Burn Out (eBook)

Keith Jarvis jr. (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025
542 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
979-8-232-93806-2 (ISBN)

Infos

in this twisted comic book come to live, a former chemist whose family was killed and he was left for death, decides to use his gifts to make the perfect drug. His newest batch can grant super strength, speed and agility. However with anything there are side effects. This side effects will eventually kill him. Upon hearing that his death will soon be near he goes out into the night one last time hell bent for his revenge before his death. this is Burnouts final stand.

Textauszug

Chapter 1: The Ashes of a Life

The air in the laboratory was thick, not with the usual comforting hum of innovation, but with a suffocating stillness that pressed in on Dr. Aris Thorne from all sides. It was a silence that screamed, a vacuum where laughter and the gentle murmur of domestic life used to reside. Each polished chrome surface of his meticulously organized workspace now reflected a fractured image of himself, a man adrift in the wreckage of his own existence. The faint, acrid bite of ethanol, the sweetish tang of acetone, once the familiar perfume of progress, now mingled with the phantom coppery scent of blood, a grim reminder of the night that had cleaved his world in two. His wife, Elena, her bright eyes always so full of life, and his daughter, Lily, her small hand perpetually sticky with jam, their faces, vibrant and alive just hours before, now flickered in his mind’s eye like faulty neon signs, their final moments replaying with agonizing clarity. The sterile white of the lab coats hanging neatly on their hooks seemed to mock him, pristine and untouched, while his own soul was irrevocably stained. He was a ghost haunting the ruins of his former life, a phantom in a temple of memory, each piece of equipment – the centrifuge, the mass spectrometer, the meticulously labeled vials – a silent accuser, a monument to the joy that had been so brutally extinguished.

He ran a trembling hand over the cool, smooth surface of the workbench, his fingers tracing the faint, almost invisible etchings he’d once made as a testament to a breakthrough, a celebration of knowledge. Now, they felt like scars. The meticulously organized drawers, once a testament to his dedication and precision, now seemed to hold only the ghosts of his past. He’d been a sculptor of molecules, a painter with elements, his lab a canvas for the intricate dance of chemical reactions. Now, it was a mausoleum. The faint, lingering aroma of Elena’s lavender perfume, a scent he’d once associated with comfort and home, now seemed to hang in the air, a cruel olfactory taunt, an echo of a life stolen, a future vaporized. Lily’s bright, inquisitive chatter, her endless stream of questions about the colors of chemical reactions, the ‘magic’ of mixing things together, now played on a loop in the hollow chambers of his mind, each innocent query a fresh stab of grief. He could almost feel the phantom warmth of her small hand in his, a sensation that was both a solace and an exquisite torture.

 

He remembered the way Elena would bring him coffee, her smile radiant, as he’d worked late into the night, lost in the pursuit of scientific truth. Her belief in him, unwavering and pure, had been the bedrock upon which his ambition was built. Now, that bedrock had crumbled, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to the howling winds of despair. He saw her there, in the corner of his eye, her silhouette momentarily taking shape in the hazy glow of a neglected incubator, her voice a whispered caress, “Aris, you’re brilliant. You can do anything.” But he couldn’t bring her back. He couldn’t undo what had been done. The irony was a bitter draught: he, a master of transformation, of altering the very fabric of matter, was powerless against the irreversible finality of death. The world had spun on, indifferent and cruel, while his had imploded, leaving him buried beneath its rubble.

 

The stark reality of his situation settled upon him like a shroud. He was a man stripped bare, his identity reduced to a single, agonizing wound. The prestige, the accolades, the very essence of his professional life – all of it felt hollow, meaningless in the face of such profound loss. He was Dr. Aris Thorne, chemist, innovator, loving husband and father. But now, he was only the latter, and even that felt like a cruel jest, a testament to a life that had been brutally, irrevocably ended. The lab, once his sanctuary, had become his prison, its sterile confines echoing with the phantom sounds of his shattered family. He was a ghost in his own narrative, a man defined not by his achievements, but by the void left behind. The metallic tang in the air wasn't just from the chemicals; it was the taste of despair, the scent of a life turned to ash.

 

He drifted through the lab, a somnambulist in his own tragedy. His gaze fell upon a framed photograph on his desk – Elena and Lily, caught in a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, their smiles as bright as the summer sun. He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering inches from the glass, afraid to touch, afraid to shatter the fragile illusion of their presence. Their laughter, once the soundtrack to his life, now echoed in the cavernous silence, each memory a shard of glass piercing his heart. He remembered teaching Lily the basics of chemistry, her wide-eyed wonder as she mixed baking soda and vinegar, the resulting foamy eruption eliciting a squeal of delight. He had envisioned a future where she would follow in his footsteps, a legacy of scientific brilliance passed down through generations. Now, that future, like so many other precious things, had been reduced to dust.

 

The silence of the lab was a heavy blanket, suffocating him with its stillness. Each ticking of the atomic clock on the wall seemed to mock the irreversible passage of time, the time he could no longer reclaim, the moments stolen from him. He was a man adrift in a sea of grief, his once sharp intellect dulled by the relentless tide of sorrow. The equations and theorems that had once consumed his waking hours now seemed like meaningless scribbles, the intricate dance of molecules a distant, irrelevant memory. He was a ghost in his own life, a specter haunted by the love he had lost, forever bound to the sterile confines of a laboratory that had once been his sanctuary, now a tomb for his broken heart.

 

He walked over to the window, looking out at the indifferent cityscape. The rain, a perpetual presence in this city, slicked the streets below, reflecting the garish glow of neon signs that bled into the puddles like fresh wounds. It was a cityscape of broken promises and shattered dreams, a reflection of his own fractured psyche. He remembered the joy he’d felt when he’d first moved into this lab, the thrill of possibility, the promise of discovery. Now, it was a monument to his failure, a testament to the fragility of happiness, a place where life had been brutally extinguished, leaving behind only the sterile scent of chemicals and the ghosts of what once was. The metallic tang in the air wasn’t just from the residual reagents; it was the lingering essence of violence, the indelible stain of loss. He was Dr. Aris Thorne, but that man was gone, replaced by a hollow shell, a specter haunted by the memory of a life that was no more. He clung to the wreckage, a ghost in his own narrative, lost in the ashes of a life that had been so cruelly taken. The laboratory, once his haven of scientific pursuit, now felt like a mausoleum, each gleaming instrument a silent accuser, a painful reminder of the vibrant life that had been snuffed out, leaving him adrift in a sea of grief and guilt, a ghost in his own narrative. The air, thick with the scent of chemicals, now also carried the phantom odor of death, a constant, agonizing reminder of what he had lost. He was trapped within these walls, a prisoner of his own despair, the sterile silence amplifying the screams of his tormented soul. He was a brilliant chemist, a master of his craft, yet utterly powerless against the irreversible finality of the tragedy that had befallen him. The ghost in the lab coat was no longer just a metaphor; it was him.

 

The sterile gleam of the laboratory, once a sanctuary of scientific pursuit, had morphed into a crucible of his grief. The ghosts of Elena and Lily still danced in the periphery, their spectral laughter a cruel counterpoint to the hiss and sputter of his new, darker experiments. Dr. Aris Thorne, once a sculptor of cures and a weaver of molecular marvels, was now forging something far more dangerous. The desire for answers had curdled into a raw, burning need for vengeance, a poison that infected every ounce of his being, transforming his genius into a weapon.

He no longer sought to mend the fractured pieces of his life; he sought to shatter the architects of its destruction. The carefully calibrated beakers and flasks, once used to synthesize life-saving compounds, now held the nascent stages of a different kind of creation. He worked with a feverish intensity, the rhythmic pulse of the laboratory’s machinery a hypnotic beat to his descent. Sleep was a luxury he could no longer afford, sustenance a bothersome interruption. His world had shrunk to the confines of these four walls, illuminated by the cold, unwavering light of his obsession. The scent of ethanol and acetone, once familiar and comforting, now mingled with the sharper, more acrid tang of volatile compounds, the perfume of his nascent fury.

 

His research had taken a sharp, brutal turn. The elegant pursuit of knowledge had been supplanted by a grim, methodical quest for power. He wasn't interested in understanding the intricacies of biology anymore; he was interested in hijacking it, in bending it to his will. His focus shifted from restorative compounds to those that could enhance, to those that could amplify, to those that could grant him the strength to rip apart the darkness that had consumed his world. He was no longer a healer; he was becoming a harbinger.

 

He began to meticulously chart a new course, a treacherous path through uncharted scientific territory. His notebooks, once filled with meticulous observations and elegant theories, now bore the chaotic scrawl of a...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 6.10.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Schlagworte: Cops • Drugs • last issue • Minions • Superhero • unity belt • villain
• ISBN-13: 979-8-232-93806-2 / 9798232938062