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Futuristic the institute

“They used to be better.” Thomas spoke quietly, eyes pointed towards the floor. He was perched on the edge of his bed, shoes gone and jacket discarded. He didn’t want to point it out, but it was true. They had grown complacent. In earlier years, when Thomas was young and had already suffered, the Institute had been a fortress, a paragon of strength. He heard stories of outreach programs, saw a mutant lift a building with a single hand in order to save hundreds of lives.

Edith used to be kinder. She used to ruffle his hair and let him copy her illusion power to make funny shapes or spectacular light shows. She used to help him tend to his burns after home economics highlighted his clumsiness. When he was feeling down, she’d let him sit with her for a bit.

She wasn’t the only one that used to be different. And not all the changes were bad.

But some things should have stayed the same. Ernest should have stayed. He wasn’t kind, but he managed the Institute well. There was a place for everything and everything was in its place. But he was old, and old people croak. It was better that Ernest did it somewhere he other than the headmaster’s office.

There were other people that should have stayed too.

“I’m not- I don’t mean to discount your feelings. I just- I’m- I’ve been here a while. It just hasn’t always been this way. And it could be worse.” Thomas shook his head, standing up. He pulled Styr in for a hug, so close to him that he could feel the other teen’s heartbeat. It was as fast as a rabbit’s, pounding away against his chest. Styr was heaving, hyperventilating he supposed.

“They should have been better.” Thomas said. It wasn’t an apology, it wasn’t a condolence, it was just the truth. I won’t let this happen again. Thomas thought. If I can’t rely on the staff, I’ll rely on myself. I can do it.

Hvnny-Bvns0 Hvnny-Bvns0
 
“That doesn’t matter!” Styr yelled, punching his thighs. He had too much energy- he needed to get it out somehow. “They’re a bunch of fucking- it doesn’t matter what they used to be like!” He sobbed into Thomas’s arms. “They were always like this! I may as well just shoot myself, they certainly wouldn’t care!” Styr cried. He felt Thomas’s warmth surrounding him- so close, yet so far. It was like there was a barrier surrounding Styr, impenetrable to even Thomas’s touch.

“They’re gonna fucking pay!” Styr screamed. He felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The only thing that could help would be the white hot pain of a blade on his thighs, somewhere up high where no one would notice. But it’d been proven to him time and time again that they wouldn’t notice anyway, no matter where it was. No matter how much he told or how much he showed. People preferred to live on in bliss, unaware of the child that she trapped up in her attic, silently begging to be let out because she was hungry and had to pee and she hadn’t been able to do anything but sit there silently-

Styr wailed until his voice went hoarse. But he never pulled back from Thomas. The rage he felt was all-consuming, to the point he now felt nothing. He hated feeling nothing. Because it meant he was nothing. And if he was nothing, everyone would leave, and then it’d all repeat over again, like a broken record. Styr himself was a broken record, never playing the right songs at the right time, skipping ahead, broken, nothingness, emptiness, a void, a void he was lost in, nothingness, darkness, blackness, it was all getting bigger and smaller, expanding and contracting, his heart and head were racing, he wanted to vomit, he couldn’t breath,

“I hate this fucking place.”

Nothing.

He felt nothing.

“I’d rather die than let my fate be decided by one of those cowards.”

He scratched his nails deep into his palms.

Crescent-shaped imprints and crimson dots began to appear on his hands.

Finally.

Something.

Walliver Walliver
 
“Styr, please.”

His head hurt from Styr’s screams. Thomas remembered screams like those- the rally, dinner when he was six, the betrayal of Morgan- and he hated them. He wished he could hold Styr tighter, compress all the sadness and pain out of him like a fruit juicer. He wished he could do a lot of things, like rewind time and prevent Sage from dying. He wished he could make things better instead of making them worse.

Thomas didn’t move, though he wanted to. He flinched every time Styr screamed but he didn’t pull away. Thomas had let Sage die, the least he could do was suffer Styr’s screams. No matter how badly his head had begun to pound. When Styr was done, Thomas relaxed.

“We should get some sleep.” He spoke quietly, arms still wrapped around the other teen. He was exhausted from the day, his head hurt, and something between nausea and hunger was beginning to settle in his stomach. He needed to sleep, or at least lay down.

Thomas’s bed was soft- silk sheets because he literally couldn’t handle anything else on his skin. He settled down, arms still wrapped around Styr, and pulled the weighted blanket over both of them. He remained awake until Styr dozed off. Then he shut his eyes and tried not to dream of blood-soaked blonde tresses.

Hvnny-Bvns0 Hvnny-Bvns0
 



















Dolores















Dolores was beyond grateful to get off the bus. It had been a long ride and at this point a good 50% of her ass had gone numb. She stepped off the vehicle and breathed in -- the air was fresh and cool, a welcome change from the dirt and defeat that clung to the air inside the bus. The woman who'd introduced herself as Maeve led them onto a decorative concrete path that cut through the grounds in a very linear way, leading to what looked to be the main building of the Institute.

The place appeared to have been built out of the bones of a 19th century boarding school or university. The well-kept grounds were populated by beautiful brick buildings, outdoor commons, and wooded sections where other structures might be hiding. She'd glimpsed all of this on the ride here, but being in it was something else entirely. It was almost exhilarating.

Dolores hadn't had the chance to attend a real, in-person college. She'd considered it, had even applied to a few places her senior year of high school. It was just so expensive, and with only her mother's meager income to rely on, Lorrie would have had to work while studying to pay the exorbitant student housing fees, which meant she would have to build her work schedule around her class schedule, which meant she wouldn't be able to find a proper, well-paying gig outside of being a student barista, which meant she would probably have to try her luck with financial aid, which meant she would have to keep her grades up, which meant she couldn't tire herself out too much travelling between her classes, her job, and her dorm, along with avoiding distractions like boys and friends and clubs and parties, which was the reason people went to college in the first place.

And then there were her powers, if you could even call them that. That was a whole other layer of worries.

In the end, it had simply been too much of a hassle. She had ended up finding a job as event security and enrolling in online school. It wasn't glamorous, but it was safe. And she had met Dhariya, so it obviously wasn't all bad.

Being in this place brought out hopes that Dolores hadn't let herself consider in years. It wasn't hard to quash them, though, once they stepped through the large, wood paneled double doors and into the main hall.

The interior was as magnificent as the rest of the place: it was all hardwood floors, large staircases with ornate banisters, and warm-colored rugs that felt soft underfoot. But the atmosphere was heavy-laden with grief. Holographic projections of the news played back footage of that morning's events in a common area off to the right of the entrance. Groups sat and stood on the stairs, in the halls, and in the commons, huddled together for comfort and structure. Kids, some who looked as young as 10, spoke with loved ones on the phone with tears rolling down their cheeks. Adults who might have been staff members stood tight-lipped and silent, ready to provide some semblance of strength for the younger residents.

Dolores swallowed hard. She felt like an intruder, seeing these people at their most vulnerable. She tried not to think about the violence so many of them must have faced before today and the pain they must have been feeling after being subjected to it once more.

Maeve led them off to the left, into what looked to be the main office. They walked down a hall and into a room with white walls, fluorescent lights, a single wooden table, and three chairs. Dolores and Dhariya sat on one side and Maeve sat on the other. Dolores sat with a straight back and her feet flat on the floor, as if she were at a job interview. At the back of her mind, she couldn't help but notice an uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched.

Their interviewer shuffled some papers around. “So, just a few simple questions and then we can get started on your tour.”

Dolores shifted in her seat. The sensation of being watched had become more of a coating, a pressure on her brain that felt like stainless steel, cold and sharp.

“Do you and have you ever had any affiliation with the MNTF or any similar anti-mutant groups?” Maeve's voice and demeanor both seemed to shift. They matched the steely feeling in Lorrie's brain. Somehow, she knew almost instinctively that lying to this woman would be a very, very bad idea.

“No.” Dhariya answered first. They sounded as shaken as Dolores felt. All she could do was shake her head "no".

Maeve nodded. “Good, now, on to the next question," she smiled, as if this were the most casual thing in the world.

The total list of questions was surprisingly short. Dolores had expected to be fully interrogated, but the rest of the interview was quite straightforward. Were they mutants? Yes. Had they been knowingly sent here by an interested third party? No. Did they intend to harm, bodily or otherwise, anyone within the boundaries of this Institute? No.

Maeve jotted down notes on a clipboard after each answer. Finally, she leaned back and smiled at them. "You're both doing great. I just have one last question, and then we'll get going on the fun stuff, ok?"

They both nodded. She leaned forward. "Are you pro-mutant?"

She asked it with the hint of a smile, as if it was a half-joke. But Dolores hesitated. Maeve seemed to pick up on this immediately and locked eyes with her.

"Yes,"
she said, biting her lip.

Maeve narrowed her eyes. "You don't seem too sure."

Dolores wanted to look away but was sure that it would make her look dishonest. Her face flushed, and the pressure on her brain compelled her to tell the truth.

"Well... It's just...like a pretty strict political stance. Right?"
She said, as if asking for confirmation. The room stayed silent, so she continued.
"I guess I just mean it's a strong opinion and I don't entirely know that I subscribe to it. Like, I don't think mutants should all be locked up or anything but I don't necessarily think they-- or, I guess, we shouldn't be treated at least a little bit differently. If being pro-mutant means you can't treat mutants with scrutiny or you think all of them are upstanding citizens that just want to live normal lives, then no, I'm not pro-mutant. I don't think we deserve special treatment or that we're above the law. There have to be SOME regulations or something."


Maeve stared at her. Lorrie couldn't read her face, but if she had to guess, her expression might have held disbelief, irritation, maybe even a little pity? "Wow. Just...wow. And you're a mutant, you said?"

Dolores fidgeted with a hole in her jeans.
"Well I'm a mutant, yeah, but I'm not one of those mutants. I can't breathe fire or walk through walls and rob banks or whatever. I just made a mistake and got a weird thing out of it."


Maeve nodded slowly, jotting something down in her notes. "Right..."

Dolores leaned back and stared at her hands. Had she just messed up? Was she going to be thrown out? Or...worse? She mentally kicked herself. Couldn't she at least have tried a little harder to lie?!

Finally, Maeve stood, handing each of them a small stack of forms from the papers on the table. "Welcome to the Institute. Fill those out and hand them into the office by the end of today. Let's start the tour."













































♡coded by uxie♡
 
Martha Madden

13.jpg​

"Ah, you're awake."

Martha didn't recognise the voice. Her head throbbed, like someone had clamped it inside a vice. She squeezed her eyes shut as they were met with a bright light. When the light dimmed, she opened her eyes again. She was strapped to some kind of bed, held up vertically, in a room that looked like a laboratory. What appeared to be fluorescent blue lamps were clamped to her wrists, ankles, waist and around her shoulders. Power blockers, or whatever they were called. That explained the headache. Fuck.

"Miss Madden, or do you prefer Flare?" The man stood with his back turned to her, and was moving chemicals between different flasks. Should have paid more attention in Chemistry... "You've made quite the name for yourself out there. Vanquishing criminals, foiling the MNTF, appearing on the occasional interview. An icon, as the kids say. Tell me, does that make you feel important?"

He turned around, holding an empty syringe. 5'7"-ish, Messy hair, stupid suit, biceps smaller than Martha's forearms. She could take him. Easy. She inhaled, reaching inwards towards her fiery core, flames hotter than the sun, and felt... Nothing.

"No need to struggle, Miss Madden." He gave her one of those fake smiles, then gripped her arm, just above the elbow. She caught the name on his lanyard. Prof. Karan Akhtar. Why did that seem so familiar? "You'll only be hurting yourself." With that, he plunged the needle into her arm, drawing a vial of blood.

Martha gritted her teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He turned back to his work station, and began splitting her blood into different containers.

"I'm going to kill you, when I get out." She called out.

The professor froze, then slowly nodded as he turned back to her. "Ah, yes. The valiant hero. Slaying all those she deems worthy of it. No power on Earth or otherwise gave her the right to, yet she does it anyway."

Martha spat, "That's rich, coming from you." That made his smile drop. Hit a nerve?

"I am a man of science, girl. Humans evolved to be at the top of the food-chain. Not because of our speed or strength, certainly not because our powers. Because of our minds." He tapped the side of his head. "And we are still at the top, despite... Recent anomalies. Mutants! Your kind are a gift. An opportunity."

He must have seen the disgust on her face, because he shook his head and sat down, peering into a microscope.

"Mutant cells are remarkable. This is one of the rare times I have had a live A-tier specimen. The regenerative capabilities are astounding, and harnessing your power is the next step for the betterment of mankind. Whether or not you are willing to make that sacrifice is of no importance to me or my peers."

"Shut the fuck up." Martha tried to roll her eyes, show some confidence, some control... But she was sweating. Shaking. The professor didn't even need to look at her to know that she was terrified. She took a deep breath. Don't fucking stutter. "I'm betting you know Alexander Blackthorne. He's coming for me, you know. Any minute now, he'll come knocking on this door, and he's gonna kill you in ways you couldn't imagine."

Nothing. No response. The professor turned to a series of monitors, inspecting the graphs with a frown, then went back to his microscope.

"Alex is gonna—"

"Yes, yes." He waved a dismissive hand. "We know all about Blackthorne. The Nocturne. The undying man. A mutant whose powers are unidentifiable and unquantifiable. Except, Miss Madden, we have been very successful in identifying and quantifying him rather accurately. Your friend is no threat. We know more about his 'curse' than even he does: we know what makes him tick... We know what makes him break." He spun around in his seat. "And we know what makes him die. Blackthorne won't come anywhere near you, not alive. If threat of death doesn't deter him, well..."

The professor turned one of the monitors to face her. The breath was knocked out of Martha. Motherfucker...

"You know these two quite well, I assume?" The monitor showed a live video of a man and woman in separate cells. They were blindfolded and gagged, hands tied behind their backs. Alexander's parents. A group of armed MNTF agents sat outside. "People may miss the old couple who ran a dog-shelter. But they'll move on. You aren't our hostage, you see. You're our asset. The Blackthornes, unfortunately, don't possess the mutant gene. Useless, apart from the insurance they bring. It's only a matter of time before your friend notices they're missing."

Martha grit her teeth. "Why are you doing this?"

"This?" He raised his arms, then motioned around the room. "This. What an oversimplification. The mighty Flare must not be known for her mental acuity. This, is for science. For man. You wouldn't understand."

"I'm going to kill every last one of you," Martha whispered.

"You can try. You will fail, but you can certainly try."
 
Somewhere...
A man in a tweed jacket sat before a fireplace, stoking the flames. A cigarette hung from his lips. Massive curtains draped over tall windows, and moonlight spilled in, revealing the room to be a private library. An old one at that. On a cracked leather sofa, three more figures lounged. The youngest was a boy barely out of his teens, ginger hair practically glowing in under the light. He inspected his hand, watching it disappear then reappear. Next to him, an olive-skinned woman sat, legs crossed, petting what appeared to be a panther. The eldest, a woman in her early twenties, perhaps, wore tight fitting leather and almost had more piercings than she had skin. She tapped away at her phone.

A door creaked open, flames flickered in the draught. The panther raised its head, while the youngest boy jumped to his feet and ran to the newcomer, enthusiastically waving his hand.

"Look, I'm getting better at this!" He showed his hand flickering.

The new arrival, a woman with long brown hair and a silk dress, ruffled his hair. "Well done. Keep practicing and you'll be able to do it at will in no time."

Her smile was warm, and her eyes were kind. The boy, satisfied, went back to join his accomplices. The woman went to sit on the armrest next to the man in the tweed jacket. She placed a hand over his shoulders and lowered her voice.

"Any news?" Under the firelight, her eyes seemed to lose their kindness. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

"My pieces are all in play. How are yours faring?"

"I just have the one. But I think my investment in him is going to show much better results than I'd first hoped."

The man raised an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure?"

"We didn't start this game, darling. But we're the only ones in the position to win it."

The man smirked, took another drag of his cigarette, then handed a new one to the woman. "Let's do that, then. Let's bring them to their knees."
 
Hileena Akhtar
Gardens, The InstituteTime: 17:30
Her eyes were puffy and sore, bled dry of their tears. She fixed her blazer, fixed her hair, fixed whatever else needed fixing, then made her way up to the podium. All eyes were on her.

Half an hour earlier, once everyone had filtered in and took their seats, or stood up in some cases, a short video had played on the holographic projector. Images and clips of those who had fallen, all submitted by their friends and teachers. Afterwards, Rip and his crew, dressed in black, carried in seven coffins. Most of them were empty, a couple had unrecognisable remains. Anastasia Manning was the only one who looked presentable enough to have an open casket. Hileena didn't even know they had a qualified mortician at the Institute. That knowledge was discomforting.

Everyone had turned up, save for Styr and Thomas. That was okay. They could grieve in their own way. Hileena scanned the crowd. Few eyes met hers. Most were full of tears, or anger. Resentment and denial. Shock. Andrew Solomon and Sonia Wilson stood in one corner, further away from the rest. The newcomers, Dhariya and Dolores, were present too. This was not a good first impression for them. Noah looked empty. Edith looked... Well, Hileena didn't watch Edith long enough to know what she looked like.

Stay calm. Keep it together.

"Ladies and gentlemen, students, and... Esteemed staff." She cleared her throat, looking down at her notes. Her voice was hoarse. "Today, we've gathered to remember and mourn the loss of seven bright souls who were part of our mutant family. It is a day that has cast a shadow over the Institute, a community that for so long stood as a beacon of hope, understanding, acceptance, and, above all, safety.

"Each one of these young mutants brought a unique light into our lives. They walked these very halls with dreams, with aspirations, with the belief that this place was not just an institution, but a sanctuary—a haven: where their differences would be celebrated instead of feared. But now we have been hit by reality. These seven, our friends, our family, were taken from us. Their potential, their laughter, the hope that they kindled within these very walls, has been extinguished."

Hileena pushed away some hairs that had fallen into her face and looked up from her notes. "But we can't let ourselves be defined by this tragedy. Let us, instead, be defined by our strength. Our resolve. The unity that binds us together as mutants, as educators and guardians, and as compassionate human beings. It is in times like these that we reflect, and we change. Only by changing ourselves for the better, can we change the minds of others. And then, maybe, the world will be better.

"In the memory of these seven, let us stand strong. In their honour, let us build a future where the brilliance of every mutant is recognized, celebrated, and protected. Let us turn this Institute into the guiding light it should be..."

She gulped, placing a shaky hand on her chest. The next words seemed stuck in her throat. But she knew she had to say them. If not now, she'd never build the courage to try again.

"I... I am a scientist. A teacher. A professor. I have been a friend to some of you, a mentor to others. I have cared for all of you. And as such, I can no longer watch any of you be hurt again. Because I am many things, but I am not a soldier. And neither are most of you, nor should you be. Yesterday was not a lesson, like some of you may have heard, it was a tragedy. And today, I request that all mandatory training sessions be made voluntary. No mutants under the age of 21 be allowed to embark on missions that pose any feasible danger to their life. Any missions classed as such should only be taken on by B-tiers or higher, only if they volunteer, and only if accompanied by at least one other mutant of similar calibre. Training sessions and missions must not be 'promoted', we are not here to brainwash children and make soldiers of them; we are a school and a sanctuary that will not send its members to their deaths. All staff must be retrained in new safety procedures, especially when accompanying students outside of the Institute's grounds."

Hileena nodded to herself, holding back fresh tears now. She gathered her papers, tapped twice upon the podium, and looked back at the crowd.

"Thank you for listening."

She went to sit beside Nat and Jack-Dane, not making eye contact with either of them.

Walliver Walliver Buho Buho Hvnny-Bvns0 Hvnny-Bvns0 .empathogen. .empathogen.
 
Jack-Dane listened to Hileena’s speech intently. She was right- about everything she had said.

Almost no one here was a soldier. There were literal children in their care! And that wasn’t even mentioning people like Nat, who didn’t have developed mutations. It wasn’t a goddamn lesson. It was a tragedy. It was also a sign- a sign that something wasn’t working right. A sign that something had to change, if no one else was going to die. A sign that, from what he’d heard, was a long time coming.

Jack-Dane watched Hileena as she sat between him and Nat. He glanced at her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, and what he hoped was a smile that conveyed the same message. But Jack-Dane knew that his smile almost never evoked a feeling of comfort in others. He retracted his hand, opting to pick the skin off of his pale, already bloodied fingers. It was an old habit he’d never dropped. ‘Dermatillomania,’ or whatever his mom called it.

Jack-Dane lowered his head, silently mourning the lost lives. He hadn’t known any of the victims. He hadn’t been there long enough. He barely even knew their names, let alone their faces. Now he would only know the face of them as kids, or made up to look perfect. Perfect enough to give the illusion of calm- the illusion of life, where it isn’t. Jack-Dane closed his eyes- praying to a God he never believed in before. Praying to a God whose name he had never once uttered. Praying to a God who evidently didn’t exist.

“Please.

Whatever God there is.

Let this make way for something greater.

Let their blood be thicker than water.

Let it float to the top of the flood- make a bridge for us to walk.

Whatever we did wrong, I’m sorry.

Fuck. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Amen.”
 
OH FUCK
the need to save you is bigger than the need to save me

you're my conviction
hello nurse!
take it all in, then let it go
your power
— billie eilish
mood: requiem for living
location: Masoleum and Fields-- The Institute
interactions: Leander, Hileena
scroll
Nat was the type of person who could only work with what she knew about life. She stood there, decked out in black, with Leander in the huge courtyard. He had a cigarette in hand, taking slow and deep drags while they let the silence wash over them like a downpour of rain. She was just as tired of loss as he was. Together, they'd each lost quite a lot, respectively, trying to live the lives they were dealt. Sometimes, the hand that shuffled the cards seemed cruel and unloving. To Nat, their strength was fading with each wave of tragedy. However, they endure...because that was the true power of humanity--enduring in the face of atrocity.

She didn't even know there was a graveyard on campus. It was funny how this place had almost everything you needed and that still wasn't enough. The caskets were buried at the same time. One could equate that to the immortal knowledge that they'd always be together, even in death. But, she chalked the action up to coincidence. Hileena gave a somewhat riveting speech about how things should be run in the light of all of...this. Nat couldn't help but feel a little detached from all this. Her hand grazed the G43X that was now glued to her hip. She'd always had a weapon and training on the said weapon, but now she had a reason to arm herself. The MNFT wouldn't stop. That meant she couldn't stop either. Even the strongest of minds needed their support network to function. And, Leander wasn't the only person on the verge of breaking.

---

The string of messages on her personal data device had yet to be discussed in person. She figured that the staff would convene and duke it out on the plans to get into the Central US Base of the MNTF. If she could only get their true headquarters location. If only she could blow up all the locations on the globe with a push of a button. Hileena sat between her and Jack Dane. Nat didn't offer a word of false comfort or any sort of judgment. She just took Hileena's hand and squeezed for dear life. [/I]

© reveriee
 
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Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

If there was one thing he could remember no matter what, it was the words and phrases drilled into his head. From childhood, it was the Bible. Verses injected into his bloodstream, pounded against his brain until he sat still and shut up. The Bible was supplanted by the Army. “Yes, sir” and “no, sir” and “at ease soldier,” replaced the long winding paragraphs of his youth. Not that eighteen wasn’t youth, it was still plenty young and too young to be going to war.

Eighteen was too young to die. And yet kids not far beyond that had been mercilessly slaughtered.

They wouldn’t be the first people laid to rest in the Institute’s graveyard and mausoleum. He couldn’t help but remember others- Archibald, Mei, Theo, Celine. All dead. Some students, some just friends, all slaughtered. Mei wasn’t even a mutant, she was just caught in the crossfire of their war. There were more casualties, people he never got the chance to know. Friends of Yuri, some of Ernest’s old mutant associates. There were at least ten graves at the Institute, and now there were seven more.

Noah couldn’t sit there any longer.

Staff meeting, now. He typed into the staff’s messaging system.

-/-/-/-

“I will be turning myself in to the MNTF.”

He could practically hear the bones in Edith’s neck creak as she turned to stare at him. There were some gasps in the room- but everyone involved already knew what was going on. He felt a wave of anxiety and anticipation pass over the room- mixed in with anger from Memphis and Edith. That made sense. Edith hadn’t been clued in on anything and she was in an…emotional place. She was right to be angry. Memphis was too- she was one of few staff whose presence was confined to the Institute’s grounds. She couldn’t follow where any of them would go.

“It’ll only be temporary.” He reassured them. “We’re going to be running an operation to infiltrate and take down this branch of the MNTF.”

.empathogen. .empathogen. Simon Strut Simon Strut
 
C H A N G E
i'm cast away, but it's fate's hand and sword I carry to cut you down

break the void
shift it
the reflection shows too little fear
streets
— doja cat
mood: braver than usual
location: Atrium- The Institute
interactions: Andrew
scroll

Leander was way too intoxicated to be present for the current meeting. He could hold conversations and be present to listen to things, but he was still a slave to his emotions--even more so now that he was 3 bottles in on Jack he'd swiped from Hileena's stash. He'd barely heard Noah's decision to give himself up to the Task Force, but when he did he perked up a bit.

"Finally, we're gonna take the fight to those bastards," he said, taking loose the band that held up his dreads and letting them fall to frame his face. "Well, I don't have to hear any more than that. I guess I'll also be turning myself in...for backup." Leander shrugged, making his way to the boardroom exit. "You guys can fill me in on the details later. But, I'm going too and none of you will stop me." He opened the wooden double doors without touching them and shut them behind him. Making his way to the atrium of the house, he rounded the corner to the west wing, where the staff and any house guests resided.

On the mezzanine balcony was Andrew, wearing what looked like something out of a GQ article. The guy had a sort of rugged, casual vibe to him that Leander didn't quite expect. His character on TV was clean-cut. This man was anything but that. Leander was usually quiet and tried to actively blend in with the background. He should have just walked past Andrew with a simple 'Hello' and just let things lay where they currently were. But, something about the way he looked and the amount of liquor in Leander's system made Andrew seem more approachable.

"What are you thinking about?"

Leander picked up his head and smiled. Andrew returned the smile, his reaching the light in his eyes and making Leander feel like he was home--not here, but home home. They both chuckled, then tried to play it off as if there wasn't any kind of tension between the two. Andrew scratched the back of his head, his shirt lifting above the waist of his jeans and revealing the pack of cigarettes that was in the left pocket. To Leander's amusement, they smoked the same brand--the kind that tasted like Christmas peppermints.

"You really wanna know?" Leander asked, sizing up Andrew like a jungle cat marking its prey. It was sudden, bold, and really stupid. Leander was 2 inches shorter than Andrew, so when he kissed him he had to lean forward. He had to be the aggressor. Just a simple peck.

'Did he really just read my mind?'

Leander pulled back, eyes gleaming the bright golden shade of him using his powers. He was attuned to Andrew's mind alone, shutting everything out but him.

"I know you want me. I can hear it...but, even if I couldn't, I could see it all over your face." They stood like that for a pause before Andrew replied.

"And, if I did? What are you going to do about it, Mr. Cruz?" He asked, putting his arms against Leander's waist. Leander wasted no time answering him. Leander opened his entire mind to Andrew as he dragged the fangs of his teeth across the man's neck. It was raw feelings, the drunkenness of his mind, and the visceral lust he had in the moment. Andrew's mind reacted positively, even more so when their lips crashed together. Steady and a little sloppy, they learned so much about each other in the 20 seconds of mutual affection. Leander tugged hard on Solomon's buttoned shirt, popping a button or two. Andrew felt lightweight, causing him to look out the corner of his eye. They were floating in the air, tangled together...

Leander sensed confusion in Andrew's mind, then shock. He pulled back again, this time to see Andrew's campaign team and Vanessa Walters at the bottom of the steps, in shock at what they were seeing. The two men fell out of the air, both on their respective backsides. Leander was blushing so hard it would probably show up on his mocha-colored skin.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted, sprinting down the hallway and into his room. Vanessa took out her flask, unscrewed the top, took a swig, and shrugged.

"At least someone is getting that sort of attention here. Andrew, darling, are you still feeling too stiff to do anything?" she asked, smirking deviously.
© reveriee
 




  • When Hileena stood, there wasn't total silence, but there was certainly a degree of silence. Enough to realise that her earlier speech had earned her some respect. Some of them looked to be siding with her new ideas, while a much smaller number tried their hardest to hide the disdain in their eyes. Hileena had risen, the cheery lab professor who cared perhaps a little too much for the students had now become a fierce guardian to those who claimed sanctuary here.

    The new rules were going to have to wait: Noah had just proposed the most ludicrous plan, and a very inebriated Leander had decided to tag along. The plan it... it didn't make sense! The MNTF would see right through it. Two of the strongest mutants alive, turning themselves in, while their colleagues are suspiciously absent, in the very same week that Martha Madden and the other mutants were captured? It was about as airtight as a colander. They needed something more plausible than that. No... Turning themselves in would be too obvious. They had to stage a failed rescue attempt, allow themselves to get caught. The timing would be a lot more difficult, the margin for error miniscule... But it could work!

    Hileena bit the inside of her cheek, thinking...

    "I'm going too," she said.

    Now, that degree of silence became total silence. Then came a scoff. Edith shook her head. Hileena met her gaze. "Something to say, Ms. Yates? See anything in my future?"

    Edith stood up. Calling her out like this was tantamount to challenging her authority. Good, the challenging was long-overdue.

    "I don't need to see your future," she said. "I just need to know your past. Is it really a wise choice for us to let you—the person who worked for our worst enemy, who helped produce the very same technology that's killing us—join a mission that may determine the very future of the entire Institute?"

    Hileena's fist crashed into the table. A few members of staff flinched. "You want to criticise me?!" She could feel her knuckles already beginning to swell. Her mouth trembled and her vision blurred behind tears. It was all coming out now, all the emotion she'd bottled in, to look strong in front of the kids. "You're the only one here who is supposed to be able to see the future. You didn't foresee any of those children die yesterday?! What use are you?"

    Edith bared her teeth. If there wasn't an enormous table between them, Hileena was sure the woman would have swung for her.

    "It doesn't work like that!" Now it was her turn to slam her hands on the table. "I don't control what I see. I would never have let that happen if I foresaw it."

    "Then perhaps you are not fit to be in your position. Not only is your power fickle, but your solution to all of this is to double down on everything we have been doing wrong!" Hileena's accent grew thicker, a sign she was getting too emotional. She pinched the tip of her brow and took a deep breath, then made her way to the exit.

    "They are not soldier's, Edith," Hileena said, quietly, as she stood in the doorway. She turned to Noah. "You need me, no one else knows the MNTF like I do. We'll discuss the plan tomorrow."

    Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Edith's breathing get more and more erratic. She was practically exhaling rage at this point.

    "They aren't soldiers..." The woman's words came out like a shuddered breath. "But maybe they ought to be!"

    Hileena slammed the door.


    ***
    ​
    Sonia Wilson caught up with Hileena as she was making her way back to the lab.

    "That was... Something." The former librarian frowned.

    Hileena sighed. "Everything's just moving so fast. I don't know if... I don't know if..."

    Sonia gave a comforting smile and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Trust me. No one knows."

    Even though their words barely made any sense, they did make Hileena feel better. More grounded. If only slightly.

    "Are you coming with—" Before Hileena could finish her sentence, her mouth dropped. Above them, floating mid-air, Leander Cruz was embracing Presidential Candidate, Andrew Solomon.

    Leander must have noticed his audience, because a moment later, the pair fell to the ground. The telepath, the Celestial mutant, one of the most powerful men alive, stumbled to his feet with an apology, then stormed off in a drunken stupor.

    Hileena covered her mouth, not sure if she was trying to stifle a laugh or a gasp. Sonia showed no such restraint, bursting into a cackle, in spite of her red-faced boss sitting on the ground. Andrew had no words to say. None, at least, that would be heard over Sonia's laughter.

    Hileena shook her head, let out a rueful smile despite herself, then went to follow Leander. Along the way, she spotted one of her limited edition bottles of Jack Daniel's on the floor, empty. So that's what Leander was drinking. At least he'd stolen the cheap stuff. She stopped at her room, making sure to pick up a bottle of the not-so-cheap stuff, before knocking on Leander's bedroom door.

    There was no answer, but the door unlocked itself. He obviously knew who was on the other side. Hileena took a deep breath in.

    This was it. She had been trying not to think about it all day, but now the thoughts were right there in front of her. Leander... Leander was the strongest. But he was also the closest to Morgan. If anyone was going to understand her, it would be him. Especially now that Sage was gone. This was the biggest risk she had ever taken. If Leander disagreed with her, it would spell the end of her time at the Institute.

    "If you've come to mock me, fuck off." Leander grumbled into his pillow as Hileena walked inside and sat beside his bed.

    "Here, this should taste better than the petrol you've been guzzling." She raised the crystal decanter of whiskey. "My uncle has a distillery in India. I have to import it. Try a glass."

    The telepath perked up, but instead of producing a glass from his cupboards, he popped off the top and drank straight from the decanter.

    That works too.

    "So, what's up?" Leander wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

    Hileena clenched her jaw. Now that she was here, the words seemed to be stuck in her throat. Was this really a good idea? In truth, she had hardly given it much thought. She'd just decided today was the day she would tell someone, because she knew it was the only day she could muster this kind of strength. But did that mean it was the right thing to do?

    "Spit it out." He was watching her intently now. Curiously.

    "Is Morgan Haywood dead?"

    Silence. No going back now.

    "No."

    Hileena's breath caught in her chest. What? How did he know? How was he so sure? Why hadn't he mentioned this before? Even as she thought of the questions, the answers came to her. It was obvious. Leander had been Morgan's protegee. If anyone knew that man's mind, if anyone could sense it, it was Leander.

    Leander didn't elaborate. He must have been expecting Hileena to explain why she was asking. She gave a small nod, processing the information. If anyone wanted Morgan dead, it was Leander. If any single person under this roof would agree with her, it was him.

    "I need to show you something, in my lab."

    Walliver Walliver .empathogen. .empathogen.



 
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Martha Madden
Martha fluttered in and out of consciousness. Whatever they were injecting her with, her body was trying to fight. She shivered furiously, yet her brow was sticky with sweat. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she regained a semi-conscious state. Was this exhaustion, or the drugs?

Professor Akhtar hadn't left the room, not to her knowledge at least. He spoke excitedly, like one of those nerds rambling about a new videogame. Except this nerd was playing with lives.

"It's remarkable... Astounding, even!" He spoke into a hand-held recorder. "The mutant cells from A-tier mutant, Subject 29, are incredibly resilient to standard doses of Perdomoserum, the gene blocker. Twenty milligrams is enough to suppress Subject 4's mutant abilities, yet two hundred milligrams is required to achieve an identical result in Subject 29. Long term testing required."

Subject 29. That's who she was now. Martha could barely keep her eyes open. They had drawn enough blood from her to make her light-headed. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed. Had it been days, weeks? Was she going to die here, was Alexander already dead? God, his parents were here! And her own mum and dad, were they okay? God, she just wanted to cry, but even now, broken and teetering on the edge as she was, she wasn't going to give this rat of a man the satisfaction.

Still, she couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as the Professor finally left the lab. A moment later, she felt a coldness spreading into her arm from one of the many needles that had been inserted. Her chin drooped.

It was as if she had just blinked, and woke up in a cell. She was still bound at the wrists and ankles, and a power blocking collar was fastened around her neck. But at least she wasn't strapped to that fucking bed anymore. She observed her surroundings. The cell was probably a five-foot-squared box. The same lights coming from her collar were fitted into the metal bars. They weren't taking any chances.

Martha took a deep breath in through her nose. It burned, like the air was rancid. Exhaling didn't feel much better. Her body and head was still fucked with everything they'd pumped into her. Still, she could do this. She was Flare. She was a hero. With those words repeating in her mind, she tucked her legs underneath herself and clenched her hands into fists. Come on... She reached down into her core, feeling around for that spark of heat. That Flare. It had to be there, somewhere... Come on...

"It's no use, 29." A voice came from the opposite cell. Martha crawled forward until she could make out the figure. A teenage boy, black hair and sunken eyes. He looked like he would have been handsome, in another life, and wore the same grey and white uniform that Martha had been put in, except his had 16 written on the chest.

"Your powers won't work in here," he continued.

Martha shook her head. "You don't know that. He said I'm the first A-tier ever in this facility. They're not prepared for what I can do."

"You need to stop." 16 spoke in barely a whisper. "They won't kill you, if you cause them trouble. They'll just kill everyone you love. They'll break you." He turned to her—his eyes seemed to look right through her.

Subject 16... She had heard the Professor talk about him.

"You're a B-tier, aren't you?" Martha used the bars to pull herself to her feet. "We can do this together! Come on, we just need to figure this out. We can break free!"

16 went back to staring at the wall.

"We will break free one day," he said. "Death will be our freedom."

Martha threw her arms up in exasperation. What a fucking idiot. She wasn't just going to give up. She grabbed the bars and tried to pull, testing to see if anything was loose, when she noticed the cell next to 16's wasn't empty either. A girl sat in the middle. Martha squinted, trying to make out the number on her chest.

"Hey! You... 4? Is that 4? 16's no help, but you and I, we can do this. Please!"

monkeydoll555 monkeydoll555
 




/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ tabs ------ */









  • /* ------ sticky note letter ------ */
    the world is silent for now, but soon i am sure that silence will fall, and soon enough the sound will come.

    annie fresnel​






/* ------ right side ------ */

Annie knew the rules were simple. Take your pills, eat your food, remember the rules, and you wouldn't get pulled out for testing. It was what had been drilled into her head since she was a child, and it remained in her head. She could still hear the cries of the children that had disobeyed, could remember, just barely, what had happened to her when she had disobeyed.

She could still remember what Brucie had tried to do, how because of it, she was never going to see him again.

She remembered all of this when, all of a sudden, a new face appeared in the cell across from the subject next to her... Damien, if she remembered him right. She could barely hear him correctly, biting back a hiss as she tried to focus her mind on it.

Wait, focus... on sound? Sound was bad for her. Wasn't it?

She swallowed, looking up slowly at the sound of her number being called. Subject 4. She finally stood up, doing her best to make as little noise as she possibly could. She had barely heard Subject 16 speaking when she finally decided to look at the new Subject.

Subject 29. She looked... different, more rebellious, but Annie figured she would get broken down in time. They always did. It was... disheartening, to say the least. To see them, fighting and rebelling and wanting to get out, and then... nothing. She stepped up to the bars of her cell anyway, ready to... well, talk, in her own way.

"Quiet. They'll kill you if they think you want to get out." she mouthed slowly, trying to get her message across. She didn't need to deal with the guilt of another test subject doing something stupid, something that got them killed. "Let them do what they want. You'll end up like the others otherwise."





/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.


 
Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since that disaster of a rally and a disaster of a team meeting. It had been two weeks since she lost her cool and her patience. Things around the Institute had been different since then. She had been different since then. Her fuse was shorter, her visions were more and more sporadic, and her relationships had deteriorated.

Noah’s side of the bed was empty not just frequently but all the time. It looked like something out of a comic- one half of the bed stained and messy, the other neatly made and untouched. He didn’t even look at her anymore. Some of the things she had said-

“You’re so pathetic! You don’t do anything to help, and then you can’t make it through the day without a panic attack! I don’t know why Ernest defended you that day- you’re the reason he’s dead!”

-well, some things aren’t forgivable.

Which was why she was currently on her fifth Monster energy drink, trying desperately to trigger a vision that might help. Anything to keep her from witnessing the dark futures she saw in her visions, anything to prevent her from losing what little family she had left- no matter how much they hated her. Speaking of which.

“Hey, uh, Leander.” She cringed at her voice. Shaky, hoarse, pathetic. “Uh- could- do you- is there any Monster left? Flavor doesn’t matter. And if there isn’t could you get some?”

.empathogen. .empathogen.
 
Knock! Knock!

When the knocking came, it snapped Styr straight out of his dissociative trance. It was loud and exaggerated, so he could only assume that the person on the other end had been knocking for a while, and was just about ready to give up and leave.

Styr itched the back of his neck, flipping up the tag of his sweater as he went. Cutting off tags tended to make the itch worse. It was one of the reasons he had grown out his hair: easily covering up clothing tags.

Styr swung open the door, to be greeted with the face of David Stoker- head of security. Before Styr could tell David to fuck off, Styr was handed an open letter.

"Sorry lad, had to open it. Security reasons. Safe to guess you're a coffee enjoyer then,” David spoke. The small attempt at conversation was not reciprocated by Styr, who snatched the letter without another word, and shut the door in David’s face. Styr would rather down three energy drinks than a single cup of coffee, so even the conversation starter itself was terrible. Which didn’t bode well for the conversation Styr wouldn’t have been interested in anyway.

He threw the envelope to the ground, looking over its contents.

Huh.

David’s comment made sense then. It was an advertisement for a ridiculously overpriced café’s grand re-opening.

Fourteen dollars for a latte?-

“-that’s ridiculous!” Freya scoffed, holding a young Styr’s hand. “But I’ll buy it anyway,” she laughed sweetly. The poor teenaged cashier was smiling uncomfortably as the money was forked over. Freya looked down to Styr as she pulled him along sharply. “Sweetie, if you’re ever eighteen, promise me you won’t buy expensive coffee,” she laughed.

Styr, his wrist going numb from her grasp, nodded absently.

“I promise, mommy.”

Freya was the only one Styr knew that thought of the crappy and expensive coffee at Laura’s Artisan Café as good. It was just another way of saying Starbucks-if-it-were-run-by-crunchy-moms to Styr.

But… why send him the flier? It meant nothing to anyone that wasn’t Freya. And she was with the MNTF. All the way in Germany, too. Right?

He could hope. But it was never in Styr’s nature to just hope. The date and location of the café had been circled in black Sharpie, and Styr would be damned if he didn’t see what it was about. He’d never told anyone about Freya’s obsession with Laura’s, so it’d just be stupid if he sat back and did nothing.

Throwing off the sweater, Styr stormed out of his room and down the stairs. He tripped over his own two feet several times, before reaching the main floor of the Institute. The flier still held tightly in his hand, Styr managed to reach the doors before being stopped by security.

Oh, right.

The Institute was still pretending that they could prevent further massacres from happening by barring their residents from leaving. By locking everyone in, and only allowing them out with supervision.

Like that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Just giving the MNTF two targets instead of one.

“Lad-” David approached him.

“Fuck off!” Styr screamed, raising the attention of everyone mingling around the main floor. Their eyes were on him now. Each and every one of them, staring straight at him. Like he had done something wrong. Like he had done anything wrong. All of their attention was on him.

Styr didn’t like unwanted attention.

Especially not when he was feeling like this.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, before it disappeared and the air around him changed. It grew colder, and the ground beneath his feet became rockier.

A few shaky breaths later, Styr opened his eyes. No more eyes were on him. No more David Stoker trying to talk to him.

Styr turned around, facing the town that marked the path towards the Institute. Judging from the street name, this was just where he needed to be.

20th and Roosevelt.

Laura’s was around there somewhere.

Taking a tentative step forward, Styr began to search for the café. It wasn’t long before he found the building: a familiar, sickening violet building with its name plastered across the door.

It looked packed.

But what the fuck.

He had gotten this far.

Taking a breath and swallowing back the sickness he felt, Styr opened the door. The jingling of the bell announced his arrival.
 
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va.jpeg​


Somewhere...
Styr Millgrim

The name had been stuck in her head for weeks. Styr Millgrim. The Impossible Boy. She had learnt everything she possibly could about him. Information was her strong suit, after all, and once her curiosity had been piqued, there was little to be done other than sate it. Morgan wasn't particularly keen on her new endeavour. He didn't understand why she was putting all of her focus on one mutant.

"Why Styr?"

She smirked at the question. "I could ask the same... Why me? Why did I join you and not the Institute?"

"Because I offered you everything you wanted. The Institute would have expected you to bow to the law of man."

"And I'm not one to bow," she said. "Styr isn't either. I'm going to give him the same opportunity you gave me. Revenge. If I'm as good a judge of character as I think, he'll take it."

Morgan nodded. "Magdalene will get you in. You'll have twenty minutes."

"Only twenty minutes?" She raised an eyebrow. "Is your former protegee that strong?"

"I taught Leander everything he knows. If he's half as smart as I give him credit for, he'll be on the lookout for any anomalies. Say, for example, the mind of a rogue mutant teleporting to the town closest to the Institute. I can mask your mind for a short while, but he'll catch on to my psychic presence eventually, and as much as I have faith in you and your... ah, durability, shall we say?... I'd be betting on Leander to win that fight. When the time's up, Magdalene will portal you out."

Arden Clarke adjusted her emerald dress, crossing one leg over the other, and took a sip of her iced tea. A twenty minute window. It wasn't ideal. She just had to have faith that Styr would show up soon. Being this close to so many humans wasn't her favourite way to pass time; she was itching to tear out their throats. Morgan called them men, Arden called them mice. Thankfully, none of the mice tried to sit at her table.

The bell rung, signalling a new customer. Arden couldn't help but smile. Styr frantically looked around the café, as if he was searching for someone in particular. His mother, no doubt. It had been a combined stroke of genius and healthy dose of good luck that a new café was opening in this town, so close to the Institute. Freya Mill wouldn't shut up on social media about how much she adored the small chain's coffee. So getting Styr's attention was much easier than it would have been otherwise. After all, it was hardly viable to send a letter of summons to the Institute. No, simply a leaflet for Laura's Artisanal Café was enough to make him investigate.

Arden watched as Styr made his way to the counter. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds as he placed his order. Hm. He wasn't comfortable in the slightest. Chances were, he'd realise he didn't recognise anyone in the store, then promptly leave. That wouldn't do. Arden stood up.

A deep, invisible force pulled out of her, crawling over her skin like a million ants. She shuddered, releasing the sensation, freeing it into the air and making an effort to steer it clear of the mutant. It was pure, unadulterated dread. The Dread-Force, a weapon to manipulate the masses, used now simply for convenience's sake. The human patrons and staff dropped everything they were doing and grew silent. They were experiencing a fear unlike anything they ever had, and could think of nothing except run!

Within seconds, the café was empty, save for a wide-eyed Styr, holding a glass of iced tea.

"I've never really liked coffee either." Arden raised a hand and motioned towards him, "Styr, darling, have a seat. I'm Arden Clarke."

He froze, assessing the situation, then pointed a finger at her. "What the fuck! Noah sent you, didn't he? The Institute isn't supposed to be a prison; why can't I just leave when I want to?!"

"You came here looking for Freya." Arden cocked her head as confusion crossed Styr's face. "She loves coffee. Laura's is her favourite. Please, sit with me, let's talk. I'm not with your Institute, I'm here to make a friend."

"How do you know that?"

"I know a lot more than that, darling. Paderborn, Germany."

Styr perked up at the words.

"... A secret MNTF prison in the countryside. I know what you want, Styr, and I want you to have it. No strings attached, you just have to hear me out."

It looked like Styr was mulling over the information, then nodded as if satisfied, and took a seat. He kept his drink close to his chest and didn't take his eyes off her. The wariness was understandable. Arden gave a warm smile and spoke in her warm voice, the voice that the other children said made them feel like they were having a fresh cup of hot cocoa.

"First, you should know that the Institute is not the only place that you can be safe. I think we can both agree that it does a poor job at that. Edith... And Noah. They care more about what the human world thinks of them than securing the futures of their own people. Our people. That's a bit ridiculous, don't you think?"

Styr didn't respond.

"Even now, I'd bet they're harbouring Andrew Solomon. They want to play at being politicians, when just two weeks ago, mutants died. Can you really trust them with your safety? What have any of them ever done for you?"

"Yeah!" Styr blurted out. "Right, they want to be politicians rather than teachers and protectors! Why don't they just all run for office?! And why is Solomon still there? He's not even a mutant... I can't stand it, they're all fucking useless, and... Wait. How did you know any of that? And why are you coming to me?"

Ah, so Andrew Solomon was at the Institute. It had just been an educated guess on her part, but the confirmation was useful.

"I'm coming to you, Styr, darling, because I want you to know there's other options for you. Mutants are my priority, not those—" she waved a hand towards the window, "—mice running around as if they're superior to us. You are my priority. Whatever you want, whatever you wish for, I'll do my utmost to make happen. These aren't the same empty words you'll hear at the Institute..." Arden produced a folder from her bag, opened and turned it to Styr. The file on Freya Mill, everything the MNTF had on her, including her exact location.

"You want revenge," she continued, "and I'm going to give it to you. When you're ready, I'll be waiting in Paderborn for you. Read this," she tapped the folder, "and get rid of it. You know you can't trust anyone at the Institute. They'll look at this dream of yours and call you a monster for having it. The MNTF and the humans who hate us are the monsters, and I'm going to hunt them down... For you. For all of us. Because it's the right thing to do."

Styr's eyes were locked on the file. Arden couldn't read any emotions on his face. But one thing was for certain, she was never wrong about a person.

"Looks like I'm out of time, darling." She gave her warm smile again. "Just remember, we're here for you."

With that, Arden pressed the button on her bracelet, signalling Magdalene. A silvery-purple portal opened up around her, swallowing her figure, leaving Styr alone in the café.



Hvnny-Bvns0 Hvnny-Bvns0

mentions .empathogen. .empathogen.
 
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His eighteenth birthday was five days ago. Officially an adult, officially able to vote and go to war- like he hadn’t been at war his whole life. There wasn’t a party, not enough time or enough interest in one to justify having it. He’d received a crudely wrapped package from Styr. Opening it revealed watercolors, acrylic paint, and new canvases. Most likely stolen, but Thomas couldn’t bring himself to mind.

The acrylics were opened first. Thomas wrinkled his nose at the smell of paint before quickly setting to work. He hadn’t really had a moment to sit and contemplate what he had seen the day he almost died. He remembered it quite clearly- as if one could ever forget a creature beyond human comprehension. The world had been a sickly yellow, covered in shadows that writhed and twitched with something that felt evil at its core.

The creature was difficult to depict, but with his music playing in the background and an environment free from distractions, he got it down pretty well. The gaping maw that also seemed like a piercing eye, the twisting form that seemed to extend into eternity. He could still remember its voice- her voice- as she shrieked at his intrusion. Haunting, yet soothing. Familiar, yet alien.

There was a knock at the door. He paused the music, setting his brush down somewhere it wouldn’t get paint on everything. He opened the door, finding Alexander there. Ah, right. They had never talked about the whole…power-copy-near-death-experience thing.

“Come in. I just finished the painting.”

Simon Strut Simon Strut
 
FRACTAL
Split second decisions lead to splitting headaches on your lap, in Ohio

pass up time
zoomies
if only I could afford to give a fuck
King of the Clouds
— P!@TD
mood: not baked yet
location: Institute-- Track and Field
interactions: Nat, Dhariya, Dolores, and Dans
scroll
Kenny was moving at a pace that felt like molasses dripping onto marmalade. This was his 5th rotation around the enormous paved track plotted in the even bigger field. Honestly, aside from all the gloominess that followed everyone who inhabited the school(from the unavoidable stench of death and annoyance of peer parties), everything for Kenny was looking up. He'd been evaluated by Dunst, Shedazi, and Abara--mother, maiden, and crone--and placed on A-Tier...which mattered little to him and more to the staff. His room wasn't tiny by any means, and he'd found himself sticking around the newbies. Birds of a feather shit together, as Pop Pop would tell him.

"MEEP MEEP!"

His phone alarm started chiming, which only meant one thing: 4:20 was in ten minutes. And Kenny never missed a good session. He'd figured out early that a select group of people here liked to be a little toasted throughout the day. They'd started meeting up and, to be honest, it was a vibe. Dhariya, Dolores, and Nattie-Cakes were a few of the regulars, although one time they got Leander to join and he blew smoke like a champ. Kenny started running toward the main building, shirt off and hair half-up-half-down. He sent a quick message to the private group chat labeled "Thunder Buddies" telling them to be in the usual spot and it was Nat's turn to bring the goodies. She was an expert at edibles.
© reveriee
 
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Dhariya didn’t smoke.

It made her head feel fuzzy and her mouth impossibly dry, and overall it wasn’t pleasant. She got anxious when she got high- yeah, he was one of those, don’t judge him. All this to say, getting invited to one of the smoke sessions didn’t fill him with excitement because of the substances. His heart was fluttering because of someone attending the session- a certain someone with an attractive accent and a smoking hot (pun intended) body.

A certain someone that invited her to watch anime with him, answered her questions when she had no clue what was going on. She had probably seen more anime in her time at the Institute than she had before in her life. Some of the stuff he put on wasn’t really their style- they were a Bleach girlie at heart- but they didn’t mind. Any time spent with Kenny was time well spent.

Even if everyone was baked.

They put the finishing touches on their outfit, messing with their hair a bit so it didn’t look they had just rolled out of bed. It was Nat’s job to bring the stuff for today, so Dhariya didn’t have to worry about locating the Institute’s greenhouse and then locating the kitchen, and then applying their subpar baking skills. They went to the usual spot- a secluded place where no “buzzkill staff” would see them- and waited patiently. And boy was their waiting rewarded.

“H-Hi Kenny!” Don’t sound too eager. “Uh nice to see you…here…” Now you just sound stupid. “Ready to uh…get baked?”

You are so in over your head, girl.

.empathogen. .empathogen. Buho Buho
 
Styr sat, bewildered at what had just happened. As soon as the woman (Arden Clarke, she had said) left, Styr snagged the file. Freya Mill was printed across the front in scratchy, black letters. His breath hitched as the world around him seemed to disappear. A black void, and Styr was in the center. Styr, the file, and his trembling hands that ripped it open at what he swore was a speed that could tear muscle, but felt like slow motion.

Papers, pictures, and reports all paper clipped together filled the folder up. A few were falling out, and a few were stapled together. The ink was pitch black, the marker in which extra notes were written, scarlet.

Styr was hyper-aware of these facts. He was hyper-aware of everything, at that moment. The way Freya’s mutation caused her to glow in every picture, the way her shadow stretched far longer than it should, the way she radiated the energy of a mom who loved her kids and her husband, who didn’t deserve what she got, who deserved to be out in the world, smiling and laughing…

She didn’t deserve sympathy. She got what she had coming.

Styr shoved the pictures aside, moving on to her actual files.

File 816-M

_V6xRED309vVHPOdX0BcIaczs6e3kBbedu13u60Tnj0OoYycXRG6HOQf7JLtokWmJ4pvtsh4X8fgvttKJmmhkrwmajTyilOw716Bjnw1nK9W-WJuC9PflgfN6UPcrEUxpQzQi4drdh99KP3XKOIqpFo


Freya Elke Mill

Age: Thirty-nine

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 54 kilograms

Eye color: brown

This was all stuff Styr knew. But it felt like he was learning it for the first time. It had been years since he’d seen his mother, and at that moment, all she was was a lab rat. A captive, not unlike Styr himself.

No.

No, he wasn’t like his mother. His mother got what she deserved. Styr didn’t deserve to be locked up. He didn’t deserve to be treated how the Institute treated him.

He kept reading.

Classification: B-Tier Mutant | Photokinetic Elementalist

Location: Facility 08-Y, Paderborn, Germany | Cell Number 13

Past that point, there was a page of background information on Freya. Everything from her kids (They had crossed out Annalise, and written Styr- apparently these people cared more about his name than his mom did), to her jobs, to her husbands. More information on her than Styr had ever been told.

Styr felt the familiar buzzing in his limbs, contorting his face and rolling his ankles as the tics passed.

He continued to stare ahead at the file, reading it over until the information was burned into his brain.

With shaky legs, Styr finally stood. He felt like a ghost- a spectator in his own body. A passenger, rather than a driver.

It felt as though a bubble surrounded Styr. A bubble separating him from the real world. There was a disconnect between his body and brain as he packed away his mother’s information. One of the last remaining pieces of evidence that there ever was a Freya Mill.

Styr was vaguely aware of the fact that he packed everything back into the folder, stacking it all nicely. It was more than Freya deserved… but it helped Styr ground himself.

Gripping the folder like a lifeline, he couldn't help but wonder.

What if he didn’t get rid of it?

What if he kept it locked away, somewhere only he could find it. Somewhere he could yell into Freya’s printed, glowing face. Somewhere Styr could jab pens into the papers, ripping them open and cutting out important parts of her. Much like she did to him for all those years.

Styr gripped the file roughly, barely feeling the icky dryness of the folder against his skin. The bell hanging over the door to Laura’s rang out as he left, the glass door swinging as it lay shut once more.

Styr stood outside the café for God knows how long. He just stood, staring off into the sky. The gray, dreary Oregon sky. The clouds would likely pass, or a rainstorm would come in. Both outcomes were highly possible. If the clouds were to pass, and the sun were to come through, it would burn into Styr’s pale skin, making him red as a tomato. He’d have to mope about it in bed- maybe dye his hair again. Something to do with his hands so that he didn’t have to deal with the raw and itchiness of his skin.

If the clouds didn't pass, maybe there’d be a rainstorm. A lightning storm, hopefully. But unlikely. At least if there was lightning, Styr could just go back to the Institute and maybe get it hit. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.

Styr scoffed quietly, before the sound of another person’s footsteps rapidly approaching caused him to look up.

Noah.

In some… stupid disguise.

“There you are, kid. We’ve been worried sick wondering where you ran off to,” Noah spoke.

Sure. Worried sick because I broke out.

Noah paused, giving Styr a once-over. “Did something happen?”

Wow. What a way with words.

“Yeah. An MNTF agent came up and kidnapped me. And you couldn’t do anything to save me.” Styr spoke flatly, sarcastically. He kept his eyes trained on Noah’s eyebrows: a trick learned to avoid eye contact.

“That’s not funny.” Noah frowned.

“Fuck you.” Styr shot back, “You probably wouldn’t even care if it happened. Or at least, you didn’t care enough when Sage was killed by them. So I don’t see why you’d care if anything happened to me.”

“You’re right: we failed. You have every right to be angry. But you do not have the right to run off without letting anyone know where you are.” Noah spoke firmly.

“So, you admit it! I am just a prisoner! I’m just meant to stay at the Institute until someone tells me I can have supervised leave, wearing a fucking orange jumpsuit with some numbers printed on the front!” Styr’s voice was raised up, and he was just about screaming. The manila folder in his hand was beginning to get wrinkled, being crushed underneath his grip. He had forgotten he was holding it- numb to any physical sensations, and still reeling from the shock of the file’s contents.

“You’re not- you’re not a prisoner.” Noah spoke, his expression crumpling. Styr had hit a nerve. “The Institute isn’t a prison.”

“You just said it was! I can’t leave whenever I want to- I have to be accompanied, or whatever! I’m an adult! And it clearly isn’t working for safety, just look how many people were killed because you tried to keep us safe! It isn’t working, Noah! You’re just bad at this!”

Noah was silent. It seemed like he was going to cry, then his expression hardened. He grabbed Styr’s wrist. “We’re going to the Institute.”

Styr’s mind went blank. The hand around his wrist suddenly kickstarted his senses. He was wholly aware of the touch around his wrist, of the itchiness of his sweater, of the nothingness of Freya’s file. He could feel everything, and it was all too much.

“GET OFF ME!” He cried loudly. “GET YOUR HAND OFF ME, MOM! GET OFF OF ME! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Styr writhed and pulled at Freya’s grasp. He had begun to kick and scream like a child. And that’s all he really was. An angry kid who had been forced to grow up. An angry kid who had only ever been listened to when a tantrum was thrown.

“Shit.” Noah pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. The look in his eyes seemed far away, like he was remembering something horrible. “I didn’t mean to- I’m- I-”

“SHUT UP!” Styr screamed, his mind blanking. Tears were streaming down his face as he gripped Freya’s file tighter. He choked down his sobs. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t- he couldn’t deal with this.

In an instant, the world around him grew quiet. The scent of grass filled the air, and the taste of tears filled his mouth.

Paderborn, Germany.

Styr was a coward. He knew that. But he also knew that if he stayed back in Oregon, he’d just be locked up again. Here- here, he had freedom. Here, he’d get the weight off his shoulders.

All that was left was to wait for Arden to arrive.

Walliver Walliver
 
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C H A N G E
i'm cast away, but it's fate's hand and sword I carry to cut you down

break the void
shift it
the reflection shows too little fear
something in the way
— nirvana
mood: solemn
location: Leander's Room
interactions: Edith, Hileena
scroll
Leander wasn't completely in the moment when Edith popped in. His mind was...elsewhere. He absent-mindedly walked over to his mini fridge and pulled out a 6 pack of Monster. He had one in his pocket dimension, but those were part of his apocalypse gear--just in case the world ever went on the fritz.

"Here you go." Leander handed her the box, tentatively. From what he heard through the grapevine, she was on everyone's shit list at the moment. He wasn't there for the near-psychotic break she had, but he wasn't going to condone that kind of behavior when there were so many more things to be concerned about going on underneath everyone's noses.

---
Leander grimaced at the scene that lay before him. He'd followed Hileena to her office, where she maneuvered a biometric lock to unveil her "experiment". The subject was sedated, though when Leander walked past the suppression field he could feel an inkling of struggle within the man's head. Leander had seen many things that people shouldn't see in his life but this took the entire cake on being the worst.

"Are you fucking insane?" he asked, voice level and patient as he waited on a response. He'd all but figured out what direction this was going in. Whatever she was doing, it was to get leverage against Morgan and that was the only reason Leander did not overload the suppression field and alert everyone on this affront to everything he valued.

"It isn't a weapon. It's a shield." Hileena replied, her voice lacking the warmth it usually carried. Leander turned to her, lips rolled tight as he assessed the new information. Hilenna continued toward the subject body, withdrawing a metal syringe and injecting a cloudy concoction into the subject's neck. "I have been working on this for quite some time now. It's a simple concept: Instead of projecting the power outward, this virus turns the power inward and makes the brain cannibalistic. Essentially, the host brain is reprogrammed to eat itself."

Leander didn't need to hear it to know what was going on. The panicked thoughts of the test subject were reduced to half the potency he'd felt when he first connected to its mind--which were already low to begin with if that said anything about the virus. Leander bit his lip, frustrated with what Hileena wasn't saying. The subject was a lower tier than himself, let alone Morgan. If this virus were to have a salt grain of a chance to work, they'd have to test it out on S-Tier DNA. Leander thought to before the Heartland incident--to the time when Morgan played on Leander's heartstrings like a seasoned musician, molding his will like putty. Leander would have done almost anything for the devil he knew. It wasn't over...it would never be over until Leander had done everything to erase that mark on the world away.

He had no option but to get involved.

"Do what you must. You have my full support. Whatever you need, you will have if it means that cretin is gone for good."
---

Leander rubbed the back of his neck where Hileena drew spinal cord fluid for her ongoing tests. The stem cells would be replicated and administered to the test subject, temporarily boosting them to an S-Tier long enough to get a more accurate viewpoint on how the virus would work against their enemy. It was a tricky variable, but it was also somewhere solid to work from.

"Edith...if you're trying to trigger a vision, we could do the power amp again." He said, placing his hands on his hips.

"I'm always willing to help."

© reveriee
 
Martha Madden
Please, please, please, if there's a god, make this work...

Martha sat in the corner of her cell, shuddering. She had never felt this cold before. The other prisoners seemed fine, so it was probably her own body not being used to a normal temperature.

It was hard to keep track of the passage of time. At first, she used to count the meals, then started to realise that the times were completely random. Two guards would show up at her cell and push through a plastic wrapped block that had a pale grey tinge and the texture of hard cheese. It tasted like chalk. Subject 16 told her that it had all the nutrients that the body needed to survive, not that that did anything to help the flavour. Each day blurred into the next—she thought she could trust her body to become tired when it was night, but they had kept her unconscious for so many experiments that she rarely slept outside of the lab.

Professor Akhtar had stopped speaking to her. She'd given up on trying to provoke him, the man refused to snap. She knew she was due another experiment today too, since they'd moved her to this cell. Cell block U11 was where she usually spent most of her time, in isolation. According to Subject 16, the prison was divided into different areas for different classes of mutants. Elementals, Mentalists and the rest were all kept separate from each other, then were moved to the block Martha was in now while they waited for experimentation. Right now, Martha, Subject 4 and Subject 16 were all in this... Waiting block?

Over the last few experiments though, Martha had been exaggerating her reactions, much to the confusion of Professor Akhtar. He recorded all of his findings in audio, and expressed his concern, stating that her mutant cells were reacting to the suppression drugs predictably but that her physical symptoms were abnormal. In the end, he chalked it up to a psychological issue on Martha's—Subject 29's—end, as well as his own lack of experience working on an A-tier mutant. In an attempt to rectify the 'mistake', he'd decided to lower her dose of Perdomoserum, confident that the anti-mutant suppression field in her cell would make up for it.

It didn't.

Martha sat, curled up in a ball in the corner of her cell, using her body to hide her hands from the cameras. She exhaled into her palms, feeling every breath grow marginally warmer than the last.

Please work... Please, please, please.

The fire that had burned in her belly from the moment she'd turned twelve years old had been reduced to ashes since her confinement. But now... Now, the weakest ember sputtered among those ashes. She could feel it. But every time she reached for it, it slipped away. She was careful, trying her best not to fumble and put it out, and tried to stay patient. But this had to happen today. No doubt, if she couldn't get this to work, and the guards escorted her to the lab, the Professor would notice her mutant cells acting irregularly. She'd learned that much in her time here, at least.

The back of her hands were still ice cold, but her fingers were beginning to thaw. The ember was glowing brighter. This was her chance! She reached deep with herself and pulled, coaxed, teased at the ember. Normally, she'd reach into her fire and pull out whatever she needed, but today she'd need it all. Come on...

A spark, no larger than a candleflame, came to life in her hands.

YES!
FUCK! YES!

Feed the flame. Keep pulling at the power. Come on... Come on...

Her body continued to shake, now from exertion rather than the cold. But the fire grew and grew, until it was the size of a tennis ball. It was a bit shit, really. On an average day, she could create something like this with barely a thought, but today it felt like the biggest achievement of her life. It would work, though—it had to.

Martha pulled herself to her feet. She was exhausted, but the warmth felt... Rejuvenating. She could feel tears stinging at her eyes, and wasn't sure if it was from exertion or relief. But now wasn't the time to figure it out. Hands cupped together, she held the ball of fire up to the lock on her cell door, and began to count. In ten seconds, the lock was red hot. After fourteen seconds, she heard a pop! and alarms began to blare. Red warning lights lit up all around her. Now or never! Martha slammed her body into the gate, breaking what was left of the lock. Fourteen seconds, that's how long it took! She could do this!

She ran to Subject 16's cell, knelt down and began melting the lock. He stared at her, eyes wide, a spark of hope in them. Martha gave a shaky smile, trying to pay attention to the fire. The alarm made it hard to think straight; her heart was racing and her breath kept catching in her throat. She couldn't lose focus, she doubted that she'd be able to conjure more fire. 16 clutched at the bars. Fourteen seconds. Another pop.

"Stay behind me," she whispered. 16 nodded, and stood behind her in his stinted posture. Now it was Subject 4's turn. She raised the fire to the lock on her door.

"How... How are you doing this?" 16 asked.

"Perks of being an A-tier." Her eyes frantically darted from the lock to the exit. Guards would rush in any second, and Subject 4 just sat there, not even batting an eye. Six, Seven, Eight... "And going to acting school too, I guess. Don't worry, I've got this, just watch out for—"

As if on cue, three MNTF soldiers burst in. Without skipping a beat, Martha ducked under their fire and shaped her fire into a jet-flame to give her a boost of speed. She spun around, using the momentum to leap towards the closest soldier, and plant both feet into his chest. He crumpled under the blow—these guards weren't as heavily armoured as the agents she'd fought back at the rally—and dropped his weapon. Martha widened her grip on the fire, expanding it into a whip, and lashed around herself in a wide circled. The guards stumbled back, and she used it as an opportunity to close the distance, striking one of them under the chin with her elbow, a punch to the throat, then stepped behind him just in time to make the other guard hesitate. Big mistake, dickhead. The fire returned to her palm and she slammed it into the guard's thigh. Martha couldn't hear him crying in pain over the alarm. She wouldn't care if she could. He'd survive. One left.

She pushed the guard with the burned leg towards his comrade, forcing him to pause yet again. Martha used the opportunity to advance, twisting her body to put all her weight into a fire-infused punch. With a scream of effort, she smashed her fist into his face.

Martha took a second to breathe. She was ready to collapse at any moment. Subject 16 crouched in the corner, his head in his hands. Good kid, he knew how to keep himself safe. But more guards were bound to arrive, in larger numbers, and she wasn't in any condition to take them on again. Instead, she rushed back to Subject 4's cell, burning the remainder of the lock with a flame that was getting weaker by the second.

Pop!

Just as the lock broke, her fire went out. Fuck... Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her plan had hinged on her having her powers. She didn't have the strength to muster any more fire. But maybe her powers would return quickly enough now that she was out of that cell. For now though...

"You two, pick up a weapon and a key card." Martha straightened her back, trying to look confident for the other two. Subject 4 remained unphased, but 16 was practically shaking with excitement. "What are your names? Your real names."

"Romesh," said 16. "Romesh Ranvir."

Martha nodded. "Romesh... 4... We're getting out of here."


monkeydoll555 monkeydoll555
 
Last edited:
“Thanks.”

Edith accepted the pack of Monster, resigning herself to finishing off at least half of it. Usually one or two did the trick, stimulating something in her brain that made her visions increase in frequency. Three or more usually guaranteed one. Now, after five consumed and crushed Monsters, all she felt was jittery and anxious. There had to be something she could do, something that might help. Three more Monsters down the hatch might help, might not. It was the only thing she knew to do anyway.

-/-/-/-

Three Monsters down the hatch did not help. Her nerves were shot and she was jumping at every slight noise. Not one single vision, not even a small one- like the news two weeks from now or that another celebrity had gotten married to someone they had a ridiculous age gap with. Zero. Zilch. Nada. She jumped at the sound of Leander’s voice.

“Yeah, alright. We could try. No guarantee it’ll help.” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes. A few moments passed and slowly but surely she felt the tingling sensation that always came with her vision. Prickles trickling up from her fingers to the base of her skull. She took a breath and tried to relax into it. But something was wrong. The prickles sharpened, the tingling feeling turning into a stabbing pain.

“Leander, I think something’s wrong-”

Then, the rubber band snap of her brain as she fell into a vision she wasn’t relaxed enough for. She squeezed her eyes shut before the void opened up and swallowed her.

-/-/-/-

She opened her eyes to a strange scene, a place she definitely didn’t recognize. It wasn’t an apocalyptic landscape or the Institute itself. It wasn’t the MNTF, her home, a battlefield, or even one of those nightmares that took place in her own bedroom. It looked like…a hallway? A bunch of unlabeled doors lined the hall, which was an almost searing white. She wondered what paint you had to use to get it that shade. Maybe there were some bright lights somewhere, reflecting off it.

Some of the doors looked different from others, and the hallway seemed to stretch forever. It was intriguing, mystifying. She almost forgot why she was here in the first place.

“Leander!”

She turned and saw the younger man standing next to her, the same perplexed gaze on his face that she probably wore. He turned at the sound of her voice.

“This isn’t some latent telepathic power of yours developing, is it?” He asked. Edith shook her head.

“No, this definitely isn’t me.” Well, maybe it was her. Maybe she was developing some kind of latent power. Or maybe the 700+ milligrams of caffeine in her system just fried Leander’s powers and made them glitch to…wherever this was. She approached the door closest to her. Fine, solid oak with a brass doorknob, a door that hummed with some kind of energy. She turned the knob carefully, opening to a scene she had only heard of before.

(tw: blood, gore, references to WWII and Nazis)

Noah, freshly eighteen, covered in blood. The entrails of a German soldier decorated his hands, the crushed corpse on the ground in front of him. The soldier had been mutilated beyond recognition- his face was smashed in with the same force of a cannonball or perhaps a shotgun blast right between the eyes. From the blood and viscera that coated Noah’s hands, it seemed that he had been the one to do it. Noah was screaming, shrieking, revealing a mouth covered in blood and fangs dripping with poison. It was horrible.

Edith slammed the door quickly, covering her mouth with a gasp. She stepped away from the door, shaking her head.

“Okay, okay. At least we know where we are now.” She spoke shakily, looking to the other doors. Now that she looked closer, each one was a different material. Some oak, some metal, some even glass- but all of them opaque, no windows or glimpses inside until one opened the door. They were in vary stages of disrepair as well. Some looked fresh and brand new. Others looked rusted, some even covered in claw marks and scorch marks. One door drew her attention: the door at the end of the treacherous hallway.

Suddenly, without having to move at all, she and Leander were in front of it. It was metal, rusted at the hinges. The handle was nearly broken off-as if someone was trying to prevent access to it- and there were dents and scorch marks in it. She carefully grabbed the handle, taking great care in pulling it open. This scene was even stranger.

Noah, in a hospital gown, sitting on an exam table. A doctor that Edith didn’t recognize was examining him, taking notes.

“Subject N33 seems to respond normally to visual, audial, and other sensory stimuli. Implanted memories seem intact, coded personality causes responses similar to N. Cameron. Noted absence of social deficiencies present in N. Cameron, but personality remains otherwise intact.” The doctor rattled off. They lifted up one of Noah’s wings, examining the feathers in a way that should have made Noah prickle and pull away. But the Noah sitting there on that exam table just sat there- he seemed pleased rather than agitated. After a few more moments of examination- including the fangs in his mouth and a small test of regeneration- the doctor stepped away.

“Subject N33, you are a success. Tell me, what is your name- your new name, now that you’re going to be leaving us?”

Noah smiled.

“Noah Cameron. My name is Noah Cameron.”

“And what are you?” The doctor pressed.

“A clone designed to infiltrate the Institute.”

Edith stepped back from the door with a gasp. To her surprise, Not Noah turned and grinned at her.

“Hello, darling.”

The rubber band snap of her brain slingshotting back into her skull came again, and then all was dark.
 
Alexander Blackthorne
“Come in. I just finished the painting.”

Alexander followed Thomas into his room, carrying rolls of parchment under his arm. It was almost as if his heart stopped beating when he saw the painting. He felt like he was gazing upon his own soul. The Howl in The Night Sky, The Gilded Mother... Va'Hargal.

"How accurate is this, do you think?" he asked.

"Eidetic memory." Thomas tapped the side of his head. "It's impossible for it to be inaccurate."

Alexander chuckled ruefully, "Remarkable... I've uncovered thousands of years of history on this curse, and you've managed something I never could."

Now, she has a face. Now... I know what my enemy looks like.

Thomas raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You mean…you don’t see her?"

"Do you mind?" Alexander pointed towards Thomas' bed, then dropped the pieces of parchment, unfurling them. They contained writings and diagrams, as well as his own translated notes. "She comes to me in my dreams sometimes, but a normal mind can't comprehend her form, or remember it. I just have vague recollections of the golden stars, the molten sea... But I can barely even recall her words."

“My mind isn’t normal. And I remember everything she said.”

"What..." Alexander frowned, failing to remember what she'd said that day. "What did she say?"

“She said ‘You would dare?’" He raised his arms and deepened his voice, like a classic Disney villain, "Angry, outraged, like she knew I was there and thought you brought me to her.”

Alexander sighed. He pretty much had brought Thomas to her, but at least no real harm was done. He pointed towards to parchments. "It's a curse... Runs in my family. This creature has been haunting us for centuries. I think, when you tried to copy my powers to heal yourself, you inadvertently established the same connection to her that I have. She didn't take too kindly to that, so summoned both our consciousnesses to her domain. It was more of a scare tactic, I reckon. She's already dead... Or as dead as a being of her calibre can be, at least...

"I can tell you more if you want to listen."

Thomas nodded. “I’ll listen. No guarantee I’ll understand everything that you’re saying, but I’ll listen.”

"Whatever works." he took a seat on the bed. "The story starts more than a few centuries ago, near the start of the Roman Empire. A warlord, infamous for the many lands he conquered, woke up one night to find his most loyal men had mutinied, killing his wife, concubines and most of his children. He barely escaped with his life, and took to the sea. There, he prayed. Something, in the water, heard him, and offered him a deal. He returned to land a changed man, arrows would pierce his skin and he'd heal instantly, and an unstoppable soldier made of shadow and smoke, slayed all those who had opposed him.

"The warlord went on into the land, and killed, and killed, indiscriminately. His mind had broken, and he was nothing more than an animal. Until, one day, someone else prayed, and something different answered. This second person, we don't know if it was a man or a woman, was gifted a pendant and a dagger. If they could get the warlord to wear the pendant, it would fix his mind and draw out the curse, but only if he was willing to let it go. If that failed, the dagger would be able to slay his shadow soldier, and kill him too.

"The second person failed. The warlord broke the pendant into four pieces, and hid the dagger. Over the years, his descendants would occasionally be born with the same curse. They had many names for the creature that possessed them, but most translate to Gilded Mother. One in particular, a French Chevalier in the 1700s, Guillaume Denoir, worshipped her more fiercely than any before him. It was said that he would roam the streets of Nice, and a veiled woman dressed all in black would follow closely behind. He made it his life's mission to try and strengthen the Mother, or, at the very least, prevent anyone from foiling her plans, so he found a piece of the pendant and tried to destroy it. Failing that, he hid it in his family crypt. Nearing the end of his life, he managed to find the dagger to, but when he tried to destroy that, it retaliated and killed him

"A few years ago, I fought his reanimated corpse." He glanced at Thomas out of the corner of his eye and shrugged, "Don't ask, it's an even longer story. But it was the closest I've ever been to death. Stabbed me right through the heart, then killed the new Shadow I created straight after." He unbuttoned his shirt to show the jet-black scar on his sternum. "But I managed to recover the piece of the pendant. Once it's whole, I'll finally be free."

Thomas paused, seemingly processing the information.

“… Do you… Would you want help with that? I can research for days on end, if necessary. If it’ll help end your curse, I’d be willing to help.”

This kid... Alexander couldn't help but smile. What a pure soul.

"I appreciate the gesture, truly. Your memory will certainly come in handy. I'm 90% sure the MNTF have the third piece of the pendant. As for the fourth... I don't have any leads yet. I always thought that I would have to take on this crusade by myself. But I'm starting to realise that asking for help isn't necessarily a bad thing. My office doors are open, help yourself to my research when you have the time. And, Thomas? Thanks for this." He gestured towards the painting.

"Any time.” Thomas said. “Keep it if you want, I can always make another one.”

Alexander chuckled. "Of course you can. Say, you haven't seen Lurch lurking around anywhere?"

“Yeah, he’s in the library," he said, with a smirk. "Has been for a while. Happy to locate your boyfriend.” He gave a mock salute.

Boyfriend?! Word travelled fast in the Institute, he supposed. Rumours were bound to crop up. But even thinking about it, the word, boyfriend, made Alexander's cheeks flush and tongue stumble over his words.

"He's not... Ugh." Wiping off his trousers, Alexander saw himself out. "And don't focus too much on researching the curse," he called over his shoulder, "you still have to hand in your assignment next Thursday!"

“Already done!” Thomas replied, laughing.

The little scamp! Alexander shook his head as he followed the hallways. To the library, then.


Walliver Walliver
 
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