File 001: A world with monochrome [Closed/Scourge]

[-Riku-]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: 1px solid #000000; padding: 10px; background-color: #ffffff; width: 400px ,bTable] [style= color: #000000; font-family: arial; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: -4px;]THE PERFECTION OF MY FRAILTY HAS BEEN QUESTIONED & BROKEN The tunnel, so blinding white. And that wind, so hard and blistering cold. It pushes and it pulls, and yet the feet still move. It never stops, every time it wakes, it would not. The same movement-arms outstretched, blocking the power of the wind. Slight definition of power: A force in which those can surpass or dwindle under its reign. And thats exactly what happened- The same dream the same nightmare. The feet stop, the end, it had reached the final point. This elastic bubble covered the tunnels exit, a black photograph behind it. First the hand; it reached out and went through the 'bubble'. Then the head, and the shoulders, and lastly the body and feet. Slowly the figure tumbled. Pictures, images, zipped around the body. They were flashing so quickly, no detail could be shown, nether less seen. And then, there was a gasp. Eyes fluttered opened and a man was standing over the body. No not the wind tunnel body, another body. Then man was laughing, his shaggy blonde hair bobbing in an odd fashion. He was speaking, yet the words floated in empty air. "Yes." The body spoke, yet it wasn't its voice. The bodies mouth never opened. The man's eyes lightened up, the dark russet colour brighting. The body has seen this man countless of times; each in nightmares. The same nightmares. Every night it had the same nightmares. But this one was different. In the corner, a little to the right, stood a boy. His outline was clear against the black canvas, a figure standing rigid. The body could have zoomed in closer, figure out the details, but it couldn't. The boy had no face. Name that was given: No-Face. And No-Face seemed scarier than ever. Mitch woke up, his heart pounding, sweat beading up on his eyebrow. Fear was plastered clearly on his face as he tumbled out of bed. The sheets flew up like sails on a boat, a white cover. He scrambled to his feet, unlatching the dark wooden cabinet. It came open with a creak, and he looked over his shoulder to his roommate. He was still asleep. Giving out a sigh of relief, Mitch fumbled with his clothes, putting them on in a sloppy manner. He buttoned up his white shirt and slung the yellow tie around his slim neck. It looked like some drunk person tried to dress fancy for the first time. Quickly turning around, he tip toed as quietly as he could to the door; opening it a touch, before dashing out into the halls. The floor was dearly slippery, yet thankfully he was running barefoot. It felt good, thinking over stuff while running like a maniac. He felt relieved and important; a hard feeling to get or earn for that matter. He thrust his head up, eyes closed, and pretended. He pretended he wasn't an idiot. He pretended the rows of lockers were his peers clapping and cheering. He pretended the wooden doors were the teachers nodding in approval. But most of all, He pretended he could remember. Remember who put him through this mayhem and torture. Remember who destroyed his life. Quick Note: Mitch would never remember who did these things. Unless, He finds the key to the memory loss. His legs began to tire, the steam was beginning to run out. He threw himself against some lockers and exhaled. They did a quick shutter, before relaxing. Their grey surface shining in the cold hard moonlight. Mitch's hair looked lighter than usual during the night, more blue. Maybe it was because of the moon? How its glass like reflection beats down on him. Ether way, that was how it was. Mitch's eyes averted to a random lock. His heart sped up; maybe he could prove to himself that he was eligible to be smart. Reaching a thin arm over to the lock, he began fiddling with it. As if it was a toy. 1...56...24. The lock would not open. There was so many combinations, but Mitch did not know that. Why? It was something he would never know. An address to a house way down in America. 15624. Giving up, he slammed the lock down and buried his head in his knees. He wanted answers. Who was the man? Why does he appear in every dream he conjurers? And what could it possibly mean? He tried not to cry. Not tonight at least, not with his worn body. His roommate asked questions about why his shirt was always soggy when he awoke. He could never answer that question, not fully. He would shrug it off, try ignoring it. A slightly true fact: It's hard to ignore a question that keeps playing in your mind. Mitch has long tried to answer that question, try to make sense of it. Why does he cry at night? As if someone would wrap their arms around him and whisper him to sleep. Maybe he would stop the tear-shed if that happened. But it won't. He was on his own here. Awaken to a different world. A sleeping beauty that has opened its eyes for the second time. Except sleeping beauty remembered the past. Mitch woke up with no memory of anything. He raised his head heavily and blinked. There was a shape, a black shape. Standing up, he pressed his body against the menacing lockers, his breathing picking up past. He wasn't supposed to be out here at night, none of them were. Animals, they treated them like animals. Dirt, filth, grime, it wasn't fair. Mitch's hand shot up and clenched the tie till his knuckles were bone white. He began to feel dizzy, a surge of panic developed. He tried shuffling to the left, but his elbow knocked at a lock, sending a clashing sound to follow. Quick note of Mitch: He is clumsy. He froze. God no, why did he have to do that? Thoughts, horrible thoughts, ran through his head. What if I got caught? The shape, the figure, could be anyone. Anyone indeed. And it seemed like it wasn't going to be good. At least in his mind. The last time he got caught, his roommate backed him up, getting the torture himself. There was no roommate this time; no one to support him. The dumb one has done it again. Lost himself in a sea of monochrome faces. [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: 1px solid #000000; padding: 10px; background-color: #ffffff; width: 400px ,bTable]words;148 words ooc;BUTTERFLIES!credits NIK @ansrc

[.:Lab:.]

[atrb=style,background-color: #808080][atrb=border,0,true] [style= color: #808080; font-family: eurostile; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align:center;]wounds so deep they never show [div style=" color: #808080;[br"]font-family: arial; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-top: -10px; text-align: center;]they never go away

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A figured slowly padded across the moonlight, tiled floor.
His shoes clapped at each small step.
When he first started to come out in these deserted halls, that noise bothered him.
Every clap made him flinch, cower in the corners of lockers.
But yet, nobody had ever caught him out here.
For now at least.
But, hey, that was good enough for him.
The little trick he had come to realize, was that no one ever wandered these halls.
Other students were too afraid too, teachers were too lazy, and the scientists stayed as far from these passages as they could.
He was safe.
He always had been.

As the shape walked about in the halls, another figure caught his attention.
Together, the shapes of not one, but two shadows danced upon the floor.
A small smile creased his lips, not a nice one, a menacing smile.

In a loud voice, he called out,
"Hey! You! Yeah, you! Watcha doing in my halls?"
He cackled as the other kid grabbed something on his neck and dizzily swayed.
Now, Scourge hadn't always been like this.
But memories and experiences shape pasts.
And with bad experiences, comes a bad personality, just waiting to come snarling out.
A memory surfaced to the top of his mind, and with a shake of the head and the flop of black hair, he tried to rid it.
Never remember.
That was his motto.
For if you try not to remember, the pain doesn't sting as hard.
But that's a hard feat to accomplish.
Not remembering the very moments that shape you.

Two boys skipped about in a hall, quite like this one, but without the perfectly painted lockers.
They both smiled, and they both laughed the happy child laughs that come with boyhood.
The first playfully pushed the second, then the other returned the happy shove, sending the first one sprawling.
Heaving with laughter, the boy helped his friend up, and they continued their plunge into the darkness.
"STOP."
A voice boomed through the empty corridor, the boys froze in their tracks, white replaced the happy pink on their faces.
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING OUT HERE?"
A lady screamed at the top of her voice.
"GO BACK TO BED."
Rough hands clasped small, frail ones as a large lady with very red cheeks and matted gray hair led them back to a small room packed with moth-eaten cots.
The two boys glumly sat on their beds as the door was slammed shut behind them, causing a few other residents to stir.
The taller, bolder boy walked slowly and sat on the windowsill.
Moonlight flooded in and cast a glow on his light brown hair and determined blue eyes.
"They can't boss us around forever, they can't determine our lives for us."
The second boy joined his friend on the large windowsill, the light showed black hair falling into confused, gray eyes.
But he nodded what contradicted what his eyes showed.
"Yeah..," he whispered. "We gotta take charge."
The boy with the brown hair boldly stood.
"I know."
The second leaned closer in, drinking every word as if it were water.
"We gotta run away."
The gray-eyed boy was so surprised that he fell off the sill and onto another boys cot.

Tears tried to force their way out as Scourge thought of his lost friend, Koda, or as most called him, Daniel.
But he was the tough figure, the one that was joyfully tormenting the younger boy, there was no way he could be seen crying.
Walking closer and closer to the cowering boy, he shoved his face into his.
"I'm called the Hallway Patrol, if you haven't heard," he spoke, hissing the words to the other kid.
"You aren't supposed to be out at this time, are ya? You know that, doncha? Everybody knows the nighttime rules."
A thought crossed his mind, and the smile spread even further.
"Or were you trying to escape, kid? Escaping isn't tolerate here. Do you even want to know what would happen if the head scientist found out about this? Ah.. tsk, tsk."
A cackled for a second time, basking in the misery of his victim.

He normally wasn't this mean to other kids, Scourge normally was the silent one who stayed back and didn't speak a word.
But tonight he needed to experience someone else's misery, another other than his own.
This happened to be his way of doing it, and the rare joy of finding another kid more troubled than he was, was a fun thought.
For the moment being, he could be the tormentor instead of the one being tormented.
The place switch was a fun change.

Scourge leaned up against the locker across from the boy, red tips brushed cold, gray eyes.
He pretended to study his nails for a moment, letting the cowering figure take in his words.
He would probably do one of three things; run, continue to cower, or stand up.
The running and standing up would start to diminish the fun, so Scourge silently hoped for the crouching and whimpering to continue.
Another thought crossed his mind.
What if this was a newly tested kid?
Did he have some sort of power.
The studying of nails stopped at once, and Scourge took a closer look at the boy crumpled before him.

The other boy looked to around his age, probably a year or two younger.
He was tall and thin, not much unlike Scourge himself.
Though a bit more thin than most kids here, so he was probably a new arrival who hadn't enjoyed the luxury of heaps of food yet.
His shaggy, black hair just almost hid dull, blue eyes.
The other kids also wore the same uniform every student was forced to, except for the fact that his tie was different, instead of the dull black everyone was seen with, his was a faded yellow.
Now how had that gotten past the scientists..?
Oh well, did it really matter?

While still leaning against the locker, Scourge decided to raise his voice again.
"So? What do you have to say for yourself?"

words; 1023 ooc; credit NIK@ansrc

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[-Riku-]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: 1px solid #000000; padding: 10px; background-color: #ffffff; width: 400px ,bTable] [style= color: #000000; font-family: arial; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: -4px;]THE PERFECTION OF MY FRAILTY HAS BEEN QUESTIONED & BROKEN "Hey! You! Yeah, you! Watcha doing in my halls?" Mitch winced, his legs started shaking ridiculously; it was till the point that he thought they would buckle. The voice-it was so mean, so harsh. Mitch had to say something, he knew he had to. "I-I-I didn't, it wasn't, I-I mean,"The words could barely escape his lips, but they did. Translation of what he was trying to say: These aren't your halls. Mitch could feel a wave of nausea hit him. Why did he have to be such a wimp? Truth is, he was never was; he was forced to be such a thing. It was cold. No not cold, wet; dearly damp, the air filled with moisture. The trees seemed to shrivel as if it was too much. They hanged low, their leaves like fingers brushing the cracked sidewalk. Standing still, a boy lowered his head down, scanning a blank sheet. It wasn't blank, not really. Tiny print was labeled down at the bottom, but he was too tired to look. Way too tired, frankly because of his late study habits. There was a squeal of breaking tires. Some doors being slammed open. And a deistic smell of heavy perfume; apple perfume really. The boy looked up surprised, his blue eyes glittering. "Hello sir. Are you new?" It was a lady, cloaked in white; her blonde hair was pinned up behind her head. The boy didn't know how to answer, should it be a yes ma'am or a no ma'am? Either way, he nodded slowly, his eyes wandering to the black jeep that she had stepped through from. Black? Was there something else he needed to remember? Something else? Quick note of memory: There was a heavy sigh, some cups being set gently on a table. A black photograph in a white room. Wait, this is so distorted. A white picture in a black room with a cup being set down. The memory, it is fuzzy, but I do remember; I'll never forget it. I cross my heart. A parlor for a funeral. A black room with a white picture...or was it the other way around? One step forward. I need to see the picture. Another step forward. "We must go now." The white or black picture shall never be discovered. At least not while I'm in this perplexed situation of confusing images. "I'm called the Hallway Patrol, if you haven't heard. You aren't supposed to be out at this time, are ya? You know that, doncha? Everybody knows the nighttime rules." Mitch flinched, the boys hot breath against his face. "Of-of course," he said shakily, "H-hasn't everyone?" The teenager, he was smiling. Smiling as if Mitch was nothing, As if he was animal.... Was he an animal? "Or were you trying to escape, kid? Escaping isn't tolerate here. Do you even want to know what would happen if the head scientist found out about this? Ah.. tsk, tsk." Escape? Did he even know how to escape? Mitch surely had no clue-it was an obvious fact. And that laugh, it was surely the sign of total happiness. Pleasure, horrible pleasure; he was bathing in his own glory of crushing someone. And then, as if waiting for his words to sink in, he leaned against those lockers. The squeaked and strained before settling back down. Taking in a muffled breath, he said quietly, "Why should I escape? What use would I be in the real world?" Real world; what was the real world? Surely it wasn't like this hellish place. Surely it wasn't filled with shadowy figures and cross eyed villains. Maybe it was nicer. Maybe it was like sunshine and ponies. Maybe, just maybe, it was a key to some answers. Answers with no question. Taking further notice of this quite menacing character, he realized some stuff. Description at which Mitch saw this boy: Pretty tall, maybe same height. Shaggy black hair with red tips...interesting. Cold grey eyes, And wears the school uniform with a dull manner. Mitch tried not to cower too much. It might show off pathetic, if that hasn't already happened. "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" Mitch, finding some ounce of courage in him, rose his voice higher saying: "I beg your pardon, but if you want to fool with me, then prove it. Where is your badge? Prove to me you really are the hallway patrol." His tone was still shaky, but it rang loud and true. Though, saying it as a must, he didn't know where he got such a polite tongue. Never has he badmouthed, always had a soft speaking range. And to be certain, he has tried getting a dirty mouth. Tried cussing. It never worked, he was too nervous to do so. Again he took another breath saying wistfully, "Please, I-I," He paused, "Who are you?" It was strange to ask such a question. It was foreign, an alien to him. And so stupid, oh how much of an idiot he felt. He fidgeted, clutching the yellow tie harder till his knuckles were white. Though the terror had eased down, it was still there. Mitch grabbed another lock; unfortunately, it was unlocked, falling into the palm of his hand. Closing his fingers around it, he prepared to throw it at this strangers face if any harm starts showing. And to be certain that this teenager could not see this lock, he place his arm against his back. And his back, plastered to the lockers. Inhaling, he righted himself a bit, now meeting almost eye level. If anything was going to happen, he had to be ready. Memory or not. board=hallway&action=post&thread=28&page=1#ixzz1Jhi9BlOK [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: 1px solid #000000; padding: 10px; background-color: #ffffff; width: 400px ,bTable]words;A lot of words ooc;Yes! Confusing memory!If you don't understand it...good. 'Cause there is a reason why I wrote it that way.BUTTERFLIES!credits NIK @ansrc

[.:Lab:.]

[atrb=style,background-color: #808080][atrb=border,0,true] [style= color: #808080; font-family: eurostile; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align:center;]wounds so deep they never show [div style=" color: #808080;[br"]font-family: arial; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-top: -10px; text-align: center;]they never go away

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"I-I-I didn't, it wasn't, I-I mean..
The poor boy lost his trail of though, and Scourge suppressed a small, satisfied smile.
He had won.
At this minute at least.
The other kid then got a blank look on his face, his eyes looked even more vacant, if that were even possible. He turned, hair flopping in his face and his chest heaved up and down, in a panicked motion.
The smile slowly spread even further, and another cackled almost seeped out.
The moment was pure and bittersweet.
A once tormented boy became the tormenter, and every moment was like a drop of honey, savory and sweet.
Then, as if a ghost had taken hold of his soul and make a swift transformation, the cackling, confident boy morphed into something majorly different.
With eyes blinking rapidly, Scourge tried to push the memory that was resurfacing away, but once it had swallowed him whole, he was gone.
Then, he too almost began to scream, but his nails dug into his palms, trickles of red started to seep out, keeping him silent as his gray eyes flickered from their menacing steel, to a vacant, washed-out shade of silver.
Arms that were once raised in a satisfied victory then flapped dully to his side as his legs wobbled as he fell to the ground, limp like a useless rag doll.

The night was cool and damp, the moon floated in the sky above.
Two shadowy shapes ran through a dimly lit street.
They were whooping, skinny arms raised high in a warrior chant.
Running in circles, and flapping their arms like birds, the two boys grinned, wide smiles stretching their faces.
In the shorter one's hand lay a plastic container of some sort, and he was waving it around like a flag of victory.
They danced about in the shadows of the small street light, and laughed for the longest time.
Then, the first nodded to the second, and the second's smile grew larger.
They fell to the ground, and sat criss-crossed, their skinny knees bumping against each other.
The brown-haired boy slowly opened the lid on the container, doing it in a mocking, polite way.
He then raised his fist into the air and let out a loud whoop.
"Tonight we have proved ourselves!" he yelled.
The second, black-haired one let out a joyous laugh and too raised his fist.
"We are survivors!" he chanted in return.
Then, they both dug their hands into the small, foil shape.
Hand fulls of lukewarm noodles were pulled out and shoved into wide mouths.
Their dirt covered faces never dropped that playful smile.
After the container had literally been licked clean, the two young boys tossed it to the side and lay back.
A few small words were tossed back and fourth, until eyelids were closed, ready to drift off to sleep.
"Hey, Scourge, we'll always be best friends, right?"
"No," was the reply, making the first boy sit up, a puzzled look on his face.
Scourge then smiled, and laughed.
"We'll always be brother, Koda. Not friends."
Koda lay back down, laughing.
"'Course. I knew that."
The two smiled, then closed their mouths and let sleep take them.
The crickets chirped their goodnight song, and the shattered lamp continued to flicker on.



Trickles of sweat were hidden by flaps of hair, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his spic, black pants Scourge regained his fierce posture and pretended that nothing had happened.
He was his regular, cruel self.
Nothing like that young, prancing boy his mind reminded him that he once was.
That boy was gone, he had left on that fearful night, and in his place swooped in the teenage boy that stuck on a twisted smile at this moment.
No longer did a fun-loving kid live inside, a boy who was forced to mature much faster than anyone should had taken his place.
This was the true Scourge, this was the person that should have always lived inside.

"Why should I escape? What use would I be in the real world?"

Stooping down to meet the boy's eyes, Scourge hissed quietly.
“Exactly, you're nothing. We are all nothing. Deal with it.”
He rubbed his hands together, in a 'let's get started!' sort of action.

”"I beg your pardon, but if you want to fool with me, then prove it. Where is your badge? Prove to me you really are the hallway patrol.”

Casually, Scourge lounged back to his locker, staring again at his chipped nails.
This wasn't the first time he had played the 'hallway patrol' act, but this was the first time a badge had been asked to be shown.
This kid was standing up for himself.
The game just got even more run, and all the more risky.
A smaller, wiser smile crossed his lips.

“Well, you see here kid, who wears a badge anymore? It makes us look like frickin police men, and then, why should we get badges, when even the scientists themselves don't have them. Eh? I just do my duty, take charge. And no one ever dares to say a word,” he paused, scooting again closer to the boy, who had managed to raise his voice above that dull whisper.
“Or else..”
He cackled again and clapped his hands, just for the fun of startling the poor kid.

”Please, I-I.. Who are you?”

In a gruffer voice, Scourge replied with the obviously vague answer.
“I told you, I am hallway patrol. The real question would be this, my young boy, who are you?”
The ironic part of this all, would be the fact that Scourge appeared to be about the age of the kid, maybe a tad older. But even being just a few simple months greater in age gave Scourge the feeling as if he were way older, and of course, higher in ranking.

Then, the boy grabbed something, but then that something disappeared from site, and so Scourge shrugged it off as a trick of the moonlight.
The stranger was clearly in a panicked mode, with the huffing and wild look in his eye.
Could this night possibly get any more fun?

words; 1027 ooc; credit NIK@ansrc

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: 1px solid #000000; padding: 10px; background-color: #ffffff; width: 400px ,bTable] [style= color: #000000; font-family: arial; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: -4px;]THE PERFECTION OF MY FRAILTY HAS BEEN QUESTIONED & BROKEN Another cackle. Mitch pulled back, his sweaty hair flopping in strands over his eyes. And somehow, it seemed to be clear that he was losing this internal struggle. Should he run? Should he fight? Or should he just stay here and take the awful blows? His mind was vacant for a decision. But then, something happened. The kid, he began to change. Instead of those fierce metal like grey eyes, they began to soften, melt. A surge of energy corrupted inside of Mitch, like a candle being lit for the first time in ages. He could feel it swell inside of him, slosh and turn in every nook and cranny. He stood straighter, his composure regaining its former strength. But then the kid, he seemed to do the same thing. The light returned to his eyes and that stony face came into play. A cold shiver ran through Mitch's back, it was as if this kid ripped away his confidence; shredding it, piece by piece. “Exactly, you're nothing. We are all nothing. Deal with it.” The kid bent down, a flood of embarrassment washed over Mitch. He was bending over him, as if he was wasn't his height at all. A hidden spark flashed inside of him, like a distant smell of burnt wood getting stronger. He pushed his slack body higher, until he himself towered over the boys bent body. The boy leaned back on the lockers, studying his fingers casually, as if he has done this all before. And he smiled, smiled like a damn wise guy. “Well, you see here kid, who wears a badge anymore? It makes us look like frickin police men, and then, why should we get badges, when even the scientists themselves don't have them. Eh? I just do my duty, take charge. And no one ever dares to say a word, Or else..” Alright, two can play this game. The clap surely startled him, but he tried not to let it show. Smiling weakly, he thrust his chin forward. "Uh-hm, so tell me, hall-way patrol, Why haven't I seen you before? Surely you have been here longer than I have, and I wander these halls endlessly," He pointed out a finger, " So don't try to lie to me, you aren't the hallway patrol." Feeling satisfied, he clenched the lock tighter. Run run, faster faster. Wait, break break. Dust flying up everywhere, a shroud against his back. A whistle, its shrill voice speaks against his ears. "Go back, go back." Where is back? I don't understand. "Go back, go back." A pathetic whine, "I want to go home." The whistle chuckles. A high pitched laugh. "Go back, go back." He spins around, his toes at a cliffs edge. White, the sky is white. "GO BACK, GO BACK." "I can't go back." A pause, the whistle thinks. "Go back, go back." A desperate turn of the head. "Who are you whistle?" A sigh, the whistle blows out a blasting note. "The question is...who are you? Go back, go back." “I told you, I am hallway patrol. The real question would be this, my young boy, who are you?” Awkward question. Mitch didn't even know himself who he was. He opened up his mouth as if to respond but shut it quickly. What should he say? What should he do? Feeling another swerve of nausea hit him, his grip loss its bound on the lock. It dropped down lifelessly, clattering on the cracked tile floor. Mitch froze, his heart thumped franticly against his chest. So much for an easy escape. He gulped, bending down and grabbing the lock uneasily. "Ah whoops, guess it uh...fell?" He voice became that same rushed tone. He turned around as if to put the lock back in its place, only to slip it into his sleeve. A slight sigh escaped his thin lips, his long fingers pretending to work at a locker. "I don't know who I am whistle." Another ear bleeding laugh. "Of course you don't, so you must go back." "Why not forward?" "Who is your mother?" A pause, he scrunched up his face. His nose wrinkled and his cheeks burned. He tied, he tried so hard. "I don't know." "Exactly, so go back." A defiant stomp, "I want to go forward." The whistle blew hard, its metal surface scorching hot. "You can't go forward, YOU CAN'T." "Why not?" The whistle huffed and puffed. "Welcome to your mind. Look at what you have done. Go back, go back." He looked around. White, pure white. And at the end of this all sat a black picture. Or was it a white picture? The whistle laughed again. "Goodbye. Please go back, go back, go back." The whistle faded, and he stood there all alone with a black picture. Mitch paused, turning back to the kid. "What's your name?" Bad timing, but it seemed like a good chance. Might as well be innocent. [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: 1px solid #000000; padding: 10px; background-color: #ffffff; width: 400px ,bTable]words; A lot of words ooc; Sorry for a shorter post, my head has been hurtingcredits NIK @ansrc

[.:Lab:.]

[atrb=style,background-color: #808080][atrb=border,0,true] [style= color: #808080; font-family: eurostile; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align:center;]wounds so deep they never show [div style=" color: #808080;[br"]font-family: arial; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-top: -10px; text-align: center;]they never go away

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Scourge pushed a long flop of red-dyed hair out of his cold eyes.
This game was pure amusing.
And this game was getting all the more interesting.

"Uh-hm, so tell me, hall-way patrol, Why haven't I seen you before? Surely you have been here longer than I have, and I wander these halls endlessly. So don't try to lie to me, you aren't the hallway patrol."

The kid pointed his finger at Scourge, almost accusingly.
Like, he did it.
It wasn't me.
Don't blame me, for I am innocent.

Eyes sparking with pure vengeance, the corners of Scourge's mouth rose up to form yet again another twisted smile.
He had found a lost kid.
Finally.
Lost kids were the kind who didn't know who they are or what they are meant to do, and so they wander.
They avoid direct questions, and their confidence levels are very low, easy prey.
They don't know what to do, or who they even are.
They are no more than failed experiments sent to the halls to fend for themselves.
The scientists had no pity.
And even though there were very few lost kids here, Scourge had found one.
It was time to play, and he had the upper hand.

"Ah, but you see, kid," Scourge said, in a softer but chilling voice. "These halls are mighty big, and if you have wandered them for some time as you claim, then you would have learned that one person cannot cover them all at once."

He smirked, quite sure that he had outsmarted the boy once again.

"I was merely scouring other parts of this school, one person can't be everywhere at once, now can they?"

He flashed his teeth again.
Something then clanked to the ground, the metallic crash rang through the empty passageways.
The other kid looked panicked at the object fell from his grasp.
He hurriedly picked it up, shoving it into his sleeve.
What an odd place to store a valuable.
What importance did it have?

"Ah whoops, guess it uh...fell?"

Scourge scratched his chin absentmindedly, a very thin layer of stubble was beginning to form.

"And what would it be? Eh? You aren't leaving something out, right? That wouldn't be smart."

There was something way off about the kid, something was very wrong.
Even though he may have been a bad experiment, they normally weren't this.. abnormal.
The way he couldn't hold his balance, the way he fiddled with the locker, even though it clearly wasn't his confused Scourge.
But most of all, that blank look his eyes would receive, like they were flicking from here and some other strange land.
It was all very weird.
What did it mean?

""What's your name?"

Irritated, Scourge scanned the boy for the third or fourth time.
Why should he give up his name when the other wouldn't?

"If I say mine, then you must say yours. Or else I could get you into much more trouble than you are in now, don't doubt that promise, kid. And you're already in a big heap of trouble."

Then, catching Scourge off guard, a roll of nostalgia swept through him, bringing back yet another unwanted memory.

It was night, the moons rays swooped through a cracked window and spilled out over a raw, wooden floor.
The same two boys lay next to each other on separate cots, surrounded by dozens of sleeping boys.
The brown haired kid spoke first, his voice drowsy and a tad slurred, but it still held amounts of wisdom a kid his age wouldn't normally posses.
"Hey, Jayden, it may be sudden, but I don't think your name fits you. To me, you don't seem like a Jadyen, and a name should fit it's owner, right?"
The boy beside his rolled over and propped himself up upon his elbow, eyes keen with interest.
"Yes, a name should fit the one it is given to, so what do you propose?"
The first boy smiled.
"You need a new name then."
Jayden brushed the hair from his eager eyes.
"Then name away, Daniel."
Daniel pondered a bit, then seemed to come to a conclusion.
"Well, you need something different, cool sounding! Yet something solemn, something that fits your personality beyond any doubt."
Jayden found himself nodding to the boys words.
"So..?"
Daniel's voice had become more eager, and he spoke again to his friend.
"So, I think a more appropriate name would be Scourge," he stated matter-of-factly. "See, it has a nice ring to it, and yet it very much matches you. Scourge means like, pain or injury. You're past is filled with that."
Jayden nodded throughly.
"Then my name shall be Scourge. But, hey, Daniel, I don't think your name fits you either."
Both boys suppressed smiles.
"So.. Scourge, what do you propose for my new name?"
With pause for thought, Scourge answered right away.
"Koda."
Daniel grinned.
"Any particular reasoning behind that?"
With a shake of his head Scourge said, "Naw, it just sounds cool."
"I thought so," replied Koda.


Eyes stinging, body swaying, Scourge poised himself again as the one in charge.
Nothing had happened.
"M-My name is J-"
Reeling with the words he almost spit out, Scourge kicked a locker behind him.
Jayden!
What was he thinking?
Why in the world would he use that name again?
It meant nothing anymore.
Spitting with rage, he came to the conclusion that the memory had managed to cause that mistake.
Nothing more.
And he could easily recover from it.

"Sorry. My name is Scourge. Now, give me yours, if you know what is good for you."

Scourge left that last bit hanging, an obvious threat, one he very much enjoyed spooning out.
Smoothing his ruffled school uniform, he once again leaned against the locker.
The very one he had angrily kicked moments before

words; 972 ooc; Darn, didn't make 1000. credit NIK@ansrc

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