Mark woke with a start, dazed and confused. His vision was blurry, and he tried to rub his eyes to clear it up.
He couldn't.
As his vision slowly returned, he noticed the solid metal cuffs that pinned his arms and legs to the chair on which he sat. He shook himself forcefully to break free, but it was a futile attempt.
His next instinct was to call for his mother.
"Mum!" he began to scream, but the memories of the previous evening finally returned — the tragic events that led to his current situation. Hot, painful tears dripped down his cheeks, and he did not try to resist them.
With his limited range of motion, he glanced around his place of confinement.
The room was empty except for the light above, which shone directly on him, and a lone chair placed directly facing him. To his right, there was a large metal door on the wall, with a large mirror beside it.
Scared and helpless, Mark desired to escape. To run. Somewhere. Anywhere. But his movements were restricted.
He tried to use his powers to create a lightning bolt, but for some reason, he could not generate any. Not even a spark.
"Don't bother trying to use your powers." A deep, hoarse voice said from beside him.
The door swung open, and Commander Zorn stepped into the room, dressed in a ceremonial military uniform. A pair of reading glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and he clutched a file in his right hand.
"You've been injected with enough Niltrax to keep any powerborn, powerless." He said, locking the door behind him. Then he sat on the lone chair, directly facing Mark.
Commander Zorn was surprised to find Mark awake. He had been doused heavily to keep him unconscious. No powerborn should have been able to resist such a large concentration of Niltrax, not even a ten-year-old boy.
"I must admit, you're one of the strongest powerborns I've encountered at your age."
Mark recognized the bald, elderly-looking man who sat in front of him. It was the last face he had seen at his home right before he fell unconscious. His heart began to pound, and once again, he tried to break off the cuffs that held him down.
"It's futile, boy," said Commander Zorn, "Even if you managed to break those cuffs, there's no way you're leaving this building alive."
Zorn stared coldly at Mark, almost as if he were searching for the boy's soul. In his line of work, he had come across dozens of wild, vicious, demented powerborns who had committed atrocities that crossed the boundaries of human morality, and he had no problem putting them down.
This time, however, it was different. It was just a ten-year-old boy. Despite his moral convictions, the commander could not help but feel a little sympathy.
"What you did to your mother was horrible, no doubt. But to be honest, I don't care. I've seen a lot worse. What I'm more interested in is why you did it."
Mark did not understand what the man was saying. Why was he being accused of killing his mother?
"Was it an accident?" Commander Zorn continued, "Or was it intentional?"
"I didn't kill anyone!" Mark protested. "Let me go!"
"This file disagrees with you. But I'll humor you a little bit." Zorn pulled his seat a little closer to Mark. "Tell me what happened in your own words."
In his timid voice, Mark gave a recount of the events of that fateful night in as much detail as he could remember.
"Here's the thing," Commander Zorn began when Mark concluded his tale, "None of the evidence supports your story. No fingerprints. Nothing. No one else was in the house that night. Just you and your mother. "
"There was someone else," Mark argued. "He destroyed our stuff and killed my mother."
"The damage was inspected, and my team concluded that it was the work of a weatherborn. There was only one weatherborn at the scene. You."
Mark swallowed hard. He was young but smart enough to realize how dire his situation was.
"Earlier that evening, there was another child who reported a powerborn incident. He claimed he was electrocuted by a boy in your neighborhood."
Zorn opened the file and read from it.
"He said, and I quote, 'his eyes glowed blue'. So, tell me, Marcus Thornwell. Are you innocent, or are you a freaky little psychopath?"
"I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Sure, you didn't."
The commander glanced at his watch. He had other places to be.
"To be frank, I don't care. I don't care if it was an accident. I don't care if you wanted your mother dead."
Zorn briefly cleared his throat, before he continued.
"The law stipulates that every powerborn who takes a human life must be executed. However, I think killing someone with your potential will be a waste. So I've made other plans for you."
Mark immediately recalled the times his mother warned him about the men who would do terrible things to him. He had always laughed it off, dismissing it as a scare tactic. Now, he realized what she had truly meant and he was terrified.
Once again, he furiously pushed against his cuffs, desperate to set himself free. His wrists began to bruise because of the pressure.
"You're only hurting yourself, boy," Commander Zorn said, then he walked over to Mark and stared down at him.
"I need you to cooperate with us, but if you persist with this stubborn attitude, I'm going to break you until there's nothing left of you, then I'll remold you with pain and fire into my perfect slave.
"But we can skip all that if you promise to be obedient. The choice is yours."
Mark fell silent for a moment, pondering on the Commander's words.
"I've made my choice, sir." He finally replied.
A wicked smile appeared on the Commander's face.
"And what will that be, boy?"
"I choose... Pain."
Without warning, Mark shot a bright blue bolt of lightning at Commander Zorn, hitting him in the abdomen. It was the brightest bolt Mark had ever created.
The force of the bolt sent Zorn crashing into the chair he had sat on earlier. However, without mincing, Zorn got back on his feet.
"Impressive. Your system must have flushed out the drugs, but your powers are weak and useless, compared to the powerborns I've faced before you."
Commander Zorn pulled out a disruptor and shot Mark twice in the chest. The boy screamed in agony as the painful darts penetrated his skin, injecting him with another dose of Niltrax.
Due to the commotion, two more agents had arrived in the room to assist their boss, but Zorn quickly brushed them off. Although the boy's lightning was a bit more painful than Zorn anticipated, he easily shrugged it off, for he had felt worse.
Mark felt indescribable terror as he watched the commander approach him once again, brushing off the scorch marks on his military uniform. He began to shake violently in his chair, desperate to break free.
Zorn got to Mark and grabbed him tightly by the neck, almost choking him.
"I'm going to make you regret that decision."
Mark barely saw the fist coming. The blow knocked him blind once again, and a little blood pooled on his lips.
Commander Zorn released the boy and snapped his finger. At the sound, one of the agents marched forward to his side.
It was a female dressed in military desert camouflage. Her face had masculine features, which were further complemented by her short black hair and muscular figure. She wore an evil, menacing look, and beneath her left eye was a terrible scar.
"Marcus, I want you to meet Agent Greta — our most lethal agent. From now on, she owns you."