Andrew. Ann-Drew. Right. That was his name, wasn't it? How quaint. And dull. How boring~! So, so, so very boring. Stuck inside a dark room with nothing to do~! Even madness had gotten a bit repetitive after a while, and he just had the most irritating itch on his nose. Well, ok, that was a blatant lie, he actually couldn't feel his body at all, so numbed that he was inside this special containment chamber.

Suddenly the door opened and allowed light to spew into the dark chamber Andrew was in. He couldn't see who it was from his position and frankly he couldn't even turn his head in his bonds. Not that he was even sure he even remembered how to anyways. The boy had been locked inside here for a long time. Far too long. At first, he had taken a token effort to keep track of the days by the various experiments or strange meals they gave him every now and then but soon even those were stopped.

At one point he even started counting the seconds but he soon grew bored after the third day. He was pretty sure he firmly held the world's, no the multiverse's, record for "Most time saying Mississippi". In a row or otherwise.

Still, how long has it been since he last saw the light? Weeks? Months? Years? For something he used to long for so very much, it sure sucked big time right now, having your corneas burn from the sudden scorching rays. He wondered what date it was.

Then again, did it really matter? He was never going to get out of here, so what did the date matter? To celebrate his birthday or how about Christmas?

That's a laugh. Maybe if he was a good little lab rat, Santa would give him a get out of hell free card?

But that's just the thing, wasn't it? Nobdoy gets out of Hell, eternal damnation and all that. Being locked inside a complete sensory deprivation tank and left to rot tended to wreck all sorts of havoc with one's sense of time.

"Hey there, beautiful, come here often?"

That voice. He knew that voice. He was sure that even if he were to die and reincarnate, even if he were to forget his own face and name, he would never forget that vile woman's voice. Andrew still couldn't see, and frankly, because of the medication they constantly pumped into him he couldn't even feel his own body but he would've liked to imagine he did a good job of glaring at her general direction. At silently conveying all his burning rage and sheer hatred through his eyes.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty, we got a special surprise for you today!"

And suddenly his possibly none existent stomach shuddered in horror and curiosity because the last time he heard those words... Well, it was right before he ended up here. Still, even feeling pain would've been better than how utterly dead and disembodied he was, right?

A series of hiss could be heard as the contraption that locked him inside for so long finally released. The shell opened and the hundreds of needles of the iron maiden retracted. It seems he had built up an immunity to their toxin this time quite rapidly as he soon found himself being able to feel for the first time in forever. Instantly fatigue, hunger pains, and exhaustion hit him like a truck. If he wasn't currently being lifted by a harness then he was sure he would be on the ground face-first at the moment.

"Cmon loser, you've spent enough time hiding in your mom's basement, it's time to go outside and get some of that good old fresh air!" Kimura laughed at her own joke before grabbing him by the ankle and slamming him onto the metal floor strong enough to dent it. After repeating this process a few times to ensure his entire body was broken, and then another two or three for shits and giggles, he had been damaged enough to activate his regeneration. His body repairing itself without his imput.

Being able to walk and actually walking proved to be two completely different things though as he stumbled like a newborn and particularly stupid calf. Like a patient newly awakened from a coma, his own body felt foreign and strange to him. Still, at least he finally managed to get that itch that he swears has been bothering him for the past year. Even if he had to rub his nose, and entire face, across the floor like a strange worm to do so.

"Oh ho, you look just absolutely fabulous darling, have you been working out? Lost some weight?"

The sadistic bitch seemed to be in a good mood as she continued to joke around, and it seemed that all the experiments and harsh treatment had really taken a toll on Andrew mind and body as she didn't need to use much effort to lift him like a sack of potatoes over her shoulders. Unlike Hulk, Wolverine, or Sabretooth, Andrew couldn't just seemingly create matter. All the materials had to come from somewhere, and even enough he had in storage the equivalent of a blue whale inside of himself it didn't even last a week or two before their increasingly ridiculous tests to "see his limits" burned it all up. Thankfully the scientists figured out that the mechanics of his healing were completely different than the others mentioned.

Or maybe it was unfortunate because then he could've been saved from a lot of misery.

Strapped onto an all too familiar metallic table Andrew roamed his eyes curiously around the room. He already knew how futile struggling was, and defiance was only rewarded with swift, but by no means short, and painful punishment. The device they used to limit his powers seemed to had gotten upgraded as it was now sleeker looking and more compact.

A sign of technological progression and advancement of time or simply increased funding?

He couldn't tell. Then again he didn't try that hard nor focused on the topic that long. Ironically enough being left with nothing but your own thoughts and trapped inside your head had a way of making you a scatterbrain it seems. No sense of direction nor external stimulus so he had gotten used to entertaining himself with random and constant thoughts, ideas and memories fading and blending into one another until everything was a fun and very messy painting.

His musing was interrupted when he noticed a strange old man with a grey mop of hair on his head smoking a cigarette walking in. He looked like someone cosplaying Sherlock with his all brown suit and pants with shoulder capes combo.

"Sup."

The man ignored him as he simply stared at him for a moment before pulling out two electronic headbands. He placed one on Andrew and the other on himself. Suddenly a team of lab assistants marched inside and rolled in a bunch of weird machines, monitors, and odd contraptions.

At this point, anxiety was starting to override curiosity, yet with a morbid sense of anticipation, he tried to look at everything even as they hooked him with countless straps and sensors. Someone jabbed him in the neck with a needle and as they pushed the plunger he could feel an icy coldness seep deep within his head as if liquid nitrogen had been injected directly inside of him.

Suddenly the room appeared to distort and he was getting very very sleepy. He could hear the team of people around him rushing here and there, but it sounded faint and distant as if from the other side of the world and Andrew was beneath the oceans as his consciousness sank down into its depths.

"Are you ready, Mr. Mastermind?"

"Yeah, yeah. I've taken the payment so I'll do the job." The older man crouched in front of his face, Andrew's head was slumping to the side lifelessly as he lost all energy. He could barely keep his eyes open.

"One.. M.nd W.pe C...omin...Ri..ght.. up.."

He felt like those words should be horrifying to him, but... He was just.. So.. Tired.

Surely, it'll be ok if he took a small nap? He sure earned one, didn't he?

Sleep was good. Sleep meant he wouldn't have to feel the pain. Sleep meant he was safe even if momentarily.

In a different location of the same facility, Laura Kinney or code-named X-23 was currently sent on her first test mission. The assassination of presidential candidate Greg Johnson. As always, failure was not an option. It was unacceptable even during her training exercises and she dreaded to think of what Kimura and the others would do to her if she actually disappointed them during her big "debut". She would have to prove her worth with a particularly high-profile target and make a display of it.

She would kill the man and everyone there on live T.V

X-23 prepared herself as she stepped onto the helicopter that would take her partway there. She knew her target and she knew where he was going to be. The Los Angeles Convention Center. That was the thing about celebrities, they tended to be laughably easy to track down, especially so when they publicized where they were going.

With a soft snik the would-be young assassin popped out the claws her "father" was known for. Except where he had 3 she had a pair on each arm and one on each foot. She watched as the sun shined upon them. The evening light dyed them with an ominous crimson sheen. How appropriate.

Rather than a Meet and Greet it seems that Greg was going to be bidding farewell to everyone and this world within the next 12 hours. It was time for Weapon X to start advertising its services to the world. X-23 would finally use her Adamantine claws in a real mission for the first time since she got them a little over a year ago.

It was time to make a statement. No one was safe and no one could hide from The Facility.

"You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everyone dances with the grim reaper." She idly recalled the words she had heard from her mother when she was a child.