Chương 2: The boy without love
Consciousness arrived like a slow sunrise, a gentle warmth spreading across my skin. But the light that greeted my awakening eyes wasn't the familiar caress of dawn. It was a brutal assault. A relentless white that flooded my vision and forced my eyes shut in protest.
However the world didn't stay silent in my darkness. I wasn't awarded that mercy. Instead it was a chorus of unwelcome sounds. Not a singular song, but a clashing of metallic clangs. A relentless assault of beeps. All reverberating with a deep, underlying hum that vibrated through my very bones.
Disoriented and prickling with unease, I forced my eyelids open.
Big mistake.
It got much worse.
So much worse.
Searing white in form of a kaleidoscope of colors lanced through my vision. Then a torrent of overlapping images I never knew my eyes were capable of receiving, flooded through my perception.
My body responded with a spike of pain that lanced through my temple, blossoming into a throb that pulsed with each frantic heartbeat.
There were more colors, now, an ultraviolet something that wafted out and permeated the atmosphere. I might say ultraviolet, but in truth, it was like an anti-light, a subtle, less harsh blacklight that rested underneath normal daylight and somehow filled out the world. It was impossible to describe to someone who had been limited to the standard spectrum of light their entire life, however.
Beyond the permeation, there was more detail to everything. It seemed like I could see to the microscopic, if I really paid attention — the tiny pock-marks and crags and valleys in concrete sticking out to my eyes a hundred, or even a thousand, times every few seconds, if I wasn't careful. Things a mile or more in the distance were as clear as something that might have been held in front of me.
Distance didn't seem to matter. I could see everything. Every atom. Every wisp of energy, expanding and expanding. Light bloomed into more hues, the purples more violet, the reds deeper and thicker until—
More colors — colors I never knew — were visible. Flows of energy, from me, from the lights, and the sounds and the — even the brushing of the wind was comprised of so many moving parts
STOP
SHUT IT ALL OFF
SHUT UP
JUST—
Balance fled as I tumbled off the unforgiving surface instinctively reaching up to cradle the source of the agony;my head when my fingers encountered an unexpected sensation – hair. Long, cascading hair, brushing against my shoulders.
My hair, certainly, wasn't this long. Not just my hair was different. My body felt different, vastly different.
A disquieting sense of wrongness snaked through me.
The last vestiges of half consciousness evaporated as a screech of static, laced with garbled radio chatter ripped through the silence. It was a shock. It scraped against my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, a sonic assault even more horrifying than the torrent of visions.
I found myself sprawled on the cold floor, curled into a ball of misery. Even as I screamed in agony, I did not hear it. Only the way my face vibrated with an intensity confirmed a scream had torn from my throat, its volume lost in the deafening roar that consumed my senses.
And so, pain remained my only companion, a suffocating presence that blotted out everything else. Until, a voice, piercing the haze of agony, cut through with surprising clarity.
"I've always found super hearing to be an amazing expression of the sense of hearing. The simple expression of the sense of hearing showing itself at such a broad range that a sound such as this…" the voice trailed off abruptly, replaced by a cruel screech. Even harsher than the first. It was the sound of metal scraping bone-dry against glass. A key-my mind supplied. A sound so grating it made me wince, even through the haze of my own suffering.
"….is heard across its entire spectrum," the voice continued, a hint of amusement creeping into its tone. "However you will find that controlling such a sense isn't so easy. Overwhelming, I imagine. Fortunately, nature offered control. Like the rustle of leaves. The hiss of the wind. The noise of the natural world. Yet, some animals, predators like wolves, learned to hone in on a single sound. The distant bleat of a wounded prey. The other sounds, though still present, faded into background noise. They weren't ignored, mind you, but their urgency diminished."
"That's the trick, son. Focus on one sound, one specific frequency. Let it become the beacon in your storm; guiding you. And the rest," the voice trailed off, its amusement morphing into a hint of challenge, "will become the white noise you learn to ignore. Now, focus on my voice, th-"
It wasn't easy. Doing what the voice said. Especially when each sound tried its best to drag for its space in my skull. The beeping machine throbbed in my skull, the metallic clangs echoing like thunder. But slowly, ever so slowly, the voice began to rise above the din. It became a lifeline, a single note amidst a chaos of notes. The other sounds didn't vanish, but they receded, morphing into a dull roar, a white noise that receded further with each passing second.
Relief washed over me as I laid on the ground panting.
"Impressive," the voice chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine despite the dulled clamor. "You learn quickly." The amusement in its tone was unsettling, like a predator praising its prey for honing its survival instincts.
My hackles raised. Who the fuck was son? No. More than that. The voice's amusement, that patronizing chuckle, scraped against years of forced positivity. Years spent on a hospital bed, the same tone ringing in my ears from doctors, nurses, even family. "He's a fighter," they'd say, their voices laced with a pity that felt like sandpaper on raw skin. Like I didn't know my body was betraying me, one agonizing inch at a time. Like I wasn't painfully aware that walking again was a distant dream, a cruel mirage shimmering in the desert of my reality.
This voice, with its amusement at my struggle, was no different. It was a predator, yes, but a predator toying with prey who understood the sting of helplessness all too well. Just because I couldn't see it, didn't mean I couldn't recognize the game.
I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw and unused. A cough wracked my body, a dry, rasping sound that echoed in the sterile chamber.
Taking a shaky breath, I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. The world was still a cacophony, but with the voice as my anchor, the other sounds faded further – a dull roar, a distant balm of pain. "Sight shouldn't be as overwhelming..." the voice began, but I cut it off.
"Don't patronize me," I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. "I do not need your help."
The amusement in the voice vanished, replaced by a surprised silence. Then, a slow, deliberate chuckle echoed in the room. "Feisty, aren't we?" It wasn't mocking this time, just amused.
Fueled by my defiance, I forced my eyes open. The world burst into color. My eyes prickled like needles were jabbing into them and I was forced to shut them again.
Goddamnit! I hated being so helpless.
The voice chuckled again.
"If I could be helpful," it drawled, "I am currently lowering the brightness of the room. Might I suggest you start with a squint, until your eyes can adjust better?"
There it was again, the patronizing tone that grated on my nerves. Yet, a sliver of logic cut through the haze of frustration. Fighting the urge to snap back, I took a shallow breath. This voice, for all its cruelty, seemed to hold some control over my environment.
Maybe… just maybe… a little cooperation wouldn't hurt.
With a heavy heart, I cracked open my eyelids a sliver. The assault was less intense this time. The colors, though still vibrant weren't blinding. Tentatively, I widened the squint.
The world came into focus, a sterile white cube devoid of warmth or comfort. Countless overhead lights, now dimmed to a tolerable glow, cast harsh shadows that danced across the room. The only splashes of color were the menacing black eye of the camera embedded in the ceiling and the cool metallic blue of the railing framing the metal bed I occupied.
Tentatively, I reached out a hand, brushing against the cool, unyielding metal of the bed frame. Where was I? How did I get here? Panic constricted my chest. A cold, metallic taste flooding my mouth.
"Where am I?" The question ripped from my throat, raw and desperate. The words echoed in the stark emptiness, bouncing off the white walls and offering no answer.
I was alive undoubtedly. I could feel the undeniable hum of life coursing through me, and as I raised my hand to my chest, the reassuring thrum of my own heartbeat beneath my fingertips. But how? My last moments were a fading memory of weakness, a slow descent into a darkness that felt like oblivion. I distinctly remembered the sensation of giving up, welcoming the absence of pain. Yet, here I stood. Shaky and disoriented, but undeniably alive.
A sickening scrunch interrupted my thoughts. My gaze snapped to the bed frame, where my hand, moments ago rested casually on the cool metal. My grip had tightened instinctively and my hand had sunk halfway into the damn thing. The cool metal yielded like warm butter, my fingers effortlessly carving three deep grooves into the frame. The screech intensified as I released my grip, the metal groaning in a tortured protest. It didn't fold or crumple, but the deep gouges marred its smooth surface.
What?
My chest heaved with ragged breaths, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
What the fuck??!!
I stood up immediately. Even that felt different. For one, my legs worked. My body was different compared to what my mind expected. Moving around was effortless compared to how it was before. I felt pumped, like a loaded shotgun. Like any minute, I could turn the dial from 0-100 immediately.
I ran a hand through my hair. There it was again, this shoulder length long dark hair.
I channeled my frustration and confusion into a roar that reverberates through the stark white room. The sound itself seemed to vibrate the very walls. "Who did this to me?! Where am I?!"
The silence stretched on, heavy and thick. I clench and unclench my fists, the air crackling with suppressed energy. Each ragged breath feels like a bellows fanning the flames of my anger. Just when the silence got suffocating, a distorted voice sputters to life from the unseen speaker embedded in the ceiling.
"You appear… agitated," it crackled, the amusement from before replaced by a hint of something akin to surprise. "We were not anticipating this level of… vigor in your initial awakening."
"Who are you?!" I roared, my voice raw with a mix of anger and fear.
"Don't you think that's the wrong question to ask?" The voice cut itself short, the surprise morphing into a sharp edge. "No, the right question would be – who are you?"
"I am Match. A clone made from the DNA of the Superman. Created to replace him should he perish, to destroy him should he turn from The Light." The words tumbled out of my mouth mechanically, devoid of any emotional inflection. It felt like reciting a script, a pre-programmed duty etched into the very core of my being.
My breath hitched, a strangled sound in the sudden silence. That was the most unnerving thing I had ever felt. My own body betrayed me. Resist? The concept of regaining control of my mouth was the last thing on my mind. Why would I try to resist? I just needed to complete my task. In this case, answering the question.
Even more, the words I had uttered. Match. Superman. The light. All those things together brought to mind a world I vaguely remembered from comics and tv shows flickered into existence, a nightmarish reality replacing the one I thought I knew. A world of heroes and villians. Young Justice. DC Comics.
"Match…" I whispered, the name tasting like ash in my mouth. Memories, fragmented and hazy, swirled – a rage barely contained.
"I… I'm a clone?" The words echoed in the sterile silence, a chilling realization settling in my gut. The defective genetic clone of superman. A weapon, a failsafe.
I was Match.
Fuck.
What the utter fuck.
I couldn't even bother thinking about how it was possible that I still had my sanity as match or how reincarnation? was possible. I just felt so disoriented. The sterile white walls seemed to be closing in on me, my breaths came out shorter.
I was having a panic attack.
I needed to get out!
With a roar, I launched myself towards the wall before me, aiming a fist at the featureless white wall.
"No! What are you-" The voice shrieked.
I unleashed a punch.
Yes unleashed was the word because I couldn't just say I gave a punch. No that would imply that the punch was average, normal or subpar even.
No.
It was an eviction notice served on the air itself.
The room shuddered with the force of it. Plaster dust coughed from the ceiling like a startled smoker. Overhead fluorescents sputtered in protest.
The voice vanished, replaced by a startled hiss of static. Ignoring its sputtering surprise, I pulled my hand out of the wall and surveyed the wreckage. My fist, undamaged, offered a stark contrast to the devastation I'd wrought. The once-pristine wall resembled a shattered mirror, spiderwebs of cracks radiating from the point of impact. A chunk of plaster hung precariously, threatening to join the dust raining down on the floor.
With a moan that seemed to emanate from the building itself, the emergency lights flickered to an unsettling life. The room, no longer content to be a mere bystander, began to fortify itself. From the ceiling corners, heavy metal plates with a metallic shriek tore themselves free, slamming into the ground. They sank with a hiss into pre-designated grooves, sealing themselves flush.
"Subject Match, you have been ordered to stop!" The voice shouted.
Bracing myself to throw the next punch, a deafening screech erupted from the walls around. A high-pitched whine that assaulted my ears. It felt like a thousand nails being scraped against a chalkboard. A sonic torture that had me holding my head in a vice-like grip. I lost my balance and crumpled back onto the floor.
The intensity increased as I held my head screaming. It hurt and felt like my brain was melting.
The last thing I registered before blessed oblivion claimed me was the speaker's voice, devoid of any sympathy.
"Quickly get in there."
And then nothing.
Hello everyone, It's another weekend and Khanadiety is back again with another update.
I am very happy with the reception the first chapter received. Your comments and feedback on the last chapter were all very much appreciated and largely the reason why I'm here again with another, so read and once again, feedback is much appreciated.
A lot of you have been asking if Match will be replacing superboy, the only thing I can say is to keep reading and maybe it will be addressed in the next chapter.
For those of us that reached out about a faster update and more chapters, you'll be pleased to know that that will be possible. Starting next weekend from my next update, my P-at-reon will be made available.More than a chance to read advanced works on all my stories, I will be uploading pictures and illustrations to enhance story telling there and even polls. My intention is to build a community of readers of Khanadiety's works. I look forward to all your patronage and support.
See you next weekend, Ciao.
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