A.] MORNINGSTAR & ILL ADVISED SELF SURGERY; cw: self-harm in the trying to operate on yourself way, blood, cringey medical/body horror things

[ still within Morningstar’s compound, getting set up and ready to embark on his new life in New Amsterdam, the first place Thomas goes is finding the bathrooms, and finding a mirror to inspect the raised scar he can feel on the back of his neck. So much of this is familiar, in a horrible, nightmarish way, and Thomas’ stomach turns with a sickness, knowing he’s been out for a while, knowing people did things to him while he was. Again. again. The feeling of violation has sunken deep into his skin, and there’s a frayed, stressed panic that’s starting to churn up dust and storms inside Thomas’ head.

Not this again. Please, god, not again.

The teenager has his head bent to the side and a sharp piece of glass clutched between his fingertips, pressing a corner down at the light, still new and pink healing skin where the scar is. Pressing down with a grimace as he starts to drag along the line, Thomas is carefully reopening the surgical cut at the back of his neck. Someone enters the community bathroom behind him, and after a second of failing to get a good look inside his own wound (it’s on the BACK of your HEAD, tommy, come on), he calls out to the stranger. ]

How steady are your hands? I need help checking something. [ just. Don’t mind him pulling out a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, pressing a stack of them against the bloody cut at the back of his neck. ] I know it’s gross, but I need you to dig into this cut and see if you can pull anything out. Wires, the chip, whatever.

[ if he’s lucky, it was a shallow operation, and maybe it can just be yoinked out. Granted, thomas knows this is a stupid way to do this. He knows, if it’s embedded, if it’s connected with his tissue, nerve endings, fused in tight, it could seriously screw up his brain trying to pull this thing out without real medical expertise. But he doesn’t have a medical expert he trusts right now, and his mind is going around and around in restless, panicking circles. this thing needs to go, before he starts trying to dig his fingers under his skin himself.

But he remembers WICKED, and he remembers the horrific masks they used to put these things in and take them out. He remembers how his mind was overridden, possessed, and he nearly killed Minho when the scientist they tracked down tried to start the operation. The raw fear (anger, disgust, bitterness, indignation) of knowing someone put something new and uninvited in his head, again, rises up like nausea in his gut, crawling up his throat, making him twitch and writhe inside his skin, wanting it out out out.

This would normally be the time Minho or Newt stepped in to say ‘don’t do that, you dumb shank’, but they aren’t here. Newt… Newt will never be anywhere with him again, and Thomas shuts his eyes tight, nose wrinkling and lips curling in a painful twist. Newt.

Shaking it from his mind, thomas turns his back to the new stranger, head bowed, and with the stretch of his neck and dip of his shirt collar at his back, the person there can see the top half of a tattoo that starts just under the base of the kid’s neck at his back, letters printed in bold black:

PROPERTY OF WICKED
GROUP A, SUBJECT A2
There’s more to it, a line or two more of text, but the rest is concealed by his shirt, and Thomas doesn’t give much time to discuss it. ]

And if I start trying to murder you… Sorry.

B.] FIATO; cw: violence, teenagers and violence

[ thomas didn’t want to be up here. He was trying to ask someone for directions, for information, and apparently he either got too annoying with his questions, or too sarcastic with his replies. Honestly, it’s probably the latter. He just has a talent for pissing people off when they’re willing and able to inflict bodily harm on him. A mystery to us all.

Next thing he knows, a disgruntled bar tender is dragging thomas off the bar stool he’d been perched on while conducting his interrogation, and towards the arena, shoving him into the center of the crowd where a man at least a decade older and possessing about twice the muscle mass as him grins wolfishly, stalking towards him. Cool. cool cool cool. ]

What, this is your idea of a good time? Watching a grown man beat up on a kid? [ Thomas asks the jeering crowd surrounding the ring, ignoring the opponent stalking towards him, until he’s within striking distance and charging him. A quick step forward and to the side, and Thomas snaps out a sharp jab, punching the brick wall of a man directly in the throat, causing him to stumble back, coughing and choking. And Thomas, well, the mild, exasperated look he was wearing before is gone, now something almost sneering, angry, more murderous than any teenager has a right to look. ]

Try a less pissed off kid.

C.] NETWORK; un: thomas.edison cw: possible for pandemics, global disaster, mass human extinction

it’s almost funny how the planet seems to figure out a way to kill us off eventually, no matter what universe it is
like it knows humans are trouble
where i’m from it was solar flares, then a pandemic to take out most everyone left
panic turned everyone against each other and humans took care of the rest
i guess mother nature knows what shes doing

here, its climate change
but the cities still look the same, whether its the planet or just more of us we’re fighting
high walls, strict rules, rationed resources, and everyone starts forgetting what the world looks like outside the cities
what humanity looked like, before people got desperate

anyway heres hoping this place does better than the last one i saw like this
really wouldn't mind catching a break some time soon



just wondering - has anyone seen what’s beyond the walls?

D.] WILDCARD;

[[ hit me with ya best shot, fire awaaaay ]]