Thud! Thud! Thud! The sound of fists slamming into flesh echoed through the abandoned factory. In a dimly lit corner, a man hung bound in heavy chains, his feet barely touching the ground. Several identical figures loomed over him, taking turns raining punches without mercy.
A full minute passed before they finally stopped. The figures stepped back in unison, clearing a path as Danton Black walked forward.
"Mr. Java," Danton said calmly, his boots scraping against the concrete. "Why don't you save us both the trouble and give me what I want?"
Java lifted his head, swollen eyes locking onto him. He said nothing.
Danton stopped inches from his face. "Still stubborn," he muttered, his gaze hardening, anger and impatience slipping through the cracks.
He opened his mouth to speak again. But then warm splatter hit his face.
Danton froze. He slowly closed one eye and wiped it away, staring at the mix of blood and spit on his fingers. Disgust twisted his expression, quickly followed by raw fury.
Wham! His fist crashed into Java's face, snapping the man's head sideways as the chains rattled violently against the wall.
"You value your reputation so....much....more than even your life," Danton said.
He circled the bloodied man, his thoughts drifting to why he was doing all this, why he wanted revenge, to kill Simon Stagg with his own two hands to rip his throat out. "Java, do you know why I want your boss so bad,"
"You must know, right," he said, steps halting and turning to face the bloodied man.
His voice cracked as he spoke. "He took my soul, he took my best friend, he took my wife from me, all because of what?....greed," he shook his head slightly, remembering the powerlessness he felt when her life slipped through his fingers.
"I...don't think you know what it's like to lose the person you love most." He paused, adding weight as he continued. "Maybe when you do… you'll finally understand the pain I feel."
A grin slowly spread across his face.
Java's eyes widened. Fear flashed across his face before hardening into rage. "Don't you dare touch her!" he growled. "I'll kill you!" The threat sounded weak, forced, even to his own ears.
Danton only smiled. "Save the threats, Java," he said calmly. "There's only one thing you can do for me right now." He paused, then added, "You tell me what I want....and nothing happens to your sweet little...Joey."
He reached into his pocket, dropping a photo onto the floor.
Java's heart almost pounded out his chest. In the picture, a woman was stepping out of a car, her belly slightly rounded beneath her coat. He recognized the woman in the photo instantly. It was his wife, five months pregnant with his child.
Horror washed over his face. He finally understood, Danton's words hadn't been empty threats.
"Now," Danton said, his gaze cold and sharp, "are you going to stay stubborn, or are you going to give me what I want?" There was no doubt left. He would do anything for revenge, even crossing boundaries that wrestled with his morals.
Java broke.
He quickly spilled everything he knew, from Simon Stagg's daily routine, security shifts, private meetings, weak points. Every detail that mattered. Everything that would ruin the reputation he valued so much once word got out. In the line of business, it was practically a death sentence, but he had no other choice. He'd choose his family over anything in the world.
"See, it wasn't that hard...was it, you could have saved yourself all this pain." Danton's expression was devoid of emotion, his malice almost tangible.
"Once I confirm your information isn't false and Simon Stagg is dead, you'll be free from all this," said Danton. Turning around to face the organized groups standing attentive before him.
The clones easily numbered in the fifties, and each and every one had an assault rifle in hand. "Move...tonight Simon Stagg dies."
~~~
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Central City, something entirely different was unfolding.
Inside an abandoned industrial building, a man in tattered clothes stirred awake. His unkempt hair hung over a rough, stubbled face, and his eyes squinted against the golden light leaking through a cracked, broken window.
All of a sudden, he shot to his feet, breath hitching, eyes darting around in panic.
"No… no… no," he muttered. "It can't be—." The man collapsed to his knees, hands trembling in realization. " I...killed them," he whispered tears dropping down his cheeks.
His eyes drifted to the knife lying nearby. He lunged for it, desperate to end it all. Resolve was palpable; however, the moment the blade came close enough to draw blood, his arm locked in place. His body stiffened, refusing to listen. He was reduced to a mere spectator in his own body.
He strained against it, fought with everything he had, but it was futile. His arm swung away from his grip against his will.
His arms fell to his sides in defeat. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't end it. It wouldn't allow it. He looked toward the setting sun, his expression turning complex.
The setting sun was something he dreaded; he was terrified of it. Because when it did, a part of himself, another part of him, the monster he couldn't control would take over. And when it did, people would die. Holding it back was becoming impossible. It had been getting worse for nine months now, little by little, day by day. He remembered the day it began all too well.
~Nine Months Ago~
It was a rainy night in Central City. Michael was in his lab working on that fateful night. The air was filled with the occasional ruckus of rumbling thunder.
On a monitor a few distances away, an ongoing news broadcast played. He listened absentmindedly. The news was covering STAR Labs' particle accelerator's official launch.
Recognizing the topic, he glanced over, his gaze filled with contempt. He remembered how he had tried and failed to get a spot at STAR Labs. He remembered the day he was dismissed by his idol, Harrison Wells, like he was some background character—not worth the attention.
Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he shut off the monitor, turning his attention back to his research. He approached a small enclosure, reached in, and took out a clean white mouse, his test subject for the night.
"Ah, Freddy, looks like you drew the short straw today," he said, his tone somehow grim and light at the same time.
He took out a vial, the contents inside a swirling mix of red. He raised the vial high, his gaze filled with emotion. This was the result of his hard work; it had taken him so long to achieve results with barely any funding, especially when the higher-ups barely valued his research. "Those idiots… they don't understand us." he said to himself.
Just then, the doors to his lab swung open, a familiar figure walking in. His solemn expression brightened the moment he saw her. It was Olivia, a close colleague of his. She walked in, smiling so casually, unaware of just how dangerous it was.
All his exhaustion and pent-up frustration were washed away by that single smile. Her smile a day kept despair away.
"Michael, why are you not calling it a day?" she paused, checking her watch. "It's nine p.m. Don't you get tired?" she said, concern lacing her tone.
"Umm, I'm about to… but I'll be here for a while," he said hesitantly. As much as he would like to call it a day, the higher-ups were questioning his research. They were beginning to doubt whether his work on cross-species genetics would go anywhere. They were planning to cut off his funding if he didn't come up with results soon.
"Okay, but in case you want to change your mind, we're going out to get something to eat. Maybe you can tag along," she said, passing him an invitation. Sadly, he had to refuse.
Watching her departing figure in the distance, he couldn't help but curse his circumstances. Still, no amount of hateful comments about the higher-ups would save him if he didn't come up with something soon.
He turned back to the unlucky mouse, injecting a sample of the serum into it. Setting Freddy into an enclosure, he moved back, staring at the mouse. He had to wait about thirty minutes before the serum really kicked in.
For some time, he just sat there, observing his blood sample through a microscope. Then he added the serum, watching the reactions carefully. The results were almost instantaneous. The foreign cells proliferated rapidly, taking over the original cells and turning them into something unrecognizable.
Michael shook his head, sighing in momentary defeat. After that, he turned to the transparent enclosure, expecting to see a mouse; however, it was no longer just a rat. It had mutated into something unrecognizable. Its skin was rapidly shifting to black, claws elongating, half-formed wings in place of its front legs. "What the hell?" he thought in alarm.
However, at that moment, the lights suddenly flickered and died. He paused, confused, then turned on his phone's flashlight. He froze, his expression shifting into one of pure shock and disbelief.
Against physics and logic, chemicals floated in the air, and before he could even grasp the full picture of what was happening, an invisible force slammed into him, knocking him against the desk where he'd been observing the reactions.
He was knocked out by the impact, his forehead now bearing a deep cut. The serum vial that had been on the desk shattered on impact, and unluckily, a drop fell onto him, sliding into his open wound.