Z kept their eyes on the cards on the floor while Wolfie spoke. They’d never spoken to this person before and yet they seemed speak confidently enough about wherever this was to make assumptions. His words, however, seemed to harbor some sort of resentment. ‘Extra something’, ‘designed on purpose’ - and was that his tone changing?
Maybe Z was over-analyzing, but the jealousy of a stranger was always a semi-useful tool. “Soldiers?” Z asked, at this point in disbelief. “Soldiers are inherently fucked up shit. And if they wanted to make us soldiers, wouldn’t they have taken us at a younger age? Wouldn’t we all have our powers be equally accessible?
They weren’t about to let on that the cards thing was an accident. Not when it seemed like Wolfie was nervous about their “abilities” that they could control.
“You mean it’d be better to brainwash us when we’re kids, all young and impressionable?” he says, laughing in spite of himself. “Maybe, but I don’t understand what fire powers are meant for other than destruction. I’ll eat a sock if these scientists use my genes to help burn victims or some other altruistic shit that captain america would beat his meat to. Aren’t you a little suspicious of what we’re being used for? I’m starting to worry getting burned too many times on the outside turned me into a conspirator.”
He sighs. “But, uh, I’m doing this crazy thing lately where I’m trying to get along with people,” he adds. “It involves being less cynical so you all won’t think I wear a tinfoil nightcap to sleep.”
❝Twenty-four? That’s a weird number. 32 would be more… hypothetically accurate; two faulty batches before us❞ Joon Sung tilted his head, unaffected by the harsh words. When had anyone ever been nice right off the bat with him? Rejection after rejection, both laboral and social, had taught him that reacting the same way would do nothing to help him. ❝Also… Yeah, I mean, they did knock me out to bring me here but, I mean, eventually I would’ve come willingly.❞
Joon Sung only smiled at him, not really in the mood for any other reaction. Did he think the guy was a fatalist? Yes. Would he normally stand up and make a scene? Damn straight. Was he going to let this boy destroy his newfound happiness? Hell no. This crazy, unbelievable turn of events was the opportunity he had sought after ever since he could walk, the chance to leave a mark in the world and be remembered for eternity. Was he going to achieve it on stage? Probably not, at least not for now, but maybe if he behaved, if he proved himself to the initiative, they would let him continue with his life on the outside. He could be like Iron Man: famous and known both in and out of his super-suit.
❝I think it’s supposed to placate punks like you, not me❞ Joon Sung shrugged, looking around one more time, his eyes still not believing how lucky he was. ❝We could be locked up inside a government’s cell inside some unregistered building in the middle of the dessert or inside some unremarkable mountain. I think we got lucky with all this, at least they try to play nice, unlike most governments in movies and books.❞ He admitted, making it apparent that he had been thinking about their circumstances more than he let on. And he had, ever since he had opened his eyes and found himself not cuffed to a hospital bed inside a laboratory, Joon Sung had thanked the heavens over and over for their mercy.
❝Why wouldn’t they get anything in return? Is not like we can just… Waltz out of here with powers that we can’t control. I mean… We need them as much as they want us❞ He shook his head, intertwining his fingers and resting his chin on top of them. Right now, he didn’t feel like a threat, but the way in which the man from earlier had referred to their powers… Well, Joon Sung assumed it wouldn’t be long before he hurt someone by accident. ❝Plus… I wouldn’t tell the world if I got out, it would just push me into a completely different spotlight from the one I like.❞
He’s helpless, as though he’s on a punctured, rubber lifeboat with nothing to plug the holes. But instead of air wheezing from the raft -- escaping through desperate, trembling fingers -- it’s hostility. Wolfie can’t hold it back, nor does he see the point in trying because his raft is doomed to sink no matter what.
“The numbers aren’t the fucking point,” he says, jaw tightening. “You feel clever now, don’tcha? Don’t play dumb ‘cause I see right through your Chiclet-looking smirk, pretty boy. And you know what else? Don’t waste your breath ignoring my point and picking apart my words to try one-upping me. It’s not much of an accomplishment.”
Letting out the anger makes him feel lighter. His jaw loosens, his breathing deepens, and the hyper-awareness of every minute, irritating detail surrounding him softens into a blur. There was a time where he believed everyone felt this way, except they knew the secrets of keeping themselves in-check. But now, he’s always asking himself: “Is this a condition? Am I just that much of a jackass? Am I just that broken?”
Wolfie takes another deep breath.
His words are anything but steady.
“Lucky? Okay now that...that is the reverse psychology shit I’m talking about,” he says, pointing at Joon Sung. “If I weren’t trying to be nice, I’d...I’d...”
And another deep breath.
And another bout of strained, exasperated words.
“Think about it this way: you’ve got mass-produced and free range chickens,” he says. “Both of them will end up in the slaughter, but the free range kind have the illusion of happiness. That’s the situation we’re in: surrounded by pretty scenery and fancy feed, but are gonna end up eaten if we don’t plan an escape.”
Legs stretched out along the living room sectional while they shuffled a deck of cards, Z couldn’t keep their mind from racing. They were hesitant to come here, hesitant to leave their life behind - their friends - but it didn’t seem like a choice.
While they’d been briefed and told they could ask for anything that they wanted, they were pretty sure asking for weed within the first week would be frowned upon. Unfortunately for Z, that meant that social interactions were going to be rough around the edges. Though they weren’t generally psyched to meet new people, being high made it easier to play nice.
Looking down at their hands, they let out a small “Oh, shit.” At some point while they were shuffling, the cards required less manual effort and seemed to shuffle themselves. Of course, once they noticed, the deck fell to the ground.
“Look at you freestyling,” he says. “You don’t need anything to get your powers going, huh?” His normally confident stroll is weighed down by his dirty little secret, a mark of dependency on the scientists holding him hostage: two cigarette lighters. Without them as a flame source, he’s powerless and forced onto the sidelines. He’s not too happy having on two tacky, baby pink and flamingo-patterned lighters as his lifeline, either.
“It’s starting to look like there’s two kinds of powers,” he says. “Ones that need a little extra something to get started and ones who don’t need anything at all. Think they designed us that way on purpose?” Referring to his own existence so detached and clinically makes his voice lower with disdain. In his mind, the program further strips their identities with each passing day as though the scientists behind it all couldn’t wait for a row of sixteen, perfectly blank slates.
They aren’t born and raised.
They’re designed, planned, calculated, controlled, and groomed.
And currently, some of them have an advantage of others.
“Almost makes me hope we’ll end up a team of soldiers for the military,” he adds. “And not some fucked up shit like Battle Royale.”
Her lips stretch into a smile, reassured by his words. “ But I’m sure you do too, and here I am complaining about myself like I’m the only one having issues. ” It’s always been a niggling feeling, that she gained more from the familial bonds she had with him and the racers, that they gave her a place where she truly felt love, and she could never express just how much that meant to her.
Indebted, some would name it. But they’ve never made her feel like she owed them, or that it was anything other than genuine. They’d always done more for her than she felt she could give back to them, because how do you repay those who take you in with no reservations, no strings attached?
She makes a face at him, sticking her tongue out, when he calls her motormouth, but laughs immediately after. It was so easy to fall back into their normal pattern, despite the havoc surrounding them.
“ Oh, wow, should I leave you alone then? ” The opportunity to turn the tables on him presents itself, and she takes it. But it is always in jest, words like this have no real meaning, because where one goes the other will as well. “ Wouldn’t want your enemy to have an advantage, huh? ”
They’re so similar in certain ways, and she can’t help the wry smile that twists her lips. “ I thought about that too, but the parents of the year so graciously clued me in about the reach this organization apparently has. As smart as we are, we still wouldn’t be able to get far … ” ‘ At this point. ’ The unspoken words hover between them, but she hopes that they’re connected enough that he gets her meaning.
“ I don’t know, wouldn’t learning to control what these so called abilities are be more helpful? I don’t want to accidentally drown someone, you know? ” It would certainly be an advantage, one that could be used against the very organization that gave them these abilities. Everything seems to be on the level for now, but it never hurts to have a backup plan. A frown materializes at his last sentence, her lips slightly turning up into a pout. “ Oh, come on. You wouldn’t. ”
“You couldn’t leave me alone if you tried,” he says, grinning. “We all know that it’s my infectious personality keeping you around.” However, the playful tone drops once they delve into the details of their situation and possibilities for escape. “I’d normally agree with you, motormouth. Not making any moves before we get full control of our abilities sounds good as hell,” he says. “But that’s a strategy that relies on them having no further plans for us once we start showing progress. And once you do know how to drown someone, they’ll take more precautions...security won’t be as lax.”
Wolfie’s eyes study Arielle as if she’s the only thing in the room, but his mind’s diverted its attention to his worries about hidden cameras, microphones, and eavesdropping from their own ranks. He knows that even if there isn’t one now, they’ll definitely face a mole or two within their group as certain people’s loyalties shift to the Initiative.
The Initiative has eyes and ears everywhere.
And he’s ready to play their game.
“For now, we’re stuck,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not saying we’re giving up, but there’s nothing we can do until those damn scientists feed us more information. And so, in case something happens...”
There’s one tell-tale sign of being flustered that he’s had since he was a little boy; he always tugs the skin under his eyes and works his way up to the outer corners. But although his voice sounds flustered, starting and stopping as if nerves were short-circuiting his voicebox, that habitual skin tugging is absent.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to, uh, tell you for awhile now,” he says, looking down. As a precaution, he throws out another hesitant line for the cameras he suspects are watching them. “It’s about us and stuff,” he says quickly, moving to sit up. “Walk with me for awhile? If any of the guys I pissed off earlier hear me talking about lame-ass stuff like this, my rep is toast.”
“Come on, read me!” he thinks. “The house is probably bugged as fuck, but I doubt they’ll get good audio -- ha, if get any at all! -- if we wade into the ocean. Come on, Arielle...catch the hint. I need to tell you everything...I need to tell you why I don’t think we’re alone on this island...I need to tell you that I’ve got a plan.”
Molly circled herself and she had the feeling that was just the brink of strange statements she would make before it was all said and done. It had taken the entire day to successfully create a corporeal double of herself. Molly 2.0 could only stand there blinking and if Molly lost focus for even a moment she vanished. But it felt like that time in her junior year of college when she’d crammed all night for her intro to criminal justice class, mainlining coffee the entire time. That staticy sensation like every one of her atoms were vibrating too fast, like she was about to just spontaneous combust. It felt like being alive.
She glanced back at the person watching both her and Molly 2.0. “This is weird, right? Like next level, tripping on acid weird, right?”
She reached forward and poked her double’s cheek. “I finally got her corporeal but that’s about it so far. How much progress have you made?”
Wolfie’s voice tightens with feverish delirium and breaks off-key like the sudden, wobbling twang of a snapped guitar string. It’s the first time since arriving on the island that he doesn’t sound like himself. “Does yours make you feel hot or anything?” he asks, stumbling towards the duplication in disbelief. “Not just the next level mindfuck part, but physically?”
His cheeks flush in a ruddy, post-marathon red as he pulls off his hoodie. He uses it to rub his face, soaking up sweat he feels must be there but isn’t.
He gulps.
“I’m uh, having trouble getting it all out,” he says. “It’s all blocked up like a massive shit, except the shit’s on fire.”
Xander’s head instantly shot up as he heard the sound of a loud punch against the doorway. At first, his first reaction was to see if that person was injured but once he was close enough to see smoke radiating off of the male, he stopped in his tracks – which was a few feet in front of him. “What the actual fuck.” His words showed his utter confusion at the whole situation.
There was some guy who was literally smoking – like he was on fire. His brows furrowed as he heard his rant about the whole initiative. Xander knew that some people were upset about this, but this, this. This was too much for him to just sit and listen to his words.
“Well, shouting about it doesn’t help this fucking situation, does it?” Xander retorted, folding his arms across his chest. By now, the smoke around him was getting thicker and not only that, Xander could not disagree that he felt the warmth emitting off of him. He listened to what else he had to say, rolling his eyes when he finally finished his speech.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re acting like this. Your parents signed you up for this. You do know that, right? Also, if you’re going to act like this, then truthfully, I don’t think anyone wants to train you too. ” Xander tried not to sound too impertinent, but this kid was testing his limits. “And please get your shit together.”
(tw: brief mention of past violence & alcohol)
The retort makes his jaw clench and he swipes his knuckles across his cheek, brushing a fallen eyelash off a sea of black-and-blue splotches. “Look, I’m nobody’s puppet. Am I supposed to accept losing my free will because mommy and daddy signed a piece of paper?”
Steam ascends to the ceiling in thick, ribbon-like streams and in this dense cloud of suffocating warmth, nothing burns hotter than the rage in his eyes. “Is that what you did?” he asks.
Unknown to him, the scientists watching the group had anticipated his insubordination. Their Phoenix is a byproduct of bad influence and negligence, his troublemaker record long enough to roll out under his feet like a red carpet. Unexcused absences riddle his school records with holes, medical records have him turning up in the ER for alcohol poisoning at only fourteen (and on the same night he learned what a cigarette to the forearm felt like for kissing someone else’s girlfriend), and time at a juvenile correction facility not long after that. Had he continued to go down that path, it’s likely they would’ve intervened; he’s a government property too expensive to waste his body and life.
They know that even if their Phoenix has turned his life around -- even if his talent of sculpting delicate, ethereal dolls of porcelain launched him to fame within his niche -- that the lost, angry fourteen year-old would come out eventually. Wolfie never takes time to work through his emotions to heal; he’s been slapping band-aid over band-aid atop a festering wound for decades. The stress of the project will open his decade’s old pandora box of hurt and confusion, and they can take the ashes of his broken spirit to create the type of subject they want. At least, that’s the plan.
“Furrow your brow and roll your eyes all you want, okay?” he says. “Maybe you’re right, but at least I don’t tell people to step in line and accept a shitty hand of cards.” Even with a veil of steam between them, his sharp gaze can make out the changes in the other’s facial expression. “I’m letting you all know my stance from the start. When the time comes to break out of this hellhole, anyone who values their own autonomy can come with me. Shouldn’t be any doubt in their mind I’m a sympathizer or double-crosser type by then. No offense.”
A half-hearted scowl struggles to stay on his face after a long, emotional day of training and he wonders if the scientists plan on breaking him through exhaustion. As he trudges along the gaming room’s shelves with heavy steps and a crooked slouch, it’s certainly tempting to crash on the couch for mindless fun. But, he’s determined to resist the Initiative Program’s process even if it kills him.
Wolfie drags his forefinger across the gaming titles and slowly pulls out a Battlefront II case, as though searching for spring-loaded traps. He’s never played it before. In fact, he’s never even touched a Playstation 4. It’s within his budget after the steady stream of sculpture commissions and gallery showings he scored before his kidnapping. Yet, he always postpones what would be a quick drive to the electronics store or brief interaction with a delivery man if he orders online. He uses his work -- no, he obsesses over his work -- as an excuse to wall himself off from the world.
Wolfie sighs as his eyes, a look of apprehension never leaving them, scan the back of the case. “Brand new, plastic wrap and everything,” he mumbles. “They’re willing to do anything to win us over, huh?”
He shelves the game, but hesitates to move on. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to play -- er, analyze it for mind control symbols or hypnotic music. He looks to the person nearest to him, then back at the game. “You uh, wanna play me?”
An empty poolsides silence is interrupted with a splash, water pattering against concrete, and a rush of steam two inches thick. Wolfie’s eyelids are shut tight, wrinkles puckering along the corners as he sinks to the bottom of the pool. He’s encased in a weightless darkness, cool water whistling between fingers and toes that glowed pink in the living room moments ago. He feels the water draw out the excess heat from his body and while it’s refreshing at first, it’s suddenly too much. And it’s in that moment -- that moment he stays submerged to make his lungs burn for air, if only to feel the fire somewhere in his physical body -- that he knows there’s no going back. He can neither live with the fire, nor live without it.
Wolfie emerges to the surface with a quick, single gasp and treads to a shallow area of the pool. It’s there that he leans against the wall, letting his feet slide forward until the water comes just under his nose. What did these scientists do to him? There’s nobody here he can talk to about the fear that he’s changed -- that whatever’s awakened inside of him won’t settle into a slumber ever again. He doesn’t want to look weak in front of Arielle by talking to her about it and beyond a few light comments in passing, he hasn’t conversed with anyone else in the house. He has no one now that the warmth is gone.
The flow of steam stops, although the area he’s jumped into remains foggy. It’s then that he notices a certain someone nearby: Yihan. “How long have you been staring at me?” he asks. “If you wanna ogle someone, then request a shirtless firemen calendar from your scientist friends.”
Unpacking was never a fun thing to do, and Ariella found herself getting bored halfway through said activity. Reasoning to herself that technically, no one else should care when she would complete said task, or if she would complete it at all, she left things where they lay and wandered out of her room.The house they had been sent to was certainly spacious, although she was grateful for the relatively simple layout of it.
“ Knock, knock. ” She didn’t bother waiting for an answer when she reached her destination, swinging the door open like she owned the room. “ I hate unpacking, ” she complained as she threw herself on the bed, heaving a dramatic sigh. Rolling over so that she could get a better look at Wolfie, she cupped her face in her hands as her litany of complaints continued. “ Why are you staying so far away from me? My car’s so far from me too. Ugh, I can’t believe our parents offered us up as guinea pigs for this. And to make things worse, some of the most annoying people on the planet are here with us as well. ” The topics she brought up didn’t quite have any direct correlation with each other, only that they happened to push their way to the front of her mind at that time.
Head flopping back down, she heaved another sigh. “ Sorry, sorry. I guess there were more things I was annoyed by than I had thought of. ” The last time she had seen him before they arrived on the island, she’d told him her parents were sending her on a non negotiable trip. And now here they were. “ How’ve you been since … oh, two days ago? ” @irxwolfie
His burning desire to smash furniture to expose hidden microphones and shatter every mirror to see if it’s a two-way simmers down as she speaks. Even the jaw locked into a tight, lopsided scowl from the moment he arrived relaxes when he meets her gaze. “Hey, what are you apologizing for? You’ve got a lot on your mind,” he says. “Just remember to insert a breath somewhere in there before your brain runs out of oxygen, motormouth.”
The sides of his mouth wobble from a held back smile and he playfully pokes her forehead. He doesn’t like her in a romantic way -- or rather, that’s what he keeps telling himself -- but a familiar face is the calm among chaos.
In fact, it’s a face more than just familiar. He knows the slope of her eyelids against his thumb, the angle of her nose against his forefinger, and what it feels like to cup the apples of her cheeks in his palms. He knows it not from having touched her in real life, but by molding what he sees into clay. There’s hints of her in almost every project: the upwards curve of the lips for one sculpture, the way the ears are shaped on another, and so forth. It’s obviously not because he likes her in a romantic way, but they share a place and she’s an easy reference.
“Better than it would’ve been if you weren’t here,” he says. “Not that I want you here -- heck, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. But, you know what I mean.” His dark eyes study her face as they do too often and while laying on his side, he gives her a one shoulder shrug. “I’ve only got one thing on my mind: we’re busting out of here together, right?” he says. “I’m not waiting around for you if you want to stay.”
Thus far, Olivia has been told that she possess powers, but has yet to see anything happen. No lost limbs, no disappearing heads. Being kidnapped and held against her will on a remote island has done nothing to change her physical being. Training, she assumed, would change things, for the worse or better. Either she’d somehow manifest these invisibility powers she supposedly had, or the scientists at this initiative will realize they made a mistake somehow, and whatever they gave her mother while she was in the womb didn’t take, thus forcing them to release her. Until then, Olivia decided to try to make the most of things. She’d been in a terrible mood since arriving, so the first thing she had to do was take care of that. What better way to do that than with a mini makeover?
Donning a blush colored strapless pleated-bodice dress along with nude wedges, she took her nail kit bag with her as she went downstairs. Living with this many people reminded her of her time in a sorority, only dirtier and with less like-minded individuals. Still, Olivia liked being around others, so hiding out in her room wasn’t an option. Taking a seat at the bar in the kitchen, Olivia took her time spreading out her nail polish across the countertop. Humming to herself, the sound of someone entering the kitchen broke her concentration. She didn’t hesitate to call out for an opinion. “Hey! What do you think? Strawberry or Mango?” She asked, holding out the two colors.
Once he sees the contents of his second suitcase, alternating feelings of frustration and tranquility wash over him like ocean swells. His captors had packed enough equipment to keep him busy working on his latest sculpture: a luxury, ball-jointed doll with vintage lace and precious gems. As long as he’s trapped on the island, he’ll never get the commissioned project into the hands of its buyer. A check for eighty grand won’t get him off the island any faster, nor will it melt away the calluses from two months of work gone to waste.
Wolfie knows whoever kidnapped him only packed his tools to win him over. He reminds himself that as long as he stays vigilant -- as long as he stays angry -- then they can’t fool him like they’ve done to most housemates. The young man nudges the suitcase into the corner of the bedroom with his foot, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and walks into the kitchen for a snack. As much as he thinks the food is poisoned or laced with mutagens, he can’t escape the island if he’s starving.
“Why don’t you use both? You know, alternate or make stripes or something,” he says, opening a cabinet. He inspects a seemingly unopened box of Chocopies by running his finger along the edges, searching for puncture holes or any signs of being tampered with. “Or did girls stop doing that sorta thing in high school?” he asks.
Wolfie leans back against the cabinets with his new, hopefully-not-experimented-on snack and he gets a proper look at Olivia. She looks familiar, both somewhat like his current sculpture and as if he’s seen photographs as suggested IG account. For a moment, he wonders if he’s printed photographs of her for the reference binder of his latest project. It’s only recently that he’s branched out; all of his earlier works looked too identical because he referenced them off of Arielle. “Do you have an Instagram?” he asks.
❝I guess some people aren’t very happy about this, uh?❞ his voice was unusually low, soft and warm as he tried to understand them, those with sad expression or fear in their eyes. To him, knowing there was something as big as superpowers ⏤or so he called them⏤ that made him special, was a reason to celebrate. If it were for him, Joon Sung would be standing on a table, drunk off his ass and singing Super Power Girl to that dark haired woman he had seen during the reunion.
In his mind, this was the opportunity he had been waiting for, the chance that had been taken from him in that parking lot. It was time to be loved and praised, acclaimed and adored all over the world by millions of fans; in the future, sure, and okay, being a superhero wasn’t nearly as cool as being an Idol but, he wasn’t complaining about this just yet. At the end of the day, love and praise were the same in any context.
❝I… how could you hate it? Being special, I mean❞ he turned to the person across from him, before smiling with embarrassment and looking at the ground. ❝Sorry, don’t mind me. I’m just so excited, you know?❞
“Because it’s illegal and stranded us on an island in bumfuck nowhere?” he says. “Not to burst your bubble, but if you don’t think there’s a folder with twenty-four failed versions of us somewhere...”
Wolfie trails off with a frustrated sigh and closed off body language; he crosses his arms, twists so his torso doesn’t directly face the stranger, and keeps his eyes focused on the hallway. “Do you think these scientists or whatever did all this preparation to be nice?” he asks. “The fancy mansion, the decked out game room, the in-home movie theater, all the superhero talk -- do you think they did that because they want us to have fun? All of that exists to placate punks like you.”
Ever since his arrival, he’s done nothing but being angry and getting angrier. They probably think he’s a one-note knucklehead and if he were the type of person to be bothered by other people’s misconceptions, then perhaps he’d do something to change it. Instead, he’s storming through the house in a blaze of frustration and desperate shattering of other people’s delusions. He’d get everyone on his side and working on an escape plan if it kills him. And when the time comes to escape, he has no intentions of leaving anyone -- no matter how much their superhero fantasies make his eyes roll -- behind.
“Get that through your head, got it?” he adds. “They invested who knows how much money on us. What do you think happens if they don’t get a return on their investment? That you’ll get to go home? Show the world that you’re some kinda X-Man?”
Wolfie smashes a bruised, battered fist against the living room doorway. It’s not meant to accomplish anything but blowing off some steam -- literal steam rolling off his body in waves, as if he’s about to catch fire any minute. The skin surrounding his knuckles warp, steam radiating off of them as they glow pink from heat.
“Does anyone else see how fucked up this is?” he asks. “This is some kinda...some kinda reverse psychology. We’re hostages on a deserted island, not scouts cooking s’mores at summer camp, got it? They can dress the situation up however they like, but at the end of the day we’re prisoners. Did you people really expect me to celebrate that?"
He tugs the collar of his cheap, polyester blend t-shirt so it won’t stick to his chest and itch. Why does he feel so hot? With a scowl, he swipes the back of his palm across his forehead to check for sweat. Nothing; he’s just warm and pink, as though he’d just ran a marathon. Great.
“Of course I was pissed off at the barbecue,” he says. “A couple of burgers weren’t going to make me side with these...these kidnappers. And you know what? The only way you’ll get me in that training room is if I’m dead and you drag me in there. This isn’t like X-Men or Star Trek or whatever you nerds think this is. Count me out.”
They’d all been summoned into the house’s spotless living room and Gabe had wasted no time in getting comfortable. He lay stretched out across two seats at the end of the long leather couch, head propped up on a velvet pillow, legs bridging the gap from couch to neighboring armchair, toying with an apple he’d snatched out of a fruit bowl in the kitchen. There was no hint of anticipation or apprehension to be found here: with Tom Ford sunglasses pushing back his perpetually-tousled hair, and his silk shirt open from the midriff like he’d gotten tired after the first two buttons, Gabe took a bite out of the fruit and let his gaze wander the room, surveying all the guarded expressions and skittish stances. Funny, he hadn’t even considered that the others might not be as in the know as he was. This would be a fun morning.
When the broadcast started, he tuned in and out at will; some things he already knew, and had known for a while (the project, the abilities), some things he simply didn’t care about (rules, rules, more rules), but his attention came back into focus sharply at the mention of negators. This was new information. One person amongst fifteen who had the ability to “turn off” his powers, and vice versa? His nose scrunched lightly at the thought. Why? No names were given yet. More details were promised later. The broadcast cut out, and the sixteen subjects were left to stew in their own shock and disbelief. For the most part.
Gabe swung his long legs to the floor, stood up and stretched. The core of the half-eaten apple remained on the coffee table as he turned to the person closest, and flashed them a smile skewed on angle. “So, do you think there’s like, a kitchen staff in this place? I could murder some eggs Benedict right now.”
A ladybug scurries down his finger as he leans back, his bruised lips set in a glare and his long limbs sinking into the cushions with plenty of room to spare. The residence feels less like a dollhouse than his apartment at home -- there’s no hunching, bunching, or cramming like he’s had a dose of Drink Me potion in Wonderland. How thoughtful of his captors to furnish the house with someone over six feet tall in mind.
Wolfie is still dressed as he was when kidnapped; clay covered bathrobe, old basketball shorts, and generic brand velcro slippers he taps against the floor in agitation. There’s two suitcases in his room filled with clothes and belongings that he definitely didn’t pack, but undeniably belong to him. Is he supposed to be thankful? The thought and care that went into making his kidnapping look like a favor makes his blood boil. He thinks about wrecking the place; kitchen chairs through windows, lamps snapped in half, and bedroom floors covered in shattered vases. If it weren’t for the ladybug chilling on his hand, he would’ve made his daydreams a reality the moment the broadcast ended. ( And probably smack the guy -- who in Wolfie’s eyes, was having the time of his life -- standing next to him. )
He stiffens up: broad shoulders like the strong, confident brushstrokes of a painting push back and his neck tenses. “What do you think this is, huh?” he says, shaking his head. “A vacation? For all we know, the food’s pumped with chemicals to mutate us even more. Shit, I’m getting out of here before I’m strapped onto a gurney and dissected.”
hello, beanie here with my emotionally constipated mess of a boy!
🔥🔥 \ ( o u o ) / 🔥🔥 i’m super excited to meet all of you & can’t wait to come up with some wild plots! while wolfie’s blog is still in progress to include the novella of information about him, below the cut you will find “The Life of Wolfgang Choi: Summarized By Memes” !!!
MEME #1: HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
(they can’t reject you & cause emotional pain if you self-sabotage all relationships first)
Wolfie tends to self-sabotage friendships/relationships to push people away on his own terms rather than risk rejection. This unhealthy coping mechanism’s been used since his early childhood, so it’s second nature to him as an adult. BUT WHY DOES HE DO THIS TO HIMSELF?! The answer is 🔥🔥 ANGST ! 🔥🔥
His mother’s guilt over the experimentation consumed her and contributed to a severe case of depression. Wolfie erroneously blamed himself for his mother’s condition and it’s a thought that’s quietly eaten away at him throughout his youth. When he watched his father behave more loving & gentle towards her, he became optimistic it would turn a new leaf for their hardly-a-family family. Then he caught his father with a mistress. AND SINCE THAT DAY, HE JUST ASSUMES EVERYONE IS TWO-FACED & WILL DITCH YOU THE MOMENT YOU NEED SUPPORT. ;A;
BUT he’s now trapped in a home with a bunch of other people that can’t be ghosted no matter how hard he tries ASDFGHJKL; AND THIS BRINGS US TO THE PRESENT!!!
MEME #2: THE PRESENT
(TFW u think scotty is a robot hiding something & you’re internally freaking out, but a super calm person asks if you’re okay)
THIS MEME SUMMARIZES WOLFIE BETTER THAN MY APP DID TBH.
HE’S SUSPICIOUS AF + WANTS TO KNOW IF THE PROGRAM IS EVEN LEGAL
He’ll be grilling ANYONE who knew details about the program, constantly looking for signs they aren’t the first ones being experimented on, refusing to eat anything that isn’t sealed & inspected by him, and being an uncooperative butthead who definitely starts like 50% of all fistfights in the house.
HE’S IN DENIAL THAT HE’S STRANDED ON AN ISLAND
LIKE HE’LL LAY OUT ON THE BEACH WITH SUNGLASSES ON AND SAY IN THE MOST SOLEMN VOICE: “Google Earth will find me.”
But once the initiative brings him his sculpting supplies, it’ll be like putting an IPad in front of a four year-old. He’s a professional dollmaker / sculpture artist with a career that’s put his work in galleries, photographed for magazines, sold to collectors at auctions, and often commissioned! ( If anyone’s curious, HERE’S a gallery example of what he does and HERE is a cool video about the process! It’s an unusual hobby for someone stuck in their short-tempered, fist-throwing ways...but sculpture is what taught him patience / how to be gentle ! )
MEME #3: THE FUTURE
( live footage of wolfie trying to explain his emotions to others for the first time )
After realizing he’s trapped with fifteen other people he won’t be able to avoid or push away, eventually all those backed up emotions will come out! And they WILL come out in the messiest, clumsiest way possible. HOPEFULLY BY THEN HE’LL HAVE MADE FRIENDS IN THE PROGRAM WHO CAN TEACH HIM TO USE HIS WORDS. Arielle is his only friend since forever & with them being each other’s negators...
EXPECT UGLY CRYING IN THE BATHROOM WHEN HIS ONLY FRIEND CAN’T BE AROUND HIM. He’ll come out all puffy eyed and like: someone melted the toilet paper handle + punched a hole in the wall idk who.
The stress will also make him more likely to pick fights & act out, too. Honestly being trapped in a house with other people is his worst nightmare -- even worse than possibly being mutated into Hulk by the government.
BUT ONCE HE TRUSTS YOU, HE’S INCREDIBLY LOYAL! If you don’t like someone in the house, he’ll ignore them + be cold to them with no questions asked. If you trust someone, then he will smile-grimmace & offer a bruised hand to shake because that person’s automatically given an OK for being on good terms with you.
HEADCANONS
🔥 Depending on how powers work, he could steam sometimes when he’s angry? IMAGINE LIKE there’s a water spritzer they spray him with when he’s getting too heated like: no, bad overgrown beanpole
🔥 Born & raised in USA, but his career took off in South Korea after an internship at Chuncheon Puppet Theater. His work is more popular in Korea, China, and Russia where the luxury BJD (ball-jointed doll) boom is happening than in America.
🔥 He will gladly pummel other human beings, but dON’T YOU DARE SQUISH THE SPIDER IN THE BEDROOM. DON’T WORRY LITTLE EIGHT LEGGED FELLA, PHOENIX IS COMING TO THE RESCUE!!!!
🔥 He is vegetarian & will probably wait until the barbecue to tell anyone so it’ll be an excuse not to participate. Who will show up all >:3c with a stack of tofu burgers so he’ll have to participate?!
🔥 He thinks his powers are useless and impractical, but maybe if he were to improve in skill he could use it for his sculpting...if they ever leave the island that is. *SHAKING EYES EMOJI*
🔥 Personality wise, he’s very much like the porcelain he works with; tough enough to withstand a kiln heating to a thousand degrees, but can only reveal something beautiful if you put the love & effort into working with him. OR SOMETHING CHEESY LIKE THAT LOL
🔥 THE TINIEST OF INCONVENIENCES CAUSE MAJOR FIGHTS BC HE TAKES EVERYTHING TOO PERSONALLY + READS TOO DEEP INTO THINGS? Please take advantage of his temper’s short fuse & drive him wild !!!
🔥 Had to be kidnapped there + almost fought an agent with a hot glue gun; unless they’ve given him new clothes, expect him to shuffle downstairs in a daze wearing nothing but a navy blue bath robe, white velcro slippers, and basket ball shorts with clay on them aSDFGHJKL;
🔥 Has a love/hate relationship with his name tbh & probably judges his parents more for having him share a name with Mozart than signing up for the program. If you play the movie Amadeus while he’s there, he will rip the potato chip bag so hard THERE WILL BE BURNT CRUMBS SCATTERED FOR WEEKS.
🔥 More headcanons to come once I get home from errands, but imagine if you put Bakugo from BNHA, Will Hunting from Good Will Hunting, and Sheen from Jimmy Neutron in a blender. tHAT’S WOLFIE
THIS WHOLE POST IS A MESS PLS FORGIVE ME
[ wolfgang choi ] subject [ phoenix ] has arrived at the facility safely. the [ twenty-four ] year old arrived from [ south korea ] and they’re pretty [ loyal ]. watch out though, i’ve heard they’re [ short-tempered ] too, so they might cause some trouble there. (nam joohyuk, cismale, he/him)
