Broken Obsession (Vicious Vices #1)

Prologue

Seven Years Ago

Ares stared up at the white ceiling, the constant drip of the lavender fluid in the IV bags, and the beeping of the various machines set about the room, elevating his heart rate.

They’d done this a hundred times, a thousand, and if not for the incessant sounds, he would have found the whole thing dull by this point.

Numb. That’s what Bal had told him. They’d gone numb.

If he had his way, Ares would drown the whole world out with music.

He’d fill the air with it, so there was no chance of hearing any of those lingering sounds.

The clicking of computer mice, the clacking of keyboard keys.

The soft murmurs of mad scientists as they spoke around their test subjects as if they weren’t even there.

In some ways, Ares couldn’t even blame them. Aside from one or two newcomers, the team that worked with them three times a week was made up of the same staff members from the very beginning.

Once a person signed on to Project Firefly, they were locked in.

Father and Mother would never risk word getting out about what they did behind the closed doors of Major Research Institute.

Would never want to subject themselves to the public scrutiny that would no doubt be bombarded on them if it were ever revealed what they put their sons through.

All in the name of science.

“Think of somewhere else,” Bal’s voice carried from the opposite medial table set up next to Ares’. “Pretend you’re in a different reality.”

There were realities wherein parents actually cared for and protected their children. Ares was aware of them, though he’d never experienced that type of affection firsthand. He wasn’t sure he’d enjoy that type of attention, but he was curious about it.

“If Mother loved you,” he found himself asking, “would you still want to kill her?”

“I’d want to protect her,” Bal said. “Like how I want to protect you.”

“Why?” There was a period of consciousness, a long time ago, Ares was aware of being in. Where he’d experienced something like love and adoration. He’d lost that, left with Father, who’d given into his grief and turned against his own flesh and blood. “Is this devotion?”

He’d had that once as well, another lifetime ago.

The image of the ceiling flickered above him, momentarily replaced by orange sky, and then wooden beams, before finally returning to normal.

“There are too many realities to choose from.” And he despised each and every one of them. None of them could give him what he wanted. Peace. Freedom. Control.

Control must taste sweet, since everyone was always clamoring over one another to obtain it.

If Ares could be free of this place, was given the opportunity to seize his own form of control, he wouldn’t push his luck like Father and Mother.

Wouldn’t be greedy. No, he’d select one person.

One perfect specimen, and through them, Ares would create paradise on earth. A reality worth existing in.

“Wanting to save someone isn’t devotion, little brother,” Bal cut through his fracturing thoughts, momentarily dragging Ares back to the present. “I can exist without you.”

“Of course.” Ares pursed his lips. “Father can’t live without me.”

“That isn’t devotion either, it’s obsession.”

He hummed in understanding.

“Obsession is only a good thing if it’s made useful,” Bal continued. “If you use it to gain control.”

That caught his attention, and Ares’ head rolled on the pillow so he could face the man next to him. “I want that.”

“People are easy once you understand their root desires. Manipulation is an art form.” Bal smiled at him, the expression cold and sterile, like it always was when he attempted emoting.

In the beginning, things had been different for Bal, too. There was a period of consciousness in which he experienced emotion.

“You’re a prodigy when it comes to the arts.” Bal’s gaze became cloudy as he focused on something past Ares. “It’s beginning. Find a reality where you can learn the art of manipulation, little brother.”

“And?”

“We’ll use those skills to be free of this place.”

It was already too late; they were already damaged, their energy ruptured and splintered across dimensions.

Reality was a blur, a notion. A dream. There was only this body to anchor him.

To remind him what was real and what was potential fiction.

What they had lost, they would never regain, no matter how far from the institute they managed to run.

They would never be free.

But Ares didn’t say any of that. Instead, he found himself nodding along even as the world blurred and the ceiling flashed through different settings as though he were peering through a viewfinder.

Maybe they wouldn’t ever be truly free, but if Bal thought this was the way to escape Father and Mother, he had to be right.

Because Ares was a prodigy when it came to the arts.

“Reality is merely another canvas you can create on,” Bal said, voice drifting as his consciousness was pulled from his physical form. “If you want control, take it. Start learning how to use the pieces readily available to you.”

Like people.

Ares didn’t care for people. They couldn’t be trusted.

But maybe if he could manufacture that trust…

If he could win others over and construct an image of himself meant to be seen and acknowledged…

If he could get even one of Father’s assistants to look at him as something more than a test subject, an object…

“Think of it as art,” Bal managed to suggest, just before he slipped away.

The grin that split across Ares' face was anything but cold or sterile.

“Not art,” he said to himself. “A game.”

Games were simple. Organized. They came with rules and clear lines. There were winners and losers and prizes and penalties.

It’d been ages since Ares had last been allowed to play anything more advanced than cards, but he remembered how fun they could be.

There was something beautiful about structure.

Thinking about it, he supposed he’d been wrong.

It was similar to art after all. Each move helping to form a cohesive piece, the same as a brush on a canvas.

“I want to play.” Since they weren’t allowed anything from outside, Ares would have to create his own game. He could do it, and since he controlled the board, the odds of winning were in his favor.

Ares would convince the staff to play with him.

The prize would be control.

The end result, freedom.

Since he wasn’t particularly fond of the reality Father and Mother had created, he’d form his own.

And he wouldn’t stop until he had paradise.