Three Levels in One Night

With surveillance cameras installed in the cell, Russell had to keep his joy to himself. Then, without warning, something went wrong.

The cold metal collar around his neck suddenly flashed a blinding red, and a shrill alarm shattered the silence.

A savage current burst from the collar's core and surged through the skin and nerves of his neck into every part of his body.

"Ah!"

Russell could not even finish crying out. His muscles seized as if lightning had struck him, and he collapsed flat on the floor.

The punitive shock lasted five full seconds. To Russell, it felt like a century.

When the agonizing numbness and pain finally receded, he gasped for air and pushed himself up on his elbows.

He spat on the floor beneath the camera. His sapphire-blue eyes burned with cold fury.

In the main surveillance room, one of the monitors laughed. "How's that shock feel, you freak?"

"That's enough. They're test subjects. Don't overdo it. My shift's starting, and I'm taking Section D," said the guard coming to relieve him.

Russell looked away from the camera. Beneath his anger, he felt a flicker of relief.

Fortunately, the damned collar was mainly designed to suppress fluctuations in Mutant Gene energy and prevent powers from leaking out or running wild. It was not the ultimate model that could immobilize its wearer or inject a neurotoxin.

At least he could still use his powers.

Besides, he had Superhuman Healing. It was only level one, but given time, it could more than handle burns and muscle damage from a shock like that.

The Mutant Suppression Collar was the standard shackle fastened around every Mutant's neck in this prison.

How do I get this thing off? His mind raced.

At last, he settled on his newly awakened Psychic Telekinesis.

If its precision extended to macroscopic matter... did that mean he could theoretically affect any physical object visible to the naked eye?

No matter how intricate the collar's interior was, its controller had to contain tiny electronic components, circuit boards, and chips. All of those were matter.

A daring plan quickly took shape.

He did not need to tear the high-strength alloy collar apart. That would immediately trigger a louder alarm and a stronger shock. Instead, he could work from within, using Telekinesis to interfere with its tiny connections, short out the shock mechanism, and disable the alarm.

It would be like using a fine needle to sever a few crucial wires.

Resolve flashed in Russell's eyes.

Without hesitation, he turned his back to the camera and placed his right palm over the slight bulge of the controller housing on the collar's side. The metal felt cool against his skin.

He focused every thought beneath his palm, imagining his will as an invisible hand passing through the metal shell and probing the intricate mechanism inside.

At first, he felt nothing. Sweat had just begun to bead on his forehead when—

Click.

A tiny snap came from inside the collar, as though a miniature relay contact had shifted out of place, or an invisible force had nudged a hair-thin wire free of its solder point.

Almost simultaneously, the familiar mechanical voice sounded in his mind.

[Psychic Telekinesis Control experience +1]

It worked. Russell's spirits lifted.

He immediately noticed that the numbers on the virtual panel had changed.

[Mutant ability: Psychic Telekinesis (2/100), level one]

Using an ability increases its proficiency? Then if I keep doing it, I can reach level two?

A level-two Mutant still would not be powerful, but at least he would no longer be at the very bottom, among the level ones dismissed as defective. His strength would also rise substantially.

The thought was a shot of adrenaline, driving away some of his pain and anger.

He glanced discreetly at the camera high in the corner. Its red indicator still glowed, watching the cell with cold indifference.

Then he looked at the iron food tray on the floor. A palm-sized porcelain bowl sat in a round recess near its edge, still more than half full of thick soup.

Russell stepped forward and picked up the tray. He put a piece of wheat-colored bread in his mouth, then carried the tray to the camera's blind spot.

He concentrated, and the tray trembled slightly before slowly rising from his hand.

At neck height, his control faltered. The tray dropped, splashing "soup" from the little bowl everywhere.

Russell did not even look at the mess beneath him. He reached out and caught the tray.

[Psychic Telekinesis Control experience +1]

[Ability: Psychic Telekinesis (3/100), level one]

The cold notification sounded again.

In this hopeless cage, that emotionless voice sounded sweeter than music.

His suspicion confirmed, Russell began working. Faint, peculiar noises soon echoed through the cramped cell at regular intervals.

The night stretched on.

Russell turned into a tireless experience-grinding machine. When he was not lifting and lowering the tray with Telekinesis, he was throwing himself against the wall, feeling his healing take effect while raising its proficiency too.

Every second or two, a system notification sounded in his head. The experience values on the panel climbed rapidly.

Was it tedious? Of course.

But for power, for survival, for a chance to stop being helpless prey, it was worth it.

As for the cameras? He did not care.

Even if the guards saw him, they would probably assume test subject Number 47 had gone mad and started hurting himself, either from an experimental side effect or a complete mental breakdown.

Let them think that.

By sunrise, he would have quietly built his foundation. Then... he would stun them all.

"Hey, white-skinned brat next door!" An impatient shout came through the thick concrete wall.

"All that banging in the middle of the night is keeping me awake! Asking for a beating? Keep it up and I'll sort you out!"

Russell did not pause his training.

The tray rose, then fell again.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, damn it! You deaf? You little bastard, how dare you ignore the great Jerry!"

Bang! Bang!

Heavy blows struck the wall next door, betraying the speaker's fury and strength.

"Ah! Ah! White boy, you're dead! When we gather in the yard tomorrow, I'll beat your ass red! I promise you'll wish you'd never been born."

The furious roar echoed through Section D's corridor. Even the two armed guards at the prison entrance heard it.

They exchanged a glance. Their dark-blue eyes held no concern, only idle amusement and anticipation.

"Big Jerry again." One guard flicked ash from his cigarette. "Tomorrow's yard time in Section D should be entertaining."

"Sure will. Prison life needs a little variety." The other grinned, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.

They were used to prisoners settling matters among themselves. As long as no one died and no important property was damaged, the strong preying on the weak was rare entertainment during their dull shifts.

Time sped by in the dark.

As the first fiery rays of dawn squeezed through the narrow window high in the wall, metal scraped outside the cell. The lock opened.

Conrad's detestable face appeared beyond the bars. He slapped the iron door, making a tremendous racket, and bellowed in a harsh voice:

"Rise and shine, you scum! Thirty seconds to get your asses out to the yard. Anyone late doesn't eat today!"

Clang! Clang!

As he worked his way down the corridor, throwing doors open and barking orders, prisoners stirred in their cells and trudged to their feet.

Soon Conrad reached Russell's cell.

He yanked the door open just as roughly. His gaze went first to the floor, where the food tray lay overturned and sticky soup covered the concrete.

Then he looked at Russell, who leaned against the wall with a calm, almost indifferent expression.

A sudden anger flared inside Conrad. He despised Mutant freaks, especially this one. The boy was a prisoner and a test subject, yet he still wore that calm expression, as though he were quietly judging Conrad.

It made Conrad feel that his authority as a guard was being challenged.

"Ungrateful little shit," Conrad muttered. He strode into the cell, his right hand closing around the rubber baton at his waist. He meant to teach this insolent test subject a lesson he would remember.

His attention was fixed on Russell's face. Blinded by anger, he never looked down.

The tray, its rim smeared with soup residue, had somehow slid silently beneath the spot where his right foot was about to land.

Slip—thud!

"Urgh!" Conrad's foot slid out from under him. He pitched forward and slammed his chin into the hard, cold concrete. His baton flew from his hand.

"Shit!" Grimacing in pain, he swore and pushed against the floor to get up. The fall only made him angrier.

He was certain he had slipped on food that had not been cleaned up. No other possibility crossed his mind.

He pushed off with his left leg, trying to stand, and glared at Russell, who still leaned against the wall as though none of this concerned him. Conrad was ready to finish the lesson he had started.

Then—

Smack!

He slipped a second time.

This time, his left foot slid as if it had landed on an invisible banana peel. He fell sideways, smashing his elbow and hip into the floor. Pain darkened his vision and left him gasping.

Conrad lay there panting, his suspicious gaze sweeping the floor.

There was nothing but the tray and spilled food. He jerked his head up toward Russell. The indicator on the Suppression Collar around Russell's neck was still glowing green.

If a Mutant had used a power against him, the collar would have sounded an alarm and delivered a shock immediately. Besides, Russell was only a level-one Mutant. He lacked the strength to pull something like that off.

Was I really unlucky enough to slip on the mess twice? Conrad was bewildered, but the green light gave him no reason to suspect Russell.

"Pah! Disgusting freak." He struggled to his feet, clutching his aching waist with his right hand, but refused to back down. "You got lucky this time. Now get out and join the others. Move!"

After that final threat, he shot Russell another vicious glare and limped out of the cell. His retreating figure looked almost comical.

Only after Conrad disappeared around the corner did Russell stretch leisurely. His bones gave a faint series of pops.

He rose calmly from the wall.

It was almost time to settle accounts.

Over the past two months, everyone in this prison, from the researchers down to the lowest guards—and Conrad in particular—had taken pleasure in tormenting the test subjects.

The original Russell's remaining memories were full of insults and beatings for no reason.

At a thought, the virtual panel opened before his eyes.

[Name: Russell]

[Age: 18]

[Mutant abilities: Mental Defense (5/100), level one

Superhuman Healing (12/5000), level three; Psychic Telekinesis (43/5000), level three. Precision: macroscopic matter. Next precision tier: molecular (locked)]

[Emotion Points: 0]

He now had genuine level-three abilities: a nigh-immortal body paired with matter manipulation, a power with enormous potential and formidable combat applications.

Even Russell felt a thrill when he imagined how far he might go.

A night of tedious training and pain had clearly been worth it.

Unfortunately, simply slamming into a wall and moving a tray could only raise his proficiency so quickly. Otherwise, he would have kept grinding straight to level five.

Expressionless, Russell left the cell and followed the dim corridor toward the noise coming from the yard.

More cell doors opened on either side. Mutants in matching blue prison uniforms and identical gold collars silently joined the stream heading outside.

Russell observed them without drawing attention to himself.

A considerable number were level one, as he had been before. Many bore obvious deformities.

Some had skin of unnatural colors or textures. Others had extra or altered limbs, or distorted features. A few could scarcely be called human anymore.

Worst of all, such changes usually came with weak or difficult-to-control abilities, leaving them at the bottom of both society and Mutant communities.

Level-two Mutants generally fared much better.

Most retained a human appearance, with only a few subtle differences. Their powers were not always useful in a fight—enhanced smell, briefly changing the temperature of a small area, or faint Telepathy, for example.

But they still had value to Mutant organizations or in particular situations, and were not dismissed as completely useless.

Mutants like Blink and Nightcrawler, with powerful, practical teleportation abilities, stood above the rest. They were strategic assets any team would want to recruit.