“As you wish, Dr. Williams.” And with that, Farrow bowed slightly and walked backward a few steps before turning toward the elevators.
This guy was Dr. Williams? This small, fragile, unassuming weakling of an old man in this tailored civilian suit was the Director of this military-run facility crawling with the most highly trained and deadly soldiers in the world?
“Oh, my dear boy, we have so much to discuss,” the man was gushing as he opened the mahogany doors to what was undoubtedly his office.
“First, have a seat. You must be exhausted. I mean, it wasn’t but a few days ago when you were forced to put on a very violent display of brotherly love. How are you feeling?” And for the first time, Dr. Williams stopped talking and waited for his guest to speak.
“I’m fine, thanks to the medical care, sir.” Creed chose his words carefully; still unsure of what was happening.
“Yes, well, when Commander Oldham and I saw what happened in the pit that day, I told him to have you brought immediately to my personal surgeon.” The yellow of the old man’s teeth stood in stark contrast to the glowing white that was the color palette of his office.
“He wasn’t very happy with my decision. He insisted that you both be terminated immediately, but I put him right in his place. I told him I had plans for such a strong-minded meta.”
Creed wondered if he was referring to himself or his brother. Some would have cause to believe strong-mindedness wasn’t necessarily a virtue. Gavil had a strong mind. Evil, but definitely strong.
“Sir, where is Gavil?” Creed asked the one question that was weighing more heavily on his mind than his own welfare.
“Gavil, your brother, is not of your concern any longer,” Dr. Williams said cryptically.
“Dead?” Creed asked.
“To you, he’s dead. Isn’t that what you said to him on the field of battle just before you overtook him?” A wicked grin slipped across his old face.
Creed was sure he had whispered those words on the battlefield. No one could have overheard them—so, Gavil must have been alive long enough to tell someone about their exchange.
“Enough about him; I want very much to talk about you. How did you do it, Creed Young?” The Director came and sat next to him on the white leather couch as though he were about to lean in to hear a secret of great importance.
“How did I do what, sir?” Creed asked confused and still thinking about his brother and that day at the match.
“You were down. Gavil beat you with that weapon into your side. You were on the ground, curled up and dying. I saw you with my own eyes. Then, suddenly you were standing, and not just standing, but charging and attacking with a fury I’ve never seen before! If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. So what I want to know, my boy, is how did you do that?”
Creed weighted the moment carefully. How should he respond to this question? If he told the old man he was able to turn off his pain like flipping off a light switch, would he believe him? Would he somehow use it against him? Does his life depend on how he answers what felt like a very loaded question?
“I remember the match, sir. I’ve been reliving it over and over, but I can’t tell you what happened to give me the ability to get up and fight at that point. I really don’t know how I did it.” Creed stared stone faced at the Director working hard to maintain his stoic expression so as not to give away his inner panic.
Dr. Williams’ eyes narrowed skeptically and he stayed quiet a little too long. “Maybe it’ll come to you, over time,” he finally said.
“Now, as I mentioned before, Commander Oldham is pretty upset that you disobeyed a direct order: To kill your brother, as the rules of the Retribution Match so clearly states. He insists you be made an example of for the other Metahumans so they see what would happen to them should they ever try to defy orders.
“He offered two suggestions that would, in his mind, make things right. One, you are to be publicly tortured in the same pit where the defiance took place. Or two, to be publicly hanged, again in the same pit where the defiance took place. He was fine with either one and wanted to leave the final choice up to me.”
Creed’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. Pain or no pain…he didn’t want to die! In a colossal effort to maintain his composure Creed had to ask, “And what did you decide, sir?”
“I decided it was up to you what would happen, but that I would add one more option for you.” The Director stood from his place inches away from Creed and walked to his huge marble encrusted desk. He picked up what looked like a file and walked slowly back to where Creed sat as still as stone.
“One more option, sir?” Creed’s voice wavered, but only slightly.
“Yes, one more. That is, if you’re interested,” he stopped, put the folder to his side and looked up expectantly at Creed.
“I—I am interested, sir,” Creed stammered.