Weapons

“It’s not a school.”
That blunt statement rendered the whole room silent and all eyes fell on the young man standing in the open doorway. His eyes were bleak, his hair roughly shorn, and his clothes torn and stained. He limped forward, expression sober as he surveyed the room. They were worried. Good. A little fear would do them good right now. It would bolster them before they had to go do what was necessary.
“Of course it’s a school. What else could it be?”
The woman who spoke clung to the hand of the man beside her. She was shaking. Tremors in her hands. From nerves or something else, the young man wondered. Diagnostics weren’t his specialty. Turning slowly, he looked at the small podium in the front of the room and stretched a hand out towards it. The microphone flew across the room to him and he caught it with ease.
“It’s a training facility. To train super soldiers, spies, and assassins. They said the students would shape the future with their minds and they meant it very literally.”
“Who are you?” That man stood near the front. Arms out, puffing his chest up and spreading his shoulders. He was trying to look big. Of course, he was scared. There was the dilation of his pupils. “What are you?”
“I am Private Gabriel Branson Jr. and so far as I know, I am quite human. Genetically tampered with, but human.”
That stopped them all in their mental tracks once again. Branson. Dr. Gabriel Branson ran the Academy.
“But that would make-”
“I’m my father’s first little experiment. I’m how he knew how to modify your children when they enrolled. And if you’d like to get them all back before he turns them even more into weapons, I suggest you listen to me.”

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