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You wake up from a 3 year coma...and find yourself at the center of psychic warfare! |
| [Introduction] PREFACE It is the year 2110. You are around fifteen years old. Now imagine something bad happens. Some kind of disaster or accident. One that causes you to slip into a coma. You wake up three years later. Now, in the year 2113, you find yourself not in a hospital bed but in a laboratory run by a top secret, bio-weaponry/technology organization known as BWAD (Bio-chemical Warfare and Defense). This organization was established to defend the nation and the world. They appear to mean you no harm. There are other teens held at B-WAD facilities that are in the same situation you are. At least three of them are the same age as you, others are either only a year older or younger, and went comatose in the same month and year that you did. For some inexplicable reason, you know them, or at least you know the ones who are the same age as you and went comatose at the same time you did. From where you are not certain. But according to your life's history (which B-WAD has on file) you could never have possibly known these other people...because your paths have never crossed. This is not the only mystery. All of you now have psychic powers of some sort, each of them unique. And, to your surprise, for some reason, you are already accustomed to using them...though you don't have any recollection of ever using them before. In addition, it is as if you have missed nothing during the past three years because your bodies are physically fit as if you have been eating and working and moving around like any concious human being. You were all 15 when you went into comatose and are now 18. You should have woken up with mind of 15 teen year olds but it seems that you have matured since you were first knocked out. You're mathematic aptitude has improved and you find yourselves quoting "famous" literature that is not even found in this world. It is almost as if...during your three year coma...your mind has visited an alternate universe and lived an alternate life, while in this world, your body has been frozen in a comatose state. Some of you may even have flashes from this "other world"...more flashes from there than from this world. Okay...that's great...but then why has BWAD taken you captive? Saved your life is more like it. See in this day and age the economy is far too dependent on energy to waste it on keeping comatose victims alive. The current health care program doesn't allow you too keep coma patients on life support for more than six months. Six months is the offical cut-off date. So if you don't pull the plug, the government will. BWAD was lucky to find any of you psychic comatose patients and take you before your family had the plug pulled (there are not many of you because you are so rare). It was for the greater good of science afterall. They have been monitoring your incredible brainwaves and other brain-related activities for the past three years, trying to figure out why you brains have been making such miraculous leaps and bounds, developing abilities that no other humans in this world having been able to master without the help of electronic technology. Until now. To wake you up from your coma, scientists used an advancement in medicine never before used or tested on humans. It is a liquid adrenaline boost of some kind that, upon entering your blood stream, will either kill you or wake you up. Luckily it worked (on most of you at least) so now you are awake. But why have they decided to wake you now? Why would they run the risk of killing you with a product not yet tested on humans? Because, we need you. There's a psychic menace on the lose that only you can stop. A mole within B-WAD managed to leak information to an anarchist group known simply as The Craze. The copy cats began searching for other comatose psychic people, whom they've kidnapped, and assembled a small, yet formidable team of psychic assassins they plan to use to attack the government and dominate the world! You people, there are least four of you, are the the only ones who can match them. (Unless you find more out there like you who would be willing to assist your cause.) Got all that? Good. Moving on... Guidelines: 1.Your first addtion will just be your character's bio. It should be short and we should go through the bio blocks quickly. Don't write about the story until I start it. 2. On your second addtion, tell the story of how your character came to be in a coma. Just tell about the day it happened, nothing prior, nothing after. 3. After that you pretty much have free reign! Just keep it PG13. Be creative with the technology (this is 100 years into the future) but just try to think how much we've changed since a hundred years ago, then try to match that. I've decided to keep it at only 100 years into the future instead of 200 so that we spend less time creating a whole new future reality and more time on the characters and their struggles. But have fun! 4. Ok I am no longer putting a limit on how many people belong to the good side or the bad side...I also no longer care if there is an exactly even number of girls and boys as long as its a close ratio you know? 5. Also I'll delete or alter any god-moding additions. :P Your Characters Bios: Name: Gender: Current Age: if you're one of the good guys, you already know you're 18...the bad guys' ages can be older or younger but not by much because your all supposed to be similar in age Appearance: Just describe the way your character looks Alliance: There are two bio-chemical organizations you can belong to: 4 will belong to the good one and 4 to the bad. The good one is BWAD (biochemical warfare and defence) and the bad side is The Craze. Psychic Abilities: (see below...) These are just some suggestions to get your creativity going. You can choose any of these and have more than one if you want as long as you don't go crazy and make yourself too powerful (nooo godmoding!). Be reasonable please. Choose any of these and modify them if you want or come up with your own. Telekinesis (moving or levetating things with your mind including yourself) Teleportation (ability to teleport anywhere at will; may work on self and on other objects) Clairvoyance (seeing things before they happen) Telepathy Mind reading Mind control or manipulation (only works on humans, putting thoughts in peoples heads or bending them to your will, it can also cause others to experience illusions and such) Empath (kinda like mind control since you can take people's pain away by making them think they dont have it, but the drawback is you take it upon yourself...you can also share psychic powers with others or "borrow" but its taxing on your body, its kinda like psychic vampire in that way except sharing rather than taking) Psychic vampire (feeding off emotions, other peoples powers, etc.) Pyrokinesis (causing or controling fire with your mind) Elemental manipulation/control (like water bending, or earth bending, or whatever, with your mind) Weather manipulation (causing lightning storms, snow, tornados, etc.) Plant manipulation Animal communication/manipulation |
| Name: Maxwell "Max" Shane Gender: male Current Age: 18 Appearance: Black-brown hair, grey-blue eyes, 5 foot 10, lean but muscular. Has a sloppy kind of skater-boy look to him most of the time. The day he went comatose he was uncharacteristically wearing a nice shirt and tie to his father's funeral...he still wore jeans. His hair is usually grown out a little but it has been cut short now thanks to BWAD scientists. Alliance: BWAD Psychic Abilities: telepathy/mind reading, telekinesis, teleportation |
Name: Kirk Halloway Gender: Male Current Age: 18 Appearance: Very blonde, towheaded. His hair sticks up in a lot of places without any assistance, but its usually in a faux hawk. Lean and trim, used do a lot of free running or parkour, so he's really agile. Green eyes. Alliance: Was originally a subject in BWAD. However, when the miracle drug killed rather then awakend him, they threw him out. There he was found by the Craze. (So I'm with the Craze but quite frankly I have no idea what's going on xP) Psychic Abilities: Pyrokinesis, pain control. Can make your pain go away or double it, but its really an illusion. (So that would be maybe Empathy?) |
Name: Rosaline McCready Gender: Female Current Age: 18 Appearance: Tall and lithe, like a dancer, with little muscle tone in all but her legs. Thick, strawberry blonde hair falls in thick curls to her shoulders with side-swept bangs that almost cover her dark green eyes. Alliance: Craze Psychic Abilities: Supernatural tracking, earth manipulation, current reading (either wind or water). |
| Name: Noah Clandestine Current Age: 18 Apperence: Noah has a delicate, but medium sized frame, and is about average hieght. He has blue eyes and pale skin, topped with a layer of golden hair. Alliance: BAWD Psychic Abilities: Water/Steam/Ice Manipulation. Storm Summoning/Prediction. Psychic Healing (can accelerate the speed of the body's healing capacity, but only so much. Too much damage will still take a while an a threat of death in the case of lethal injury still looms. Can be used on himself, or on others if he's touching them.) |
| Name: Padmavati âPadmaâ Prasad Gender: Female Current Age: 18 Appearance: Coal black hair that flows down to her waist, usually in two French braids to keep it out of her way, and golden hazel eyes. She stands about five and half feet tall with a slender frame and curvy at the hip. She is very careful with what she wears; making her everything is pressed and immaculate before she puts it on âborderline O.C.D.-- and somewhat formal in her choice of clothing (slacks, button-up shirts, etc). She is quiet when she moves but is very sharp with her opinions. Alliance: BWAD, although her resolve is wavering. Psychic Abilities: Psychic Vampire, Empathy, minor Thought Manipulation. |
| Name: Yna Chanaz Gender: Female Current Age: 18 Appearance: People have to look down at her - she's physically tiny; roughly 5'1". Wavy amber hair, which she keeps short, lightly tanned, and large, owl-like green eyes. Alliance: BWAD Psychic Abilities: Physical manipulation, although due to her coma, the amount of control she has over her abilities is...shaky. She can lift an elephant easily one moment, and fail to make leaves rustle the next...and that makes her relationship with the scientists at B-WAD strained. |
âGet you feet off the dash, Max.â The words sounded trivial, everyday, like a motherâs persistent nagging, but there was something different about Eloiseâs voice when she said them. Her usual snide, wisecracking, easy-going manner of speech had given way to a strained, hardened monotone. There was a strong quality of tightness to it that Max wasnât even sure heâd heard from her before and a broken quivering that lay barely perceptible beneath that tightness. Her voice was like a proud stone tower whose smooth, rock-hard exterior appeared sound enough but whose inner halls and pillars were slowly beginning to crumble. Eloiseâs voice was not the only quality about her that seemedâŚunnatural. Just by her appearance you could tell that she was not herself. She sat rigid straight with fingers tense as she gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes were dull as they watched the road, her face drawn and paler than usual, a modest, yet slimming black dress hugging her slender curves. The only detail about her appearance that didnât seem out of the ordinary was her dark brown hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail, with pieces of hair falling messily about her face. Of course Max, Eloiseâs younger brother, was attune to the delicate state his sister was in. He knew her feelings, feelings he also knew she was not accustomed to and probably not even capable of expressing functionally. Had he been in a more sympathizing and sensitive mood he would have held his tongue and complied with his sisterâs wishes with less grumbling than usual, but, instead, he chose to retort. âYouâre not my mom, El,â he said, his voice sounding more juvenile than he had hoped. Did he seriously just pull the Youâre-Not-The-Boss-Of-Me card? A pause. âI donât try to be, Max. Sorry.â The calmness in her voice was like the surface of a quiet lake as she whispered the apology, but her words did not lose their taught intensity and they ran together fast like an agitated, hurriedly running river. Max was personally grateful for the generous allotment of silence that followed, allowing him more time to brood. The compact ground car, an old, outdated 2100 Honda Speedster that Eloise had saved up money to buy since she was sixteen, flew swiftly and silently over the magnetized ground-car freeway, making the world surrounding the little craft speed by in short, colored blurs. Max tried to watch the fast moving world outside his passenger-side window but the glare of the sun combined with the clutter of glowing advertisement messages on the glass made it nauseatingly impossible to look through. Cars drove too fast these days for drivers to actually see advertisements on billboards, so instead the signs you passed by would send little, digital messages to your car, displaying brightly colored ads on the corners of you side-door windows. He kept his eyes focused lazily on the road ahead and remained slouched in his seat with his grungy tennis shoes still propped on the dash -board, the toe of his left shoe scuffing the windshield. Max spaced his fingers apart like a comb and began running them through his thick, dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black, much darker and courser than Eloiseâs hair, in an attempt to brush it out of his eyes. It was getting long. Eloise had been nagging him ceaselessly for the past month, but now? Now she seemed to be willing to let it go but Max knew she had at least hoped heâd change his mindâŚ.out of respect for their father. He died. A few days ago. Theyâd found him slumped over in a telephone booth with a bullet in his brain. The whole thing was chalked up to armed robbery. The murderer, probably a gang-member or something, was still at large. It made Max sick to his stomach hearing from his usually either drunken or drugged up mom about how much he looked just like his father. Same bronzy complexion, same thick, wavy black hair, same Roman nose with broad bridge, same full lips and strong jaw, same dimpled chin, same crooked smile. Everything about him, save his blue-grey eyes, which he got from his mother, was the spitting image of Drake Elliot Shane. This was a fact that Penelope Shane, Maxâs mother, was never willing to let go of. About a year or so after Drake ran out on his family without a farewell or explanation, which was when Max was about six and El ten, Penny Shane had backslid to her old days of drug addiction and got hooked on a little wonder called Pixie Dust. The Pixie Dust had convinced her that her son Max was actually her absent husband Drake. Her treatment of him would swing from one side of the spectrum to the other. Either she loathed and despised him or she was telling him how much she loved him, how much she missed him. She begged him, implored him, to come back. She sobbed and clung to him, telling him that she would forgive him, that she loved him. It was despicable. Max hated Drake Elliot Shane. And he hated what he had done to his mother. Eloise, who was fortunate enough to carry nearly no resemblance whatsoever to her father, but rather looked like much her mother back in her more beautiful days when she was drug free and sober, thin and but not so thin that she appeared gaunt and sickly like she did now, had been working several jobs so she could save up and buy her own apartment. She did so at seventeen. She was nineteen now and Max fifteen. Heâd moved in with her the first chance he got, eager to escape his motherâs insanity. Theyâd found refuge for Penny when El was eighteen. At eighteen she was old enough to legally place her mother in the care of a rehab clinic in South Los Angeles. And life had finally begun to settle down. For the first time since theyâre fatherâs abandonment of them, El and Max had found peace. But nowâŚthis. They were now going to see their âbelovedâ fatherâs remains get burned up into ash and scattered who-knows-and-who-even-cares where. Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw Eloiseâs ponytail swish as she shot a glance in his direction. He caught a hint of an emotion on her face that was something between annoyance and disgust. Max sat up a little in his seat, deciding to remove his feet from the dashboard. âWhat?!â he was surprised by how loud he sounded after so much silence. âYou could have at least worn slacks.â Max was wearing a black tie over a button up blue shirt that El had bought him. But for pants he had on the most horrendously ripped, bedraggled, skinny jeans on the face of the earth. âI donât care. Itâs not like I knew the guy.â âMaxwellâŚâ âNo!â He screamed it. He hated it when anyone called him by his full name. He remembered his father saying it. He was the only person who consistently called him by his whole name. That was the one word he remembered him saying more vividly than anything else. He remembered the sound of his voice when he said it. Maxwell. âNo! I wonât live in denial. You know he didnât care about us! Stop pretending like any of this matters! Stop pretending like he loved us and that we love him and that weâre sad heâs dead! Iâm not sad! He got what he deserved.â He was breathing hard by the time he finished talking. âThatâs a terrible thing to say, Max.â âI donât care.â And thatâs when it happened. That day, August 17th 2110, for some odd reason, a commercial hovercraft decided to fall out of the sky and change Maxwell Shaneâs life forever. They say that when you die, or you are about to die, that your life flashes before your eyes. The thing they seem to forget to mention is that everything seems to happen in slow motion, like in the movies, and yet itâs all over in a matter of seconds. Sometimes you catch many things a once, but most of time you miss most of what happensâŚeven though things seem to be happening so slowly. And the thing isâŚyou donât see your life. Not really. Max had always thought heâd see a fast-forward clip of his whole life like a montage of home movie clips. But really he only saw peopleâs faces. His mother, his sister, his friends, his teachers. And finally, his dad. And then, in a blur of fire and heat and blood, all went black. |
August 17th. It was the day after August 16th, and the day before August 18th. It was the day I died. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Everyone at Jonathan E. Blakely High-school was doing the exact opposite of what they were supposed to be doing. They were supposed to be listening to another extremely boring English lecture, but what they were doing was decidedly more fun. Everyone who had their own Vid was tuned in, with those who didn't looking over their shoulders. There, on the ultra clear HD portable flat screen that was the Vid, they were watching a complete maniac scaling buildings with his bare hands, jumping off of statues, and ducking between cars. In fact, the only person who wasn't watching it (teachers excluded of course) was Kirk Halloway. He didn't need to watch it. He'd made it. "Dude!" He was slapped roughly on his back by a classmate. "This is insane!" "Heh, thanks." Kirk's signature crooked grin was beginning to take over his entire face. Said classmate held up his Vid. "Isn't this part filmed at the Galaxy?" Referring, of course, to one of the towns most exclusive nightclubs. "How didn't you get caught?" "I did." Kirk said holding up his elbows to reveal the scratches, much less red then yesterday. "A bouncer like threw me completely out the door. It was awesome." "Wow." "Oh come on, this is bull****." An overly loud, annoyed voice was heard from across the room. Kirk turned and, not surprisingly, saw Darren Douglas as the perpetrator of the outburst. Obviously the teacher had given up trying to quiet everyone, and had slipped out for an iced coffee. "I can do that route in six minutes." Darren also did parkour, and used to be the big cheese till this new video, but if anything Kirk was definitely faster. And its not like he rubbed it in, like Darren totally would. Then again, he figured he probably wouldn't be so friendly either if people called him Double D. "And who the heck was taping this anyway Halloway?" The voice boomed again, this time aimed straight at him. "Your grandma? I've seen better videos at the dollar store." Kirk just scratched the back of his neck and smiled at him. Poor guy. "Or was it your sister? What a spas." The smile vanished. Nina Halloway, Kirk's 9 year old sister, had dyslexia and a stutter. The insults made him burn up inside as if someone had just lit a fire beneath him, and he could feel his face getting hot. "Just shut up Darren, we all know youâre an idiot." Darren Douglas just laughed. "At least I'm not a retard." Kirk made to go over but his friend stopped him. "What, don't think you can beat me?" He smirked. "In a fist fight?" Kirk's voice was breathy because he was so angry. "No way. A race? Your so on." Everyone was looking at them by now. Darren nodded slowly. "All right, Dragons Tooth, 7PM. Whoever completes it first, wins." "I'll be there." Kirk said defiantly. "Good." Darren said, close to his face now because he was walking by. His breath smelled like tobacco. "Dude, you don't want to do this!" His friend cried immediately after the bully was out of sight. Kirk just started towards the door, his friend following behind him. "You've never done this run before. Professionals don't even do it." Dragons Tooth was a notoriously dangerous route. One that every parkour artist in town aspired to, but one that no sane person ever did. It involved crossing over a pretty sketchy (not to mention busy traffic wise) part of town. It already involved the most car collisions in the county, and that was without people weaving in and out of them. âI got this.â Kirk said, taking in a breath. He did, right? Well it didnât matter much because heâd already said he was going to. Hey, maybe heâd even be able to film a new video! He loved parkour. More then almost anything; except his sister and parents. Kirkâs mom and dad hadnât lived together for what seemed like a long time. And he hadnât seen his dad for longer. His dad loved his work, just like Kirk loved free running. Thatâs how they tried to explain it to him the day he left. His dad got a high paying job, doing what he loved, and he took it. He would mail them stuff sometimes, from the places he had visited. One time he actually sent Kirk some special fireworks from China, that were supposed to not be dangerous. Heâd still managed to scorch their living room though. He felt especially bad for his sister, Nina. Sheâd known their dad for even less time than Kirk. One, because she was adopted, and two because heâd left only a year or two later. He didnât hate either of his parents. Not for leaving. At three PM his mom picked them up. Kirk promised himself that when he was older, heâd get one of those awesome hover cars. But for now they were land bound. âSo? How was your day?â His mom looked back at them for a moment. âOh, you know.â Kirk said grinning, saying nothing about how his film had caused Vidâs to be banned indefinitely from Jonathan E. Blakely High-school. He was that good. He could see Ninaâs face out of the corner of his eyes. She was trying so hard not to laugh that it made him smile wider. Which, of course, only caused her to snort out loud. âWhat?â Their mom looked suspiciously between them. Kirk winked at his sister. âIts nothing mom.â âOh, Kirk.â Laura Halloway said, suddenly remembering. âWeâre going to drop you off at Uncle Mikes today. You guys havenât hung out for a long time!â Everything, heart, brain, mind, was instantly dropped to the floor of the car. âMom-â âUncle Mike? Can I come?â Nina asked. âNo!â Kirk yelled. Both his mother and his sister turned. Laura thought the outburst was because her teenage son didnât want his little sister encroaching on his time. She was wrong. Nina was wondering why he had been so fierce, and was watching him closely. âNina, let them hang out sweetie. You donât want to do guy stuff.â Kirk swallowed. âUh, mom. I have a lot of homework.â âIâm sure he wouldnât mind helping you.â âBut⌠I have a project. Plus me and my friends are going to go out later and do some pa-â Laura sighed. âI hope your not talking about that⌠free running thing. Iâve already told you I donât want you doing it. Its too dangerous.â Laura Halloway didnât understand that she was taking him to a much more dangerous place altogether. He was starting to have difficulty breathing, let alone arguing. âMom.â âHere we are. Hey Mike!â She had rolled down her window and was addressing the man. âLaura! Glad you could come.â He smiled back at her. Then he walked to the nearest passenger door and tapped on the window. âHey kiddo.â âHey Uncle Mike!â Nina said. âSorry about today. Maybe you can hang out next time.â âYeah, maybe!â Kirk couldnât hear it anymore, so he swung open his door and got out. His legs felt like lead; like when he would look over the edge of a really tall building. âHey buddy!â Uncle Mike put an arm around his shoulder and messed with his hair. âYour getting tall.â Kirk wanted to push the hand off of him, and run. But he couldnât. His mom was smiling at him. âIâll pick you about around six, okay?â Mrs. Halloway was a little bit late that night, because she had to pick up the dry cleaning. She arrived to find cop cars lighting up the driveway of âUncleâ Mikeâs house. There had been an accident. Thatâs what everyone was told. An accident. And so it had been, but not of the common household variety. But it didnât matter, because only two people knew what really happened. And one of them wasnât going to wake up for a long time. |
| August 17th, 2110. The day the world had ended. Or had it ended? Was it a reboot? A transfer of sorts? Or something compleatly different? What if this was no ending, but the real beginning? Who is to say that what dies now dies forever? On this day, people would be given a second chance. On this day, their normal worlds die, to be replaced by worlds beyond imagination. *~*~* Noah awoke with a start, shooting up from his bed as if he was set ablaze, his white skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. He panted and reached for a glass of water next to his bedside. Another bad dream. He gulped the entire thing in practically four seconds, as if he had never once tasted the essential liquid. Once his thirst was quenched, the young man looked at his holo-clock. 5:47 AM. Too early to get up. Noah groaned and layed back, eyes peeled open and staring at the ceiling. They had started getting worse. "The Dreams..." he muttered to himself, just looking at small cracks in the roof. Noah shuttered. Ever since he had started having these dreams two years ago, every night he felt himself immoliated in fires, seemingly from Hell itself. It was always the same. A aging inferno collapsing around him, the oxygen burning away, and even land and stone cracking and shattering. And it always ended with the final flames burning him away. And ever since then Noah was afraid of fire, he couldn't even handle a hot pan without conquering a powerful fear. It was taking his life over, and he knew it, but there was very little he could do. He was just one normal child with one abnormaly powerful phobia. His parents didn't really understand it, but they tried they're best to help him cope. They had taken him to a few minor psychiatrists, but no really significant issues appeared. "They could never understand..." he sighed, just breathing and staring into nothingness. Before he knew it though, it was seven AM, and he got up from his acursed bed to begin his day. Only he didn't know it would be seemingly his last. *~*~* The Summer Months were a myraid of scheduals for students, some still had half of their summer left, the others were already getting projects and double homework. Call the new Government Schooling programs crazy, but it didn't matter as long as everybody went the same amount of days in total. For Noah, he was of the former group, and still had about half of a summer vacation to burn. So the youth had naturally gotten a small summer job, a small house sitting gig he had for a few local famillies that liked to travel around the world. Today he only had to visit one house, actually an apartment close by. The tennents had gone away to Venezuala, and had a rather large hydroponic garden that needed attention twice a week. Noah walked by the front desk where the usual man stationed there called out a friendly greeting to Noah, who replied in earnest. He opened to elevator door and inserted the Tennent Key into a small slot near a number of buttons, then selecting the seventh floor. After exiting the elevator and walking down the third corridor to the right, he found himself at room 784, and let himself in. The Tennents here were real old fashioned types. They're style was of the late 2060's, which consisted of old mass manufactured furniture made of ancient materals like cotton and such. The walls were painted a very light pink with strange vertical striped designs every few feet, and they still lighted their home with lightbulbs, which were really innefficient at power usage and had been known to be dangerous. Most people called them "Balls of Fire" for obvious reasons. Noah got to the most important work quickly, which was attending to the hydroponic garden. This was one of the few things Noah still liked to do, maybe because it was cool work, and maybe because he had to protect the vegetation from the same thing he needed protection from. He silently attended to every plant, checking their food levels and adjusting certain elements for each individual plant so it optimally grew. It was mundane things Noah always seamed to like best. After his favorite task, he set to other things, like polishing wood, dusting, and such. Once finished, he glomped down on their couch and just lay for a minute. "Yeah it's old...But man...They sure don't make Fiber-Optical Couches like this..." For a moment, Noah just gazed up, and stared at the "Ball of Fire" lamp hanging from the ceiling. All he did was watch it. But that's when it happened. "HELP! HELP!" cried a voice from beyond the hall. Noah's ears turned up as he heard the cry. It sounded like a woman. "HELP!" And she sounded frantic. Noah got up from his seat and exited the room, curiously investigating the situation. A woman in her thirties was running towards him, noticing him as soon as he left that room. "Help child, help me!" "Wha...What's wrong?" He asked, his eyes wide with concern. The woman panted heavilly and pointed at a room all the way down the hall. "My...My dog! Please save him! He's my only familly leefft!" she cried, her face finally erupting in tears. Noah could no more coax a word out of her no more than he could coax a boa constrictor to do his bidding, so his natural curiousty plus the fact she wouldn't let go of him prompted him to agree to help. All she could do was point towards the room, which Noah swiftly moved towards. It was when he was upon it that he smelled it. Smoke. A shudder whent down his spine. "No..." It couldn't be? It was. Noah Clandestine entered a room similar in layout to the other one, but with the major difference being the kitchen corner of the room was engulfed in a small blaze, which was starting to spread. Proboley an oil fire that got out of control. Not being the type to back out of agreements, Noah figured he could find this dog and get out before the fire got too close. Noah did the math and figured it would be a safe bet, after all it was centered in the kitchen. Nevertheless, he moved with a terrorfied shuddering that made him move at half speed. The boy scanned the living room and found it dog free, and so creept throughout the different rooms. Only upon entering the final area did he find the small creature, cowering behind the sink in the bathroom. "Come on little buddy..." Noah cooed, easing towards the dog. It only cowered more. "Come quickly..." Noah cooed, although with more haste. He had glanced back and noticed that the fire had started to spread quicker than he had imagined, a few sparks had started to light to living room on fire. "Quickly little fellow!" Noah pleaded the dog, trying to get closer. He hadn't figured the pup would be so small and meek. Finally, Noah reached for the pup, but the dog simply yelped and dashed as if the crack of a whip had nipped his backside. Noah watched as the dog scurried from the room and out the door to the hallway. And just as it escaped, the fire jumped from the couch to the walls, to the ceiling, and just like that, the door was blocked by waves of flame. Suddenly in the middle of an out of control fire, Noah ran through his options. Two seconds later, he realized he had none. Disoriented by all the smoke, and frantic from all the fire, Noah tried to find a way out, but he never got much closer. A beam of wood that supported the ceiling cought fire, and just as it happens, Noah was right underneath it when it decided to fall. The fire burned the beam loose. And just like that, all went dark. |
| Of all the shitty days she'd ever, ever had in her whole entire manure-perfumed life, this was by far the worst. On a scale of one to ten, she'd give it a...minus five. And she was no perfectionist. Rain sputtered down Yna's collar as she shifted from one throbbing foot to the other. She was holding her favorite leather jacket over her head as an ersatz umbrella, but leather wasn't exactly waterproof. "Hell," Yna grumbled to herself, shaking her bangs out of her eyes. She just wanted to find a stupid taxi, get home, kick off these torturous heels, and take a long, hot bath. Not that she would get one, of course. The hot water and electricity had been out for the last week or two, what with the storming and faulty solar panels. They'd actually had to revert to stone age batteries and candles. Yet another crappy thing to add to the list. She had been standing on the corner of some street for the last half-hour, and not a single cab had come along. "Probably all back home dancing with those sexy holograms," Sina had said wisely, before disappearing back into the bar for yet another drink. At first the rest of her friends had stuck around, waiting hopefully for a taxi, but they had all given up in disgust and gone back in. And now Yna was the only one waiting. **Two hours later** The traffic purred by, rain bouncing off waterproof windshields and drenching Yna; thoughts circling in her head giddily like leaves in a cup of tea. We'll never find a taxi. We'll be stuck out here in the rain all freakin' night. Those cocktails were poisonous - I should have started saying no at six. My feet are all blistered. Plus, they're freezing - "TAXI!" she instinctively screamed the word, almost before she reigistered the flashing lights. It was coming up the road, signaling a turn. "Don't turn!" she windmilled her arms. "Here! Godammit, HERE!" I have to get this cab. I have got to. Clutching her jacket, Yna sprinted along the pavement, cursing her short little legs, her tiny lungs. As she reached the corner, the pavement was jammed with people, and she dashed through them, paying little regard to the heys and stupid drunks. Her legs pumped furiously and she skidded a little, yelling, feeling her throat grow hoarse. "Taxi! Taxi!" She jumped onto a large platform. He can see me easier this way. I'll hail the stupid cab, then run down and jump in. "TAAAAAAAAAXI!!!!" Yes! It's stopping. Thank God! Finally. To her consternation, she noticed some guy on the street heading for the taxi. "It's ours!" Yna roared at him, shaking her tiny fists in fury, turning around to get off the platform. "It's OURS! I hailed that cab! Don't you - AAAAAH!" Her heels skidded on the wet stone. Then, as she started falling, her thoughts rushed with disbelief: I've just slipped on these stupid heels. She was falling, like a cartoon character. These shoes tripped me up and are going to make me break my neck. And the heels will probably snap off, too. She scrabbled desperately at the air, spraining her fingers, dropping her jacket, grabbing for something, anything, but she couldn't stop herself. This is going to hurt. The ground was coming straight at her - there was nothing she could do - Mom is going to kill me, she thought, and went down. |
| Name: Brielle Flynn Gender: Female Current Age: 18 Appearance: Brielle has wavy chocolate hair that falls a little past her collar bone. She stands 5'9" in height and has a slim hour glass figure. Her eyes are ice blue and rather large in size, framed by many dark lashes. And her skin is the color of a porcelain doll's. Wears what she likes, so her style varies from day to day. Alliance: BWAD Psychic Abilities: Clairvoyance, Telepathy/Mind Reading, Mind Control |
He felt like he was underwater. It was as if he had sunk to the bottom of a very deep, dark lake of unconsciousness. There was no way of telling how long he had been down there or how he had come to be there in the first place. All he could say for certain was that he felt like he had been down there a long time. His body felt curiously foreign to him. His limbs were heavy, numbed from dissue. His mind was enveloped in darkness. Then suddenly, he was aware. The darkness slowly gave way. He felt his mind ascend to the surface of that dark lake, rising up into the world of consciousness. His ears were met by a jumbled of incoherent sounds. He noticed at throbbing, dull pain in his left arm. He realized that he was breathing hard, very hard. He could hardly get enough oxygen to his brain, he was breathing so hard. He felt a solid pounding, heard a sound like a hammer, beating mercilessly inside of him, in his brain, in his chest. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP... His eyelids shuttered open. The first thing he saw was light. Bright, white light. He saw ghostly white shapes pass by and over him. As his eyes adjusted to the light he watched the shapes solidfy into human beings wearing long white coats. Two people were standing stationary at the foot of the hospital bed he seemed to be laying on. One had just gone through the door in front of him, while another entered. Two nurses had just walked over to the the sink, looking back at him over their shoulders. He noticed that, while these people seemingly went about their business, the would occasionally glance over at him with the same look of apprehension, exchanging nervous looks with each other then continuing with whatever it was they were doing. There was a woman standing at his bedside, leaning over him. She shined a flash light in his eye, making him blink. She was talking to him but he couldnât make out the words yet. He became aware of a severe discomfort in his throat and realized that he couldnât speak. He touched his hand to his throat, feeling a tube the connected into his trakea. The woman pulled his hand away like he was a child. She was still talking to him, but he could only hear the pounding in his head, the sound of his own quickened breath and a far off beeping sound. beep, beep, beep... THUMP, THUMP THUMP... The beeping was in perfect sync with the pounding in his head. He was listening the sound of his own heart. The jackhammer inside his head was the pulse of his racing heart. Somehow he knew that this wasn't normal. He knew that his heart was beating too fast and they needed to slow it down. He also knew that he wasn't breathing right and that this was related to the beating of his heart. If they could low his heart, they could slow his breathing. If they didn't, maybe he would die. He didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted the pounding to stop and he wanted to breathe. Suddenly, there was a loud crash that shook the walls. Panic swept through him as the woman grabbed hold of his arm. He heard someone yell at him âhold still!â and thatâs when he realized that his whole body was shaking uncontrollably. He heard a manâs voice yelling something he couldnât understand. There was another crash, followed by another that sounded clangier, like metal. That's when he saw objects, medical utensils, fly across the room, clattering against the walls, the floor. He heard a woman scream and saw people dodging objects. Without warning the once still room had descended rapidly into chaos. Suddenly, everyone was scrambling around the room. They gathered around his bed, hands grabbing hold of him, wrapping wrought velcroe restraints around his wrists and ankles, trying to pin his quaking body to the hospital bed. One of the doctors gave a command to one of the nurses and the nurse disappeared. The woman at his bed side was still talking to him. He looked up at her with pleading eyes. Why was he here? What was happening to him? What were they going to do to him? Who am I? âI need you to try and slow your breathing down,â he heard her say. âTake deep breathes. Can you do that for me, Max?â her voice sounded far away, like it was at the end of a tunnel. The name âMaxâ sounded strange and unfamiliar to him, but he tried to do what she said. He breathed in deep. He exhaled. Though his lungs ached, he repeated the action, willing his heart to slow down. He breathed in again and then the nurse reappeared holding a syringe. He felt his heart quicken again. âBreathe!â he heard the woman yell. He was nearly hyper ventilating. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs with as much oxygen as he could. He exhaled and he saw the syringe enter his right arm. A secondary pain shot through it. There was another crash. Then without warning, the bed beneath him was gone. The people were gone. And he was falling. He felt his body slam to the ground. The last thing he remembered was a sharp pain in the back of his head. And then black. ~*~*~ âMax?â He was in that dark place again. âMax? Can you hear me? Wake up Max. If you have a concussion we need to keep you conscious.â He opened his eyes for the second time and looked around. The beeping sound in the background sounded like it had gone back to normal. His body felt sore and his throat hurt, but he was breathing normally. All the doctors were standing around his bed now. He could see a flash of relief in the crowd of faces, but he also noticed their intense interest. They all stared, completely engrossed. They seemed to be waiting for him to do something. There was a younger Asian man holding a clipboard, with a pen ready in hand, leaning over the blonde woman who still sat by his bed side. For the second time, she flashed the light in both his eyes. âHow are you feeling, Max? Any pain?â she asked him. She had an accent of some kind. Somehow he knew it was different from his own, foreign, from some other country, but couldnât place where. This time, he found he could speak. He touched the place in his throat where the tube had been. âMy head hurts a littleâŚâ he answered hoarsely. He felt like he hadnât been able to use his voice in a long time. âWell your head has quite a bump on it.â As if to confirm it for himself, the patient reached up to feel the tender spot on his head. Running his fingers through his coarse hair, he noticed its shortness. For some reason that he could not explain, he had expected his hair to be longer. It felt wrong somehow, having his hair cut to this length, it felt irregular. It was out of the usual and yet he couldnât remember the usual. Feeling a little twinge of pain, his fingers had found the sizeable goose egg that had formed near the back of his head. ââŚbut itâs nothing to be alarmed about,â she reassured him, tucking the flashlight into her pocket, âI think youâll live.â She winked at him. He looked down and saw the crescent shaped bruises in both crooks of his arms. There was an IV connected to his left arm. ââŚand my arms are a little sore.â âNeedles will do that, Maxâ she answered with a pleasant smile. âWhy do you keep calling me that? Max.â âBecause thatâs your name.â She answered simply. She and the other men and women in white coats exchanged a few glances. After a brief pause, she asked, âWhat is your date of birth?â He didnât know. âDo you know your last name?â He didnât know. âDo you remember anything? Anything at all? About yourself? Your life?â she pressed. He tired. Max really, really tried. He tried to dig some kind of remembrance from the only clue he had, the only scrap of information he had about himself: his name, âMaxâ. It sounded right. Kind of. And yet, it seemed incomplete. Like âMaxâ was only a hollow shadow of his identity. Like he had another name. If only he could remember that other name⌠âI remember waking up and all of you guys being there. I remember a lot of things flying around the room. A lot of loud crashes. I remember not being able to breathe. Thatâs the last thing I remember.â He saw a look of satisfaction cross all of the doctorsâ faces. None of them looked particularly surprised. They had expected this. They had all expected him not to remember anything. Why? How? Then the blonde womanâs hand was holding his and her green eyes were staring into his own. âMax. There are some things we must tell you but I have to warn you. It may give you a bit of a shock.â |
He was in one world one moment, and another the next. It had happened before. But this time was different. Something was happening. His eyes fluttered open and he saw blurs, light. Muffled shouts as if his ears were clogged, and people rushing around. Everything shook. Blurs hurried to his side and held him down, but he didn't feel it. Their hands, the shaking... nothing. He felt detached. They pulled something out, and put it to his chest. He barely felt a buzz. He was numb if he felt anything at all, and the world was spinning. He became aware of a small beeping sound beside him, highly erratic. It jumped when they put the thing to his chest but fell shortly afterwords. Then it slowed down... a soft... slow... beeping. And then it stopped. --- The doctor, an older man with the word BWAD sewn into his jacket wiped his sweaty head with a handkerchief. They were waking them all at once, and it was chaos. Another doctor, an intern actually, frazzled and with a small bruise on her jaw opened the door. "Dr. I'm sorry, we lost number 6." He sighed. "Yes. We lost this one too." He moved the paper bracelet around so it faced upward. "Number 3. Halloway, Kirk. You should put it on file." She nodded. Out in the hall the sound of clanging instruments and general madness met his ears. "What is going on out there?" "Oh." She smiled weakly. "Max is awake." "He's always been trouble." He checked the young mans wrist one more time for a pulse, and then let it go. "I'll head over there, see if they need any assistance." On they way out he picked up the phone and dialed the morgue. Five minutes later a young man walked in. He checked his card through security. It let him in. He moved over to the hospital bed, trying his best not to look into the face of the person lying in it, and began to wheel it out into the hall. He avoided peoples looks, and cringed when he heard screaming from one room to the left. This was madness, all of it. But he wasn't being paid to understand, or even to like it. He was being paid to steal bodies. The body of Number 3 never reached the morgue. It was in fact handed off to someone in a suit who met him at the back of the facility, and was counted as a technical malfunction in the computers. A blip. A blip that no one cared about, because they had met there quota of living subject. --- He was nothing. Nowhere. And everywhere. He'd been in one world once... he could barely remember it. And he'd left that world for another, much more vivid one and thats where he had been. Then, recently, he'd been sucked back into the first world. And then... he disappeared. It was happening again. He was being pulled back. And this time, he could feel it. This time, it hurt. Light flooded his eyes and he couldn't make anything out. He was aware of a loud noise, someone screaming. And then he realized it was himself. Pain, a burning, ran through his veins. He could feel people tightening straps around his wrists. A needle going into his arm. He screamed again. He pulled, he tried to make it stop. One of the monitors burst into flames, and doctors rushed to put it out. It wasn't just his pain. There were others here, and he could feel them. Each going through a unique form of torture. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. The tears streaming down his face began to boil and turn into steam. "Sedate him!" Someone yelled. A doctor moved to comply but another grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "No! If we do that now we might lose him again." He said, his eyes aflame. "He's just going to have to deal." The doctors took turns taking vitals, pouring ice on him, and recording notes. He burned and screamed all night. |
| Yna lay quietly in bed, limbs heavy with confusion. So, I fell...then what? Chinks of artificial light edged onto her sheets from gaps in the curtains. From somewhere outside, she could here rustling, running, harsh voices, beeping and buzzing - a wild olio of desperation. She knew it probably wouldn't be a good idea to distract the people outside from whatever it was they were doing, so she decided to sit up and keep quiet. "Ow." As she sat up, a sharp jab drew her attention to her left hand. A nasty-looking needle was deeply embedded in her flesh, sending who-knows-what into her veins. Then - Shit. Am I in the HOSPITAL?! I can't be in the hospital! They'll have to notify the next-of-kin, and Mom will find out and get drunk, and then neighbours'll go friggin' report her, and it'll be right back into the Institute for the frigging PCT. I've gotta get out of here. Quickly, she plucked the needle (wincing slightly at the minor gush of blood that came spraying out) and looked around for the button to turn the blanket off, which quickly proved unnecessary, as the blanket flickered slightly and dissolved. Cool, Yna mused. Mind-reading blankets. I could do with one of those. As she swung out of the bed, she heard a loud bang. Followed by silence. Immediate, deafening silence. The next moment, a bunch of white coats came storming up to her little drawn-curtain hospital bed, yanked them back, and blocked her way out. Yna briefly considered pushing her way through them, but decided against it - they were all at least a head taller than her, and could catch up to her in a stride or two. So she stood still and tried to look placid, in case they decided that she had recovered and let her go without any questions. "She's alive." One woman muttered. "Surprising." "Are you in pain? Was that you?" A tall, bearded man demanded. "Um...no?" "No, what?" "No,...eh, sir?" The man chuckled. "I meant, which question are you answering?" "Both, I guess. Was what me?" "The door. Opening. Did you do that?" "Do I look like some kind of a psychic to you? Or are your doors mind-reading doors too?" "'Too'?" "I mean, the blanets shut off when you want them to..." "Physical manipulation, then...?" The beard nodded at someone at the back of the group. "Go fire up the lab." "But I've got to go h - !" Yna started to protest, but found her voice covered by that of another. "Maxwell is already there." "All the better." The beard nodded. "Having an opponent might make them perform better...their powers will probably surface faster...and this one's has already started, by the sound of it." The crowd of coats started moving away - all except the beard, who grabbed her upper arm like she was some kind of convict, and started marching her somewhere. "What are you talking about? Don't I get some questions answered as well?" The beard rumbled a laugh. "Which gangsta movie are you quoting?" "I don't watch gangsta movies." Yna snapped. "So you remember." The beard raised an eyebrow. "Interesting." |
The burning, indescribable pain eventually simmered to a pulsing throb. He was drenched with sweat and water that they had been pouring on him, and exhausted beyond measure. When the pain ceased enough he passed out. Kirk slowly opened his eyes; the light was blinding. He let out an involuntary groan and tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes but found that he couldn't. It was strapped to the bed. His head was spinning. What was going on? "Doctor." A voice nearby called. "He's awake." He was so tired... An Asian man who looked to be in his mid-forties walked into view. "Ah yes." He said, looking the patient up and down. "How are you feeling, Mr. Halloway?" Kirk shook his head confused. What? "Mr..." The doctor checked a notepad. "Kirk Halloway. That is your name, correct?" Why was this guy asking so many questions? Kirk's head was pounding. "Y-yes." He managed to get out. His throat was hoarse from lack of use and from screaming. Kirk slowly flexed his fingers. He watched them, something telling him he hadn't moved in a very long time. "Do you remember anything else?" The doctor asked slowly, his assistant coming to stand next to him. "I-" Kirk frowned. Flashes of light and faces and life flickered before him. A woman and a girl, who he once knew. A man whose face made his stomach drop to the floor for some reason. And six young men and women, whom he had recently spent a long time with but... "N-no." He said finally. For some reason, the doctor exchanged relieved glances with his assistant. Was he not supposed to remember? Why? "Call off the extra treatment." He said to his assistant, who hurried to follow orders. "It's not needed." The doctor smiled down at Kirk. "Ah, Doctor, they are asking for you in room 9. The McCready girl is awake." The assistant held the phone away from their ear. The doctor sighed. "Alright, tell them I'll be right there." He turned back to Kirk. "Hang tight, I'll be back." The doctor patted his shoulder and Kirk's muscles tightened automatically. The doctor eyed him curiously. "Don't worry." He smiled again. "Your safe here." |
| EDITED!!! REREAD IF YOU HAD TROUBLE UNDERSTANDING THE FIRST DRAFT Any paragraphs in green are parts of the story I added. I had not read all the additions before writing this so I overlooked an important detail that I should have mentioned in this addition. Max was led to a room where a half circle of five chairs were arranged facing two others whose backs were facing a large, rectangular mirror. All of the chairs were empty, save for one, where there sat a golden blonde kid with the pale complexion characteristic of anyone whoâs been in a coma for three years, short cropped hair like Maxâs, and wiry frame, also like Maxâs, although perhaps slightly less toned. He wore the same grey T-shirt and sweat pants that Max did, clothing the physicians had given Max to change into after heâd recovered from bumping his head. Across the chest of the T-shirt were the letters BWAD, same as Maxâs. Recognition struck him as he met the boyâs pale blue eyes. The blonde, green-eyed woman with the funny accent motioned for Max to sit himself down next to the boy, then turned and walked out of the room. Max knew, without her telling him, that the door was locked. He had also gathered from her, without asking her and without her volunteering the information, that this room was called the Conference room, that it was sound proof, and that the reflective glass was not a mirror, but a window, a one-way window, through which only the other side of the window could see. He knew also that the walls were sensitive to brain waves, and that his and that of the boy sitting next to him were being monitored at that very moment. I know you, Noah, was all he could think. And almost as if the boy had heard him, the blonde boy looked at him and without opening his mouth, Max heard him. How, Max didnât know, nor could he explain what was happening, but, he heard Noah without hearing his voice. Noah. How did he know that was his name? Itâs not my name, Max heard Noah say without speaking again, Itâs what they call me, but I donât remember that being my name. They call youâŚMax? How did he know that? Max simply thought, Yes, but I donât think that is my name, and somehow, Noah understood and Max knew this. Not a word was spoken between them. The two sat there staring at each other both wondering in unison if they had imagined the unheard conversation that passed so effortlessly and quickly between them. The longer they sat, the stronger the mental connection seemed to grow. Maxâs thoughts seemed to cease at some point, and in poured a myriad slew of images in his mindâs eye, memories that were not his, but similar to his own, concerns, fears, and questions that he did not originate, but wondered about himself. Max knew it was Noah he was listening to. Noahâs mind was like a dam that Max had broken, whose thoughts now flooded his own brain without end. Noah studied Max curiously, opening his mouth for the first time, and Max heard his voice, but it was like listening to someone far away. He was so overwhelmed by the sound in his mind, the sound that he knew was coming from Noah, that the words spoken into the air were imperceptible. The information was becoming too much. In a matter of two minutes, Max felt as though he had gathered all the information there was to be known about Noah without seeming to try. He knew that he had just awoken from a coma, just like Max. He knew that Noah was confused, like he was. He knew that Noah knew him somehow, just as Max knew Noah the moment he saw him, although from where or when both were clueless. He knew that Noah had nearly killed one of the scientists by merely touching them. He saw in his mindâs eye the man with the lab coat go pale blue from head to toe, felt Noahâs fear in that moment, saw the manâs eyes role back, his body frost over and become rigid. He also knew that with another touch, Noah brought the man back to life, regenerated his tissues somehow. There was so much else to know, but Max wanted it to stop. A strong force of will welled up in him and forced one word out of his mouth. âStop,â he said aloud, surprised by the echo that followed. And suddenly, Maxâs thoughts were his own again, and he closed himself off from Noahâs mind. At that moment the door opened and a bearded man stepped in silently, taking a seat in one of the two chairs facing Noah and Max. âHello, Noah. Hello, Maxwell,â the man greeted them cordially with an honest smile, âI hope you both are feeling better. I trust also that you have both been properly briefed on your situation and what brings us all here today.â There was silence. âMaxwell? Has Gretchen explained to you why you are here?â Max knew the bearded man wanted him to relay back to him all the information the green-eyed blonde woman had bestowed upon him this morning when he was awakened from his coma. He felt no reason why he shouldnât trust the bearded man, so he did not hesitate. In one long stream of information, Max let the words come out mechanically, like a script he had memorized, feeling, as he told the story, as though he were speaking about someone other than himself. âI am eighteen years old. I was in a ground car accident when I was 15. I had a sister named Eloise that I donât remember. I have a mother named Penelope who I also donât remember. My father, Drake, is dead. My sister, Eloise, is also dead now. I survived, but the trauma to my brain caused me to go into a deep sleep that you people call a âcoma.â For some reason, my brain has the ability to do things that no human brain should be able to do, like tear a hole in the space time continuumâyou people call it âworm holeââtravel through it, and come out the other end, landing in a different place. My brain can also move things and it can do other things that you people are still trying to understand. You suspect that I have the ability to hear thoughts as well as communicate my own without speaking. You people call me a âpsychic.ââ âYou speak so eloquently for an eighteen year old whose mind should still be like that of a fifteen year old,â remarked the bearded man, seemingly pleased, âThis seems to be the case with all of you so far.â âI merely said what Gretchen told me,â Max replied, âas well as what Iâve gathered from what her mind has told me.â The bearded man âhmm-edâ then tapped something down on his electronic tablet, a flat, rectangular object that Max had never seen before but was able to identify because he heard the term âelectronic tabletâ come from the bearded manâs brain. âDo you know what I am thinking now?â the bearded man asked, seeming concerned. Max hesitated, sensing the manâs fear. Fear was bad, Max reasoned. If they feared him, he knew this put him in danger. âIt is difficult,â he admitted. âUntil I met Noah, everyoneâs mind has been like aâŚâ he felt like he needed to come up with an analogy, âlike a closed box. But your boxes, you brains, seem to leak a little bit. I can hear some of your thoughts but not as much as I can hear Noahâs.â As Max said this, he had to remind himself to concentrate on the barrier he had placed between his and Noahâs mind, to hold off the flood of thoughts and emotion emanating from that blonde, silent boy sitting beside him. âNoah,â the bearded man turned his attention to Maxâs companion, seemingly satisfied and less fearful after Max had finished talking, âI understand you have had a trying day since we woke you up from your coma.â âI killed someone,â Noahâs voice shook as he said the words. He looked down, heaved a heavy sigh, held his head in his hands, repeating in a quieter tone, âI killed someone.â The bearded man smiled kindly. âNo, Noah, Jerrod did not die, remember? Your mind has the ability to regenerate tissue. Do you understand what that means?â Noah nodded, âYes, I gave him back his life. My brain allows my fingers to produce the chemicals necessary for the process of cell growth and repair to occur. By touching, I can infuse these chemicals into dying tissues and cause them to rebuild themselves. But that manâs heart stopped, I felt it.â âAnd you made his heart beat again, Noah,â the bearded man said soothingly, tilting his head to try and meet Noahâs eyes, âYou are very remarkable. That is why you are here. You are going to save a lot of people.â Max didnât understand what the bearded man meant. All the scientists spoke to them that way, telling them they were special and that they had a purpose now that surpassed anything they had every done in their lives before in regard to importance. âThe girls will be here soon,â the bearded man announced. Max did not understand the significance of this statement, yet somehow three images passed through his mind. A girlâs pale face framed in chocolate brown hair, a red-headed girl with big green eyes and a slightly tan complexion similar to his own, and finally the face of another girl with black hair. He realized that the bearded man was looking directly at him as these images appeared in Maxâs mindâs eye. Somehow he understood that the bearded man was visualizing these mental pictures telepathically, letting his mindâs guard down so that Max could read them. âDo you know them?â the scientist asked, suspicion in his voice, although suspicion of what Max could not glean from the rest of his closed off mind. âYes,â Max admitted, although, just as in the case of Noah, he did not know how he knew them. âInteresting. I do not believe Noah knows what I am speaking about it, but I presume you do know Max, do you not, Noah?â Noah glanced at Max. The longer Max sat next to Noah, the more he began to remember about him, although how he could not say. He knew that they were friends, good friends, but that they were often at odds with each other. They were very different in personality and did not agree on all things. Yet, they trusted each other. âYes, sir,â he said, âAnd for some reasonâŚI donât know whyâŚbut for some reason I trust Max. I trust him with my life.â The bearded manâs eye brows arced high on his brow, but he took a pause to tap down some more notes on his tablet. âJust as I thought. The girls know each other as well. They have only just met each other for the first time about an hour ago, but they seem to have formedâŚsome kind of sisterhood.â At that moment, the door opened and in strode the red-head, followed by the brunette, and the black-haired girl that Max had seen in his vision, followed finally by Gretchen. The brunette sat down next to Noah, staring at him intently and she then glanced at Max. You can hear thoughts too! Max felt her surprise and elation. I guess so. Are we the only ones? This time the silent conversation was instantaneously effortless, not gradual. He felt like he could literally hear her voice inside his head, as if her voice were a recording he was listening to through ear phones. How he knew what ear phones were all of a sudden, Max couldnât explain. âFinally, all together like one big family,â said Gretchen in her foreign voice as she took a seat next to the bearded man. She tried to smile, but she seemed uncomfortable. All five had now taken their seat. Yes, I think so. I can hear Padma and Yna and I can tell them things with my brain, but they canât tell me anything directly. They just think. And they definitely can't read me or each other. âMax. Brielle.â Both looked at the bearded man. He had been talking the whole time, but Max had not been listening to a word. âIf you two could please cease telepathic communication long enough for me to finish speaking, it would be much appreciated. You are making the brain wave meter on my tablet go bonkers and it is very distracting. The information I am about to share with you all is of the utmost importance.â The bearded manâhe had finally introduced himself as simply Dr. Zimmermanâhad been explaining to Max and the four others their history. They were all coma victims who had been in some kind of accident. Their accidents all occurred within the same year and month. The Committee of Extraordinary Anomalies, an informant of BWAD, the facility where they were now being held, had been contacted by several hospitals who reported strange occurrences involving their comatose teenagers. CEA had been paid by BWAD to divulge any information they picked up on these strange occurrences, and BWAD would then pay the hospitals copious amounts of money, essentially âbuyingâ these comatose teens from them after the date of their scheduled termination had passedâZimmerman explained that comatose patients are only sustained on life support for six months maximum. If they do not wake up before that six month period is up, they are terminated. The families of the patients all believed their children had been handed this fate. "Our families...think we are dead," Max said thoughtfully. He wondered about the woman Penelope, his last remaining relative. âSo what is this purpose that you have for us?â The black haired girl they called Padmavati asked impatiently. Zimmerman hesitated. âYou five have been drafted. For psychic warfare.â âExcuse me?!â Yna, the red head blurted. âNone of this makes any sense,â Brielle stated calmly. Max could not have agreed more. âItâs going to rain,â was all Noah said, then added, âHard.â (sorry if that seemed rushed...I was in a hurry to get this up) |
| The Asian doctor he had awoken too didn't come back; busy with the "McCready girl", Kirk supposed. He was wet, and confused. His body was racked with pain, like he had been running up stairs for hours, only to fall down the stairs, roll into the street, and get run over by a teenage driver. Speaking of teenagers... Kirk could see his feet under the blankets at the far end of the bed, and they seemed a long ways off. He moved his arms the best he could under the restraints, and found them to be longer, more muscular - his hands were bigger. He tried to sit but was held back. Why was he tied up? He became aware that the doctor's assistant was watching him keenly. "C-can you take these off of me?" He croaked, his throat still sore. The assistant looked out of the door and into the hall, uncertain. "Please?" "I think --" she started, glancing out the door again, "We should wait for the doctor to come back." Kirk let his head fall back against the pillow, frustrated, scared... He could feel his hair tickling his ears. His hair was longer than it was supposed to be? Wasn't it? Suddenly, there was the sound of something crashing to the floor down the hall, and people yelling. The assistant quickly shut the door, then smiled at me, jumpy. She walked to the table near him and filled a plastic cup with water from a pitcher. "Do you want some water?" "Please." Kirk leaned forward when she held the cup to his lips and gulped it down. He felt like he'd been on fire with some sort of demonic fever or something. She sat down in a nearby chair and smiled at him again, seeming almost sad. "So, where am I?" He asked. His voice was different. Different, and deeper. "Um." The assistant leaned back and forth in her seat. "You're in a hospital." "Why?" "You were in an accident, you were in a coma?" Kirk closed his eyes against the annoying hospital lights and shook his head, as if that would jog his memory. "W-what?" An accident. An accident... at... at a house? There were two lives, two people - six people - here - there. He felt an overwhelming loneliness when he thought of the people, he could feel that they were apart of him, but when he reached for them, they would flit away, and just when he would catch a glimpse of their familiar, blurred faces, they would disappear. Two lives, two people -- none of this made sense. He was crazy, alone to his thoughts. And, for some reason, he felt like he wasn't supposed to be... like other people were supposed to be in his head, too. He was struck with the fact that there was no one here except the doctor and the assistant. He was in the hospital - where was his family? Who did he belong to? "You know my name?" He asked. "Of course." She smiled once more. "So, d-did you call anyone?" She seemed confused. "Like, my family. If you know my name..." "Ah, you know, I --" the assistant slapped her palms on her thighs, "I think someone is looking into it. I'm sure they'll... be here soon, to see you." He felt it in his chest, and bones, and heart. She was unsure, guilty, sad, lying. Kirk just nodded, and she couldn't handle it. She stood and began to leave. "I think I'll go check for the doctor --" "What's your name?" She paused, and looked at him - like he was the only one who had asked her about herself in a long time. "Nina." She half-smiled. Suddenly, the face of a little girl filled Kirk's mind - laughing together in the car, struggling over homework, playing virtual chess - beautiful, innocent, sweet, trusting, in danger. Kirk winced, his head ached. "Are you alright?" Nina asked, worriedly. "Yeah, I --" Kirk stopped. He was not alright. He was not right in any way. He wasn't supposed to be here! He had a family, of two and of six, and there was the girl. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be protecting her from... from... "Yeah." He finished, quietly. So hollow... Nina clasped and unclasped her hand. Why was she so nervous? Kirk noticed what looked like some sort of medical computer monitor, completely burned out and partly melted and blackened, like it had exploded or something. "What happened?" Nina was about to reply but the door opened and the doctor came back in, followed closely by an intense looking man, well built, in military uniform. Nina stepped back when she saw him. "You did." The man in the uniform said. "You don't remember?" As Kirk shook his head, the doctor and the man exchanged glances. The man nodded slightly, approvingly. "Colonel Grayson." The man said. "Head of the Metaphysical Investigation Task Force, and you --" Col. Grayson walked to my bed and looked in my eyes, straight through me, "Are a very special young man." "Metaphysical... Metaphysical what now?" "Our country is in danger." Col. Grayson said. "There is a group of people, paramilitary scientists, who have gathered powerful psychics, like yourself, and are planning to take us out." "I must be on drugs," Kirk thought, "Really powerful painkillers or something." But then why was he still racked with pain? No. The man was serious. "You have the wrong guy." Kirk said. "No." Col. Grayson replied. "From what I've heard, you are the right guy. Perfect, actually." Col. Grayson was intimidating. Kirk could feel things emanating from him - zeal, excitement, pride, and a ferocity that chilled him to the bone. It was made worse by the fact that the colonel seemed so collected. "I'm not a psychic." Kirk insisted. He was cold from the insane amount of sweat and water that he was, for some reason, covered with, he didn't know what was -- he didn't -- Kirk found himself struggling against his bindings, and he saw Nina take a step back. "Are you sure?" Colonel Grayson said cooly. "I..." Kirk trailed off, his mind whirling. Somehow, he couldn't say no. Colonel Grayson placed a firm hand on his shoulder and something in Kirk's chest tightened, like when the doctor had touched him, but he couldn't move. It was supposed to be a gesture of comfort but for some reason it filled him with terror, and he looked up at the man named Colonel Grayson, utterly confused, sickeningly helpless. "It will take time to adjust." Colonel Grayson said. "But I know you won't let us down." Finally, he took his hand off of him. "A lot of people need your help." Colonel Grayson turned away from him and addressed the doctor. "Doctor Yow, get him cleaned up, take him to his room. He's not an animal, after all." "Of course." Doctor Yow hurriedly undid the straps restraining Kirk to the hospital bed and Kirk rubbed his sore wrists with hands that didn't use to be so big. When Kirk stood, his legs almost gave way and Nina moved forward to help but the doctor was able to support him. Colonel Grayson was gone. With the doctors help, Kirk was led down the hall, into an elevator, and through another hall. The doctor slid a pass-card through a slot in a door and the door slid open, revealing a small, clean room with an attached bathroom. Everything looked sterile. "The showers through there." Doctor Yow said. "Toothbrush, shampoo, everything you need in the bathroom is there, if somethings missing we can get it for you." Kirk couldn't help but feel that, somehow, everything was missing. "I'll have some clothes set out for you. If you need anything, just hit that button over there." Doctor Yow motioned at a red button and intercom by the door. When he left, Kirk heard a lock click shut outside. He was trapped, in more ways than one. Unsure of what to do, Kirk walked into the bathroom. The lights switched on automatically, and he was met with an unfamiliar face in the mirror. He didn't jump, or scream. He knew it was this way already, somehow. He was much bigger than he used to be. Taller, more toned. His blonde hair was long and unruly. Kirk rubbed his chin and felt stubble, he saw a nick on his jaw. Someone had been shaving him. The only thing that was the same were his green eyes, staring back at him with an incalculable sadness. Kirk showered, washing away the sweat, and wished the water could wash him away too. After that, wrapped himself in a towel, and went back to the mirror and used the electric razor to cut his hair. He'd done it before, he knew. Somewhere else. Sometime else. When it was done, he looked a little more like himself. He was himself. He was different. Kirk washed the hair down the sink and splashed water on his face. When he walked back into the bedroom he saw that clothes had been set out on the bed. Jeans, a tee shirt, underwear, socks, and black sneakers. Odd, for a hospital, but he knew he wasn't in a hospital. He dressed, and something was familiar about the clothes, like they were what he would wear, if he had chosen them, if he'd had the choice, the chance... He was tired, but felt that he had been asleep for a long time and didn't want to lie down again, in case he would wake up much older. So he stood there, in the center of the room, and looked around at all the different things. He was alone. |
| Name:Cyrus Kingsley Gender: Male Current Age: 18 Appearance: Cyrus is a slender individual standing close to 6â2. He has fiery red hair he used to keep cut short, but since waking from his coma he found his hair has grown down to his shoulders. He has stormy grey eyes. He has a deep olive tanned skin that is flawless with the exception of long jagged scars down his back from his accident. His dressing style hasnât changed much since waking from his coma. He still wears khakiâs from time to time, but has a new affection for Jeans, t-shirts, and boots. Alliance: Craze, as they are the people who brought him out of his coma. However, he is having second thoughts about this alliance as he doesnât agree with all of their methods. He is currently forming an exit strategy. Psychic Abilities: Electrical Control/Manipulation/ Energy healing/Telekinetic Empathic Vampire. He can take any form of pain or electrical energy and convert it heal others or himself. The cost for him to use his vampire ability is that he may go hours without being able to use it. |
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