Dulce et Decorum
Pain surrounds this world, all worlds. It is, ironically, a common bond. And one thing mankind is very good at is the spilling of blood. And where does all this spilt blood, this pain, the maladies that blight the Earth go?
They weight, their remembrance seeps into the Earth, creeps into the sky. Battlegrounds always have a feel to them, after the battle as if...they had souls. As if they were weeping. Pain occurs everyday; the pain of loss, of hunger, of wounds, of headaches, all these things afflict humanity. Some say that pain, when released, makes us stronger.
But all that pain has to go somewhere. It does not fade into oblivion, but lingers...
Washington D.C
If there was one thing he was good at, it was running. He had always enjoyed the exertion that came with running, the gasps that came from his mouth as his muscles teared and then broke themselves, the wind at his back, urging him on. Kandor had been little good at anything else.
Kandor Breckenridge ran through the streets of the capital of the free world, but today, he was not enjoying running. Because he was not running to a finish line, but running away from something. His t-shirt was laden with sweat stains, the white fabric also tainted by blood stains and various rips and tears.
"Excuse me!" he shouted as he vaulted above a stroller, the woman directing it shrieking as she ducked, Kandor's feet flailing in the air for a second, before he landed on his feet stumbling a bit.
He dared to look back and wished that he hadn't. Three black-suited men strode through the ground with purpose, as several black vans honked and sped their way through the D.C traffic towards him. He looked up, and paled even further as his heart began to beat further and further, the young man seeing 2 more black-suits coming his way.
And so he did the only thing he could: run. He screamed for help occasionally, but no one would listen. The police wouldn't help him, and he had no friends, no supplies and nowhere to hide. All he had was the Box: and he looked at it now, gazing down at the light blue cube that slightly hummed in his hand, a wave a pain coming over him as he did so. Tearing his eyes away from it, he looked around for something he could use, as his pursuers came ever closer.
And there, he saw something, a statue of some person he could not recognize. Nevertheless, he raced to it, and placed a palm on it, ignoring the cries of outrage from the tourists that he would desecrate such an old statue---Kandor noted that it had been sculpted in 1904. But he was not touching the statue for its aesthetics, or any other feature, he was using it as an anchor, to look into the past of this statue, and of D.C, to see if there was anything he could use.
And when he opened his eyes again, he viewed 1904. He perceived the building of the statue, and though everything was in white, black, or grey, he gained greater understanding of D.C's streets, for all the good that would give him.
He opened his eyes to see a giant hand grasping for him, and he automatically kicked out, hearing a hiss of pain with satisfaction, before he began to run again, now going through the streets of D.C with ease, taking detours and short cuts as he hoped to make his way to a Metro station. But as he turned a corner, there they were, waiting for him, at least 10 black vans blocking his passage, his exit out being blocked by some black suits. Surrounded, he shouted out "Help!" as loud as he could, hoping some hero would come and help him.
But, he reflected, they had not come to rescue him when he had really needed it, four years ago...
Four years ago
Kandor looked out the car's window as his mom pulled up to her workplace. It was raining hard, and the radio had told the two of them that thunder would be on its way, nevertheless, his mother took the only umbrella and refused to share it as she got out, Kandor, sighing, followed, the rain quickly infiltrating the light blue jacket that he was wearing. Grumbling, in his mind, he followed her in, pausing at the clean, smooth white walls, and the huge stature of a woman with a box in her hand. Above the statue, a plaque read Asimov Technologies.
Kandor's mother, seeing him staring, smiled slightly and then dragged him along, saying, "You'll have plenty of time to stare later, Kandor. Let's go to my lab."
There were myriad twists, turns, and elevator rides, so that Kandor could not remember the way that they came, until they finally came to a small door which read, "Annabeth Breckenridge."
Kandor pushed the door open, to reveal, a large lab with beakers, a blackboard covered with writing, and several mysterious boxes. His mother, adjusting her glasses, putting on a lab coat and pulling on some strange gloves, pulled a key out of her pocket, and unlocked a small cabinet, then lifting a locked metal chest onto the lab bench. From there, she selected another key from an innumerable selection of them on her key chain, and carefully twisted it into the lock, a click being heard.
An expression of awe grew on her face, which was illuminated by what ever was in the chest, and then, unknown to Kandor, who was looking at the blackboard in confusion, a malicious smile. She abruptly said, "Oh yes, I have a meeting now," and she made a show of checking her watch. "I'll show you what I've discovered." Without another word to Kandor, she walked out, the boy not minding the click of the door's lock. He would soon regret that action. Just outside of the room, several other scientists in lab coats approached Annabeth, the Breckenridge widow giving a kiss to one beared man. "He'll do it. All we have to do is wait."
"Good," said the man, caressing Annabeth's cheek. "We might as well watch through the mirrors." And so the Asimov scientists proceeded to a windowless room adjacent to Annabeth's lab, all of them standing, looking through the one-way mirrors at the boy.
Meanwhile, Kandor continued to look at the chalkboard in confusion. He was no rocket scientist, but it all seemed like Greek to him, so he proceeded on to other objects in the lab, flipping through one of his mother's lab journals, he found it to be mostly empty, however, the last page had the word SUCCESS written in all capital letters and underlined. He wondered at what this was all about, but moved on, until he finally came to the chest, which had been left unlocked. Peering in, he observed a blue, humming cube in the chest, quite like the pictures of the Cosmic Cube that he had seen on the superhero fansite he moderated. Shrugging to himself, he reached inside, and grasped the cube, hoping that something would happen.
But what he did not expect was pain. Aching, obliterating pain which wiped any other thoughts from his mind. He convulsed, feeling something crawl over him, and then he began to scream, letting go of the cube but still feeling the pain. This was nothing like the time he had stuck his hand in a fireplace when he was 3. The pain was not from heat, but...it was indescribable anyway, so Kandor stopped trying. He ran to the sink and poured water on his hand, to no avail, and blowing on it only aggravated his pain. And so, he ran to the door and began screaming, banging on the door as the pain continued.
But there was no answer. He turned, then, to see the cube right in front of his face, and another wave of pain engulfed him. Whimpering, and not knowing what to do, he curled into a ball, crying out for his mom. Little did he know that his mom was cheering as he did so, opening a bottle of wine and sharing drinks with the other scientists. "It worked!" she exclaimed, with a radiant smile. "Now, if he learns to harness it, imagine the potential. All the pain in this world, gone forever. And if one boy should suffer for billions, then that sacrifice is worth it." She looked at Kandor again, without a hint of regret in her eye. "Finally, boy, you will be of some use to me. My pain is the first that you will take, and then, I will be free."
