A new part to "Trapped In Darkness"; so sorry for the long wait.
Earlier parts can be read here:
He wasnt going to think about her, he wasnt going to think about anything. There wasnt anything to be said anyway. Despite his best effects an image of the brown skinned, write haired female slave he had rescued came to his mind. Damn! He didnt need this. Agitated he corrected his aim on his gun and fired 3 fast shots towards the wooded statue of a man, hitting the doll straight in the heart all three times. He holstered his gun and went over to a pushing bag in the gym, making the other guards present move out of his way, hate and fear in their eyes as they saw him. Damn them anyway, he thought darkly. He despised humans; they were all weak and cruel. The soldier he had interrogated earlier the same day about why he had falsely accused a guard of aiding slaves escape had cracked after only four hours of interrogation and he hadnt even done much more than threaten him and hit him a few times in the face; as said weak. After the soldiers confession that he had lied because the other man had stolen his girl Thunder had contacted the Captain who had ordered him to shoot the soldier which he had done with no emotions at all, it was an order to be carried out
Thunder practiced hits and blocks, making sure every blow the punching bag received would be deadly had his opponent been a living being. Though he tried not to his thoughts still wandered. So much had changed in the past weeks. Somehow Ororo had awakened feelings in him he had thought long dead. He tried to argue with himself that saving her had been nothing but an instinct he should have ignored but didnt quite succeed. He had learned long ago that emotions and attachments equaled weakness and pain and he desperately tried to fight this beginning weakness that Ororo was turning into. It was stupid to even begin to consider or dream; this was the real world and in the real world things never worked out and people ended up dead. His concern was only for himself
or it used to be. Suddenly he wasnt sure if that was still the case. Why had he saved Ororos friends? He had no reason to. He could have passed them by. Sure, he had never approved of the guards unwritten right to amuse themselves with the slaves but he also knew he couldnt stop them all and so he hadnt. He had run a great risk today. Joe was a loose end; he could rat him out to the captain that would surely mean hed be punished. Maybe he should kill Joe just to be sure he didnt talk? He had no trouble doing so; Joe was human and no more to him than any other guard. However his disappearance would be noticed at once. Better to lay low a while and wait and see.
Without thought, Thunder delivered hit after hit to the punching bag before he suddenly drew his knife and cut in the air where his opponents throat would have been.
Youre dead, Thunder whispered lowly. The captain would have been proud of that
suddenly he remembered back, back to when his training had begun
* * *
Hit, kick, hit, kick, down, roll, up, hit-
His heel connected with the sandbag in a kick that could easily have killed a human. A hit followed, elbow in the solar plexus, a fist hammered against the place that would have been the fragile throat on a living being.
Harder! a sharp voice snapped, and Black Thunder gasped, drawing much-needed oxygen into his burning lungs, trying to follow the Captains orders, and knowing deep down that he couldnt.
He never could.
For each challenge he was given, another - and harder - waited on the other side. Faster, stronger, more ruthless, more lethal; twelve-year-old hands that could kill in a heartbeat, a mind that held no remains of a distant childhood, only cold determination.
Weakness was a demon, mercy was its altar, conscience was its crusader, bravely battling the darkness that invaded Black Thunders mind.
Another kick, feeling the exhausting starting to set in. Hard military boots against the battered sandbag, again and again, each new movement a little harder, a little more efficient than the previous one. The crusader fought against him, trying to save the fragile mind beneath the brutal exterior, but was fighting a lost battle.
He didnt want to be saved.
Mercy was death; hed seen that. The death of his family, his friends, all too weak and compassionate to fight, all victims to a hypocritical crusader that spoke of mercy but showed them none.
Black Thunder automatically obeyed the sharp order, kicking the sandbag again and again, until he felt something give up - not himself; never himself - but the seams that held the bag together. He gasped, feeling the air burning in his lungs, then stepped back and watched the stream of sand fall to the floor.
Better. Not good, but better, the gruff voice said, and the boy bowed his head slightly in admission of his shortcomings.
He wasnt good, not yet, but he would change that. He would become what the Captain wanted him to be; hed make the man proud that he took a small, frightened boy under his wings so long ago. Cold, lethal, obedient, devoted, dangerous, feared, admired, respected, merciless-
No, not a killer, never a killer - he didnt claim a life without reason, they deserved it, all of them, weak and merciful as they were. And they hated him for it, he could see it in their eyes. They hated a twelve-year-old boy, and yet they feared him for who he was, what he could do.
Everyone, except the Captain whod seen his potential and accepted him as his own flesh and blood. And yes, it was hard, and yes, the punishment for failure was never pleasant, the scars on his back attested to that, but-
-But pain meant that he was loved. It meant that the Captain cared enough to push Black Thunder to his limits and beyond, to let the boy claim the power that was rightfully his. Not like the others, his family, the prisoners, who all wanted him to be kind and generous and merciful, like them, and like them, it would have *killed* him, he knew that.
They feared him, they feared his potential, and he hated them for it. They should have protected him, shouldnt they, but instead theyd cut off his wings and made him weak, fragile, helpless, merciful-
He clenched his fists, felt the short nails dig into the flesh, but ignored it. He wasnt human, not anymore. He refused to be - hed seen what happened to humans, weak and pathetic as they were.
They died...and he was a survivor.
You may take a break now, the Captain said, and Black Thunder bowed, then walked to the corner where two bottles of water were lying on the ground. He hated himself for being so weak that the Captain had to let him relax before the training continued...if he had been good enough, his body, weak and fragile as it was, wouldnt have needed the brief pause.
But that would change, he knew that. He would be stronger and faster, and every bit as lethal and obedient as the Captain wanted him to be.
Hed make him proud. Someday.
Black Thunder knew that.
* * *
Thunder delivered a final kick to the punching bag before he wiped the sweat from his forehead and went out of the gym.
He had succeeded what he had sworn he would as a child. He was faster, stronger and just as lethal and obedient as the Captain wanted him to be and he would continue to be obedient. He owned the Captain his life
.he wanted him to be proud of him. He wouldnt let Ororo cloud his mind. He wouldnt.
Yet as he walked down the corridor towards his room, it was her image and not the captains he saw in his minds eye.
Author's notes: I need to thank a lot of people for this chapter. First and foremost Sorcieré who got so fascinated with BT that she wrote a better part of this chapter; BTs flashback to be precise. Thanks so much, lov. Youre the best!
Also thanks to Estelle for the great FB and wonderful Beta. Miss you lots, sweetheart.
Finally thanks to wolvie025 whose kind FB got me to finally post this chapter.
Thanks for all the support for this story; it means so much to me and keeps me writing. I hope youll continue to like this story as it evolves. Thanks so much!