Deception | NaNoWriMo2023

Chapter Three: We Won't Live Forever

Water drags at my thighs, my knees, my ankles, resisting each step I take. Despite the underwater treadmill being on the second lowest speed and being currently set on the lowest level, my chest heaves as if I had been running for an hour straight instead of thirty minutes.

Gasping for breath, I fumble for the controls, my hand shaking with exertion. The treadmill stops and the last bubbles from the jets stream to the surface. I stumble to the submerged stairs and plop down on one with a splash, leaning my head on the step flush with the floor of the gym, eyes shut tightly.

This is silly. I am shaking, my heart beating so fast it almost hurts, my energy sapped so thoroughly that my body is left as an empty, heavy shell, and I am not even halfway through my daily lap quota. It's not even that many! My legs don't ache at all, and if it weren't for the ever-present drag of exhaustion, I could finish it all in one go.

But here I am, gasping so hard it's difficult to gulp down a few mouthfuls of water. Shoot the Parasite and all its energy-sucking tradeoffs for having powers. I want my body back. I want my energy back. I want me back. I grit my teeth and haul myself out of the water, gravity dragging at my limbs and forcing me to consider how comfortable the floor looks right now.

I hang my head, gripping the edge of the small pool. Five minutes. Take a five minute break and then finish the laps. You can do this. Come on, Elias, you can do this. Straightening, I reach for my towel, dry my face, pick out an energy-giving snack, and tear off a piece with my teeth. It's tough and sweet, and even with no hunger pangs seasoning its taste, I can almost feel the Parasite sending an extra flood of saliva.

It wants my energy to survive, my nutrients to grow, my body as a safe home, and it gets it. There's nothing I can do about it. No surgery, no matter how delicately or expertly led by nanobots and the best surgeons, could detangle the Parasite from my brain stem and spine. No poisons or antibodies or anything imaginable will kill it without killing me. It wants to live as much as I do. But to live and thrive, one of us must eventually die.

I hate it. I hate it so much it screams in my cells, it turns the PowDown patch's constant cool into an acidic burn, it makes my hands want to rip at my skin and tear out the Parasite with bloody fingers. I hate so much that it burns so hot and strong it eats through all the fuel and there's nothing left in me to do anything about it.

My body is slowly falling to the Parasite's curse. I am dying and it hurts. Hurts because there's nothing I can do. Hurts because there must be something, somehow, that can stop it. Hurts because the doctors say I have roughly four and a bit years left. Hurts because I might die without getting my life turned around and doing something more than recovering from being a villain.

It's not fair. It's a childish reason but it isn't fair and—

"Breathe, Elias. In four seconds, out four seconds."

With a shudder, I inhale, hold, and exhale like Dr. Egret taught me until the spiraling cyclone of panic swirls itself out of existence. When it's gone, I brush back the hair sticking to my forehead and sigh. Megabytes and terabytes combined, I have to stop doom spiraling during exercise.

Taking a moment to orient myself, I sweep my gaze over the large, open gym and its occupants. Today, only the Storm Cell team (who's visiting today) and I are using the underwater treadmills, with the rest of the people using the Hero-grade specialized gym equipment on the far side of the room.

David is in the pool to my left, earbuds in and face scrunched in deep concentration as he nearly sprints against the strong current. Edison was in the pool to my right, but he must've left for the bathroom or something while I wasn't looking as his pool is empty and still.