STAGE TWO: Eat and Sleep

[hookavah]

STAGE TWO: Eat and Sleep

"Boys! Why aren't you at the assembly?" He asked in an upbeat tone.
"There are people dying in there! We heard gunshots and screaming!" Rob said, his voice strained by fear.
"What? Ha, no, I'm sorry. It would sound like, wouldn't it? No, listen, they're just demonstrating how it works." The man said, still upbeat.
"How what works?" Bud asked, almost quizzing the man.
"This!" From inside of his sterile white coat, he pulled out a vial of crystal clear liquid, a blue tab marking it with "A.E.O." in golden letters "See, boys, we're from the Food and Drug Administration. We're here to survey you kids, since this is the only high school in the country with orphaned children! Now, don't take this the wrong way, it's not because you're orphans, but because we can get this to you easier. The orphanages quickly accepted to this, so they could use the money for all of you!" He explained happily, as if it were a new after school snack. Bud and Rob's brows furrowed.
"What is that?" The only question in Rob's mind that stood out like a sore thumb.
"Well, you see... in a nutshell, it makes you superhuman, now-" He stopped, Bud interrupting.
"No, not a nutshell. The full story." He said in an almost threatening voice. The man took no notice in his tone. he cleared his throat and shut his eyes, opening them when he spoke.
"See, we inject this into your bloodstream, and it travels to your brain eventually, where it will begin its use. This is a stimulant, in essence, it initializes an unused part of your brain to focus on bending your physical image. See, when fully working, that part of your brain can render your body intangible and project a psychological image, based on your personality and psyche as we've figured. Thus, this image can somewhat interact with the actual world, the non-created world... but with other images, it can fully interact. See what I mean?" The man exhaled. Rob and Bud stared. They stared as they tried to get a grip on what the man said, as if their perception of reality was shattered. Finally, Rob spoke.
"Are you ill?"
"What? No, kid, we didn't believe it at first either. We thought we had a cure for Schizophrenia and Psychosis. But it turns out that this stuff can fry an adult brain on first contact... it's developed fully, and that means this stuff here can't interact with some of the chemicals often found in the teenage brain, such as hormones. It's like getting a bullet to your chest without something to protect yourself with." They continued to stare, the man sighing "Look, I can't be anymore truthful. Can I see your school identification cards?" He asked politely. They hesitantly removed their cards, giving it to the man. He nodded, taking it to a nearby woman with thick-rimmed glasses, both inspecting and nodding at the cards.
"What the hell is going on." Rob asked rhetorically. The library's feeling of a quiet and warm area had been stripped from it, the men and women in their coats ran to and fro, catching each other to scan graphs or sheets of data. The printers and processors made a horrible whirring noise, and the patrol right outside of the doors made it seem like a prison. In the very back, white curtains were set up in induvidual cells that gave no more than an inch's room away from each other. From time to time, people in white face masks would stick their heads out to observe the outside. The whole area was wood, nothing but wood. Bookshelves, floor, tables, only the ceiling had its plain white exception. Lamps that took upon the style of city street lights hung from the ceiling, and the occasional air vent between them. The man returned, holding their cards out.
"Rob, you'll all set to go in back to get your shot, Bud-" Rob cut in almost immediately.
"Shot? What shot, no, hold on, you don't have my consent!" He resisted.
"We have the city's consent, Rob. You have nothing to worry about! Listen, the Government is giving one-hundred dollars for all participants... and you can't tell me you never wanted to be a superhero!" He defended the shot.
"One-hundred dollars? And it won't kill me, disable me?" He asked, giving in.
"Yes, and no. It won't change you at all... until you do what is needed to change into the image. Here, the guys in the back will tell you all about it, go into the first cell you see over there." He handed Rob his card, patting him off to the back of the library. He smiled and sighed at Bud.
"Bud, look, I'm sorry, but you're the only one with parents at the school, and they turned us down. Without their permission... we can't touch you." He shrugged, fixing his glasses.
"What about Rob? He lives with us!" Bud was disappointed.
"Rob is technically still with the orphanage... he's just reported missing, although they clearly know where he is." He handed Bud's card back "I'm sure, if you can work something out with your parents, we can get you some Oil."
Bud began to turn and approach a bench, but stopped "Oil?" He questioned.
"It's what we call the drug. And we call the images Evocations... that's the project's name. Some of us call them Engines, just for the heck of it." He nodded, walking off to the same woman and looking at data sheets with her. Bud sat on the bench, sighing.

"Not much. Just... maybe only a good three cubic centimeters. That's fair, huh?" A man in a white surgeon's gown held a hypodermic needle with a clear liquid in it. The bottle seemed to be cold, a light blur of frost covered the plastic syringe. He pushed the syringe up a bit, letting some air out.
"So... that guy out there, the bald guy?" Rob got a nod in reply "He said that... I wouldn't change unless I did what I needed to do...?" The man chuckled a bit.
"We had three main test subjects... all sixteen. We gave them this after we found out what it did to a teenager, compared to an adult. The first teenager was named Stephen, a suburban kid from Alabama. The second was Alexandra, a fisher's daughter from Rhode Island. And the latest was Theodore, a kid from Los Angeles. Stephen showed us first hand what happened when he was given the drug. He suffered fatigue an hour after, extreme hunger next, headaches, and finally drowsiness after three hours. He woke up, he claimed to feel great. We looked at his physical condition, nothing had changed at all. We ran him through some math tests, but all that did was prove nothing. Then, when he was exercising... a white orb just formed about five inches from his chest. He said he was concentrating on the weights he was lifting... when he stopped, it ran into him, engulfing him in this huge wave of pure white... light? I don't know. Seconds afterward, we observed the first 'Form'. His arm was hollow, a black hole in the middle of his palm. He panicked, but after calming him down... we found out that the hole was a, get this, gun that fired bullets the size of a mortar shell. What he means when he says 'when you need to' is when you use the form." The man sighed, taking in a shallow breath.
"He didn't... bleed?" Shocked, believing the man's story.
"Nope. How it works is like this; your body is intangible and invisible, few of us believe that it enters a state of matter we don't know about, some of us think it subsides into a fourth dimmension, some of us just think is stays with the image at all times. Yet, the key aspect here is that the images can't really tamper with the outside world, say if I wanted to break a window, I'd use all my strength and get a small bump. It works the other way around, too. Bullets are like candy corn to an Evocation." He tapped the syringe for air bubbles "This is like being a superhero... and not causing the city grief." Without warn, he rubbed an alcohol-washed rag on Rob's forearm, sticking the needle in a fairly large vein. With a cringe, Rob accepted the needle as the liquid drained into his arm. "Robert Hills... you are the fourth to recieve the injection. Congratulations." He said, smiling and holding a cotton swab on the puncture, letting Rob hold it down as he gathered something.
"Do I still get the money?" He asked.
"Yeah! It'll come in the mail at your foster home, I think." He placed a band-aid with smiling faces of all colors over it, chuckling. Rob almost smiled "Here... take this." From his coat pocket, he pulled a pamphlet that read 'Instruction Manual: Basics of an Evocation'. Rob scanned the cover; pictures of the FDA's symbol and a small illustration of a brain printed on top.
"Evocation..." He repeated the title.
"Enjoy... and don't hurt yourself!" He said, disposing of the needle in a plastic bin "Hurry on now... don't want to catch everyone coming in for shots." He gestured out of the cell.
"Everyone?" He questioned "Everyone being whom?"
"All of the kids in the assembly. There's one kid that's not getting the shot. Can't remember his name..." Rob sighed, the kid was Bud.
"I... didn't really catch your name." Rob was pushing back the curtains, looking back.
"Dr. Manuel Bodega. If you have any problems not listed in the pamphlet, look me up!" He said as Rob stepped out of the white curtains.

He looked down, recounting the things that had been said. Who created this? Why? Was this some lie or did the doctor actually compare this to being a 'superhero'? Hearing Bud, he looked up and jogged to the front of the library where he was looking out of the windows that gazed out into the hallway. There was a massive crowd of kids their age, coming from the the corridor to their right. They came up the steps and walked slowly to the library.
"We should go before they come in." Bud said.
"We should... did they give you a shot?" Rob titled his head a bit.
"No! It's stupid. My folks wouldn't give permission, apparently." He pouted a bit. Opening the doors and walking out with Rob behind him, they stood to the left, out of the way from the crowd. Suddenly, they began to pour into the library, all of them talking or making some kind of whooping sound. The line soon stopped, it had reached the back of the library. Rob and Bud scanned the line for friends, but couldn't tell from the mass of people. Suddenly, a short teen with unkempt black hair jumped out of the line, his clothes were highly fashionable, a collar shirt and tattered jeans, flip-flops on his feet. This was Adam Nakamura from Japan, he grinned and stretched his arms out to barely hug both Rob and Bud.
"What's up! Man, did you see this or what? I'm hoping to fly or something cool, yeah?" A 'Yeah' somehow made its way in his sentence "You guys gonna get in line or just stand here?" He asked, crossing his arms.
"I already got my shot... Bud can't, his parents said he couldn't." Rob explained, Adam made a disappointed face.
"Damn. Let me catch up with you guys tonight, alright? After the whole... you know, side effects go away." He jumped back in line, socializing with more people. Bud sighed, and Rob remembered what Manuel had said about side effects.
"Hey... I need to get back. I need to be near a bed or something... the doctor said that in an hour I'd be fatigued." Bud nodded at Rob's concern, and began to squeeze past the group of people, making it to the corridor's exit.

As they walked through the parking lot they marveled at the black cargo carriers, the United State's symbol brandished on the retractable doors. Rob scratched the skin around the band-aid, Bud spoke out.
"I think you trusted them too much." He said, looking into the horizon.
"It's the government, Bud, how could I not have trusted them?" Rob looked to the horizon as well, it seemed like another argument between the two was boiling.
"But they could have put anything into you, Rob. They could have poisoned you for all you know!"
"You really think they would have, Bud? Do you think, that the organization that makes sure that things are safe for people to intake, the FDA Bud, would let this slip by if it were dangerous? The doctor told me that little kids and adults can't take this because their minds aren't as open to change--"
"Hold on, kids and adults? Please, Rob, tell me what they have to do with anything--"
"It's because their minds aren't developing yet, or have already! The chemicals swirling around in our head along with the hormones that are running wild are perfect to mingle with. This stuff would have no problem cooperating with our minds."
"You're full of it, Rob. Is that what the doctor told you?" Bud crossed his arms.
"No, think about it, oatmeal-for-brains! Puberty equals hormones, hormones equals change! There's room for the chemical to work, the hormones give the space." Rob seemed surprised at his sudden reasoning.
Bud sighed and wrinkled his eye brows. To him, to them both, it seemed to make sense. The chemicals would mingle with the Oil, letting it work. Yet, adults and children do not have such a large amount of chemicals to mingle with, the chemical would simply fizzle out their mind. Rob nodded at Manuel's explanation. The wooden gate was just ahead, and the trees stood still.

They stormed into the guest house, throwing everything down where they stood and taking their shoes off. Bud meandered into the living room, grabbing the remote and flipping channels, as if the action were some kind of automatic setting. Rob sent himself into the kitchen, glad that he had cleaned up before leaving for school. He reached into the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of orange juice and taking it back to the couch, sipping it and watching something about Superman on the television. It had been nearly three hours at school, Rob and Bud happy that there were such short hours today.
"I trusted the doctor when he talked about these kids." Rob put his feet onto the coffee table in front of them, Bud doing the same.
"Kids?"
"Yeah, these three kids that did the original testing for the stuff. He said that this kid named Stephen had it down first... his hand turned into a huge gun." Rob said with delight.
"You're lying through your teeth." Bud eyed Rob.
"Wait, let me read this thing he gave me." From his pocket, he fished out the now folded pamphlet. He opened it, reading aloud what it said.

Hello! You've been selected by the Food and Drug Administration of America to partake in a test that will forever change scientific research if you follow these tips and guidelines for becoming an Evocation!

Rob scrolled past more cheesy text about how he was 'an important component in the research' to a paragraph about 'Evocation Classes'.

We have concluded that there are but three 'Evocation Classes'; something that distinguishes Evocations apart. First, there is the Biological type. This type does not normally follow your physical image (yourself), but rather a more nature-crafted form. This type can include powerful mammals, such as a bear. Biological Evocations usually suffer weakness from Mechanical Evocations.

He continued to the next paragraph, 'Psychological'.

The next class, Psychological, almost always resembles the physical image. Their abilities can include Psychokinesis or a selection of elemental-weilding abilities, such as Electrokinesis. Usually weak against Biological Evocations.

He skipped down to the last paragraph of the page entitled 'Mechanical' at the bottom.

And finally, the Mechanical! This type of Evocation can be a half and half when it comes to copying the physical image, and can sometimes be mistaken for ordinary images. These types can attack from long range, or up close using a blunt attack...

Rob skimmed the to the end...

Usually weak against Psychological Evocations.

Bud scratched his head "Which are you?" He asked, curious. Rob looked at his arm, looking under the gauze. There was but a small dot of dried blood, he tore the bandage off and stuffed it into his jeans pocket.
"How do I tell?" He skimmed through the pamphlet. He skipped the 'Maintaining a Session' paragraph, pointing out the 'Waiting for the Oil to Take Effect' list.

In the first hour, you should experience some fatigue. In the second hour, hunger that can range from mild to extreme will occur. The feeling will vary between classes (See Evocation Classes for reference), as the hungering class will be Biological, a thirst will overcome Psychological, and a strong desire for the taste of Iron will take hold of Mechanicals. After this, drowsiness should occur, and the user is advised to sleep at this point. After the user awakens, he or she will feel euphoria and a feeling of well-being.

Rob mumbled the information under his breath, Bud leaning in just a bit to listen.
"I take it we won't know until... you sleep." Bud stated.
"Yep. But... it said something about being hungry or thirtsy..." he chuckled "and wanting to eat metal." Rob shrugged.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"
"No, not at-" Rob stopped, gripping his upper abdomen. He sunk into the couch, Bud looking confused. "I didn't get anything at the store." his gazed snapped to Bud's eyes. Hunger pangs rattled his stomach.
"Don't look at me. It's your fault for getting orange juice! And nothing but!" Bud changed the channel, now cartoons running back and fourth, whacking each other with mallets and anvils. Rob did not shift his gaze, staring at Bud in an even more desperate manner. Bud shrugged "You'll starve." Rob pushed himself from the sinking cushion, hurrying to the kitchen. The facility was plain, black granite and redwood oak composed the main structure. Bud's parents believed that Rob should live in a nice enviornment, but wanted Rob to deal with an almost broken refrigerator before handing over a new one. The whole guest house was made of nothing but new and expensive materials, the living room's carpet was still firm, the white fabric barely stained, the kitchen's tiles flawless and the tan paint around the house without a blemish. Yet, all of the furniture and appliances were bottom-of-the-barrel quality. Responsibility was obviously an honored moral between Bud's parents.

Robert Hills was an orphan. Buddy Ashwalker and his family had housed an orphan for months now, though, the orphanage agreeing with the situation, as they knew who he was with. It was Bud's parents that had declined a proposal to adopt Rob, for reasons unknown, but to house him under the orphanage's guardianship and agreement. South Haven High was a school popular among the orphanages in the surrounding area, this meant that many high schoolers from as far as the state's capitol, St. Paul, almost across the whole metro area, attended South Haven. Opened by the cities of Minneapolis and its suburb St. Louis Park, South Haven gave very interesting discounts to prphanages and foster homes, deals being an almost free lunch system, and decreased taxes all around. This was an attempt made by the city to ensure that even orphans were well educated, as to keep the constant testing scores of the state on the higher end.

From the cabinet above the almost dangerous gas stove, Rob shoveled out several soup cans that read 'Vegetable Beef- Good For The Body and Soul!', along with a half filled plastic wrapping of saltine crackers. He bent down, throwing open the red wood cabinets and rustling around for a pot. From the far back of the cabinet, he withdrew the only thing that wasn't a pan or cooking tool, a red kettle. He opened the top and split open the can's seals with a pull of a tab. Pouring out the soup into the kettle, he leaned over to pour a can-full of water, and poured this into the mix. Setting the stove, he aligned the kettle onto the flames and clenched his stomach.
"Bud... just give me a sandwich?" Rob pleaded. Bud shrugged and frowned.
"I can't. The house is locked." He bluntly stated. Rob gave a frustrated look and ran back to the kitchen, seeking the crackers. Bud called after him "Hey! We can go to the store! I have about... uh, five dollars." Modest as can be, Bud took out a sliver of cash and began to walk out of the door. Buttons that controlled the stove's temperature and state were mashed by Rob's fingers as he tried to turn the stove idle as quickly as he could. Bud was the one to leave without him in a store run, so Rob dashed out of the kitchen and exited the living room, shutting the door behind him and walking on near perfect grass, Bud had not gone far.

"It's worse..." Rob grabbed his stomach with both hands now, Bud scoffing.
"Is not... you're just hallucinating." He looked up at the approaching gas station, ten or more other students were rushing to its entrance, disappearing as they ran in "Well. You're not a wuss after all..." He chuckled, picking up the pace in Rob's sake.

"Why are these two dollars!" Rob exclaimed in a rhetorical question, he snatched a bag of unhealthy cheese chips and shoved them into the red basket hanging from his arm, a plethora of energy drinks and some rice cakes rested at the bottom. Bud shifted awkwardly to his left, hesitantly approaching a girl of his age that wore a particularly drafty outfit
"Hi, Bethany." He cleared his throat as if there was a scorpion lodged in his larynx.
"Oh, Bud." She barely replied, selecting certain brownies from the cheaply painted steel shelf. The tan color would give anyone a headache. Bud scratched the back of his head.
"So, get the shot?" Such small talk rarely came from Bud.
"Yep... I'm starving now!" She called out, as if to challenge the clerk at the front of the small gas station. He sat behind a box of bulletproof glass, all of his neccesities needed to govern a shop next to him. Small stands of ciggarettes and candy bars cluttered the countertop where merchandise would be bought. His hair was balding, the accent he gave was far eastern.
"Your boyfriend might work here, but you get nothing free!"
She scoffed at his response. Bud was at a loss for words and shuffled away, around the shelf's corner and back to Rob's side. His eyes widened and arms stretched out in disapproval.
"Hey! I don't have enough money for this!" He hissed at Rob's basket.
"Yes you do, look at your wallet!" Rob kept his eyes on the chips.
"Five dollars." His brown leather wallet seemed lonely, only stuffed to the brim with expired city transits and phone numbers.
"I don't believe you. What about your pocket, huh?" He couged. Indeed, as his hand plummeted down his pocket, there was a wad of cash in his grip.
"Ok, fine. But! That's all you get."
"Got damn it Bud, I'm dying over here!" He looked Bud in the eyes, groaning and curving past the three shelves that made up the station, pouring the basket out onto the check-out counter. Bud hurried after, money in hand. 
"Twelve seventy-five." The clerk said, holding his hand out.
"I have ten." Bud began to barter.
"Ten fifty or your dad pay next time he come in here." The clerk crossed his arms. Rob flopped two quarters on the counter, Bud put the wad down on top of the change. The clerk innocently whistled as he took the money and effortlessly deposited it into the register "Come again. And tell your friends outside to beat it!" His face wrinkled, shooing the two out.
"No bag?" Bud questioned. The clerk daintily covered a plain plastic bag atop the food and drinks.
"Goodbye." His voice was quick and stinging. Rob shoved everything into the bag and stormed out, stomach still aching to no limit. As he stepped out, waiting on the curb next to the glass pane door sat five boys, all of Rob's age. Eating an array of chips and other junk foods next to them, they all looked back at once.
"Hey Rob!" At once, they greeted him.