Your Mind // 001 // ST4 SPOILERS

018 - Name

ACT 2.

MATURE (winky face) CONTENT AHEAD

Psycho killer, Qu'estce que c'est?

Hawkins National Laboratory, 1980 (2 years ago)

Peter's wrists were bleeding. His head was pounding. The dimly lit room provided no sense of comfort, not even from the orderlies lining the walls. Dr. Martin Brenner hovered over him, circling the chair he'd been confined to with chains. The Soteria burned inside his neck, and he resisted the urge to scratch it. He remained calm and collected, as if nothing has phased him yet.

"And here I thought you were getting better," Brenner sighed, clacking his shoes against the tiled floor. "You were improving, and yet you somehow managed to break another rule. Aren't you tired of this, yet, Peter?"

He remained silent, still, keeping his eyes on the floor, at the polished leather shoes that constantly stepped on his power and dignity. Brenner sighed, seeing it as no use.

"I'll ask you once again, son. What. Were you doing. Out in the halls. Past curfew." Peter finally rose his head, a cold, dead stare boring into the doctor.

"I told you. I was hungry."

A boot to the stomach. Peter groaned, his placid facade breaking. The doctor knelt down to his level.

"And you really think I am to believe that? That you would be willing to break our word just to quench some hunger? You and I know that you'd starve yourself if it meant you didn't have to see me again, and yet here you are. Now, tell me what you were really doing."

Silence. The air grew frigid, and the orderlies stiffened.

"Shall I answer for you, then? You were going to go see my daughter, weren't you?"

Peter merely clenched his fists under the cuffs, hoping he'd pass out— anything to avoid Brenner.

"So I was right. Look, Ballard, I'll say this once and only once: I don't mind you screwing around with nurses or whatnot— do whatever you like as long as it doesn't interfere with the project, got it? Give up on Josephine."

"I find it funny that you still see her as your daughter, considering the fact that you're locking her up in an entire building with no social interactions whatsoever, not to mention you altered her memories just so you could—"

Before another another word could slip out from his mouth, electricity pounded through his body like venom. As his vision started to fade in and out, his glare shot towards the orderlies handling him.

Although the electricity hurt like hell, there was one benefit of the shock. It loosened the grip the Soteria had on his powers, meaning that for a brief moment, they returned with the smallest amount. He could read the people around him, dissect them with his mind.

They were weak, that he knew. Without the baton in their hands, without the all-powerful greying-haired man behind them, they were nothing.

They were mere, disgusting humans dressed in white, the color of purity and the color of insanity, all at once. Sheep in wolves' clothing.

As his body comvulsed, and black cornered his sight, his eyes never left the torturers. His cold glare, just like the tasers, left a burn on the men. A deep scorch that could never be healed. Energy seemed to pile up in one atom, one singular moment, until it burst.

The tasers flew out of the men's hands and struck the walls, and their wrists were blown and twisted out of proportion, leaving them screaming on their knees, just like he'd intended.