A Problematic Desire
"Subject 21-F. Do you know why you've been called here?"
In a plain white room, a man in a grey uniform questioned a young man.
"No, sir."
The Lieutenant pressed a button on his controller, playing a video on the monitor by his side. It was the camera feed of a section near their facility's mess hall. Subject 21-F showed no reaction to the video besides the slightest shrinking of his pupils.
At 17:37, a young woman in a tracksuit walked past the camera's coverage area, stopping near a wall. She was still close enough to be caught in footage but far enough that only half of her profile could be seen.
The video was sped up.
At 17:52, a young man wearing a similar tracksuit entered the scene. Subject 21-F, Enoch Kadmon, stepped close to Subject 21-A, shoving a cardboard package into her chest. After what seemed to be a short conversation, he leaned forward, pressing the other against the wall. That movement was finally enough to take them both off-camera.
The Lieutenant pressed the rewind button, pausing at the last second of actual footage: the image of Subject 21-F biting a shoulder.
"This is the third time you've been caught giving rations to a fellow platoon member in exchange for blood. You have already been reprimanded and forced into extra duties. This time, you'll be placed in correctional custody."
The Lieutenant left his chair, signaling the soldiers behind the youth to take him away.
"... I need it."
Slowly, The Lieutenant turned around to face Enoch.
"What was that?" he said slowly.
Subject 21-F had calmly accepted his previous punishments. He had nodded at the reprimands and dutifully completed his extra duties, as was expected of him.
But from what he'd heard about correctional custody, quiet acceptance would do him no favors this time.
"If you check the data on my combat drills and destructive physical analysis, you'll see that control over my abilities decreases if I don't drink blood. I've tried explaining to the doctors that it's a new dietary need, but they refuse to believe me—"
"It's textbook addiction, Subject! You are experiencing a temporary relief, followed by stronger and stronger cravings. It will stop. You will stop. We don't want a weapon with a chemical dependency."
"Addiction...? Dependency...?"
Enoch took a moment to mask his face, but it was too late. His superior officer had already noticed the look of sheer disdain from the white-haired youth.
"Get him out of my sight."
The two officers grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Lieutenant, Please! You can accept Parahumans that can absorb blood to become stronger, but not one that needs it for sustenance?!"
"You're supposed to be better than this, Enoch."
"..."
Enoch fell silent at that, watching the Lieutenant with twitching eyes as the soldiers dragged him away.
[Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!]
"It's shortsighted."
"..."
Solitary confinement. A single cell with no bed or windows. Enoch would be chained to one of its walls for who knew how long, receiving enough water to survive daily. He was also told he'd receive a piece of rye bread after his punishment, but he was unsure if that was true.
The cell was pitch black now, which was good. The lights would only turn on when one of his wardens came in to deliver a punishment. So he could see every mark they inflicted on his body.
After maiming him, they would ask him if he understood and regretted his actions. But no matter his answer, they would walk away and leave him to wait for the next day.
"Would you blame a person for being dependent on water? For being dependant on air?"
"..."
Alone in the dark, the young man whispered to his Shadow.
The Shadow had been with him since he was born. More than his silhouette, it was his essence reflected in the darkness, solidified by his thought. It was capable of doing everything he could and even more.
"They accept my hair suddenly turning white and my eyes turning red."
"..."
It was also something that should be impossible for him at the moment. Correctional custody placed its recipients in Telekill metal restraints, which prevented the use of Paranormal abilities. Otherwise, it would be too easy for certain prisoners to regenerate, dull their sense of pain, or even attempt some futile resistance.
"They order around people that can bend the laws of physics for fun, but drinking a bit of blood is where they draw the line? How fucking stupid can you be?"
"..."
However, even if Enoch could summon it, The Shadow had no will. It could only do what he ordered, which included replying to him.
... so in the end, it was self-affirmation. Talking to The Shadow—to himself—was simply a mechanism to reinforce his ego.
If he didn't do this, he would break. He had already tried faking regret to his superiors, and it was only a matter of time until it wasn't fake.
"You're supposed to be better than this, Enoch," he muttered angrily. "And you were supposed to have everything about me mapped out before I was even born. So how come this is happening?"
"..."
Being a designer baby gave him more leeway with the facility's staff, but also higher expectations.
After the first blood-dealing incident, they stuffed him full of drugs meant to kill his "addiction."
It didn't work because it wasn't a fucking addiction.
By the second incident, if the culprit was a subject from outside, they would have cut their losses and assigned a handler to safely regulate their consumption.
But with him, they somehow expected him to get over it after enough punishment. He was their project, after all. He should be able to do this much.
"Just keep showing results. If you can't show results, your thoughts are worthless."
"..."
It was the biggest lessson they had imparted on him. People—Subjects who couldn't keep up got taken away and shot in the back of their heads. But the ones who could...?
Special Agent Knil. Special Agent Hickory. That asshole Nei. There were countless creatures in here that should have been killed for being far from "the soldier they wanted."
But they were kept alive because their talents outweighed their quirks. And that was also true for Enoch. As long as he excelled at what he did and didn't kill anyone important while doing it, they would stop caring about his diet.
It was only a matter of time. All he needed to do was not get caught for a while, and all that bullshit the doctors spouted about "addiction" would become worthless.
"... I need... a new method."
"..."
Trying to find blind spots in their surveillance was becoming too challenging. Furthermore, Enoch's platoon members would start demanding more out of the trades due to the risk of being punished alongside him.
Enoch winced as the sudden lights assaulted his vision. His warden for the day walked towards him, and he could almost smell the blood pumping beneath their skin, even with the cuffs restricting his senses.
Then, the warden grabbed his chin, forcing him to drink the water he needed to survive... yet leaving him oh so hungry...
"New method... new method..." he mumbled with bloodshot eyes as the pain in his stomach somehow intensified.
"I'm afraid it's the same punishment as yesterday and the day before, Enoch," the warden said, raising the cattle prod.
"... not... talking to you... dumbass..."
"Oh my, you're mouthy today."
BZZZTTT
"ARRRGHHH!!!"
[Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!]
After correctional custody, Enoch didn't attempt to drink blood for a few weeks.
Had his ego been broken?
Maybe.
After enough days of starvation, he slowly lost his wits until he was nothing more than a child begging for food.
But even when he was released and allowed to eat alongside his fellow subjects at the mess hall, the hunger never faded.
It would never end. It was a part of him now, just like The Shadow under his feet. He had already known that before. It was simply more apparent now.
He stopped trying to satisfy it because he was looking for a healthy way of doing it.
"Fight's over, Subject 21-F wins."
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The end of a combat drill. Enoch let go of his opponent's neck, and the bloodied teen fell in a heap, desperately gasping for air.
"Next pair."
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Under the strict vigil of an instructor and the bored gazes of his fellow weapons, Enoch watched a clock on the wall. What he wanted—needed was right below him, yet there was no opening for him to act. Another instructor was one step away from fetching the body.
"Leave the arena, Subject 21-F."
The lead instructor became impatient. Time is money, after all.
Time waits for no one.
"Subject 21-F—"
Tick. Tock. Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...
But he was an exception.
While everyone else waited for the next second to pass, Enoch bent closer to the bleeding body. As if gravity was reversed, the crimson liquid slowly floated towards his open mouth, flooding his senses with that delightful, almost metallic taste.
"Hahhh... hahh..."
It was reckless to spend his few moments of reality warping on a post-training snack, but it was all he had for now.
He rose in a daze, wiping his mouth and smacking his lips—
Before meeting Special Agent Alpha's amused gaze.
Even if time itself froze, he could not escape The Center's scrutiny.
However, caught in his current high, that revelation was only enough to make him smile and stand at attention for the suited woman.
"What comes after correctional custody, Ma'am?" he asked airily as she walked towards him.
"Back to reprimands. This time, from Assistant Director Archer."
"Hah.... hahaha..."
The higher the walls in his way, the more excited he seemed to become.
"... and what can I do to make you look the other way?"