Song of the Chapter: Fury - Feint (DnB)

I'm almost scared to publish now ...

(Braken's POV)

Waking up is a slow and painful process. I get my hearing back first, and everything around me is quiet. Distantly, I can hear machine parts cranking and moving, but they're far away. Smell comes after that, bringing something metallic and salty. Blood. I'm smelling blood. It's all over me. I'm covered in it. I almost panic, but then I relax a little. At this point, I don't even care. Sight is next, and I blink over and over before I realize I'm in a dark room without any light. With a slight moan, I lean forward a little and regain my feeling as my wings tug against me. I realize I'm slumped against the wall, my hands cuffed in front of me. My wings tug again, more painfully this time, but I can't twist around to see. I try to flex them and the pain makes me cry out. What's going on? What did they do to me?

The sudden despair seems to drown me. I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them as best I can, letting myself sob. I don't care who hears me. I don't care that I'm soaking my ripped jeans with my tears. I want my mother. I want Leo and Alex and Noisestorm. I want this nightmare to be over. I'm broken. I'll give Jensen anything he wants. I know it's too late.

Every time I shake, a shock of pain stabs through my wings, and it suddenly dawns on me. I remember seeing birds like this in the museums as a kid, their dead bodies on display and their wings pinned to the mount. Jensen's pinned me in place, like one of those displays, and then cuffed my hands together so I can't free myself. My eyes fill with tears again the longer I think about it.

"What do you want from me?" I wail to the empty darkness. My voice drops to a whisper as I repeat my hopeless question. "What do you want from me?"

"What do you want, Braken?" A voice echoes through the room, making it seem bigger. Jensen's asking his manipulative questions again.

I figure I have less than nothing to lose, and I'm going to die soon, anyway. "I just want to go home," I say, my voice wavering. I'm going to cry again. I'm not a kid anymore. Why do I keep doing this?

"You want to go home?" Jensen laughs, his ominous voice rolling through the room like thunder. He doesn't answer right away, still caught up in his laughter. "Listen, boy. You never had a home, and you never will. You're alone."

"That's not true," I insist, my voice cracking. He's playing with me, messing with my emotions. I have Leo and Alex and Noisestorm and all the other artists. My home is with them. My home is with them.

Jensen laughs again. "Whatever you want to think. Let's bring it back to your question, shall we?"

The lights suddenly snap on and I wince at the sudden brightness. Now I can see that I'm in another open room, almost completely white. There's rafters on the ceiling, like a warehouse. There's a little box thing across from me, shielded by bullet proof glass, and that's where Jensen is standing. He has Noisestorm, too, and my friend looks terrible. He has numerous gashes across his face, some still bleeding, and he's still wearing my ragged hoodie, but his eyes are full of fury. He's not ready to give up yet. Everything else about him is submissive, thanks mostly to the pistol Jensen has pressed against his shoulder, the one that hasn't already been shot, but his eyes - they're almost scaring me.

"What do I want with you?" Jensen says, too casually. "If it had been a few weeks ago, you would have been dead long ago. I need you here for many things, very few of which I think you'd understand - one of which is for the cooperation of your friend here."

At first, I think he's talking about Noisestorm, but then a door opens and the person I've learned to hate steps out.

"13-0465," Jensen orders. "Take your place and prepare to fire."

The one I used to call Phantom comes forward, stopping about ten or fifteen feet away. Phantom is a friend. Nick is a traitor and an enemy. I feel that burning rage in my chest again, filling my whole body. I clench my cuffed fists and my wings tense up, bringing stabs of pain.

"Ready and waiting," Nick says, his voice devoid of emotion.

"I will kill you," I hiss, and I'm starting to realize that I mean it.

"Oh, how could I have forgotten?" Jensen chuckles. "I made you an emotional killing machine. You proved that when you killed one of my soldiers and wounded many others. But now, your time has run out. Nicholas, you may fire when ready."

I know I should be afraid, but I'm only furious. My wings twitch, itching to be in the air, begging me to let them tear him apart, shred him to ribbons. Nick raises his gun, aims, but then hesitates a split second too long.

With an inhuman screech, I rip free of the pins, ignoring the sharp pain, and throw myself at him. A look of pure terror washes over Nick's pale face and he leaps backward and shoots, missing me in his panic. I beat my wings and take to the air, up to the rafters and hidden in the darkness. Nick searches for me, frantically spinning around. He's afraid of me. I don't blame him. Before this moment, I was afraid of myself, too.

While his back is turned, I swoop down, flicking my wings to turn them into those deadly blades. As it turns out, I can't fly with them like that, so I have to flick them again before I reach him and flap wildly to avoid his next shot. I'm a little unbalanced without my hands free, but banging the handcuffs on the rafters doesn't help, I find out. It only gives Nick a target to shoot at.

I dive back down behind him, and he spins around in terror. He has just enough time to scream my name before my blade feathers slash across his chest. I kick him to push myself backward and land unbalanced on my feet. Nick staggers back, dropping his gun and pressing both hands against his chest. His blood drips off of my wings and onto the floor, joining the initial splatter. The red is bright scarlet against the white floor and dark crimson against his hands. He's bleeding heavily, far too much to survive, I think. He has a look of disbelief and horror on his pale face.

I let my wings spread around me and step forward. He backs up quickly, collapsing against the wall, trying to support his own weight. His gasps of pain are music to my ears. "You didn't believe me," I say. Nick's eyes are wide in terror. "You thought I couldn't do it." I grin at him, feeling as insane as I must look. "You were wrong, Nick. I am going to kill you."

"I thought I could save you," he whispers, his voice panicked and barely audible. He backs up, swaying on his feet. "Thought I could get you out. I was wrong." He coughs weakly, grimacing. "You've let him win."

"What are you talking about?" I demand.

"You're a monster," he breathes. "You're becoming exactly what he wants."

My heart sinks and I feel myself returning back to that despair, knowing that deep down, he's right. This isn't me. Not really.

I have to get out of here.

I try to pull my rage back up and charge forward. Nick's eyes widen in terror and he tries to scream, but no sound comes out. I shove him over, out of the way, and run right up to Jensen's window. "Give me my friend back!" I yell, my voice cracking.

"Stand down or I'll kill him," Jensen says without missing a beat. His finger rests on the trigger and the pistol pushes a little harder in Noisestorm's shoulder.

I see Noise tense up, but he doesn't resist. Instead, he looks up at me and meets my gaze. His eyes are terrified. He's afraid of me, too. I'm not who he thought I was. I hesitate again, my rage burning up completely, like a fire running out of fuel.

Suddenly, I hear a click and the sound of a gun dropping to the floor. I spin around and Nick raises his gun again. He's collapsed on his stomach, a pool of blood slowly spreading across the floor, but he's propped himself up on his elbows and his bloody fingers grip the rifle tightly. "You are insane," he hisses, pulling the trigger.

The gun goes off, but he misses and the bullet hits the glass protecting Jensen. I jump away, a little too late, my casted leg unbalancing me. I fall over onto my back and scramble back up, my eyes darting between Nick and Jensen. Jensen's thoughtful expression has changed to disappointment as he watches Nick, the fallen soldier barely breathing.

My former friend meets my eyes, his expression full of agony and hopelessness. "I wanted to help you," he whispers.

I realize something right then. He's right. He wasn't going to kill me, even though Jensen ordered him to. He was going to do something to help me, but instead, I gave him no choice. I showed him that I'm a murderous experiment who doesn't deserve to live. He tried so hard to stay my friend, and I killed him.

I can't move. I can't breathe. What have I done? "Phantom ... " I breathe, barely able to hear myself. "Oh, no ... Phantom ... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean ... "

Vaguely, I'm aware of Jensen's voice calling for reinforcements. I hear him telling the soldiers that I've proved myself worthy to continue to the next step of the experiment, instead of killing me. I don't pay attention to that. There's only one thing on my mind, one thing I'm focused on - the blood spreading across the floor, dripping off of my hands and wings, my bleeding friend. Phantom is right. I've killed him. I've killed him.

I think I am dangerous now.

"Congratulations, Braken," Jensen says, pulling me away from my thoughts. "You've managed to surprise me multiple times, something very few people have been able to do. Instead of continuing your death sentence, like I originally had planned, we're going to continue on. You're going to live."

"And Noisestorm?" I ask, my voice quiet, but cold.

"I've been thinking about his role in my plan. I do not need him, but as long as you want him, I'll keep him alive." Jensen chuckles. "Although, I'm sure that won't be very long."

Four soldiers enter the room, two of them hesitating as they see me. I flick my blade wings to make them soft again and let them rest against my back. I don't want to hurt anyone else, even people as terrible as these.

"What about Ph ... Nick?" I ask.

"I will see what I can do, but by now, I believe it's up to fate." Jensen opens the door to his little protected room and strolls out, one of the soldiers taking his place by Noisestorm. Jensen crouches down next to Phantom, not even bothering to avoid the crimson puddle. I can't hear what he's saying to him, but Phantom just nods weakly. Jensen's expression hardens and he stands up. "Alright. Take this one to the medical wing. Get him stitched up and then you're both dismissed. You there, take the silent one back to his cell. If he causes any trouble, shoot him in the leg and come and get me. You, come with me to take our little birdie back to the lab."

The soldier ordered to take me flinches, but comes to us without any other hesitating. She's tense, but ready to obey orders.

Jensen gives the word and everyone eventually files out of the room. I'm shoved away before I see what happens to Phantom, but I'm pretty sure he passes out. Jensen leads me down the halls again, back into the lab I've only seen once before - the last thing I remember before waking up with my wings.

"Do you want to see yourself?" Jensen asks.

I don't answer. I want to refuse, but I stay silent. I don't want to see myself as a murderer.

Jensen grabs my shoulders and turns me around so that I have no choice but to look in the mirror on the wall. As soon as I see my reflection, my eyes fill with tears again. Nothing about me is the same. The most obvious change, other than my silky black wings themselves, are those of my hair and eyes. My hair, which was once a thick, untamable mop of brown, is now jet black, like my wings, and soft and feathery, though still long. My eyes, my beautiful deep blue eyes changed to a dark, stunning grey, giving me the shivers. I notice the smaller things, too, like how I've never been this pale in my life, and that I'm thin and a little hollow looking because I haven't eaten a proper meal in weeks, months. The scars on my wrist are brighter pink, and the one on my face is still pale white, all of them standing out much more than they used to.

"Who am I?" I whisper, the tears leaving red streaks down my face.

"You're F2-06, that's who," Jensen says, shoving me toward the bed table with the restraints.

That's it. That's all I am. Some experiment with a number for a name. Not even human. I let them lay me down, unlock my handcuffs, and snap the restraints around my arms and legs. I stare numbly at the ceiling while they study and wash the blood off of my wings. I close my eyes, letting the silent tears slip down my face as they stick the needle in my arm to pump me full of those drugs. I don't fight as my world fades again, my body feeling like I'm floating, my mind as heavy as a mountain. If that's all they think I am, that's all I'll be.

I always was a pleaser.