Keith left me alone for a long time. Before he left, he gave me some ‘nutritional food’ as he explained it, and water. Every bite of the food reminds me of Malort. The best I can figure it was about eight sleepless hours before he returned. A large doorway opened. The open is the entire length of the wall. He was standing in front of a large, complicated console.

“We will go over the basics. You are beyond your genetic potential for strength, speed, endurance, and intelligence. The series of shots you received brought you to this point. It is a standard procedure for anyone engaging in space travel. Your body is less adaptive but more resilient. The implants will negate other abilities and we will evaluate your speed and strength. Prepare yourself,” he says.

After a few of his button presses, I feel a subtle pressure on me. It took me a second to realize that the floor is moving. Keith sliding in my vision was the major clue. Hitting the wall was another.

I start walking on the floor. The wall in front of me indicates what I think is speed. Reading three miles per hour and climbing. A fast-paced walk quickly turns into a jog and then a run. The number continues to climb higher and higher. My breathing is amazingly barely labored as I pass fifty miles per hour. Which turns out to be my new top running speed. I spend a ridiculous amount of time at this speed. Eventually, my feet betray me, and I trip over my legs. The impact of the hitting ground barely registered to me.

“That is a respectable running speed. We shall retest without the implants being active later. We shall now evaluate your raw strength. Prepare yourself.”

With that exercise, weights form out of the ground. No different than the kind one might find in a gym. I proceeded to start performing various actions with them. They got heavier and heavier the more I messed with them. Finally, they got too heavy to lift.

“Excellent, your strength and speed are far beyond that of a standard human. We will work on technics to further push your boundaries later. If you look to your left, there is a box. Please put your hand in the box. Prepare yourself.”

I somewhat sensed the pedestal and box forming out of the floor. It is a bit hard for me to accept that I can sense these things. Such an alien sensation. Now the box itself proposes an interesting conundrum.

“What’s in the box!” I say in my best Seven impressions. Knowingly terrible.

“We will be evaluating your tissue resilience and healing capabilities,” he says coldly. With a few taps on his console, I almost collapse in agony. I had to use the box to keep from falling. The sensation passed as suddenly as it came. I jerk my hand away from the box in fear.

“Lack of cooperation will result in punishment,” is another cold statement.

My options are not great. The warning shot was a horrible sensation. I have no doubt that it will only get worse from there. That does not mean I need to be completely subordinate. So, I flip off Keith and jam my hand into the box.

Keith did not appear behind me with a poisonous needle to my throat. Instead, the box closed around my arm. Sealing my hand inside. In a fit of panic, I try to pull it out. Which was a failure. My new super-strength is no match for this fancy alien material.

Inside the box, my fingers are forced to be spread out. A few sharp pinches told me my thumb was slowly being stabbed. While screaming I tug on my arm again, while using my legs to apply more force. Stuck I remain.

Heat hits my pointer finger and climbs rapidly, cold on my middle finger, a liquid hits my ring finger, and finally, something that feels like powder on my pinky. Each finger erupts in mind-numbing pain. I drape myself over the box, as I plead for it to be over. One final tug frees my hand. The hope of a pain box-like Paul was forced to use fades as I look at my bloody, burnt, and ripped-up fingers.

“What the hell man. Is this the appropriate response to getting the bird for your species?” I ask him, cradling my hand.

“I assure you there was no malice behind that test. I wanted to evaluate your flesh. How it is affected by variously sharp needles, heat, cold, acidity, and base. The degradation of your flesh under those conditions is not particularly remarkable. Then again, your implants are on full strength. I will deactivate your implants. You should heal by the time I return.”

The doorway closed as soon as he stopped talking. The pressure lifted from my body, and I was left alone in a butt load of pain from my unusable hand. Time crawled by at a snail’s pace. The pain in my hand did not change. After a lengthy period of time, he returned.

“It is unusual for a magic-user to not have a subconscious ability to heal. This is unfortunate for you. You will have to attempt to learn advanced healing technics to regain the function of your hand.” He explained with could be a touch of concern in his voice.

“By now you must have become aware of a kind of extra-sensory perception. This is not an aspect of magic. Your senses and brain have been altered by the process that gave you speed and strength. Does this make sense to you?” He asks.

“Yes, I know my surroundings without looking at them. To a painful detail.” I explain.

“Excellent! This will be helpful. Along with that your brain will process magic information through the same pathways. A common aspect of your perception should be an ability to sense energy forces.”

“That means you have a record of what people can and cannot do with this magic. Would it be possible for me to see this?” I ask. The response was a laugh that was not a laugh. It did not sound right.

“You should focus on the problem at hand.” Did he make a joke on purpose? “Concentrate on your hand. Focus and unfocused on it to see how what you sense changes. If I am correct, you should sense an energy source. Push your will and concentration into that energy. Observe the results. Test and repeat until you achieve your goal. I will be back when your hand is better. You will not get more food until it is healed.” He says and disappear again.

It took time but I managed to get the hand healed. After doing so my head was killing me. Deeply intense exhaustion hit me as well. Lucky for me my headache kept me from sleeping. That is until I was rewarded with food. After shoveling the nasty pellets into my mouth, I passed out.

When I woke up Keith was waiting for me. This time in the room. He was visually inspecting my hand. For a moment I considered attacking him but thought better of it. I had no idea what he or I would do after that. My death is the likely result.

“You did an excellent job healing. There is no scar tissue at all. It took you a long time for you to accomplish this. You will need practice,” He gets up and leaves the room. A few seconds later the wall opens again. “Today we will work on your understanding of magic. I do not expect much progress to be made initially. As you should know by now. Disobedience will be punished. What you don’t know is if your progress pleases me. You will be rewarded.”

We go over the basics. How the particular type of energy is from a kind of subspace. It alters an exposed person’s body. Creating pathways for the flow of energy. Allowing the mind to manipulate it in particular ways. This happens on a subconscious level for most people. Their brains work out how to do one thing or another. For me though, it is a conscious reaction. So, it will be more difficult for me.

First, he instructs me on how to sense different kinds of energy. This takes what I guess is days. He estimated that my quickness to heal was a need issue. I expected him to push me hard. Instead, he is extremely patient with me. His focus is on me sensing heat and kinetic energy.

Sensing the energy is one thing. Using it is a whole different issue. Keith began by having me watch him manipulate the energy. It didn’t work quite the way I sensed while watching him. He summons energy inside himself and transforms it into healing, heat, or kinetic forces. Any attempt at doing that results in me becoming exhausted and with a splitting headache.

Keith reaches the conclusion that my pool of potential magic is extremely small. This disappoints him a bit but the skills I have displayed makes me an interesting subject in his eyes. Especially the fact that the implants barely work on me. He leaves them off most of the time. When they are on, I feel a pressure. That doesn’t stop my ability to sense energies or what little I can do with them.

Hours turn into days, which turn into weeks. Keith began a more dangerous form of training. Attacks would occur at any point. Sleeping, eating, or sitting around. There was not a single moment of my current existence that was not without risk of attack. Every time I survived Keith would clap. The rhythm was not right in some way.

It might have been traumatic, but it was beneficial. I started stretching my skills. Utilizing kinetic and heat in strikes. Doing this prompted rewards. Weekly peacetime and tasty food. The real boon though was when I teleported. A part of me knew it was possible. A deep-down sensation. That first time took several minutes of running in a circle before I successfully teleported into the center of the room. Keith gave me a bed for that one and for the next month we did nothing else but practice teleporting. A part of me regretted figuring out how to do it, but it was too cool.

Between ‘prepare yourself’ and the clapping it was obvious Keith was conditioning me. I’ve read many history books that contain information about double agents and collaborators. Few people ever start off wanting to be that kind of person. It’s death by a thousand cuts, conditioning, or a promise for a better tomorrow that gets people to do truly horrific things. The other people are just sociopaths.

There was extraordinarily little talking involved other than instructions. He ignored any attempt I made to have an actual conversation. A few times he activated the implants to get me to shut up. I was starved for companionship and conversation. It was driving me a bit mad to be so isolated. My performance started to be affected. Increasingly I would wake up bloody after a failed attempt to defend myself.

The wall opened revealing the same thing as it always does. Keith behind his console. Nothing was happening in my room though. Which was strange. He just continued pressing buttons. Then the door behind him opens. It never did that while I could see it. Part of me wants to try to rush through it. A dumb part.

In steps another one of his species. Unlike Keith, this one is muscular, there are no horns, and the skin was bluer. Maybe the skin color was an aspect of age. After an exchange of words with Keith, this new more angel looking Seraphim motioned someone to come in. It was another Seraphim pulling a human woman by a leash. She is absolutely stunning.

“This is Melissa. She will be your companion from now on. Study has shown your species is communal. Your lack of progress recently is most likely due to depression. I expect that your performance will improve,” he says.

The woman gets released and is shoved into my room. I look her over. A face so cute it melts my heart and a body that can drive me crazy with little effort. We stare into each other’s eyes. Behind all this physical perfection was a broken human being. She is being fed to me plain and simple. The horror of what she represents hits me hard. I take her into my arms.

“I am sorry Melissa,” I say. My voice sounds weird. It has been months since I’ve said anything with any human emotion behind it. She looks at me. I expected to see some sort of confusion. There was nothing in her eyes.

I look at Keith and the two guards, place my hand on her head, and snap her neck.