Karl Lamphere sat upright in bed, pouring down in sweat. Another nightmare. Another day without sleep. Without even taking the sheets off his body he rooted around through his nightstand and took several hits off of the warm, now stale high-gravity malt liquor.
He looked around at his surroundings, still expecting to see the eight by eight concrete cell that had been his home for the last ten years. Relieved to finally be out, relieved to not be on probation, he went to the one place he thought he would be comfortable in.
Somewhere with snow.
The Cube, the only facility designed to hold mutant prisoners was located in Arizona.
Karl was raised in Point Barrow Alaska. He loved the cold, the snow. He would sit at the window in his father's cabin and watch the blustery winds, watch the polar bears as they shredded the garbage bins. When his father would come home from his military post they would go on little survival walks, taking as little gear with them as possible.
Karl's mind winced. He sighed at the memory of his father, the proud Aleutian heritage that he had dishonored.
He looked over at the bottle of blue pills on his nightstand. As part of his release he was required to take one three times a day.
They inhibited his power.
Unlike many mutants, Karl did not dislike being a mutant. Karl, an exceptional electrokinetic had discovered his ability at the age of ten, kept it hidden. He had made the decision to go underground the minute he became of age.
Until one fateful day.
Being thin, Aleut and somewhat effeminate Karl was often times the target of bullies. His father had taught him enough basic Martial Arts that he could generally defend himself.
Yet, whenever there was any sort of Military rotation of staff in and out, the sons and even daughters of officers, upon finding out his father was merely an enlisted man would take delight in teasing him. They would push and shove, knowing that he would either evade them or toss off some judo flip.
One of the boys, bigger, and stronger slammed Karl into the metal lockers.
His power triggered, electrifying the entire hallway stunning the entire gang with a single, powerful blue arc.
Karl went numb from such a large discharge. When he woke, he found himself in a temporary holding cell, with a court appointed lawyer. The bully was in a coma, unlikely to come out. Karl plead guilty, and because it was a matter of self defense and of his age was sentenced to ten years.
From twelve to twenty-two, the years dragged. He was drugged on a daily basis with powerful neural control drugs. Only in the last year was the dose tempered enough so that he could be taught some control of his abilities.
While the power inhibitors he took now were far more developed than the ones he originally had, they still had to be rotated on a consistent basis, as his body would eventually become so physically ill, or the side effects so horrible. It did not help that the moment he got out of the cube, made his relocation that he then discovered the numbing process of alcohol.
Alcohol also had an interesting side effect.
It somehow lessened the effect of the power inhibitors. He could produce small sparks, nothing like being off the drugs, but enough that he felt some level of normality. By wearing a copper ring on each of his fingers he could conduit the power in lessor amounts to them, keeping it hidden, as originally he planned.
The only work he could find was as a bouncer, and many people found it amazing that such a small man with only a single punch could drop some of the most powerful drunks. He was paid under the table, the trailer was his boss's that he was in the process of buying off. He worked in the evenings, slept during the day.
When he could sleep.
He couldn't sleep without alcohol.
One thing interesting though was happening. He didn't quite understand how it was happening, whether it was an adaptive response from being in prison and having to watch your back. He had developed some odd response mechanism to danger or events that would affect him.
He washed the med down with the stale alcohol.
He had that feeling. Maybe that's what woke him out of his sleep. That would make a certain amount of sense, he supposed. He only had the barest recollection of the nightmare.
Rubbing his eyes and looking out the window he was calmed by the falling snow and rise of night.
He chugged the beer down, crumbled the can and flung it into the cardboard box by the bed. It was getting full and he could take it down to the recycling. Not many people bought beer in tins any more, but it was something that always reminded him of his father.
His father who never wrote him once while in the cube. He heard occasionally from a cousin who would give him family updates. When his grandfather died, he was allowed to view the funeral remotely as he was interred in the traditional Aleut manner.
Occasionally Karl thought about going back to Alaska, maybe somewhere in Eastern Part of the State, but Montana was good enough. His passport would indicate he was a mutant on medication, and he would probably have to take some sort of blood test to prove it.
Still, in this political climate he really didn't want to have to do much of anything by drink himself into a stupor and be left the hell alone.
Rooting through the tiny refrigerator, he found the last two cans. He cracked one and started to chug it down. Feeling nature call, he slammed open the door, oblivious to the cold, walked to the heart of the forest, and began to urinate.
He did not see the orb in the sky, with it's sophisticated cloaking system. He did not know he was being visually observed. All he had was his feelings, and rarely were his instincts wrong.