New Tricks

    Downtime had offered Flint the chance he needed to escape the infirmary. His entire morning had been one scheduled experiment after another. A few experiments had been 'harmless' , testing how long he could hold his breath underwater, or how long he could consciously survive in a chamber without oxygen. Of course neither feat was completely harmless, but his field generation had appeared to please the scientists, hopefully gave them the results they were looking for.

    The latter half of his morning however, had been spent on the operating table. No one he knew liked to be poked and prodded, except maybe Ephraim, and following the treatment Flint had been unable to stomach anything they'd fed him. But because he didn't cause trouble and because he recovered a lot faster than most, the doctors had let him totter out of the infirmary to spend his downtime in the entertainment room.

    Usually, the young man spent his time doing more productive things like working out or lifting weights, this much was evident by the prominent chiseled features he bore. But Flint was hardly one to turn down a game or two when he was too sick to handle anything else. 

    Swathed in bandages that laced patterns across his chest, and aided to the door by a rather kind looking nurse, Flint made it to the entertainment room without falling to pieces. Every part of him from the waist up burned. He could still feel the pricking of the needles and the scalpels digging into his flesh. The pain meds they put him on only made him dizzy. Gripping the door in a vice-like grip, the boy took a deep breath as he fought back a wave of nausea.

    Despite his lack of shirt -the doctors wouldn't allow him to move his arms as much-, Flint had cleaned up before coming to the West Wing. The familiar blue spectacles perched along the bridge of his nose though he was frequently adjusting them. He'd abandoned his infirmary frock for a proper pair of jeans and ditched his slippers for a worn pair of runners. His hair had been styled meticulously until not a single hair was out of place. If there was one thing Flint enjoyed, it was a clean and proper look.

    Tossing a quick glance about the room, Flint found many faces he recognized, and many who weren't as familiar. He spotted Ephraim alone at a small table. The other boy was perched awkwardly over a chess board, one of the menagerie cats tucked beneath his arm as he moved his pawn before turning the board and planning his next move. A hint of relief crept into Flint's features. For once his brother wasn't getting himself in trouble. In fact as he cast another look around the room, he was pleased to see most people were getting along.

    Limping from the doorway, the man's face was set in a determined grimace. Each step sent a fresh wave of pain ricocheting through his core and the heavy collar he bore only weighed him down. While they'd put him under for his tests, the collar had been briefly removed. Flint wasn't really a threat for the most part. He'd been blessed with some lenience while he'd been in the infirmary, for the first few hours upon waking up, he hadn't had to wear the collar at all. But now it was back and he almost struggled beneath its weight. How pathetict.

    Flint made for the closest chair he could find, finding himself close to another freak. He recognized the boy only because they shared the same ward, and, well after living here for several years, the compound wasn't that big anymore. "Mind if I take a seat?" He asked Feral, but he was already sitting down. His legs buckled beneath him and he gripped the armrests for support, allowing a relieved sigh as he was properly situated in the chair. His hands shook in his lap and one of his legs appeared to be shaking on its own accord. Although each time he shot it a glare or paid it any attention, it would stop just enough for him to doubt it had ever been in motion.

    If he'd known of Feral's sensitive nose, the man may have been more considerate in sitting elsewhere. The Shield was not particularly callous, but going out of his way for someone else's comfort, well, let's just say today he didn't feel like it. As far as he was concerned, he didn't deserve special treatment, he wasn't anyone special. But Feral hadn't just dragged himself off of an operating table, so if he had a problem, he could find somewhere else to sit.

    But the Shield was not aggressive by nature. He sought to avoid conflict and those who caused it. Upon sitting, he offered Feral a nod of greeting and thanks before he turned to watch the others instead. As seconds passed, the boy seemed more intent on staring at his fingers than anything else. Occasionally a faint glow would surround his fingers, or his collar would beep before falling silent. Each time Flint became rigid, waiting uneasily, but nothing happened. He had yet to push his limits with his ability, and he still didn't fully comprehend it. Sometimes he attempted little things and the collar went off, other times he created entire forcefields and though he heard the collar beeping, nothing appeared to happen.

    He'd heard some of the faculty talking when he was under. He hadn't quite been able to make sense of their words until now. The snippets and phrases he'd pieced together made it seem as if they questioned the collar's effectiveness. Was it prohibiting his ability or was it only making it stronger. Flint had already reasoned this would only be possible if the fields were generated by some electricity. Already he was deep in thought when Feral spoke.

"Hmm?" The boy grunted in thought, brows knitting together as he adjusted his spectacles. "Who knows, I don't really remember." Tossing the boy a long glance, Flint studied Feral carefully as if seeing the boy for the first time. He studied everything from his appearance to the way he held himself, decoding, and observing. After a few moments, he extended a shaky hand. "I don't believe we've officially met," he began, polite as always. "I'm Flint." He never introduced himself as 'The Shield'. In fact, the alias had been rather unexpected and was something one of the other patients had started. To him it was more of a joke really. He didn't really care what people called him, but Flint always worked just fine.

    It didn't take a genius to see that Feral wasn't the most sociable creature on the planet. In fact, Flint was pretty sure the guy didn't want him anywhere near. Well, all he had to do was ask, and hope there was another available seat nearby. If he was bodily able and Feral asked him to move, the other patient would likely comply to avoid conflict.

    When the hand gesture was ignored, Flint broke his stare casting a careful glance a this rejected hand, before studying Feral more intently now, as if he'd learned something knew. "Feral, huh?" He lowered his hand until it rested upon his knee. For a moment, his leg stopped shaking before it was at it again. He really couldn't control it and by now he'd taken to leaning his weight on it until only he could feel it seizing beneath his grip. Sometimes he thought survival on the operating table was the easy part, surviving afterwards was what killed most people.

"You like spending your down time in a room full of people?" He arched a brow, but his stare never left. It was always searching, decoding, trying to unsolve this interesting puzzle. Flint was nothing like Michelle who solved to manipulate, he only wanted to know how things worked, how people worked. It was all a great mystery to him. Somehow Feral didn't strike him as the type to really like people, or anything. The Shield rested his cheek against a fist, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he studied Feral.

    Of course the boy would answer with a negative, he looked just as happy as Flint did every time they dragged him into the infirmary for check ups. Being poked and prodded all around was bound to make anyone a tad bit grumpy, especially when you were still sore and tender. But when Feral began to offer more information then Flint had asked for, the boy's eyes narrowed.

    I did not ask why you were here. I asked if you liked spending time around people. The hostile remark almost slipped out before he studied Feral once more. The other boy was admittedly stronger than him, if not only because Flint was in no condition to do much of anything. Upset Feral, and the other boy just might break every bone in his body. Instead the Shield huffed unhappily, looking elsewhere. People always ruined his own observations by speaking about themselves. They became less of a mystery and therefore, less interesting.

    So instead, Flint fell silent allowing his gaze to drift the room once more. He doubted Feral would be much of a talker either so he wasn' t in a rush to continue their conversation. His gaze skipped passed his brother playing with the cat, and another one of the patients who decided it was a good idea to throw their controller in a massive rage quit. It's just a game. He thought with a sigh, watching the commotion unfold.

    Turning back to Feral, Flint rolled his shoulders, slowly sitting up. He tugged at the collar until he could just hook his finger beneath it. His collar wasn't as tight as Feral's, but he was admittedly less of a threat. There was no doubt the doctors would tighten it later, but for now the boy pulled it to the side, easing his discomfort.

    "Do you play?" He asked, nodding in the direction of one of the many consoles. At one point in his life, he'd practically been a game addict, spending every hour of his own time playing video games. But with the arrival of his supernatural ability, and his constant need to work out, the boy spend less and less time in front of the TV screens. Not only that but once he figured out how the games themselves worked, they were less enjoyable unless you had someone to play with.

    Flint watched the other boy yawn, his eyes glinting as he spotted his teeth. There was something in his expression akin to admiration for the other boy, but it was gone as he began to speak again. Casting a glance at his shaking fingers, Flint wasn't sure he'd even be able to handle a control, but that didn't keep him from making his offer. "I can get us a turn if you wanna play me, or we could get a board game going or something."

    Watching people was interesting, but Flint could do that at any time, during meals, during class, during his checkups. Socializing -not that he was all that fond of it- and spending quality time with the others wasn't something he had the pleasure of doing whenever he wanted. He was making an effort with Feral more so because he wished for someone to do something with. A chess game was always interesting  and it often gave hints and clues as to how each player thought and worked.

    But Flint waited for Feral's refusal of 'no thanks' or whatever the boy might say. He didn't look to be here for the social part after all, he'd already made his intentions known. But as fellow 'freaks', Flint found there was some importance and significance in them getting to know one another. They didn't have to be best friends, he wasn't suggesting that, but playing a game or two couldn't hurt right?

    Feral was like one of the compound dogs, Flint reflected. One of the fluffy, less intelligent ones, not the mean trackers the guards bore. Although by no means was Flint claiming Feral as unintelligent. The man lived under the constant conspiracy that all stupidity could be feigned. To be stupid and to act stupid were completely different. But someone could play dumb and fool someone wise was by far more intelligent. But, Feral reminded him nonetheless of one of the menagerie dogs. He kept this thought to himself.

    At the blatant rejection, Flint sighed pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Okay, whatever," He grumbled. Was he pouting? Maybe a little. So instead the boy ignored Feral, focusing instead on his fingertips. The shield fell into a deep and thoughtful silence, one that was only broken by the occasional beeping of his collar. Honestly, Flint thought it had a defect. Sometimes when he played around with his ability the collar would beep and then nothing would happen. Though sometimes it wouldn't beep and he would suddenly receive a rude shock.

    At first glance it seemed Flint was doing nothing, well, nothing but staring at his crotch perhaps. But the boy's gaze was fixed intently on his fingers. It was not visible at first, but he could feel it, the electric membrane that pulsed like a shield beneath the surface of his skin. He always imagined it being a blue, aura like substance, but the few times he'd seen it, it had been translucent.

    After moments of his own silence, a faint glow began to appear. It came in shimmering patches on the boy's arms and shoulders slowly creeping towards his finger tips and spreading further up his neck. The shock collar began beeping frantically but before Flint could do much, the sound whirred slowly as it died and the collar's light went out.
Flint swore, feeling around the collar for any sign of life. Had he broken it? There was no relief in doing so. The guards were going to kill him.

[ O.C.C: He'd be a little ankle biter, but nontheless a  tiny terror  lol ]


    Flint found himself six feet deep in full panic mode. He wasn't even sure what he'd done or how, how had he broken the shock collar. Or perhaps it wasn't broken, it just needed to be rebooted? But this later disaster had confirmed one thing, the small shields he made had to be made up of some electromagnetic force, something that would either set off, or prohibit the collar from doing its job. Flint was all for finding out how things worked, but he wasn't all for getting his ass kicked.

    "I don't know! What do I do?" He shot Feral a wide eyed look as if the other boy would know. Like any other freak, Flint feared the collar more than anything else. Going to the guards in honesty would probably get him a nasty punishment, but if he prolonged telling them, surely he'd be in even more trouble. There was no way he was getting out of this situation unscathed.

    He had no doubt the faculty would no his collar stopped working. How could they not? Already the youth was taking slow deep breaths, trying to prepare himself for whatever they might do when they came into the entertainment room. Would they make him go through shock therapy? Force him to undergo more experiments? Or would they just beat him and be done with it, or handicap him mentally until he could no longer concentrate enough to manipulate the shield.