From Idler to Tech Tycoon: Earth-Chapter 88: Ronnie

Time: Five Months Since Ronnie’s Disappearance

Location: Black Site "Nyrrh-Zeta", Subterranean Bio-Reprogramming Lab

Oversight: Lord Krull’kahn, Directorate of Cognitive Supremacy

Darkness.

Then a flicker of light—cold, sterile, and green.

It wasn’t a sunrise. It was a surgical beam. And it was always shining.

Ronnie had not seen sunlight in 151 days.

The black site was never on any map. Hidden beneath a glacial trench south of the Arctic Circle, Nyrrh-Zeta was no prison. It was a crucible—designed not to contain, but to erase and remake.

Every hour, Ronnie’s body had been carved, flayed, burned, rebuilt, infused, and reset. Not with metal—no. That would’ve been simple. They worked deeper. Into his mind. Into his soul.

He was called Subject Omega.

A designation reserved for those who resisted reprogramming longer than twenty cycles. That resistance was... a curiosity. A flaw. Something the reptilians took personally.

He was strapped to it again.

The neural cruciform—a curved slab of obsidian alloy laced with sentient restraints that adjusted to his every twitch. They didn’t need steel to hold him. They needed fear. Confusion. Pain.

Suspended from the ceiling above was a tangle of glowing needles, fluid tanks, and mind-drill tendrils—each one programmed to extract memory, inject simulations, and inflict personalized trauma based on scanned memory logs.

"Cycle 112. Initiating sequence: Familicide Loop."

The machine whispered.

And Ronnie screamed.

He was back in that house—again.

Anita’s voice echoing through burning walls. Richard’s eyes staring back at him as blood soaked the tiles. Their screams mixed with static, looping, merging with the reptilian chorus of lab coats around him.

He sobbed. His nose bled. But his hands didn’t move.

Emotion suppression: 87%.Resilience index: +3%.Override required.

The pain increased.

Sometimes it was chemical vivisection—an ancient procedure modified for psi-born subjects. They opened his skull without blades, using sonic prongs that parted his cranium like fog, keeping him awake as they dipped into his temporal lobe.

Other days, it was psychic drowning—his consciousness buried under layers of false realities. He’d relive his death ten thousand times, then wake up in the same chamber, screaming in ten different languages they’d implanted just to test cross-brain contamination.

He forgot who he was by day twenty.

He remembered only because they forced him to watch the moment he killed his father on repeat—injecting emotion back into his body just long enough to witness it, then yanking it out again like a fishhook from flesh.

"We’re creating a god," the head scientist once told him. "But first, we must flay the man."

They shattered his bones and healed them out of order.

They introduced nano-psionic worms into his bloodstream to rewire his limbic responses.

They simulated betrayal from Richard. Love from Anita. Then killed them both in illusions—over and over—just to study his brainwave responses.

He screamed so much he lost his voice for weeks.

Then they installed a synthetic one.

Lord Krull’kahn watched every cycle from above, perched in a translucent mezzanine of black crystal, surrounded by monitors that pulsed with Ronnie’s vitals, psychic flux, resistance patterns, and blood chemistry.

He never smiled.

But when Ronnie’s mind broke for the 37th time—and yet rebuilt itself into something even more violent, unpredictable, and psionically dangerous—

Krull’kahn purred.

"A marvel," he hissed. "A furnace of memory... that keeps reigniting itself. Let’s see what happens when we give him fire."

Ronnie was dragged from the lab, limp and shivering, his eyes fogged but open.

Injected with the obedience serum—a cocktail of cortical suppressors, psionic throttlers, and emotional anesthetics. His memories were now fragmented shards floating in a void of static and silence.

But they gave him his armor back.

They bathed him. Clothed him.

Not out of mercy—out of spectacle.

His body was a weapon now—reforged muscle, heightened psionic thresholds, reactive biostructures that absorbed damage and returned it tenfold. But his mind was a mausoleum—filled with locked doors and rotting memories.

As he was prepped for deployment, a neural command was triggered:

"Commence Arena Protocol: Observe reactivity under duress."

And as the lift platform rose, and the arena lights began to throb above, Ronnie didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

His silence screamed louder than words.

Present Day

The arena rumbled. Its floor, made of obsidian-laced alloy, was scorched and cracked from earlier combat tests. No audience, no applause—only Krull’kahn, sitting on his spire-like throne high above, a digital control tablet glowing in his clawed grip.

Ronnie stood below.

His body still twitched occasionally from the mind control serum coursing through his bloodstream. His posture was loose, mechanical—like a puppet dangling on a wire. His psionic aura flickered, repressed and unstable.

Directive: Engage test subjects.Emotion dampeners: 82% suppression.Conscience barrier: Reinforced.

The massive iron gate hissed open.

Three enhanced supersoldiers stepped forward—cloaked in bio-adaptive armor, each one bristling with integrated weapons, psionic modulators glowing faintly under their skin. They moved like predators, silent and synchronous.

Behind them... McKnight.

Dressed in light armor, veins glowing faint blue as the temporary enhancement serum he’d injected began to fuse with his system. No psionics. Just pure violence in human form.

"Ready for round two, puppet?" he sneered.

Ronnie said nothing. His lips barely moved. His eyes were pale.

But the air trembled.

The first supersoldier rushed in—a blur of kinetic force wrapped in psionic shielding. Ronnie’s instincts fired too late—he was slammed across the arena by a telekinetic blast. His body bounced against the ground, groaning in pain.

The second soldier launched a swarm of neural disruptor orbs, each firing tiny spikes of psychic interference. Ronnie screamed as they pierced through his weak mental shielding, momentarily scrambling his vision and sense of self.

The third soldier came in from above, mid-air, forming a blade of hardlight psionic energy. Ronnie lifted his hand in defense—

Too slow.

The blade slashed across his shoulder. Blood. Pain. Real.

He dropped to one knee.

"Engagement level: 41%. Directive: Increase aggression," Krull’kahn murmured, tapping the tablet again.

Ronnie’s hands lifted automatically—his psionic energy erupted in a sweeping arc, blasting two supersoldiers across the arena and pinning them against the wall. One shrieked. Bones snapped. The other choked on blood.

But the third tackled him again—and this time, they fought mind to mind. Psionic claws ripped through the air. Thought struck thought. Ronnie faltered.

They were coordinated. Trained. Fueled by the same serum that he had been cursed with.

Ronnie was powerful—but his mind was fractured.

They were whole.

Ronnie stumbled back, panting. Two supersoldiers were down, but the last one still stood, though limping, and preparing another mental strike.

Then—

CRACK

A punch from McKnight dropped Ronnie flat.

The serum-enhanced operative stood over him, grinning, eyes filled with pure cruelty. He didn’t need powers—just the right drugs and the right timing.

"Still trying to be a hero?" he mocked. "Guess you don’t remember what happened when you tried that last time."

Ronnie coughed, pain radiating through his ribs.

McKnight leaned closer, taunting him.

"You remember Richard, don’t you? Your brother?"

Ronnie twitched.

"Yeah, you killed him. Burned his little heart out with your freak power. Your mother too, probably. Or was it your father first? You don’t even remember what you did, do you?"

Silence.

Then—cracks appeared beneath Ronnie’s feet.

His body began to tremble. His aura ignited in a pulse of white-blue light.

Something deep in his psyche snapped.

Not from anger.

From grief.

"That’s a lie," he whispered. "You weren’t even there."

McKnight laughed. "No, but I’ve seen inside your mind. You’re living everyday, thinking how they would forgive you. Turns out, they won’t, cause they’re already dead."

"HAHAHAHA"

Ronnie stood, fists clenched.

His eyes were no longer blank.

They were burning.

Suddenly—the arena exploded with light.

Ronnie screamed—not in pain, but in release.

His psionic aura flared out in a shockwave that cracked the floor and disintegrated the nearest arena pillars. Stones lifted into the air like they were weightless. Debris floated around him in perfect silence.

He was no longer fighting with his powers.

He was the power.

McKnight backed away, hand on a new injector.

"Shit—"

Ronnie snatched him mid-air with invisible force and slammed him to the ground so hard the stone cratered.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I’LL TEAR YOU TO PIECES, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

He lifted McKnight again—and was about to rip him apart with a storm of telekinetic blades forming around his body—

When—

Everything froze.

Not in time—but in domination.

Ronnie dropped mid-motion, his aura faltering. The blades shattered.

A new presence surged into the arena.

Not walking.

Descending.

Krull’kahn floated from his throne like a dark messiah, landing soundlessly in front of Ronnie.

His clawed hand lifted lazily. The control tablet was gone—he didn’t need it now.

He looked at Ronnie like a disappointed tutor.

"All that power... wasted on a bleeding heart."

Ronnie, gasping, reached out again—but his hand halted mid-air as Krull’kahn’s own psionic field enveloped the space.

It was unlike anything Ronnie had felt. It was so strong that he could pass out at any moment if he wasn’t countering the energy field dominating his mind.

Krull’kahn didn’t push him back. He allowed Ronnie to struggle—and smiled when he failed.

"Did you think your... pain made you stronger, slave?" he said, voice mockingly tender. "Do you think grief makes you special? You’re just a slave screaming into the void."

He stepped closer, pressing a single clawed finger to Ronnie’s forehead.

"And I am the VOID."

A pulse of dark energy surged through Ronnie’s mind.

He collapsed.

Twitching. Defeated. Controlled once more.

Krull’kahn turned away.

"But fascinating, nonetheless..."

He paused.

"Let’s see how far your pain can carry you before it kills you."

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