Chess is shuffling down the hallway when his first break in 14 months happens. Another technician, a woman who's taller, fitter, is upset with him. He's used to that, and ignores the barking madness that he assumes has to do with her engine designs. He is right, and she's snapping more and now he almost regrets pointing out the flaws, picking it apart and rebuilding it over a matter of two days. It had taken her months of sleepless nights, hard days, and a missed school play. She's screaming, but no one intervenes. They're afraid of the young cyborg. He doesn't know quite why, but he doesn't really care. He finds companionship unreliable, tedious, where his books, his games, his movies always end the same. Happy, powerful. His back is on the wall and he's staring off into space, letting her screech curses and damnation. He feels less powerful now, as she's closer, louder. It's like her teeth are begging to tear into his throat and he just wants her to get it over with. No one intervenes, but some people still watch. He wonders where they'll go - people always seem to just vanish after they see him in arguments this bad. He stops when he realizes he knows none of their names, and that it's probably mutual. As if to distract himself he starts guessing about them, making up little backstories. Chess makes eye contact with one, and they leave. There's another scream, wordless and angry, and she's trying to hit Chess. She misses, and her fist cracks into the wall so hard that it fractures three fingers. The slam is what brings his gaze on her, but now there's something different in his eyes. It's a chilling, unblinking, hard glare boring into her head like a damn bullet. This is not Chess. He's not in control of himself. He doesn't know that in a matter of seconds he's grabbed her wrist with the bionic arm. He doesn't feel the satisfaction this persona gets when he squeezes hard enough for the bone to practically crumble. He puts her into a hold and is ready to snap her neck, when he finally speaks. 'Don't ever fucking touch him.' With that he just leaves the woman on the ground to clutch wordlessly at the shattered limb. Some large, burlier people in full tactical body armor - hired muscle of the strange organization - are quick to haul her off and get the IDs of all the witnesses. They would all be cared for, but would also be moved to projects away from where they could risk interacting with him again, placed under gag orders to keep Chess a secret. Ten years of experimentation was far too expensive, and much, much too valuable to lose because of another tussle. Chess is back in his room, stepping over cluttered messes of haphazard designs and schematics, and dvd covers, when he's himself again. He has no idea what hes done, and figures that once again, he simply spaced out while walking. The only thing he can really remember is stress, and curls up in bed with his laptop, playing some Disney movie about a young princess in a tower.