*poke poke* Hello there

Dick Grayson huffed where he rested, his arms still stuck in the pods that just went dark. He was deflated onto the ground as much as he could, he didn't get much respite here and he savored every moment that wasn't filled with drawn-out overwhelming agony. The young Romanian boy grunted and coughed, shooting ripples of needle-like pain through the rest of his limp body. His sweaty midnight hair hung over his eyes, and his dull blue eyes only half-lidded as they stared blankly at the ground, the lids growing steadily heavier. He could not feel his hands at the moment, but he knew how much pain they were in by how much his exposed arms burned at even the slightest movement.

The young experiment's entire body trembled and shook with exhaustion and cold, beads of sweat slipped off his face, down his chin and nose and onto the bland metal flooring. He couldn't suppress a shiver, although the room was broiling hot with energy, he was still not quite used to the sudden drop in temperature when the radiation turned off, his bland gray suit did little to keep him warm. He didn't know which one was worse, the destructive, agonizing, soul-sucking extraction cycle, or the frozen silence where he could only sit and wait.

The handlers would release him from their safe positions outside his pod, then he was allowed four hours to eat and drink and do his business. Whatever time left was for sleeping, as he certainly couldn't do so during the extraction process. Usually his handlers would go about this schedule like clockwork, but his internal clock that had been wired to this schedule told him it was too early to be done with this cycle.

He certainly wasn't complaining, and it was a rather curious thing, but he was much too exhausted to give it much more thought than that. He was due to be released any second now, the system was powering down and his numb mind couldn't wait to hit the floor and pass out.

Hopefully his handler would leave him alone when they came in to deliver his food and water. Most times they did because he was already asleep, but occasionally the Bossman would come in and he'd talk to Dick. Dick hated that man.

The metal appendages surrounding his hands clunked and hissed, a sudden rush of feelings from his arms making him grunt in pain. The metal jaws snapped open and Dick fell to the floor in a lump, not even attempting to catch himself. He measured his breathing as his face smushed against the cold ground, still fast and gasping, and it would remain that way for a while until he fell asleep.

His body was trying to pull itself back together, his raw hands numb and red, but they always made sure he cooled down enough so that he wasn't able to secrete any Xenothium outside the extraction chambers. He couldn't move his hands even if he wanted to, the extraction process (in its most basic form) continually abused his hands with radiation waves until the Xenothium leaked out. It wasn't his blood perse; it was just something he created in certain conditions, like radioactive decay. Thus his hands were useless and burnt bright red, they could barely grab the food that he was given when he 'healed' (he wouldn't call them 'healed' after he woke from his nap, blood was not a unique taste when he ate. Nor was he ever given utensils since an escape attempt around a year ago) and they couldn't do anything other than tremble when he tried anything else.

In those extraction chambers, Dick's hands were subjected to constant radiation. He heard from the scientists that Xenothium is highly unstable and it also just so happened to be infused into his DNA. Which he understood was their goal to a point, they wanted it to meld with his DNA and they didn't stop poking him until it happened. He had no idea why they wanted this, but the fact they were using him as a battery and nothing more was pretty telling.

But the way he understood it, his Xenothium infused DNA reacts to the continuous radiation in a way normal DNA and normal Xenothium shouldn't. Normal human DNA breaks down and may become cancerous under prolonged exposure to radiation, Xenothium just explodes (it has that reaction to a lot of things). The combination, however, apparently likes the radiation. There are a few ways to stabilize his weird Xenothium-DNA but radiation not only stabilizes it but produces a byproduct in a liquid form that possesses all the electrical properties they wanted in a (slightly) more controlled way. His hybrid DNA goes through the same process normal human DNA goes through; it breaks down rather painfully, but instead of multiplying and becoming cancerous it multiplies and becomes a liquid. Basically it concentrates his DNA into a form of liquid too dense for his cells. This causes the cells to burst and secrete through all the pores in his hands while the pods would suck it up and deposit it into the big tanks. Then it was transferred into the other room to be refined into the little test tubes that would power whatever it was then hooked up to.

Apparently Xenothium has crazy levels of power, and it just so happens that this crazy place needed tons of it, and they harvested it from him nearly all day. That's what they used him for. He was just a battery that powered things. All that science he knew about himself and the radiation process he was subject to was explained to him by the Bossman. For whatever reason, Bossman liked to talk to him and when he did it was always something sciency. He got the radiation and cells and power lecture every other time Bossman came to visit.

Dick groaned and tried to bury his face further into the ground. He didn't want to think of that man, he might jinx it. Either way, his hands were immobile, and they always would be since they were in a forever wounded state. He didn't think he would ever be able to use his hands again, not that he had any hope of using his hands for ordinary things. Normal things like waving hello, shaking hands, playing tag, and petting Zitka the elephant. He missed the smooth trapeze bar and the soft powder they had to coat their hands with. He missed tangling his fingers in his mother's auburn hair. He missed his dad's big leathery hands, a circus worker's hands. Dick had... Dick had broken hands, useless and painful. He would never do any of those things again. He was stuck here. He was just a battery, to be used and abused until he was sucked dry of all his power and thrown away.

Bossman said as much, he would tell him these things as he patted his raven locks, caressing him and calling him his 'pet' project. Dick shivered from the cold and pain, and definitely not because he imagined a ghost of that man's touch across his head.

Dread filled his entire being as the containment unit doors opened, sliding to each side as he knew they did even though his eyes were closed to the event. There was a great thumping noise and whoever came in seemed frantic. Then suddenly he was touched. Dick verbally recoiled as he was too tired to physically escape the touch.

He groaned in pain and whimpered in protest, a flinch traveling through him like a wave and making his tired body twitch uncomfortably. The man (he assumed it was a man, there were very few female scientists and a scientist wouldn't be in here grabbing him, that was the handler's job) lifted him by his shoulders and leaned him against his lap, his head draped to one side. No matter how much he tried Dick could not stop his whimpers, they came out in a constant stream of protests, falling into the rhythm of his heavy fast breathing. He sounded like a panting whining dog as Bossman liked to point out when he came to talk with Dick after the extraction cycles. Even though he hadn't heard his voice yet Dick's face twisted and his parted panting mouth shouted out extra loud yelp tried to convey his hate as whatever handler shifted him into his lap.

"It's alright," His voice wasn't any voice Dick recognized, a new handler? The tone inside it made Dick want to throw up, but that could have been all his sudden movement after the extraction cycle. Besides, there was a touch of... something in his voice he couldn't identify, no one here had that voice when talking to him. "You're going to be okay kid, I've gotcha."

Dick could hardly respond or react, he just kept whimpering, begging for the man to leave. He really must be a new handler or something because only the Bossman ever 'claimed' him like that, he really didn't want another man like Bossman.

And no, he was never going to be okay, never in this place, never in this man's lap, never when somebody tried to claim ownership of him just because of what the Bossman turned him into.

"This is water, I'm just going to pour a little into your mouth, you'll have to swallow alright?" The voice said again, this time Dick heard the crunch of the plastic water bottle and cursed his luck. He strained to swallow with his dry throat and it momentarily cut off his oxygen supply. His mouth smacked and he waited with utmost humiliation and hate for the water to be given. Bossman did this once, it was terrible and degrading, petting him and talking to him was one thing, coddling and nursing was another. Two very different things he never wanted anyone to get even close to doing to him.

But he had little choice, the cold liquid raced down into his mouth, jerking for a moment as he wasn't quite prepared for the sudden cold and wetness. It was barely half a mouthful when the stream stopped and Dick was grateful. It gave him a moment to wet the other parts of his mouth before he swallowed, but eventually he had to breathe. The man would sense those moments and pause his watering hand until Dick was ready for another mouthful.

He hated this so much. He hated these people so much. He hated his life so much.

Dick grew antsy for the ministrations to stop. He didn't want these people to be nice to him. He never wanted to depend on them, it felt like he would be giving up and he certainly didn't want to do that. Not when his parents would have wanted him to fight back. He couldn't physically fight back. Over the years and multiple escape attempts thwarted he simply resorted to not falling for their mental traps. The less dependent he was on them, the more likely he would be able to escape, and he wanted that, oh he so wanted that. It was almost impossible though; they controlled virtually every aspect of his life. He knew what they were doing, and he hated it.

Because he wanted it, he wanted it so badly. He wanted someone to take care of him. He wanted someone to caress him and call him their own. His skin itched when it wasn't being touched. He yearned for the contact of another human being. He wanted companionship without the fear of being used for his powers, without some ulterior motive or hidden agenda.

He wanted to be free. He wanted a family, his family.

But all of those things were dreams, the false hopes of a lonely boy who could do nothing to change his fate.

Dick started to twitch, he wasn't sure how much of the water he had downed by now but he was ready to be done. The next time the water bottle was pressed up against his lips he twisted his head away and grunted slightly.

The man complied, thankfully. Dick didn't know what he'd do if he were forced to drink anymore. He would probably throw up and get in trouble.

"Alright, let's get you to a doctor."

Dick felt his face drain of all blood, as if it wasn't already. His body began to tense up at the mere mention of a doctor. Bossman was a doctor. He was THE doctor, the one who made him this way. Doctors were not good; they were worse than handlers. They were evil and went out of the way to make him miserable and in pain.

"It's okay. I promise they are going to help you." The voice consoled, obviously having observed his suddenly on-edge reaction.

Dick, of course, didn't believe him, who would when the version of doctor you were taught as a child was mutilated into this beast of pain that plotted your eternal misery?

A sudden pinprick on his arm made Dick jerk in surprise, then his torso lifted, and his head threw backwards. Blistering pain shattered across his body. He could hear the lightning, feel its energy snap and crackle. His mouth was wrenched open in a wordless cry, his body convulsed once and then the power exploded outwards.

He heard the man yell in surprise, then the thump as he hit the wall. Dick settled on the ground once more, panting again and limp, stray arches of electricity zapping at his grey suit. His head fell to the side as his brain decided then was a good time to shut off, he knew he was in trouble, he hated getting in trouble, but his mind couldn't focus on anything anymore. Dick felt the shadows creeping in and he welcomed them, giving himself up to them to be swallowed by the darkness.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick slowly became aware of himself, numb feelings tingling across his stiff body. His body felt stuck to the ground, but he knew that it was just because he was tired and his body wanted more sleep. His face was on the floor again and his breathing had finally slowed as it usually did when he woke up. He grunted as he forced himself to sit up, using his forearms as leverage to get his legs underneath him.

The doors were closed (not surprising, he didn't exactly use doors anyway), the open water bottle was resting where he supposed the new handler left it, and there was no food tray...

"Rahat..." (Crap) Dick breathed as he settled on his haunches. He let his limp hands rest on his lap, looking around just in case the food was left anywhere else, but he found nothing.

Yeah, he was in trouble; they don't usually keep food from him. They had to feed him or his performance would go down and they would get less Xenothium. It was the only leverage he had with these people, they had to feed him, but they usually did only once a day and it was just enough to sustain him. So not eating once is a big deal, they only did it when he did something dangerous and they wanted to remind him who was in charge no matter what he did.

Dick's light but dull cerulean blue eyes found the dent. He grimaced as he realized that it must have been the handler who made it when he got blasted back. He didn't mean to blast him, it was honestly just a reaction to whatever he tried to poke him with. Dick was sure it was a sedative because that was the most common drug they adamantly wanted to give him. The scientists realized early he didn't do well with medications; something about the Xenothium didn't blend well with drugs and usually any attempt to use it on him ended up with something exploding. That led them to use the cuffs that acted as both a regulator and a collar.

Usually the cuffs could dampen the effects of his reflexive blasts. Instead of an explosion, it skipped the 'blow up' stage and went right to the electricity. At first, they tried to use this to make him produce pure electric power, but they quickly found out it was an even more dangerous game, and he was always burnt out more quickly. They learned from their mistakes and turned to this system with the radiation and the pods. Dick's been in this endless cycle ever since.

The Romanian boy inched over to the dent, using his forearms again to lower himself down and slightly curl up. His raw hands rested on the floor just below his head, his eyes washing over his mutilated limbs and the silver bracelets.

The cuffs also acted like a shock collar, if he so much as put a pinkie toe outside the room he would be electrified until he was forced into unconsciousness. One would think he was immune to electricity, and he was slightly, he was only immune to his electricity, but to any other type he was just as vulnerable. This was an added feature to the cuffs after his first few escape attempts. He had to admit, it was an effective shock collar, he hasn't attempted an escape since.

The odd part of his Xenothium powers that no one could seem to get a handle on was his teleporting. No matter what they did to his body Dick was always in control of his teleporting, they could not affect it with the cuffs or the containment unit. The only way they could stop him from teleporting was the pain given when he teleported out of bounds. Still, technically speaking, he could teleport anywhere within the room without their permission. Of course, he would get in trouble though, so that always deterred him from using it.

But the important part was that they could not force him to teleport, they had no control of when or if he'd do it beyond outside forces convincing him not to. He felt like that was a win, another leverage point. But again, it's been nearly a year since his last escape attempt. They might have finally figured out how to make him complacent. (Well, time is a bit screwy around here- he made fingerprint tic-marks (the only good thing about continually bleeding hands) on the bathroom wall to keep track via the singular meal he was given per day. But then again sometimes he didn't get a food when he was bad so he knew he was off by a few days. He relented to the fact time was generally guessed here. Even asking Bossman din't work.)

Who wouldn't be complacent after that much time spent here at the mercy of Bossman? To grovel to people he hated, people he had to submit to over and over again just to survive? Dick was complacent because he had no other choice. He did not want to die and he did not want to be a battery. Some things they made sure were out of his control so he couldn't exploit them. But after all these years he's finally exhausted all his plans and now he has nothing. He couldn't escape by himself, and he was doomed to the cycle of extraction and crippling fatigue. He still fought back every now and then but they were short-lived and were just a reminder of who was really in charge.

He wanted to escape, but he could hardly do so now, not with his punishment going on even though new handlers were the easiest to hoodwink. He had used these opportunities before. New handlers weren't yet accustomed to his tendencies, like being utterly limp after the cycle ended or his teleporting. He had used it to his advantage before, once he even hacked the pad to the door after watching Bossman exit. He had gotten so far that time. He made it to the upper levels. He had been in the air vents on his way to freedom when those white beasts attacked him. Dick had since forgotten what they're called but they freaked him out. Bossman said they were under his control and thus whatever they did to him is what Bossman told them to do to him.

He wasn't sure if he should label the white creatures as fellow captives or enemies, he had ended up doing both, as they were clearly doing things against their will and were controlled by the evil Bossman. They could not help him even if they wanted to, so he avoided them as much as possible, they were the eyes and ears of the enemy even if they were just puppets and should be free. Bossman always had one with him though, on his shoulder, the little thing would stare at him and it always sent shivers down his spine.

He had been in so much trouble when he was found in the vents, that was the only time he was ever physically harmed beyond the experiments that gave him these powers. While it was the first time he got so far, so close to freedom, it was the first time Bossman ever got angry with him.

THAT scared him. Because when Bossman got angry with him he would always excuse it as love, and that was not okay. That was when Bossman nursed him back to health and almost convinced him he actually cared about him. But Dick knew, oh man he knew, that man did not love him.

For a while it terrified Dick as to which love Bossman referred to when he said it, but after that escape attempt that he realized which one it was. It was not familial love and it was not a friendly love... he was just an object to Bossman. He was a trophy, an object of such great importance he was forced to take care of him when in reality Bossman couldn't care less about any of his creations or other people.

Bossman did not love him, but he wanted to trick Dick into thinking he does, that's why he acts so nice and caring, but every fond pat on his head only furthered Dick's distrust and hatred. Dick hated that man because he taught him to hate love.

Dick was many things now, but he was not stupid. He knew his parents had loved him and that was good, he knew he had loved them too. He was well aware it was a bad thing to hate love, but he couldn't help it, love was fake now. No one really loved him and no one ever would because the only way they could even come close was loving his powers... and not him. It made him sad because he wanted someone to love him, he wanted Bossman to care, but he wouldn't, and neither would anyone else.

The Romanian boy shuddered and tucked his arms and legs closer to his being, his eyes finding the water bottle and wishing it would come to him so he didn't have to get up. He decided he would just stay there and not drink, he could rebel a bit and get himself sick, but Bossman didn't like it when he did that either. Dick certainly cared what mood Bossman was in, but at the moment he was just too tired and confused to think about the consequences.

Dick's mind brushed over death -not for the first time- like it would be any better to where he was now. He didn't like those thoughts, he'd rather fight, but he was not blind to how good death seemed compared to this perpetual Hell. Dick was determined to survive as long as he could continue to fight, he wouldn't stop looking for ways not to give in. Some days he could barely hold onto his hatred for love to keep him going. Other days he fought violently and erratically for every single thing that was wrong with his life that was no longer in his hands.

The ebony-haired boy's internal clock told him he had about an hour left of his four hour respite before the handlers would come in to put his hands back in the pods. He usually woke up an hour before so he could do his business and eat, the rest of the time was just waiting. That's what Dick did now, he would wait, he would rebel by making them pick him off the floor instead of presenting himself as he usually did. It was small, but it was enough to tell them he still had some fight left in him. Usually he would go to the bathroom around this time but he honestly didn't want to, he didn't feel the need to either.

Dick jerked when he heard a loud bang, groaning quietly as he sat up anxiously and watched the doors in fearful confusion. He flinched back again when the bang sounded louder, and his eyes went wide when the sound accompanied a fisted dent in the doors.

Dick shuffled back, grimacing as he accidentally used his bloody hands in his haste to help himself, and huddled in a small ball behind one of the extraction pods. It wasn't a very good hiding spot, it didn't cover him at all but it was above him and that was better than nothing. Another bang echoed in the small room, again another fist-sized dent pushed violently into the metal.

He wasn't sure what was going on, but something was trying to break in. His first thought was one of those white creatures on a rampage, or maybe Bossman finally had enough of him. Though neither of those things made sense, they would just open the pod, not break it down. Another part of him stirred with hope, maybe in whatever destruction was going on the cuffs could be disabled and he could go free, he had this plan for a while but he could never figure out how to start such violence outside his pod.

(Sometimes he would imagine Zitka smashing through everything, her parents behind her stomping on all the handlers and throwing Bossman with their trunks. He really liked that one, Mami and Tati were usually on the bigger elephants back, waiting for Dick to climb onto Zitka to see the sky again. They would hug him too, and he'd be able to touch them and see their smiles. He'd stuff his face into Mom's stomach, warping his short arms around her too tightly but it would never be tight enough. Dad's big hand would be on his back; both of them clutching him close and warm and safe. But that was just a dream.)

The metal began to groan and bend, a caucasian hand breached the closed doors and clenched around the metal. Dick could only watch in confusion, but the warning bells in his head only increased until he was scared and terrified of what he didn't know. The hand wrenched aside the metal like paper, metal doors he himself had pounded against at one point in his captivity. Another hand joined the first on the other side, helping the doors open against their will before disappearing back from the new human-sized crevice.

Dick's breathing shuddered as not a handler or a white beast came in, but a lanky redhead teen wearing an odd yellow and red suit burst into the room. His face was covered in yellow too, but his eyes were not, they were green. Those eyes scanned the room until they landed on Dick, and an awkward staring contest began. While the firehead stared at him in shock(?) and pity(?), Dick was busy staring at the person's suit. He had some sort of lightning bolt on his chest and his ears? It looked weird too. The material wasn't like clothing; it was like Dick's suit, friction proof.

Who was he? What was going on? Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

The tall boy crouched down and shuffled forward, a kind (fake— it had to be fake) smile spreading his face as he greeted him gently. "Hello."

Dick knew it was a fake smile because he could see the pity in his eyes, his smile didn't reach them, and the corners of his mouth didn't quite point upwards. Dick knew how to handle fake nice, what threw Dick off was the new person's apparent air of... nervousness? He seemed anxious, Dick had never met someone here that was anxious. Everyone was always a doctor or a handler, they always looked down on him. When they looked at him they saw a lab rat, they didn't actually see him. But this guy was looking at him like he actually saw him. He was also obviously not an adult.

The firehead's red gloved hands wrung themselves together and his yellow boots took a few small awkward shuffles.

"Hey," he spoke again and Dick ducked his head to avoid his attention. The other teen moved with him, leaning on the ground with one hand to get more solid eye contact with the scared boy.

"Hey, it's alright. Me and a few buddies of mine are busting out of here, wanna come?"

The raven-haired experiment blinked in confusion, the older (he assumed) kid was giving him a choice... an actual choice. Dick jumped on that wagon as soon as he realized what it was. He nodded vigorously, getting some of his annoyingly long ebony hair into his eyes.

The firehead smiled again, a bit more real but not quite there yet. He shuffled forward again, lunging with outstretched grabbing hands as he spoke, "Here I can hel-"

"No touch!" Dick yelped frantically, tucking his marred hands to his chest and scooting back against the wall with a feverish intensity. He may agree to bust out with them but he did NOT trust them. Whoever they were...

The other teen retreated quickly, hands up in a placating manner. "Alright, it's okay, I won't touch. We gotta go though, can you move around?"

Dick loudly swallowed down his fear and nodded again, using his forearm against the wall to help himself up shakily.

"I'm Kid Flash, what can we call you?" The newly dubbed 'Kid Flash' asked as he waited for Dick to find his feet.

Dick hesitated. His mouth open to say his name but at the last second, he changed his mind. He didn't trust this guy at all, they had just met and 'Kid Flash' is definitely not what was on his birth certificate. No way was he going to give him what he wasn't already willing to give. But yeah... they did need to call him something...

"X." He said slowly, almost sheepishly as he leaned against the wall.

Kid Flash's head tilted, "like... the letter 'X'?"

Dick nodded, finally standing on his own two feet and holding his tender hands across his belly.

Kid Flash stepped to the side, waving a hand in the direction of two other boys on the other side of the mutilated doors. "That's Superboy and Aqualad, now all we need to do is go out the way we came."

His light cerulean eyes washed over the other two boys, finding odd clothing once more. One wore a black shirt with a weird red design and tan pants, he was bulky and had black hair and blue eyes like himself. But he looked super sour and his arms were crossed and his fists were clenched. That guy was dangerous, Dick noted, he should plan to keep away from him. The other teen had dark skin and short white hair, he had a red sleeveless shirt and dark pants and... no shoes? Also, were those gills on his neck?

Then it dawned on Dick. They were other experiments! They were all breaking out! They all had weird names and suits and powers just like him!

Adrenaline shot through the small boy at this revelation, a sudden burning need to move and get out overtook his body. He was going to leave! He was actually going to escape!

A smile split the boy's face, a few giggles lifted into the air as Dick ignited a familiar shift in his body. Everything went fuzzy for a moment before it all came back into focus with a new perspective.

He appeared in the bathroom, eyes crinkled with his wide smile as his eyes raked across the small room. He was leaving! He was actually leaving! The elation he felt was overriding his logic, it felt like he was on autopilot. He felt the need to gather his things as he would at the circus, make sure he had everything and didn't leave anything behind. Even though he didn't have anything to bring with him (not that he wanted to bring anything from this horrid place) he still had to address one thing.

He looked at the bathroom wall, where hundreds if not thousands of tiny blood tic marks the size of his finger covered every space he could reach. His eyes raked over the bloody wall, starting on the left where the blood was the brownest and stained into the wall. It was also the smallest, the shortest, where he began making the marks when he turned 9. He had grown since then, going back over the place to put more tic marks above it. He couldn't reach the top of course, and when he had run out of room he overlapped to the other walls.

Dick took a step back and observed how many fingerprints ticked off another day in this hole. There were so many, but his smile just got wider as he rushed forward. The Romanian boy took a finger to write over his years with a simple phrase. It took a little bit, his finger wasn't constantly bleeding so he had to change fingers a few times and even his hand to get all the letters onto the wall. Once he was finished a freeing feeling lifted off his chest, eliciting another giggle and a big wide smile. His body felt light as air as if he tried hard enough he could fly!

He was ready to leave now, to leave behind the bloody tic marked walls and everything that came with it. His body vibrated again, appearing in the main room where the three teens seemed to be looking for him.

Dick winced as he realized he forgot they hadn't known where he'd gone, but something weird settled in his gut when he found they hadn't left without him. Dick would have left as soon as he could if he'd been in their position, they were so awesome to find others and free them too. Maybe... maybe they could be trusted.

Sorry for the awkward cut out, this scene is actually really large so I had to find someplace to cut it up or else this would be well over 10,000 and I'm attempting consistency here.

5876 words!