Timothy tried to move his body over to the other side in the bed. But it was of little use, he just couldn’t get the thrust to do it. He would just have to wait for his Dad to return. Sometimes he wished that he was born like everybody else but then he would remind himself that too would take its own toll.
His father would often remind him that he was blessed to have his disability, and that it’s severity was a good thing. The malformations and contractures were not something that could be acquired by an able bodied person like a missing arm or leg. He was beyond suspicion. That it could open a whole new existence for him and the family. That was when a family still existed. He used to have a mother and two older brothers. His first brother died at the age of seven in an industrial accident. It must have been grizzly as nobody ever told him what happened. A few years later, the other brother died. His lungs were filled with a toxic mucus.
Then, not long before the present his mother had died. The poisonous air had gotten to her too. Timothy thought his father was going to die from a broken heart but stoically he has carried on. Timothy was now just thirteen years old and had just his father. He knew that if his father didn’t come home from his shift that starvation awaited him.
The only way to get out of this hellish existence was through winning at Wheelchair Wars. It gave Timothy a sickly feeling. He did not want to have to hurt others but knew that he didn’t have much choice. This was why he was born. And most of all, he couldn’t let his Dad down. He had already been assigned a Team – The Omega.
His first trial was trial was six months previously. His mother was still alive then but she never looked at him the same way again. He had been put in a wheelchair with saws on each side. The task was simple. Kill a few prisoners. Dad said it was a test of loyalty, Mom said it was butchery. But, both agreed that needs must.
Timothy heard the familiar sound of his father’s footsteps approaching the door to the little, dark room they call home. His end had not yet come.
As the door opened, his father burst into a fit of coughing. His face was tinged red and looked frail and old, for someone barely 40.
“How are you son? I’ve got some news.”
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