#A boy, a fruit, a summer sun.

The exercise yard was sparsely populated that day. Some smaller groups were forming, playing games, jogging together, or just talking. An almost idyllic day given the standards at The Center.

Among those lucky few allowed to enjoy the scorching weather, there were some recent arrivals. Having passed the initial screenings, those who behaved and were not deemed a threat were given permission to go outside the underground facilities for the first time.

They formed a little circle, exchanging their experiences, discussing their pasts and futures. Comparing their powers, they started to form a little pecking order amongst themselves.

Most veterans of the facility ignored them, some looked on with pity, others took bets on which of the newbies will survive the month.

This all changed when a group of people entered the courtyard. In its center was a man in an impeccable suit matching his gray hair. The others surrounding him, as he leisurely made his way across, were heavily armed guards in riot gear.

Yet, it's the appearance of the old man in the middle that caused near panic among the veterans, who shuffled as far away from him as they could, practically hugging the walls, with their gaze cast downwards, hoping to not attract his attention. Luckily for them, there was someone in particular he was here for.

The new arrivals didn't even notice the commotion, as they were focused on a performance by one of them. The smallest boy among them was doing impressions. Such meagre entertainment even in this place might not have been enough to attract such a crowd, but the fact that the boy's face morphed to match the celebrities, he was pretending to be, made it interesting. Judging by his stature, he was nine or ten, and seeing Eastwood's face on such a figure asking in a high-pitched voice if he feels lucky, while doing finger guns, felt a bit grotesque.

The show ended abruptly when the old man went near it. A sense of chill pierced through the hearts of those there, in an instant overcoming the power of the desert sun. The boy got confused when he got stuck in the middle of the transformation into another character, but his back was turned towards the way the old man came from, so it's the slow, measured whisper that caught his attention.

"Disgusting..." Each syllable dripped with bile. 

The boy turned around. The sight of the heavy guards filled him with dread as the situation finally started to set in. He focused on the old man only when he started speaking.

"You're revolting, number 6845. I'd give you a moment to fix yourself, so I don't have to look at you any longer, but I want to be out of this blasted sun as soon as possible."

The boy gulped.

"Do you know why I'm here? No, of course you do not. You are an imbecile, after all. So let me explain. If not for you, then for those listening here."

The old man pointed a cane he was using at those nearby.

"You see, we try to keep a modicum of order here. We don't ask for much. Just some basic rules, to keep this organization running with a shred of resemblance to a civilized society. And we ask you lot, to do your part, but it seems you are unable to obey even the most basic instructions."

A cold fury started to join the disdain in his voice.

"I was conducting an inspection of the barracks today. Guess what I found?"

He gestured at one of the guards, that pulled out an evidence bag. Inside it was a squished tangerine that started to mould a bit.

"We have a canteen. The rules are clear. All subjects are to eat there, and not carry out ANY of the food out of it. But you thought that you can ignore that? That I won't mind the stench of your bed stained with a rotten citrus?! That you know better than those that set the rules?!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir, I didn't–"

"Shut your mouth, boy, when I'm speaking to you!"

The old man poked the boy in the forehead. Hard, but not hard enough to explain the screaming of the boy afterwards. That was, until one noticed the burn mark where he touched him.

"Here! Get it in here! In that empty head of yours! WE HAVE RULES HERE! YOU ARE TO OBEY THEM!"

Each sentence was accented with another poke and another burn mark. The boy fell down, and whimpered as the old man crouched by him and continued his onslaught of berations and torture.

Or at least that's what the boy was seeing. The others gathered only observed him rolling on the ground, desperately trying to shield his face with his hands, while new blistering marks kept popping up. His screaming echoed around, occasionally intercut with pleading and begging for mercy.

The old man, at that time, pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe his finger. Some disinfectant appeared on it as he scrubbed away all traces of his contact with the abnormal wriggling before him. A sense of irritation started to build on his face. 

"Stop with the screaming already, you incessant little shit. You'll give me a headache."

The boy could not hear him over his own shrieking.

"I said stop it! Be quiet!"

The cane morphed in his hand, two electrodes forming on one end.

"Not only did you assault my sense of smell twice, first with the stolen fruit and now with your own filthy stench, but also my senses of sight and touch with your abhorrent visage. And yet, that's not enough for you? You decided to deafen me too?  You maggot, I'll silence you myself if I have to!"

The old man prodded the boy. The scream turned into heaving as the electric shock ran through the small body.

Yet, that was not enough to quell the old man's fury. He continued to shock him. He dug the electrodes deep into his skin, with enough force to draw blood. The smell of burnt skin filled the noses of those gathered, and the sound of searing filled their ears.

They observed, paralysed in fear, as even that was not enough for the maddened old man. As he continued his onslaught on the unmoving tiny body, seeping blood on the sand beneath it. As his cane came up and down, repeatedly striking the boys' head, until the childish skull finally caved in. As he kept at it until what was on the ground was no longer recognizable as human.

Finally, it was over. The old man wiped his face with the handkerchief he was still holding. The mix of his own sweat and the boy's blood covering him was too thick for it to be quickly swabbed away. He breathed heavily from overexertion.

"Let's go. Tell someone to clean up this mess later. I need to get this filth off me."

The old man and his guards headed towards the exit from the courtyard. Their steps as leisurely as when they had arrived. Not one of them looked back.