A silky voice once asked him a strange question.

“If you had a choice between two doors which would you pick? In the first door is inevitable pain. No matter what you do, no matter your choices you will be plagued with anguish and torment. In the second door, though, is a gamble. The second door could lead to just as much pain. However, there’s also a chance it could lead to nothing, an endless void, or maybe it could lead to absolute ecstasy, an existence of perfection that no creature could possibly fathom. It may even be a mixture of the options or none at all. Who’s to know really. So, what would you choose? Would you take the gamble or would you resign yourself over to all-encompassing pain?”

“I would pick the gamble,” said Havok. He hated hypotheticals but this one was easy. “Wouldn’t everyone? It’d be stupid to take the first door.”

The Director of Avaes smiled a sad smile, “And yet here we are Agent Havok. Both of us. Still alive and well. Too scared to take the second door.”

When the Director had asked him this question he thought it was easy, stupid even, but that was before. That was before his existence was nothing but screams. Before the explosions. Before the stench of death haunted his dreams. Before the talons of pain had snuffed out all hope of happiness in his soul. Before flesh had been replaced with cold, hard, metal.

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Havok laid in the hospital bed, breathing heavy, sweat glistening off his scarred body. The doctor caressed the agent’s new mechanical leg as he held a clipboard close to his chest. A look resembling love filled his face. “It sure is a beauty.” The doctor looked towards his actual patient, “At first it may seem impossible. It’ll be like having your leg asleep and trying to run a marathon. Damn hard. Near not possible.” The doctor clapped his hands together in excitement, “but in about two months it’ll be second nature.”

Havok gulped and regained his focus. He locked eyes with the doctor, “I am leaving this hospital TONIGHT.” His voice was gravely and raw but lined with fiery anger.

The doctor smiled politely, “I admire your go-getter attitude but give your body some time. We just finished the surgery. You won’t even be able to really move for at least a week.”

Havok grabbed the wires attached to his chest and popped them off one by one. The heart monitor screeched. A metal foot hit the floor with a loud clank as the metal limbs whirred to life. The doctor’s eyes widened as his clipboard fell from his hands and smacked the floor loudly. Every muscle in Havok’s body convulsed but he pushed forward.

“Wha… how is that possible.” A metal hand shot forward and grabbed the doctor by the collar.

“I am leaving.” Havok was shaking furiously but his eyes remained wide and still. The doctor couldn’t even find words.

“Are you after my Sinclair?” said a silky voice in the room’s doorway. The very name made Havok’s blood run hot. Havok tore his focus from the doctor and looked towards the woman leaning against the wall. The Director looked at him with solemn eyes. “Don’t bother. You’re no match for the demon. Just look at you. He ripped you to shreds once. He can do it again.” Havok released the doctor and forced himself to move forward, barely limping towards the woman. Havok got but a foot from the Director’s face but she did not flinch nor break her stare. His rough voice came out with venom. “You think too highly of your DEMON, Director. He’s a man.”

The Director smirked, “If my Sinclair is JUST a man, then you’re a child. He could crush you beneath his heel whenever he wants.” The doctor looked at the Director as if she was a madwoman. Who in their right mind would prod someone in this state?

Havok’s jaw tightened. “You want your precious demon back, I’ll get him for you. But he’s gonna be a shivering mess when you see him next. I will BREAK him. All I need is one more squad.” Havok did not even wait for a response. He pushed himself, and with muscles tensed he limped out of the room and down the hospital hall, rage radiating off his body.

The doctor breathed a sigh of relief but then turned towards the Director, “What were you thinking riling him up like that.” The Director touched a finger to her lips, “Doctor it’s my job to deal with monsters. I know what drives them.”

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Havok stepped out of the car, his metal leg heavy against the pavement. He strained just to lift himself. A black cane smacked against the floor, a mechanical hand holding its head. Eight black vans parked side by side beside his car and a squad of 24 soldiers streamed out of them. The parking deck was almost completely empty. Two dozen automatic rifles clicked ready and the straps of bulletproof vests were tightened. The soldiers donned helmets, goggles and hooked gas masks to their belts.

Havok grunted. None of it mattered. The armor was like paper to Sinclair. Havok wore no such protections. All he wore was full black attire. Black pants, black shoes, a black button-down and a black glove on his left hand. His right gleamed silver. There was a low whirr of machinery as Havok forced himself to step forward. Pain shot through his hip but he ignored it. It was a tickle to what he was used to.

The soldiers moved forward in unison behind Havok’s lead. He could almost taste the fear dripping off his men. It was pathetic. They weren’t prepared for hell.

Figaro’s concert hall was in sight. It seemed that the detectives had finally found the bastard. Havok’s heartbeat pounded in his chest. At this moment he came to a realization.

There was a reason to choose the first door. Even in this world of pain and suffering, there was an ecstasy in it that the second door could never hope to compare to. The ecstasy of getting revenge. Of being the one on the throne, the one causing the agony. The one ripping Sinclair apart piece by piece. The one hearing the screams and laughing at the anguish. He would tear Sinclair’s bones from his skin and suck the marrow dry. He would be the bringer of torment. He would be the god of pain.

HE WOULD BE THE NEW DEMON.