Chapter Two

Out of the Box

Uploaded on 3/13/07

The fourth floor looked innocuous enough. At any given day, it seemed a calm, peaceful place to work. The lights were well-maintained, with covers that kept the glare down from the clean white walls and floors like any institution. Doors lined the walls, well-marked with colored flags that could be pushed out at the top to alert the attention of specific doctors. A lounge rested halfway down the hall to the left; a large room painted pale colors with couches that were clean and soft to the touch. The only indication that anything may be amiss was the number of psychiatrist offices (enough that there were always some around), the bulletproof glass on the windows around the lounge, and the signs above all entrances to the floor warning extra caution and danger in general.

In reality, the fourth floor was a ward reserved for stubborn captives and the most violent of criminals. Each inmate received very individualized attention, but the doctors were not there for therapy. Instead, they existed to understand what made each inmate tick. They figured out what to do to make a captive rebel talk and what to do to get an out-of-control criminal back in-control. Sometimes, through any means possible.

One would never know what screams may lie in the rooms along the hallways spaced in a neat grid across the fourth floor. Sound-proof cells, bullet-proof glass, and, in some cases, padded walls all combined to make it seem as though nothing amiss was happening anywhere nearby. The psychiatrists and staff all seemed clean, professional, and busy, and inmates were rarely seen outside their individual holes.

At the moment, however, Fourth was anything but peaceful.

Several guards were huddled inside room 4-D and two were lingering outside it. The cell had a bulletproof two-way mirror in place of a wall so anyone was able to observe what went on inside without the inmate's knowledge.

"They're letting him out again?" Officer Luke Gerant stared into the cell with an expression that was a mix of disgust and horror. His baby face made him look younger than his years and because of this, he was rarely taken seriously by his peers. "Captain Stevens died putting him in there and now we're letting that crazy fuck out again?" His voice rose a bit and he looked over at the man standing next to him. "Why?"

"I know you're new kid but you need to learn that asking questions in this agency is a good way to find yourself in your own little cell," the other guard muttered softly as they watched the guards wearing riot gear inside. "Even though we ain't agents, that still goes for us."

Gerant glared at him. "Don't call me kid, Travis. I'm not new anymore. My first day on the job was when we escorted this nutcase up here a year and a half ago; he fucking ripped my commanding officer's throat out with his teeth and the cowards I was with were too afraid to intervene. I still remember how his screams sounded as we walked away." He shuddered and watched as the guards inside the cell surrounded the 6' by 5' box where the monster was drugged and chained. "He should not be allowed out of that cell."

"You're preaching to the choir, kid. None of us guards like it but it ain't up to us. Nothing ain't up to us. We're just here to secure the base, turn a blind eye to the weird shit we see up here and not ask too many questions." Travis crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "My opinion?" He lowered his voice significantly. "It's fucking insane that they even let this crazy bastard work for the agency."

Gerant nodded vigorously. "Exactly."

"You know his story right?"

"Just rumors."

"He's the son of some bad ass agent that used to work for the agency. The agent died, probably in the bombings or maybe before, I'm not sure, but then this crazy ass took over his assignments. He was maybe 14 or 15 at the time but no one knew for a long time and I guess he was good at his fuckin' job, who knows what that is, so they kept him on." Travis nodded to himself and grimaced as the box was opened. "He was always fuckin' up though. Killing the wrong people, or just going off and killing everyone. I mean honestly, I don't give a shit about that if that's what he's assigned to do but it's the other shit that bothers me..."

The guards pulled a tall, lanky man out of the box and dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor. He was very thin, probably from lack of a solid diet, but his body still maintained a sinewy appearance. He was surprisingly attractive; at least, he would have been if he had a healthier appearance. His face had almost delicate qualities and he was disturbingly beautiful; long, dark eyelashes framed pale, green eyes which contrasted strikingly with his olive complexion. Despite his reputation and the fact that Gerant had almost expected him to burst out of the box growling and snarling like an animal, the man had a naked, vulnerable look on his face and he was shuddering uncontrollably. His eyes were wide and he looked like a scared animal, despite the fact that the guards surrounding him seemed just as frightened of him.

"What's his problem?" Gerant seemed annoyed that the notorious monster who had haunted his dreams for over a year looked like nothing more than a frightened boy at the moment.

"Oh, he's claustrophobic. That's why they keep 'im in there. Pretty fucked up, but he deserves it. He'll liven up when the drugs wear off."

Gerant stared at the monster for a long moment before looking away. Despite his strong convictions that he should be kept locked up, this seemed like a bit much. It seemed inhumane and cruel. "Anyway, what's the other stuff that bothers you?"

"Well after he started taking assignments, this is all based on what I heard by the way, the people around here think we're fucking deaf and stupid just because we ain't real agents." Travis snorted. "Anyway, after he started taking assignments they realized there was something wrong with him. Like no shit, he's a 14 year old running around killing motherfuckers left and right, but anyway they noticed that he was real strange. If you touched him the wrong way, he'd flip on you. If you said something to him the wrong way, he'd flip on you. If you fucking looked at him the wrong way, he'd flip on you. They ignored it for awhile because he was mostly ripping up lesser agents and guards," He spit that part out bitterly. "But then, he went nuts in public one time. I don't know what happened but the bastard went on a rampage and ended up getting picked up by local cops."

"Oh shit." Gerant looked into the cell again and shook his head. "What the hell happened? And they still used him after that? Wasn't his cover blown?"

"Yup. He was all over the news and everything too. It was nuts. The local cops was pinning him with all kinds of murders and rapes and shit. All of this wild stuff came out about him kidnapping women and killing all of these civies-- I don't know how much of it is true, but that's when everyone started calling him The Monster and stuff. So anyway he was in county jail and what the fuck does this crazy bastard do? He decapitates this cop who happened to be the chief of police's son."

"Good God." Suddenly the fact that he was kept in the box was starting to seem understandable.

"So he escaped and there was this big manhunt but then the agency got involved and took custody of him. They put him up here for fuckin...I don't even know how long, man. But a few years after that, they let him out and the bastard was crazier than ever. They had him doing missions again but this time around they tried sticking him with partners. Killed his fucking partners, tortured his psychiatrist and that's when they put him away again and started using the box. I think it was after he killed Stevens that they put him in there. I thought they'd given up on him for good... but I guess not."

"That's crazy." Gerant stared into the cell incredulously. "How can they trust someone like that?"

"I dunno, man but it's better if you don't go around asking too many people. I knew a guy who asked too many questions and let's just say that guy ain't around no more."

Gerant looked at him in alarm but before he could get a word out, he realized that General Carhart was striding down the hall. He nudged Travis and they both stood at attention, saluting the General when he approached. "Sir!"

"His status?" Carhart stared into the cell with hooded eyes; he didn't seem pleased by what he saw.

"They just removed him from the box, sir. The drugs are not out of his system yet."

"Mmm." He nodded and looked at Gerant. "Have him taken to the medical unit and have the collar installed before he wakes up. I expect him to be ready at 1200 hours." Carhart nodded sharply and then left in the direction that he'd come in.

"What collar?"

Travis rolled his eyes. "I guess they came up with a new way to control him. Let's do this before the freak wakes up and rips our throats out."

Gerant shook his head and followed Travis into the cell. Boxes, drugs, collars... they treated him like some kind of wild beast. They transported the prisoner from the floor to a gurney and secured his wrists and ankles. Gerant couldn't help sneaking glances at the monster's face, marveling at the fact that someone so vicious could look so innocent. "What do they have him on?"

"Who knows," One of the other guards, Officer McNichols rumbled. He smirked and smacked the prisoner in face; the monster didn't even blink. "Whatever it is, it sure turns him into a docile little faggot, eh?"

"Hell yeah, it does," Officer Truman commented with a guffaw. "We used to have fun with him up here before Carhart installed the mirror." He reached down and fondled the monster with a leer. "Imagine how pissed off he'll be when he wakes up. If he even knew what was going on anyway..."

Gerant and Travis looked at each other and then at the man in disgust. However it seemed that it was only the two of them who had a problem with this confession. "You should probably keep that to yourself," He snapped.

"Oh? Feeling defensive over this suck fuck?" Truman sneered and twisted one of the monster's nipples violently, it should have been painful but he didn't even flinch. "Why should we care after all he's done? We've lost six men to this freak and two doctors. I don't even know how many field agents he's fucked over. He deserves everything I give him."

Gerant snorted and ignored the warning look that Travis was giving him. "Yeah whatever, but that kind of behavior doesn't make you any better than him. No wonder he's a fucking monster if he's treated like that. I'm not going to report you or anything but for the record, you probably should be locked up too."

"Fuck you, fairy boy," Truman snapped.

"Real intelligent," Gerant retorted and began to wheel the gurney out of the room. They were halfway down the hall when he happened to glance down at the monster's face. He felt his heart plummet.

The pale green eyes were no longer vacant and despite the fact that they still had the medicated glaze, they were alert. They were alert and for the second time in Gerant's life, they were focused on him. He stopped in his tracks and held eye contact as he struggled to tell Travis that the monster was waking up. He'd almost found the words when one slender eyebrow rose slightly and a ghost of a smirk whispered across full lips. Gerant blinked incredulously and then the expression was gone and the monster was staring blankly once again.

"What's wrong?" Travis looked down at the monster and then up at Gerant with a puzzled expression. "Come on, man. I don't want to be around those creepy fucks anymore," He said impatiently.

"N-nothing," Gerant stammered. He shook his head, told himself that he'd imagined it and they continued on their way.

Continue to Ch 3 ~ Choosing a Candidate