CHAPTER I

Mort

Episode IV — Deprived-Site

My pupilless eyes that can see inherent energy within and outside human bodies, material objects, and nature itself deceived the custody worker. He thought me blind and allocated me to the Sighted Moles group in the Deprived-Site. All eleven of us lived in one room and shared one gigantic bed, which was nothing more than a soft floor with numerous pillows and blankets of various sizes scattered all over the place. The vast oval-shaped room reminded me of a beehive. Countless cells were embedded in the walls — a study section with table-chair adjustable structures; a leisure section, windowless soft caves with an ever-changing view on a screen-ceiling; the rest were smaller junk cells with whatever humans clutter their lives with.

The Cast-Aside-Corps is a vast castle that houses human debris. The Deprived-Site is adjoining to the main building, and at the same time separate from the rest of the enormous construction. The population in it is divided into two major war groups: the lord of the Glued is constantly fuelling the hate towards the Sighted Moles as they call us. The lucky lot of kids who have all four limbs in a functional state.

Bulldog, the 12-year-old boy that is watching over me, is an outcast, a defector that by his free will shared the fate of defensive cowards, as Sighted Moles are called by the Glued. Three blind boys — Frog, Blabber, and Fool of 4, 7 and 8; 11-year-old deaf albino Snow; 14-year-old 81,71 inches Dylda with the 3-year-old brain; 6-year-old Siamese tweens Gadget and Digit, inseparable brothers with three legs and two smart hands; Vocal — 9-year-old deaf-mute kiddo; Bulldog and I — all our constantly left behind army.

The outsiders are on the second floor in the largest room called Heaven Set — kids too vulnerable to be warriors, mostly with psychological issues. The girls share the third floor with their own government system and laws we have no access to. One place everybody knows exists and nobody ever talks about is Grotto — a cellar where pain and agony are the invaders and children are the brave fighters. Soundproofed walls cannot disguise the colors of suffering saturating through limestone and mortar like poisonous branches of a century-old tree with its veins and arteries stretching and twisting all over the floor, painting it a hideous brownish-green. I can see this picture every second of my life here.

To be considered feeble and incapable is the best strategy when trying to hide your potency. Bulldog is perfectly playing his role in assisting me, and my secret is in the gravely silent hands of my mute mighty friend. The Aura of humans, objects, sounds, and smells around me makes my perception a moving image of the energy with many patterns and colors. I can pick up subtle changes, read them, and control their influence on a person’s physical and mental health.

I can see a brain of a person’s heart and influence how any person perceives and responds to the world. Objects around me are electrical, energetic systems that can tell their story — I see their memory. My gift and my curse.

The sadistic Rat, the opioid man responsible for giving out painkillers, became my second victim. The pleasure he experienced each time giving the deliberately diminished dose in the suffering Grotto made both of my hearts beat violently against my rib cage. The first day of my conscious stay in a company of Sighted Moles was accompanied by an agony of suffering that I endured when Rat gave me a glass of water. It is the best-known channel of information and it revealed to me more of Rat’s disgusting history in one gulp than an entire life long conversation could have done.

To pay him back with the same coin, I mentally created a torturing pathway in his body’s Energy Center so that he would experience the same sense of pain as his victim did. Crusher, a tiny, emerald boy, as I’d seen him, that suffered from bone disease and was in constant unbearable agony, died and dragged Rat down with him. Man’s heart gave out. The evil- righteousness scale had an incline towards virtue this time, but not for long. The Chronicler, good at being undercover, is blocking my attempts to expose him. I know I’m being watched.

I feel the presence of dark, evil energy.

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