Page 30 of The Chosen Son

The whole interaction was over in a matter of minutes, but the uneasy dread lingered in my stomach far longer, and it had nothing to do with my powers.

What the hell are you up to, Cameron, and what was in the bag?

Chapter 13

Cameron

The steroids weren’t along-term fix. I’d always known this, but I’d been feeling better, so I’d let myself believe that it could only get better. And in the face of the alternative, it didn’t seem like I had much of a choice.

Inevitably, though, the steroids started to make things worse instead of better. I was hungry allll the time, which was leading to changes in my body. It wasn’t too noticeable, and as long as I didn’t look in the mirror, I could mostly ignore it. Still worth it, I told myself. Then my ankles began to swell.

And while I appreciated that I wasn’t so tired during the day anymore, now I couldn’t sleep at night either! My mood swings were so volatile that I would snap at Phobos for asking me to pass the milk, and then next I was sobbing uncontrollably.

In short, I was a mess.

And the whole time I just kept thinking of Deimos when he’d said, “My poor, sweet, breakable mortal.” I didn’t want to be breakable. Ihad spent the better part of my childhood being told I was special, that I would grow up to save the world. That I mattered. And then once it was done, I was simply pushed to the side.

Disposable.

Useless.

So when Barney called to tell me Dr. Wells had come up with an experimental treatment for me, I thought what the hell. If being their guinea pig meant getting my life back, then so be it.

Barney and I performed the handoff in the dark of night, like a couple of thugs carrying out a sordid drug deal, and I snuck through the dark hallways to my room, hoping like hell Phobos didn’t wake up and ask what I was doing.

I eased my room door shut behind me with a soft click, holding my breath and listening for footsteps. When everything remained silent, I blew out a relieved breath and brought the bag over to the bed and upended it with a tinkle of glass and plastic.

Sifting through the contents, I saw there were multiple glass ampules, alcohol swabs, and sterile-sealed syringes, along with a slip of paper with instructions on how to inject myself. My knees were quivering so badly I didn’t trust myself to stay upright, so I let gravity do its thing and plonked down on the mattress. My hands were shaking, palms sweating, and when I swallowed, my mouth was dry and pasty.

The instructions might as well be written in cuneiform, it was all Greek to me. The diagrams made no sense. Growling softly, I pulled out my phone. “Fuck this,” I muttered, opening YouTube. It was easy enough to find how-to medical videos on subcutaneous injections.

Twenty minutes later, with a slightly better understanding—and yet somehow, even more anxiety—I was ready to give it a go.

Peeling my shirt off, I tossed it aside, then I filled the syringe carefully. The alcohol swab was cold against my skin. And then, blowingout a breath, I pinched the flesh of my stomach, hesitating with the needle hovering just above the skin. I felt like I was going to be sick.

Now, I was no wimp. I’d gone through years of rigorous training to live up to my full potential as a Chosen One™, and pain tolerance was a significant part of the training, considering we didn’t know exactly what form my destiny would take, barring what my prophecy said.

Born in darkness, live in light,

His full potential will be his plight.

Through fleeting death and numbing pain,

And one more the gods will gain.

Yep. Numbing pain. So Barney had constantly been coming up with new ways to train—aka torture—me. It was all about inducing pain without causing lasting injury. Electric shock, tight bindings for long periods of time, being suspended upside down. I swore he saw it like a game, but he’d insisted it was so when the time came, I would be able to fight through the pain.

What was ironic was that when facing off in a battle to the death with Nefarious, it hadn’t even been painful. It was… almost peaceful as he began to draw my life force from my body. I heard a gentle voice in my head, welcoming me home. It had felt inevitable, and I was fully prepared to hand myself over to them, knowing they would take care of my soul for me.

I hadn’t died, obviously. I guess that was the “fleeting death” part of the prophecy.

The prophecy itself sounded like a bunch of vague bullshit to me, just like all prophecies, with any number of interpretations, but what did I know? The government had an entire department dedicated solely to the reading and deciphering of prophecies. If anyone should know, it was them.

“Okay… okay, you got this. Just do it. Just… fucking do it already!” With a gasp, and before I could stop myself, I jabbed the needle into my skin and pressed the plunger.

The injection itself was a tiny prick, and when I pulled the needle free, a single bead of scarlet blood bloomed, stark against my pale skin. I could feel the liquid, whatever it was, spreading beneath the surface of my skin. It tingled a little, cold and foreign, and I waited, holding my breath. Waited for burning or fever or blisters. Welts or vomiting.

All in all, it was pretty anticlimactic.

---