Chapter 10

Run it Back?

Altharus found himself once again in the dimly lit room, the scent of mold and decay filling the air. He jumped down from his bed, feeling the familiar sense of déjà vu. As the door creaked open, his parents stepped inside with the two men. Despite his confusion, he greeted his parents with a smile.

"Good morning, Mom, Dad."

"Morning, Altharus," they replied in unison. Their faces were etched with guilt and desperation.

"Who are these two uncles?" he asked curiously.

His parents exchanged a look with the two men. His father's voice trembled as he spoke, "This is him. This is our son."

One of the men, his eyes cold and calculating, stepped forward and grabbed Altharus by the arm. The grip was rough and unyielding. Altharus looked up at his parents, confusion turning into fear.

"Mom? Dad? What's happening?"

His mother looked away, tears streaming down her face. His father took a deep breath, unable to meet Altharus's eyes. "We… we need the money," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Altharus felt a wave of anger and betrayal wash over him. The men started dragging him out of the room, his small body struggling against their iron grip. "No! Please, don't! Mom! Dad!" he screamed, reaching out for his parents, but they remained silent, their backs turned.

He was dragged outside to a waiting car, its engine idling softly. The men roughly shoved him into the back seat, slamming the door shut. As the car started moving, Altharus pressed his face against the window, watching his home fade into the distance. His heart pounded with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded, his voice trembling.

One of the men glanced back at him, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You're going to a new home," he said. "A place where you'll be useful."

The car ride was long and filled with silence, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of the men in the front seats. Altharus's mind raced with thoughts of escape, but the doors were locked, and the men kept a watchful eye on him.

They arrived at a grimy warehouse on the outskirts of a city. The building loomed ominously, its windows broken and covered with grime. Altharus was pulled from the car and shoved inside, the door slamming shut behind him. The interior was dimly lit, filled with the sounds of muffled cries and the stench of blood.

He was thrown into a small, filthy room with several other children. The door locked behind him, sealing his fate. As Altharus looked around, he noticed advanced surgical kits, computers, and various other equipment scattered around. Curtains divided different beds where other kids were being treated or experimented on. Children of different ages were present, the youngest being as young as one to two years old and the oldest around seven years old. The older kids had mostly emotionless expressions and seemed well-trained and obedient.

For the first few days, they didn't touch him at all, letting him adjust to the environment and only feeding him occasionally. Then the nightmare started. First, they brought him in for testing. Throughout the next week, Altharus underwent torturous experiments and tests conducted by the scientists of this place. They tested his bone development, muscle strength, brain functionality, resistance to pain, mental stability, morals, IQ, EQ, and more.

…

…

A loud buzzer sounded, signaling the start of the fight, but before anyone could move, the warehouse erupted into chaos. The ground started shaking. The sounds of gunfire and explosions filled the air as law enforcement officers stormed the building.

The organization members scrambled to defend their stronghold, drawing weapons and barking orders. "Get the kids secured! Hold the perimeter!" a Tarsus rank member shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

The law enforcement officers, clad in tactical gear, moved with precision and efficiency. They breached the warehouse's main entrance, using flashbangs and tear gas to disorient the defenders. Bright flashes and acrid smoke filled the air, creating a surreal battlefield.

Altharus saw his chance amidst the chaos. He noticed a member of the organization struggling to load his weapon. Seizing the moment, Altharus rushed forward and tripped him, causing the man to fall and hit his head on the ground, rendering him unconscious. He quickly grabbed the fallen man's gun, a heavy pistol that felt alien in his small hands.

He darted through the warehouse, using his small size to his advantage. He ducked under tables, hid behind machinery, and maneuvered through the confusion. Whenever he saw an opportunity, he sabotaged the organization members. He pulled cables from computers, smashed equipment, and even set off a small fire to create more distractions.

In one corner of the warehouse, he saw a group of Tarsus-ranked members trying to organize a defense. They had set up a barricade and were returning fire at the advancing officers. Altharus, staying low, approached them from behind. He noticed a stack of crates precariously balanced above the barricade. With a determined push, he toppled the crates onto the group, crushing them and breaking their formation.

Gunfire and screams echoed through the warehouse. The officers were methodical, moving from room to room, securing the area and rescuing the children. They used advanced tactics, flanking the defenders and cutting off their escape routes. The organization members, caught off guard and overwhelmed, began to fall one by one.

Altharus watched as the organization members fell, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope. He had never imagined being saved, but now the possibility was within reach. He continued his acts of sabotage, knowing that every small action he took contributed to the organization's downfall.

In one instance, he saw Viktor, the overseer who had been particularly cruel to him, locked in a fierce battle with a law enforcement officer. Viktor was of the Tibia rank, two levels above the Tarsus rank, making him the leader of the warehouse. His presence commanded fear and respect, and his skills in combat were unparalleled within this branch.

Viktor wielded a sword, his movements fluid and deadly. The officer he fought was equally skilled, their swords clashing with a sound that resonated above the din of battle. Sparks flew with each strike, and their faces were masks of concentration and determination.

Viktor's power was elemental, the ability to control fire. He wielded it with precision, summoning flames to his sword, which burned with intense heat. He swung his fiery blade at the officer, who deftly parried the blow with his own weapon. The officer's power was the control of water, a fitting counter to Viktor's flames.

With a swift movement, the officer summoned a torrent of water, dousing the flames on Viktor's sword and pushing him back. Viktor snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. He retaliated by creating a ring of fire around the officer, attempting to trap him. The officer countered by summoning a wall of water, extinguishing the flames and creating steam that obscured their vision.

Altharus watched, mesmerized by the display of power and skill. The two combatants were evenly matched, their powers clashing in a battle of elemental forces. Viktor's fiery attacks were relentless, but the officer's control over water allowed him to counter each strike with precision.

The fight intensified, the air crackling with energy. Viktor unleashed a wave of fire, aiming to overwhelm the officer, but the officer stood his ground, summoning a vortex of water that absorbed the flames. The two forces collided, creating an explosion of steam that filled the room.

In the midst of the chaos, Altharus saw an opportunity. He moved closer, using the steam as cover. He picked up a discarded knife, his heart pounding in his chest. As Viktor and the officer clashed once more, Altharus sprang into action. He lunged at Viktor, aiming for a vulnerable spot.

Viktor, distracted by the officer, didn't see Altharus until it was too late. The knife plunged into Viktor's side, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. Viktor roared in pain and fury, his flames sputtering out as he staggered back. The officer seized the opportunity, delivering a final, decisive blow that sent Viktor crashing to the ground.

Altharus stood over Viktor's fallen body, his chest heaving with exertion. The officer looked at him, a mixture of surprise and respect in his eyes. "Good job, kid," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "You did well."

The battle raged on around them, but the tide had turned in favor of the law enforcement officers. They moved through the warehouse, systematically taking down the remaining organization members. The sounds of gunfire and explosions gradually faded, replaced by the groans of the wounded and the cries of the rescued children.

Altharus was led out of the warehouse, his mind reeling from the events that had just transpired. The officers were efficient, their movements precise as they escorted the children to waiting vehicles. Altharus was placed in an ambulance, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief.

At the hospital, doctors and nurses swarmed around him, checking his injuries and administering treatment. He felt a sense of detachment, as if the events of the past few hours were a distant nightmare. As he lay on the hospital bed, the reality of his situation began to sink in.

Altharus stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The sterile environment of the hospital was a stark contrast to the horrors he had endured in the warehouse. The soft hum of medical equipment and the distant murmur of voices seemed surreal, almost otherworldly.

He felt an overwhelming sense of detachment, not just from his current surroundings but from everything and everyone around him. The innocence of childhood had been brutally ripped away, replaced by a cold, hard exterior. The once bright and curious eyes of a child were now filled with a chilling emptiness, a reflection of the trauma he had endured.

Trust, a fundamental part of his former self, had been shattered. Every adult he encountered was now viewed with suspicion and fear. He had learned the hard way that those who were supposed to protect him could just as easily betray him. His parents' faces, etched with guilt and desperation, haunted him. Their betrayal was a wound that cut deeper than any physical pain.

He clenched his fists, feeling the bandages around his wrists where the chains had cut into his flesh. The pain was a reminder of his captivity, a constant echo of his torment. He looked at the medical staff with wary eyes, their movements scrutinized with the same intensity he had once reserved for his captors.

A nurse approached, her smile kind and gentle. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked softly, her hand reaching out to check his pulse.

Altharus flinched, his body tensing. He pulled his hand away, his eyes narrowing. "I'm fine," he replied, his voice cold and distant. The nurse hesitated, taken aback by the hostility in his tone.

"We just want to help you," she said, trying to reassure him.

"I don't need your help," Altharus snapped, his heart pounding. The fear of being vulnerable again, of being at the mercy of someone stronger, gnawed at him. He couldn't afford to trust anyone, not after everything he had been through.

The nurse nodded, stepping back. "If you need anything, just let us know," she said, her voice gentle but tinged with sadness. She walked away, leaving Altharus alone with his thoughts.

He lay back on the bed, his mind racing. The walls of the hospital room seemed to close in on him, the air heavy with the weight of his memories. He had to stay strong, had to keep up his defenses.

After a while, a pair of officers entered the room, their expressions serious but kind. They pulled up chairs and sat beside his bed. "We need to ask you some questions," one of them said gently. "Can you tell us what happened to you?"

Altharus stared at them for a moment, his eyes cold. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his memories pressing down on him. "It started when my parents sold me," he began, his voice steady but tinged with bitterness. "They were desperate for money. One day, two men came to our house. My parents introduced me to them, and before I knew it, they were dragging me away. My parents didn't even try to stop them."

The officers exchanged a glance but remained silent, letting him continue. Altharus recounted the car ride to the warehouse, the fear and confusion he felt as he was taken to a place filled with other children, all victims like himself.

"They took me to this warehouse on the outskirts of the city," Altharus continued. "It was a grimy, filthy place. There were other kids there, all different ages. Some of them looked like they had been there for a long time. They didn't touch me for the first few days, just let me get used to the place. But then the nightmare started."

He described the experiments and tests he endured, the constant pain and fear. "They tested everything," he said, his voice growing more intense. "My bones, my muscles, my brain. They wanted to see how much I could take, how far they could push me. They made me jump from heights, lift weights, and run until I couldn't move. They broke all my bones on purpose to see how quickly I could heal."

The officers listened intently, their faces growing darker with each word. Altharus went on to describe the cognitive tests and neurological examinations, the isolation and sensory deprivation that left him on the brink of madness. "They wanted to see how much pain I could endure," he said quietly. "They wanted to break me, to see if I could survive."

He explained the torture resistance training, body regeneration exercises, and the grueling physical resilience tests. "They pushed my body to the limit," he said. "And then they went beyond it. They wanted to make me stronger, more resilient. They exposed me to poisons, made me endure extreme temperatures. They did everything they could to turn me into a weapon."

Altharus paused, his eyes distant as he remembered the final phase: the empathy and sympathy removal process. He described the colosseum fight, the fear and desperation as he fought for his life. "They made us fight each other," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "They wanted to strip away our humanity, to make us killers. I had to fight my friends, people I had bonded with. I had to kill them to survive."

The officers were silent, their expressions grim. One of them leaned forward, his voice gentle. "And then what happened?"

Altharus took another deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. "The day of the colosseum fight, everything changed," he said. "Just as the buzzer sounded, the warehouse erupted into chaos. There were gunshots, explosions. The cops had raided the place."

The officers nodded, taking notes. One of them looked at Altharus, his expression serious. "Do you know anything about the organization? Anything that could help us?"

Altharus nodded slowly. "They call themselves the 'Spider's Web,'" he said. "They use ranks based on spider anatomy. The members in the warehouse were called 'Tarsus.' There are higher ranks—'Coxa,' 'Trochanter,' 'Femur,' 'Patella,' 'Tibia,' and 'Metatarsus.' The highest ranks are the 'Spider's Legs,' who are branch leaders, and the 'Body' and 'Head' of the spider, who control everything. They call their victims or assassination targets 'prey' or 'bugs' to be exterminated."

The officers listened carefully, their faces growing more determined. They thanked Altharus for his information, promising to use it to bring the organization to justice.

As they stood to leave, one of the officers hesitated. "Do you want us to call your parents?" he asked softly. "They must be worried about you."

Altharus's expression turned cold, a chill settling over the room. He looked at the officer, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and pain. "Don't ever mention those two in front of me again," he said, his voice icy. The officers gulped, nodding in understanding. They left the room, leaving Altharus alone with his thoughts.

The hospital room, with its sterile walls and bright lights, felt like a prison of its own. Altharus stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting back to the warehouse, to the faces of the other children, and to the pain he had endured. He had been changed, shaped by the horrors he had faced, and there was no going back to the innocent child he once was.

As the hours passed, Altharus made a silent vow. He would never allow himself to be vulnerable again. He would grow stronger, learn to trust no one, and ensure that he would never be at the mercy of others. The world was a harsh place, and he was determined to survive, no matter the cost.

After the officers left, Altharus lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. The sterile white tiles and fluorescent lights felt as suffocating as the walls of the warehouse. He couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, and the thought of his parents being contacted sent a shiver down his spine. He knew he couldn't stay there.

The doctors and nurses came and went, checking his injuries and administering treatment. He remained silent, his cold exterior hiding the turmoil inside. They treated him with kindness, but Altharus couldn't trust them.

After a few days of rest, Altharus made his decision. He would sneak out of the hospital. The fear of his parents being called was too much to bear. He waited until the hospital quieted down, the night shift taking over. The dimly lit hallways were silent except for the occasional footsteps of a nurse or doctor.

Carefully, Altharus slipped out of bed, wincing as his still-healing wounds protested. He had been watching the routines of the hospital staff, noting the times when the halls were least occupied. He moved silently, his small frame making it easy to avoid detection.

He made his way to the supply closet, where he had stashed some clothes he had found in the lost and found. Changing quickly, he grabbed a coat and a hat to help disguise himself. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

Altharus navigated through the hallways, avoiding the occasional nurse or doctor. He knew he had to be careful.

He reached the emergency exit, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. Pushing the door open, he slipped out into the cold night air. The hospital's security alarm blared for a moment before he quickly closed the door behind him, silencing it.

The city was quiet, the streets empty. Altharus pulled the coat tighter around himself, blending into the shadows as he walked. He had no clear plan, but he knew he needed to get as far away from the hospital as possible. The thought of his parents finding him and trying to sell him for another pretty penny was enough to drive him forward, despite the pain and exhaustion.

He wandered the city streets, staying out of sight. He found an abandoned building, its windows boarded up and its walls covered in graffiti. It wasn't much, but it would provide some shelter for the night. He slipped inside, finding a corner to curl up in. The building was cold and damp, but it was better than the hospital.

As he lay there, Altharus thought about his next steps. He couldn't stay in the city. He needed to find a way to survive on his own, away from anyone who might try to hurt him. He had learned a lot from his time in the warehouse, and he was determined to use those skills to protect himself.

He would find a way to live, to grow stronger. He would ensure that he would never be at the mercy of others again. With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking him.