Outcast

"They've labeled him as an experimental subject," a guard murmured outside Constantine's room - more like a cell - their voices barely audible through the thick walls while Constantine was trying his best to eavesdrop; thankfully they weren't trying to be quiet.

"Huh? What does that mean?" the other guard asked.

"They're not just studying him; they're trying to figure out how to harness his abilities. Something about control over space and time - and that strange antimagic aura he emits - it's like nothing we've ever seen before in magic history!"

This revelation sent a shiver down Constantine's spine. He had always suspected that there was more to his confinement than met the eye, but to be considered nothing more than a lab rat? That about settled it. He had to escape.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon the bleak walls of the hospital, he felt restless; suddenly, a rush of energy propped him up from his bed. He yearned for freedom, yearned to break free and escape this dreadful hospital. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady his breathing to calm himself.

With every breath, Constantine tried piecing together the fragments of his memories about the day he was attacked. Magic, powers, it all seemed like fiction to him. He wasn't the crazy one, the dudes outside roleplaying as wizards were.

"Fucking ridiculous," he muttered.

He kept thinking of how Vicky must be worried sick. He hasn't been allowed contact with anyone and nobody speaks to him; someone slides meals through the compartment on his cell's door three times a day and that's it.

He took a look around the room. Soft, white padding adorned every surface. One window, too narrow to slip through and barred, stood at the edge of the wall across from the door. A small toilet, a sink and some basic necessities were on the other side of the room. He was currently sitting on a white bed. Frankly, he found the onslaught of white rather maddening. "Kinda ironic if you think about it," he said out loud. He had developed the habit of talking to himself to fill the eerie silence of the night. Sleep had been difficult for him.

"Maybe nobody's crazy. Maybe we all are," he said, giggling. The giggle soon evolved into maniacal laughter, as if he had just heard the greatest joke in the world. He got up and walked to the mirror, taking a look at himself. His disheveled black hair was getting rather long. His complexion, already pale to begin with, had become a sickly white; and his eyes looked dull, having lost their luster.

He felt sad, mournful even; he didn't know if he'd see his loved ones again. He felt angry, what was happening to him made no sense. At this moment, he notices a flicker of purple and black sparks coming from his right hand.

"Huh?!" he exclaimed. This couldn't be real, could it? He was finally going insane. Or was he?

"Fine," he said. "I'll make myself believe this shit. I have powers. The idiots outside are some type of wizard. What did they say? Control space and time? Okay, let's give it a shot then!" he exclaimed, with a wide grin on his face. He waited for the guards to change shifts.

Then, with a surge of determination fueled by instinct alone, Constantine tapped into the latent power that lay dormant within him and, instinctually, flickered his wrist and snapped his fingers. In the blink of an eye, he stood outside the confines of his cell. He then repeated the snap and found himself back in his cell, as if he never left it.

"I can work with that," he said.

The guards who were just starting their shifts shivered, listening to the maddening laughter coming from inside his cell.

Elsewhere:

In the depths of an underground labyrinth, a middle-aged man named Marcus stood alone inside a ritual chamber. The sight was gruesome; dead bodies were suspended by hooks from the ceiling, their blood still dripping, and the dismembered bodies of men and women dressed in black robes lay around him. Three crimson magic circles, drawn with blood, surrounded a plain black altar. The fight had been brutal. These sorcerers were no joke; his life had even been in danger a couple of times. But Marcus was a seasoned veteran and could handle himself in a fight. He had killed all of them, except for one - yet. He wasn't a cold-blooded killer, but he also wasn't one to show mercy to those who kidnapped and murdered dozens of humans for their sinister rituals - rituals that would undoubtedly lead to more lives lost. But now they were all gone...mostly.

Between the altar and Marcus lay a man with an ornate black robe, a broken staff lying beside him. Marcus' dark blue eyes looked at him coldly. He pointed a silver rapier to the man's throat.

"Any last words?" he asked calmly. He wasn't one to stand on ceremony or gloat; he just hoped he could provoke the man into giving him information.

"Outcast," the man spat, his voice filled with venomous hatred.

"You are not supposed to know that name," Marcus said, wearing a grim expression.

"We've finally captured one of your kind; we'll find out everything about you soon enough!" the man said. "Then we'll turn the tables and make you pay for what you've done." he concluded with a morbid grin.

And, with those ominous words ringing in his ears, Marcus decided he heard enough. With a cold expression, slowly thrust the rapier in the man's throat. He didn't feel the need to reply. He watched as the sorcerer's life ebbed away and his body crumbled to dust before his eyes. Marcus knew that the battle was far from over; one of their own was captured, and it now was up to him to save them. These people would stop at nothing to achieve their twisted goals, and the Outcasts had to unite and stand against them, no matter the cost.

With the cult members dead, Marcus's thoughts turned to his next course of action. He looked gruesome. Blood accentuated the red patterns on his black trenchcoat. His red tie and black vest were singed in a few spots. And his graying black hair was matted from the blood, dripping down his forehead. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood off of his silver rapier, sheathing it in the scabbard on his waist.

With the sorcerers dead but with their leader's ominous last words still echoing in his mind, he knew he had to act swiftly to uncover the truth behind their plans.

He reached for his phone, his fingers slightly trembling as he dialed the number of his organization's surveillance expert, a woman known simply as "Shift" among their ranks.

"Shift, it's Marcus," he said, his voice grave with urgency. "I need you to check our surveillance records for any cases resembling a Reality Break."

There was a brief pause before Shift responded, her voice crackling with static over the line. "Got it, boss. Give me a minute to take a look."

As Marcus waited anxiously for the results, his mind raced with the possibilities. If they were able to track and kidnap one of their own it could mean that the sorcerers were more organized - and more dangerous - than they had previously thought.

Finally, Shift spoke, her tone serious. "I found something, boss. A guy named Constantine St. John was assaulted outside his apartment during a burglary incident. He's a psych student at Ekman University."

"What's special about him?" Marcus asked.

"Police interviewed his professor who mentioned that St. John behaved erratically and abruptly left the class. I pulled up the security cam footage and saw him leaving the class, visibly distressed. Most interestingly, however..."

"Out with it!" Marcus said in exasperation.

"He appears in two places on campus almost at the same second; as he exited the classroom, he disappeared from the corridor and immediately appeared outside the building, looking unsteady and collapsing. His address was very close to the campus, so I pulled up the street cam footage and as he was walking home, there was a sudden glitch at the screen, and he appeared on the other side of the street in less than a second."

"Delete that footage immediately!" Marcus said.

"You got it boss. Finally, there's one more thing."

"What?" Marcus exclaimed, visibly stressed.

"He disappeared on his 21st birthday," Shift solemnly said.

"Fuck," Marcus muttered. "What happened then?" he asked.

"An ambulance picked him up and the report, strangely, says that he got placed in a mental hospital but the name is redacted. His girlfriend, Victoria Kyle, 20, has been trying to reach him but the cops are stonewalling her. She's trying to declare him missing but they've buried the case. The medical report of the assault incident is also deleted from their records. Someone's heavily tampered with this case, boss," Shift said.

"Do we have any leads?" Marcus asked.

"There's a known mage who might have that information," Shift continued, her voice tinged with caution. "His name is Peter Thorne. He's a fixer who's known to frequent The Underworld; be careful, boss. He's dangerous and connected to a lot of shady shit."

"What about Jane? Is she doing okay?" Marcus asked, concerned.

"Your daughter is fine boss, but she's not happy about being left behind. She's really been a calamity lately."

"If she finds out about this nickname, we're all dead." Marcus sighed. "Have Darryl train her, it'll help keep her occupied."

"Will do. I'm sure he'll love it." Shift replied, amused.

"Thanks Shift, I'll take it from here," Marcus replied.

"You got it boss, Shift out," she said, and the line disconnected.

Marcus's heart sank at the news. If Constantine St. John had been taken by the cult, it could mean trouble. But, instead of wasting time dwelling on the implications, he started forming a plan. With a grim nod, Marcus clutched his phone. He needed someone skilled and ruthless enough to handle Thorne - and there was only one person he trusted for the job.

"Kento," Marcus muttered as he dialed the number of his protégé and, possibly, the best assassin in his organization. "I need you to obtain information from a mage named Peter Thorne. Subject's name is Constantine St. John. He was attacked in his apartment and taken to an undisclosed mental hospital. He was captured shortly after his Reality Break and the cult I've been looking into is connected to this. According to Shift, Thorne is a mage and a fixer. He frequents The Underworld, so you won't have any trouble getting in."

"Got it," said an unbelievably deep voice on the other end of the line.

"Get information about St.John's whereabouts and meet me at the base. Try to get information about the security levels and layout of the facility as well. Try to discover the organization he's working for if possible... and Kento," Marcus said with a serious expression.

"Yes?" Kento asked.

"Be careful and make sure to dispose of him after you get the information – discreetly if you know what I mean."

"Understood," Kento said, ending the call.

As the call disconnected, Marcus knew that their next move would either tip the scales in their favor or shatter them completely. No one would get away with kidnapping one of their own; they may call themselves Outcasts, but they'd never abandon their own.

Not on his watch.

***

Elsewhere, inside the underground base the Outcasts used in the city, a girl lay on a bed, reading a document. She was short and curvy, with long red hair and unusual red eyes. She was Jane Winchester, Marcus' daughter. She was currently reading a folder Shift gave her. On the first page, there was a picture of Constantine. Jane casually dragged her index finger across the picture, and muttered:

"Just who are you?"