work.

Papers were scattered across his desk, bottles and chemicals covering his workspace. His hands were in his hair, pulling at the tangled mess as he stared down at the most recent eviction notice. His wallet was empty, he had spent the last bit of cash he had to buy more chemicals. He was supposed to be out by the end of the week. There was no way to afford any other apartment, he had moved to the cheapest place he could after the funding for his research was pulled. He already sold all his belongings too, leaving him nothing.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was a genius. He was destined for so much greater than this. And yet, everything was gone. This wasn't fair. His work was sufficient, beyond that! It was perfect. He just needed a bit more time to perfect it, to finalize his work. But he didn't have time. His time was almost up.

He stared at a beaker filled with liquid chemicals, his eyes glassy and lifeless. It was close enough. It had to be close enough. He couldn't afford treatment, even if he wanted to. This was the only shot he had. The only chance he had to live, and to prove his genius.

If this didn't kill him, then the cancer slowly spreading through his body surely would. But if this works, well then, he would go down in history. He would be the man to cure cancer. He would be a hero. He would be a god.

Grabbing the beaker, he tugged open one of the drawers of his desk. He dug through the junk, before pulling out a syringe. He dipped the tip of the needle into the liquid, sucking as much as he could into the barrel. The live tests never killed the rodent subjects, so it wouldn't kill him, right?

Truthfully, it didn't matter. Death was just around the corner, stalking him while drawing closer by the day. He rolled up the sleeve of his lab coat, eyes scanning along the veins on his arm for a suitable injection point. After a deep breath or two, he slowly pressed the needle against his skin. It was a soft pinch, barely any pain. He pushed down on the piston of the syringe, letting the liquid flood his bloodstream.

His breathing wavered, the needle slipping from his grasp. His insides were burning, a horrible pain spreading through his body like no other he had felt before. He placed his hands onto the desk, gasping for air while choking on the blood in his throat. Everything was shaking, like he was on a mix of steroids and cocaine, as the agonizing pain continued to spread through his body.

The door to his apartment opened up, a fat man with a smoking cigarette hanging from his lips. "Look, I know the notice said we needed you out by the end of the week, but we got a couple interested in your apartment and—" the landlord took notice of the needle on the floor, blowing out a huff of smoke.

"Yeesh." He scoffed, "Clean up your damn needles, you heroin addict. I know a couple druggies live here, but I ain't covering for ya' when the cops come knocking."

His breathing was ragged, heavy. He glanced over his shoulder, a rabid look in his gaze, like some kind of beast. The landlord took a step back. "You deaf or sumthin'? I told ya, you gotta go!"

He pulled away from the support of the desk, stumbling forward as if he were some kind of zombie. Then, in a moment, he lunged forward.

The next morning, the cops were swarming in the apartment. The door had been left open, revealing the landlord's dead body on the ground. The tenant who lived in the apartment was long gone, no sign of him. The only thing he left behind was an empty syringe and a few beakers that were shattered.