It all started with Ahmet Benici. The World's lead scientist published his findings that the laws that govern our world would change so drastically human life would not be possible. It was his findings that urged the U.S government to begin a secret project, Project New World. The purpose of this project was to save humanity from its impending doom. So I invite you visitor, whoever you are it doesn't really matter. Come, sit down at your keyboard and tell me, what role are you going to play in this story?
Setting
There are many rumors and stories to be told about the city of Chase. Stories and tales rise from the mysterious forest that borders its northern side. There's big talk of some government project happening on the other side, but no one can know for sure. The small town has a rather sparse population of 20,000 people and is kept isolated from its neighboring town by Wyers lake.
In terms of time, this site will follow real time to accommodate for the short life expectancies of compound patients. The current month is December, the year 2062.
Note: Please note this site is rated PG-13.
Disclaimer: All pictures and images on this site belong to their rightful owners. We do not and will not claim to own them. However the site plot and idea belongs to Time Lapse, please do not steal!
Feral found himself in the entertainment room again, his form of 'recovery' after having his blood drawn. It should have been an easy procedure but of course he struggled. As the white coat had warned him before, the needle had broken off and Feral nearly fainted then at the mere sight, or lack thereof, of the the missing needle. It took a bit of digging but eventually they managed to fish it out. And now here he was, his forearm wrapped with bandages and looking a bit pale. He'd recover soon enough, but was quite fortunate that the room was relatively empty at this hour, making it a little less stressful.
He'd made himself comfortable on the couch, his feet barely reaching the opposite end thanks to his height but, honestly, it was probably the only perk to being vertically challenged, Feral able to lie comfortably on a couch like this. His wounded arm was rested on his chest while his other served as a pillow behind his head, the beast's eyes closed as he simply tried to relax. He should have heeded their advice, spared himself all this trouble... Too late for that now. He'd survive though, he always did. He just had to wait for the room to stop spinning first. They did provide him with another orange juice though which he'd already finished and carelessly tossed the empty box across the room.
The few people who were in there remained rather quiet and to themselves, a guard strategically standing at the entrance of the room should Feral, or anyone for that matter, act up. He had no interest in causing any trouble right now, of course, but they weren't taking any chances, obviously. It was only because one of the nurses were feeling particularly 'kind' that he was even in here at all, thinking that the boy might have rather been out here than locked in his room. He'd probably thank her but understandably didn't trust anyone, no matter how kind they may have acted. After all, what would have actually been kind was her to free him. Pretending to be nice while being part of the problem was far worse than those who simply were assholes all the time, as far as he was concerned.
Feral sighed as he continued to lie there. Though his eyes were closed, his other senses were still alert, if not just a tad more sluggish than usual. A side effect of the blood loss, he could only assume. But still in working condition, obviously, as a particular scent had reached his nose. Oh no... Maybe if he didn't acknowledge him, he wouldn't even notice he was there? He doubted it, but it was a pretty nice thought.
Whether he had saved himself or not it seemed the threat of unconsciousness had been inevitable. After they'd scrubbed him clean and poked around drawing some blood and marrow samples, they'd taken their pleasures in cutting him open. Where Ephraim had once been tattooed with ink designs, it had all been replaced by stitches. How could they have to cut so much of him?
Most of the horrid black thread was hidden beneath the ridiculously long garment he wore. Since his three hours of recovery had begun, he hadn't changed once. Apparently it was a frock. He called it for what it was, a dress. It's thin material left his arms bared, revealing countless rows of black stitching that swirled and twirled like wandering roads down his arm.
They were on his face too, creeping up from the neck of the gown to caress his cheeks, his lower lip, there were even a few to mar his forehead. Ephraim had never been 'pretty' per se, and the copious amount of stitches weren't doing him any favors. Upon seeing him creak down the hallways, there had been an unusual hush. People stared, then they looked away, probably pretending not to see the pathetic creature before him.
And there was no way for him to silently slip through the halls like he'd used to. Oh no, they'd stuck him in the creakiest, most unreliable of wheelchairs. They hadn't even extended the kindness of letting him spend more than an hour of rest in the recovery rooms. For a treatment like this, he needed, well, more than two more hours.
His arms burned as he pushed himself into the entertainment room, the wheels creaking and wobbling dangerously. This was really the only place he could stay and do nothing. Ephraim's head lolled onto his shoulder only because it was easier to hold. He could still catch the stares he received from the corner of his gaze, though he pretended not to notice.
A thick haze obscured his mind though his vision was abnormally sharp. He witnessed things he'd never noticed before. Small particles of dust floating around the room, the sharp worn edges already biting into the new couches, and- Feral was still short.
No sooner had he caught sight of the freak his wheelchair decided to lock itself, nearly tipping him over. A weak curse meandered its way from his mouth and slowly Ephraim righted his head. Drawing the back of a hand across his cheek to wipe the drool away. "Hey," he attempted to call out to Feral but his voice was hardly more than a harsh, weak, wail. Lost his voice screaming? Yup. "Get over here and help me," he demanded, his voice a strained whisper amongst squeaks.
He wasn't going to look, purposely closing his eyes as if it would magically make the kid go away. A foolish thought, really, but it was the best he could do at the moment, not being in much of a mood to fight, let alone get up from the couch. It was probably a good thing he didn't want to hurt Ephraim today though, for when he heard the very frail voice with his sensitive ears, he finally looked over and saw the guy in a wheelchair, stitches lining nearly every inch he could see. What the fuck?
Yeah, Feral just kind of stared. He was used to seeing the boy marked up, sure, but it was usually of his own designs and not painful looking. Did Feral actually feel sorry for him? Well not exactly. He was just glad he wasn't him. Shots were bad enough, he didn't think he'd be capable of sitting still while they were sewing him up like some damaged plush toy. And he certainly wouldn't have cared for being stuck to a wheelchair either. In fact, knowing him, even if it was necessary he'd probably refuse to actually use it out of pride alone.
Of course while he was examining him, he barely missed the demand, which is probably why he didn't seem immediately annoyed that the fucker was actually demanding anything from him. "Why the hell would I do that?" he shot back with a growl, though didn't appear to be as aggressive as usual. Again, probably the blood loss, which was likely why he wasn't putting up that much of a fight. Besides, one of the guards would help him, right? Oh who was he kidding? They could give less shits.
He groaned at the thought before pushing himself up, wincing at the pressure he put on his arm but eventually managing to get to his feet and cross over to where the boy was stuck. Didn't look him in the eye or anything, simply went to unlock the wheelchair before pushing him forward till he figured he was in a good enough spot. As if knowing Ephraim would say anything, Feral excused his actions, "Don't wanna hear your fucking weak ass croaking all day." Which wasn't a total lie. Just because other people couldn't really hear him didn't mean he couldn't.
As soon as the wheelchair stopped, Feral walked back over to the couch and lied back down, facing the couch itself this time and attempting to block everything out.
Feral stared, so Ephraim stared back. He met the patient's gaze unflinchingly, a boldness he'd resurrected if only for the fact that he knew Feral couldn't hurt him. The freak was more than capable, but Ephraim was sentenced to testing in two hours, they wouldn't let anyone rough him up. But they would go on watching as he struggled with the crickety wheelchair? It wouldn't do them any harm if he was stuck in one spot for hours on end. It probably wouldn't do him any harm except he found he wasn't stuck any place interesting.
Ephraim's demand only receive a growl. Though less hostile than usual, it was still only met with a sullen stare. Ephraim wouldn't demand pity from anyone, he didn't want anyone's pity and no one seemed willing to give it to him most days anyway. But a little help when he was struggling, was that really too much to ask of his peers? Apparently.
But suddenly the freak was moving towards him. Instinctively Ephraim grabbed the armrests of the chair, worried the freak was going to tip him over. Quite the opposite. As Feral righted his wheel, even pushing him forwards a little to be sure, Ephraim's brows shot up in surprise. The single motion tugged at the threads woven into his skin and he went back to scowling moments later for his own sake.
Feral's harsh excuse didn't deter the patient from offering a whispering, "Thanks." Up until that point, Ephraim had seen it in his mind to roll his way to one of the far tables and fall asleep. Now, Feral's kind act had him intrigued.
With great pains he brought the wheelchair over to one of the far tables, reaching with shaking hands to move one of the marble chess boards onto his lap. The pieces themselves threatened to spill onto the ground, but Ephraim tugged at his dress until they were nicely situated beneath the board in the tucks and folds of the material. By the time he'd made it back to Feral's couch, he was slumped over and out of breath. At least he'd done the kind thing and brought the board to Feral, it the chap was willing to pull a table over he wouldn't even have to move from the couch.
"Hey," Ephraim squeaked, rubbing his throat uncomfortably. "Grab one of those tables over there, will you?" In all sincerity he would have done it himself. But given the fact he'd struggled to transport a chessboard, he'd probably rip every one of his stitches and then die trying to move the table even a foot. Now there was an idea.
He couldn't help but scowl at that quiet thanks, kind of hoping the kid would just shut up and let him pretend he hadn't done what he had. Was it wrong to show kindness every once in a while? Feral seemed to think so and was rather disgusted with himself once he was finished and returned to the couch. There wasn't room for 'kindness' here and it would only get you used and abused. Feral might have seemed like a total asshole and quite frankly preferred when people thought that of him. It just meant that people would leave you alone, if they knew better anyway. He couldn't afford to look weak. So unsatisfied with his good deed for today, Feral was content with trying to take a nap and forget this whole day. Of course he wouldn't get what he wanted.
Feral heard the boy moving around behind him but didn't care enough to check. Still, as much as he'd like to ignore it, the squeaks of the chair itself and the shuffling about just made it near impossible. To make matters worse, he was behind him again, evidently speaking to him once more. Reluctantly, Feral looked over his shoulder to the teen, eyes narrowed. "There's gotta be something wrong with your head." he comments with another growl. Just because he helped him once didn't mean he was going to keep doing so. And what the hell did he want with a table? Spotting the board, he figured it out quick enough. He was serious about that offer, apparently.
"Why?" he asks. Not about the table, not even about the game! Why did this guy insist on messing with him? Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Ah, but maybe that was too much to ask, wasn't it? After all, shit never gone his way. Of course... This was actually pretty tame to what he was used to, but that just made it all the more confusing. Things were so much easier when people hated him, treated him like a monster. This? This he didn't know how to deal with.
Perhaps they had more in common then they thought? The false pretense? The way they carried themselves? Of course while Feral seemed to prefer being left alone, Ephraim honestly didn't. He flinched at Feral's comment revealing something wounded and sensitive he covered up seconds later with a scowl. There was nothing wrong with his head, thank you very much! Turning his chair to a ninety degree angle, he gingerly placed the board on the edge of the couch where Feral's feet couldn't reach. Delicately he added the marble pieces to the edge of the couch before backing the creaking chair up a few paces.
There was a table not too far away. How he would get it back he didn't know. His smoldering gaze contemplated the stitches that tattooed his body before he shot Feral a hopeful look. It would take two seconds of his time. Please?
But no, the freak had to ask why. Why he needed him to get the table? Why he was asking him to play with him in the first place? Why he plagued his existence with his presence? It could be anything.
A hint of smugness crept into the patient's face as he leaned back slowly in the chair. "You're going to have to be a little bit more specific," he whispered hoarsely.
Feral barely resisted the urge to shove off the board and pieces that had taken up the rest of the couch but ultimately decided it wasn't worth it. What was the worst the kid could do anyways? If he continued to ignore him maybe by some small chance it'd finally work. He turned his gaze away, especially when he caught that hopeful look. Don't give him that shit. What'd he think Feral was going to do anyway? Did he honestly expect him to just be buddies with him now? Honestly, that wouldn't surprise him, but he wasn't interested.
Unfortunately his question was met with a demand for an elaboration, Ephraim not quite understanding what he was asking. Not surprising. Feral could tell him, and looked like he was about to, but decided against it. Instead he grumbled and growled as he rolled back over so that he could sit up, glaring daggers at the needy patient before he walked over and grabbed a table, lifting it up without any trouble at all. Really, it wasn't too much to ask in that regard, but the fact he was asking him at all was the annoying part. No, really, the worst part was the fact he was actually doing it!
He sat it down, rather grumpily like a stubborn child being forced to do as he's told. "I've gotta hand it to those assholes. I didn't think there was a way you could get any more annoying." he snarled. If he needed any other reason to hate the white coats, this would be one petty reason, for sure!
"Let me guess, you want me to play with you too?" he asks, though the question is rather rhetorical. It was quite obvious.
Ephraim waited expectantly for the freak to give him something, a single phrase or hint that would suggest to what depth he expected his question to be answered. From the day he could speak he always found himself asking 'why'. Why does this work like that? Why is this person like that? The 'why' questions never stopped. But they were the questions that tended to reveal the most interesting answers and tidbits of knowledge. He didn't care to know 'what' something was but 'why' it was, not 'what' it's purpose was but 'why'? It seemed Feral had no desire for a deep philosophical or even remotely education conversation as the freak sat up.
With the same eyes, Ephraim stared back, watching as Feral stomped over to a table, transporting it all the way to where they now sat. He was awfully compliant today. Had something happened? Or did the brute actually have a heart? Was he feeling pity or did he simply want this to be done and over with? Again, Ephraim fell hostage to countless 'Why' questions.
Feral looked less than pleased to sit across from him again, but Ephraim set it upon himself the painful task to shift the board and all the pieces from the couch into the table. The Feral's comment was met with a rather hurt and then smug look as if his 'sense of humor' were the only wall between Feral and his hurtful words. "Well I'm sure ripping out my tongue would've done the trick," the trick at making him more annoying. Hadn't that been the boy's threat the other day? Ephraim winked passively before he winced and then he did nothing. He was hurt and tired and slowly he retreated back into his broken shell, suddenly aged as if he remembered his own toils and troubles.
Did he have to play with him? No. He could always just take the board and go play by himself. To weary to summon an appropriate response, and suddenly nauseous from his constant movement, he abandoned the chess pieces, leaning back in his chair for a momentary respite. They'd told him not to move of course, right before they'd shoved him in a wheelchair and said adios. Don't move too much? Maybe they should have just let him stay in bed.
Running a hand over his face he sighed, taking slow breaths. Wouldn't the freak be pissed if he threw up all over him? It was tempting mind you, but Ephraim wasn't looking to get beat up. Things were actually going well. In this condition, he couldn't imagine he'd be much of a strategist, probably a good thing in Feral's case.
"You don't have to," he finally managed. "I won't be offended if you leave." Yes he would. But he wouldn't force him to stay, as if he could.
Feral simply rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in defiance though only to wince when the action caused his arm to start hurting once more. Ripping his tongue out was still certainly an option Feral would take if he ever felt like making a mess. Fortunately, today Feral was mostly bark and less bite, not feeling up to actually fighting at the moment. That wasn't to say he was completely safe to be around though and if he had to, he certainly would do some damage, but if he could avoid a fight, Feral was for once happy to just growl away at everything and everyone and hope they were wise enough to leave him be.
Surprisingly though, Ephraim actually assured him that he didn't have to, even going as far as to say he wouldn't be offended. Feral couldn't stop himself from laughing at that one though. "Yes because offending you is the worst thing I could do right now." he pointed out, nearly killing him weeks ago. He'd never forgive himself for such an atrocious crime! So... What was stopping him then? He didn't even really understand it.
"I'm... not sure I even know how to play anymore." he explained almost reluctantly, fully expecting to be mocked for it. Animals didn't play board games after all. Becoming a freak had changed him a lot more than just give him some new quirks. He wasn't the same Asher he once was. It's why he abandoned that name a long time ago. "So it'd be a huge waste of time for both of us." he excused as he sat back down, not bothering to really get comfortable this time, as if prepared for the brat to insist on him getting up again.
It seemed everything he said was met with Feral's unwavering scorn. Was he surprised? Not really. After the countless times he'd provoked the beast, it was a wonder he talked to him. Hell, it was a wonder he even helped him. Maybe he was just a closet teddy bear? Unlikely. Maybe Feral was just as lonely as he was. It didn't seem as likely, but Ephraim wouldn't discount the idea.
And just as he'd adjusted to his elder's hostility, it seemed to wither away. Hm, interesting. Was he politely refusing to play? Lowering his hand from his face, Ephraim cast him a cautious look. Was he he sick? It had been such a polite refusal - for Feral - that he was quite drawn to know what was behind it.
"Clearly you have such a busy schedule," he pointed out. Sucking in his breath, Ephraim set to moving the pieces until he had the whole board set up. Readjusting his chair so he was tucked nicely into the table, Ephraim carefully slid one of the white marble pieces forwards. He cast Feral a look before settling his hands in his lap. "I said you didn't have to play, and you don't," he reassured. "But if you intend to sit here and watch me play, I wouldn't mind reteaching you." The offer was timid as if he was wary of being shot down.
Casting the freak a swift look, he continued to speak, almost regretting his earlier offer. "What happened to your arm?" He asked instead.
A busy schedule? Totally. Figuring out how to escape took a lot of time and effort that he couldn't afford to waste on such stupid hobbies. Of course, after cooperating with Ephraim's brother, his usual plans had stopped for a bit, having been asked to be patient. Then on top of that was the whole white coats thing, so he really didn't have much time anymore. Ironic, really. He wanted to escape because he was tired of life within the Compound. Now that things were changing from it's dull routine, he was starting to wish things went back to the way they were. At least then he wasn't either feeling absolutely restless or drained like he was right now.
Ephraim once again assured him he didn't have to play, though had offered to reteach him. Feral said nothing other than a grunt, not appearing to outright refuse the offer but not accepting it either. He'd sit back and watch for a bit instead. If he happened to learn by watching, then that was good enough right? Not that he particularly cared about picking up board games again.
The boy followed his offer up with a question and Feral looked down to the bandages wrapped around his arm. "Had my blood drawn..." he answered after a few seconds of silence. Seemed awfully excessive for a little blood work, but he wasn't going to admit to freaking out during said procedure and snapping a needle off into his arm. Admitting he was afraid of needles would just be admitting even he had weaknesses. Sure, it was understandable, but for him personally, it was unacceptable.
"What happened to you?" he asked, mostly out of obligation but a bit of curiosity as well. That was a whole lot of stitches and he couldn't say he'd seen something like that in all his time here.
A grunt, that was all he got. Fine, he could work with that. Hollow eyes darted down to the board for a few moments before Ephraim moved or of Feral's own pieces. He would play by himself then, though he dared to cast fleeting glanced in Feral's direction often. What was he thinking? No, not what, 'why'? Of course not why was he thinking, that was a question too easily answered. But there was no shortage of questions when it came to Feral. The boy was something of a mystery.
Sucking in his bottom lip, he ran his tongue over one of the stitches as he thought. It was an unpleasant feeling to have right there, almost inhibiting the fear that some hairy thing was going to crawl into his mouth and down his throat.
At his confession Ephraim frowned, rapidly shooting a glance at his arm. How much blood did they draw exactly? A ice cream bucket's worth? Or perhaps how big was the needle point that he had earned himself something bigger than the small bandages Ephraim was used to. Or perhaps they just sliced his arm open and let it drip into a vial? Interesting but very unlikely. Ephraim was sure there was some story behind the bandages.
Feral's own question was only met with a shrug. "How am I supposed to know?" He wasn't exactly conscious for most of it and when he was, well he'd been screaming bloody murder. They cut him. Wasn't that much obvious? Though Feral probably wasn't looking for such a blunt obvious answer.
Nodding to his arm again he murmured, "I didn't know a big boy like you needed a bandage after a little blood test. Do they give you orange juice to?" The second question wasn't in mock, but rather curiosity. "You don't seem like the kind to drink orange juice that's all," not if the white coats were giving it out at least. Sliding forward another dark piece, he assessed the board carefully, hands settling neatly into his lap.
Feral sat back into the couch as he casually watched him mess with the board, trying to find some sort of memory of how the game worked aside from moving pieces, of course. There was checkmate involved at some point, but other than that, he was drawing blanks. Then again, the last time he played was when he was twelve? When the experiments started and he began growing into this state he was in today. Games ended when he was forced to face the cruelty of reality. For a while there, he wasn't sure he'd survive and was willing to accept the freedom of death. But obviously at some point that had changed. He didn't want to die here, wasn't going to give the white coats the satisfaction.
He wasn't exactly surprised by the answer, but wasn't really satisfied either. He supposed he'd just have to accept it as a mystery and could only hope it wasn't a treatment he'd have to receive in the near future. He frowned at the thought though decided to push that aside almost as soon as it entered his mind, not having the energy to worry over something like that.
Feral completely expected the response to the point it didn't really phase him too much. Really, if he wanted to prove how 'little' the blood test was, he could simply unwrap his arm and show him the damage left behind. But, of course, that'd just guarantee another visit to the infirmary that he was not too eager to have, more than happy to stay away from any faculty member as much as possible for the rest of the day.
His question though caused Feral to look over to where the juice box had rested on the floor, next to the TV. "I'm not..." he responded to his comment. In fact he was always rather hesitant, positive they must have drugged it. But once the headache started setting in, and the nurse assured him for the hundredth time it'd make him feel better, he'd resign to it. He could deal with being sore and shit, but he hated feeling lightheaded and weakened. Eventually it became more obvious that he was actually paying attention now, eyes following the movements of each piece closely. For a moment, it almost seemed like he'd forgotten Ephraim was even there.
The beast continued to watch him play, though it was hard to tell if he were actually understanding anything or not, as he could have simply been watching for the simple sake of having something to entertain him. Though, honestly? It wasn't all that fun to watch. But with nothing better to do, and not in any hurry to get up again after the dizzy spell getting the table had caused, he resigned to his fate and watched on, trying to see if anything would come back to him. It didn't. But he did at least seem to be getting the general gist of the game, even if he didn't quite understand the way the pieces moved just yet.
Ephraim shot Feral another cautious glance, following his gaze to the juice box. He wasn't huh? But respectfully, he said nothing returning his gaze to the board. He would move a piece and then sit there for a while as of contemplating how to trick himself. Every now and then his deep gaze would dart towards Feral as if he expected of him. He was looking for a very specific intensity, a focus and curiosity the drugs made hard to discern. Even a cat could watch a game of chess. But was he following? Was he trying to follow? Lest he show even the faintest capabilities Ephraim would be interested.
At some point, whether overcome with nausea or fatigue, Ephraim leaned away from the table with a heavy sigh. Shakily rubbing his eyes he sunk back into the comfort of the wheelchair. "Next move's yours," he grumbled a little irritably. The pain killers were beginning to wear off and what had been moments before a small burning reminder was swelling into excruciating inferno. Was he complaining? Not yet.
Eventually his entire focus was on the game, so much so that when it had abruptly stopped did he finally look elsewhere, particularly towards the boy across the table. Not out of concern, of course, at least at first, he mostly was wanting to know what the holdup was. But looking at him, he figured it out rather quick. Dude was in pain. He didn't even really have to look at him to just sense it. Those animal quirks again. Though Feral was hardly a therapy pet in that regard, not much for giving loving attention. No, if anything, he was annoyed by it, though his suggestion that it was his turn had stopped him from saying anything.
He hesitated at first, looking from Ephraim to the board, his eyes remaining there for a good minute before he finally reached out and moved a piece across the board, somehow having relearned during the game. "Checkmate..." he announces before hesitating a bit, not seeming entirely sure. "... Right?" Well he hadn't seen how a game was won before, but had been pretty sure of himself for the most part. Did it come back to him? Not entirely, obviously, but a bit had.
Feral sits back though, not particularly worried if he made a mistake or not, nor was he too concerned about continuing the game were Ephraim not feeling to well. Concerned? No! He just didn't see the point in it was all. "If you're gonna fucking blow chunks you need to find a bucket or some shit." he mutters, purposely moving a bit on the couch and out of direct fire.
