Untitled (feel free to suggest) - Chapter 1 of unknown
penny_lane_42 wanted something where Sungjong has to defend (chooses to defend really) or fight for Myungsoo. I spent the last day thinking about how that would look and what would make Sungjong put his foot down. A lot of the scenarios I came up with, I didn't like because they seemed very cliche or too simplistic.
One thing I feel that Lee Sungjong definitely is NOT is a simplistic individual. And I think he's too smart and savvy to fall for a lot of cliche's or just random schmoopy stuff. Plus because I felt a lot of trust was being given to me with the request, I wanted to do something... more. Tonight, my brain spat this out. If you've ever seen the movie Push, this will have some familiar themes. I consider this to take place in the world of PUSH with entirely different characters and also some different talents etc.
Another requester mentioned that they don't really think that Sungjong is gay. To be honest, I am not sure that I feel that Sungjong is all the way into super duper gay on the spectrum either. I think he's more probably "prefers ladies 85 percent of the time but doesn't necessarily find the idea of sexual situations with certain gentlemen an unattractive concept."
Summary: In a not too distant future, experimentation has lead to the development of psychic talents now useful warfare. Lee Sungjong is a member of an underground Crew, a group of talents desperately trying to stay out of Government control. Kim Myungsoo has just escaped the Government "Div" with two syringes full of experimental drugs and himself. He is patient O - everyone wants control of him. And Myungsoo just wants to stay alive.
Chapter 1 - Dreamer...Watcher...Escape...
Dreamer with a Mission
A beautiful boy is strapped to a hospital bed. His eyes are closed, perfect crescents of long lashes laying against the classic shape of his cheekbones. His lips are dry, cracked slightly and the gather of his raven brows seems to whisper of pain even in unconsciousness. A simple high pitched tone repeats in the rarified silence of the room his bed occupies and there is the slightest up and down movement of the patient's chest under the folded white sheet.
The light of the room is almost painfully bright, limned around the edges with fiery blues and golden reds. The Dreamer wants to look away but the crispness of the scene forces him to stay with it. Trial and error has taught him that the more physically painful and bright the Dream; the more crucial the details may prove to be.
There are voices in the room now, and bodies but most of them are mere gray shadows to the Dreamer. The aggravation of the beeping seems to grow louder, more insistant. There's a gleam of a hypodermic needle, sharp as a knife in the Dream, and dripping with black fluid like ink though the Dreamer is fairly certain in reality the syringe is oversized but innocuous.
The plunge of the needle sinks with the push of dark hands and the Dreamer gasps as his vision allows him a glimpse of inky fluid slipping through strangely vulnerable purple veins and pure flesh.
The boy on the bed comes awake in a violent spasm, the tendons on his neck standing out sharply. The Dreamer finds himself staring into the boy's eyes. They are dark like velvet, for a moment seeming without either white or pupil and then the patient blinks, stares, goes limp and lifeless.
A long moment passes while the constant blare of what the Dreamer now understands is a monitor suddenly goes silent. At any second, the Dreamer is sure the vision will end.
But it doesn't.
The Dreamer stays with it; straining for the meaning behind the scene as the gray figures in the room talk over the boy's body and loosen the straps which previously held him prisoner.
A jerk, a snap, something seizes at the Dreamer's chest and the boy's eyes flare open wider than before. He rolls out of the bed, revealed to be dressed in sweat pants and shirt, barefoot and pale.
That doesn't stop him from moving as if he's practiced every muscle twitch a thousand times. A hand comes up and the sensation of a PUSH conveys to the Dreamer. The Dreamer gasps, tears streaming from his own eyes as he strains to hang onto the picture. Gray figures fall away from the boy and he spins on a bare heel snatching two ink laden syringes from the tray nearby. He ducks under an extended black arm and through a doorway. Unaccountably, the door slams shut and locks, trapping the would be pursuers while a voice barks orders.
The Dreamer's vision changes from a picture to a map, a maze. The boy's path strobes through the Dreamer's mind and he understands the boy will escape from the place he had been held. Or already has.
Mere escape, though, is not the same as freedom.
The Dreamer falls back against the pillows of his bed, his own eyes snapping gratefully open on the white ceiling above him. His name is Lee Sungjong and his life has just changed beyond all recognition. Outside his small bedroom, he can hear the Band going about the business of living under the radar. All six of them have reasons not to want the Div on their trail. All six of them are Talented. And this Dream has Div all over it.
For the millionth time, Sungjong wishes his father were here. He takes a breath, pulls the titanium cross from under his under shirt, kisses it, and lets it drop back into place. As he dresses, he tries to plan the best way to convince the others of his own certainties.
Watcher with a Push
He's disoriented to the point of nausea, his veins burning so fiercely that if he had the time he'd claw at his own flesh to make it stop. Every second is slipping away from him; that sense of what is, what can be, what might be, what will be sharper than ever before and strangely echoed.
He tries to breathe through the possibilities as he's been taught, choosing this corridor over that one and that door over this. His bare feet slap against the floor until he snatches up someone's unheeded tennis shoes and hops his way into them, using a bed pan as an impromptu club in the next moment on some worker's head.
The need to run, to move, to get out scrapes the edges of his mind. The two needles he snatched up he wraps in a towel he grabs with a faint grim smile, then shoves the bundle in his waistband. Those will be important later, but not now.
Sirens blare setting off a new flash of possibilities in his mind and he realizes he's almost out of time. A door buzzes and he slips through, scraping his shoulder on the frame and he ignores the burst of pain as his flesh tears. He's outside, waning sunlight warm on his cold skin, and he stares around desperately. All he needs now is one opportunity.
Ten minutes later he's in a car, not speeding because that would draw attention. Just a leisurely drive with the owner of the car chattering away to him as if they are the best of friends. Because as far as the driver knows, so they are. His shaken passenger smiles and nods in the right places and thinks hard, fighting down nausea and the pain of whatever Div gave him burning through his blood stream. He rubs at his arms and keeps his eyes on his new friend.
One thing I feel that Lee Sungjong definitely is NOT is a simplistic individual. And I think he's too smart and savvy to fall for a lot of cliche's or just random schmoopy stuff. Plus because I felt a lot of trust was being given to me with the request, I wanted to do something... more. Tonight, my brain spat this out. If you've ever seen the movie Push, this will have some familiar themes. I consider this to take place in the world of PUSH with entirely different characters and also some different talents etc.
Another requester mentioned that they don't really think that Sungjong is gay. To be honest, I am not sure that I feel that Sungjong is all the way into super duper gay on the spectrum either. I think he's more probably "prefers ladies 85 percent of the time but doesn't necessarily find the idea of sexual situations with certain gentlemen an unattractive concept."
Summary: In a not too distant future, experimentation has lead to the development of psychic talents now useful warfare. Lee Sungjong is a member of an underground Crew, a group of talents desperately trying to stay out of Government control. Kim Myungsoo has just escaped the Government "Div" with two syringes full of experimental drugs and himself. He is patient O - everyone wants control of him. And Myungsoo just wants to stay alive.
Chapter 1 - Dreamer...Watcher...Escape...
Dreamer with a Mission
A beautiful boy is strapped to a hospital bed. His eyes are closed, perfect crescents of long lashes laying against the classic shape of his cheekbones. His lips are dry, cracked slightly and the gather of his raven brows seems to whisper of pain even in unconsciousness. A simple high pitched tone repeats in the rarified silence of the room his bed occupies and there is the slightest up and down movement of the patient's chest under the folded white sheet.
The light of the room is almost painfully bright, limned around the edges with fiery blues and golden reds. The Dreamer wants to look away but the crispness of the scene forces him to stay with it. Trial and error has taught him that the more physically painful and bright the Dream; the more crucial the details may prove to be.
There are voices in the room now, and bodies but most of them are mere gray shadows to the Dreamer. The aggravation of the beeping seems to grow louder, more insistant. There's a gleam of a hypodermic needle, sharp as a knife in the Dream, and dripping with black fluid like ink though the Dreamer is fairly certain in reality the syringe is oversized but innocuous.
The plunge of the needle sinks with the push of dark hands and the Dreamer gasps as his vision allows him a glimpse of inky fluid slipping through strangely vulnerable purple veins and pure flesh.
The boy on the bed comes awake in a violent spasm, the tendons on his neck standing out sharply. The Dreamer finds himself staring into the boy's eyes. They are dark like velvet, for a moment seeming without either white or pupil and then the patient blinks, stares, goes limp and lifeless.
A long moment passes while the constant blare of what the Dreamer now understands is a monitor suddenly goes silent. At any second, the Dreamer is sure the vision will end.
But it doesn't.
The Dreamer stays with it; straining for the meaning behind the scene as the gray figures in the room talk over the boy's body and loosen the straps which previously held him prisoner.
A jerk, a snap, something seizes at the Dreamer's chest and the boy's eyes flare open wider than before. He rolls out of the bed, revealed to be dressed in sweat pants and shirt, barefoot and pale.
That doesn't stop him from moving as if he's practiced every muscle twitch a thousand times. A hand comes up and the sensation of a PUSH conveys to the Dreamer. The Dreamer gasps, tears streaming from his own eyes as he strains to hang onto the picture. Gray figures fall away from the boy and he spins on a bare heel snatching two ink laden syringes from the tray nearby. He ducks under an extended black arm and through a doorway. Unaccountably, the door slams shut and locks, trapping the would be pursuers while a voice barks orders.
The Dreamer's vision changes from a picture to a map, a maze. The boy's path strobes through the Dreamer's mind and he understands the boy will escape from the place he had been held. Or already has.
Mere escape, though, is not the same as freedom.
The Dreamer falls back against the pillows of his bed, his own eyes snapping gratefully open on the white ceiling above him. His name is Lee Sungjong and his life has just changed beyond all recognition. Outside his small bedroom, he can hear the Band going about the business of living under the radar. All six of them have reasons not to want the Div on their trail. All six of them are Talented. And this Dream has Div all over it.
For the millionth time, Sungjong wishes his father were here. He takes a breath, pulls the titanium cross from under his under shirt, kisses it, and lets it drop back into place. As he dresses, he tries to plan the best way to convince the others of his own certainties.
Watcher with a Push
He's disoriented to the point of nausea, his veins burning so fiercely that if he had the time he'd claw at his own flesh to make it stop. Every second is slipping away from him; that sense of what is, what can be, what might be, what will be sharper than ever before and strangely echoed.
He tries to breathe through the possibilities as he's been taught, choosing this corridor over that one and that door over this. His bare feet slap against the floor until he snatches up someone's unheeded tennis shoes and hops his way into them, using a bed pan as an impromptu club in the next moment on some worker's head.
The need to run, to move, to get out scrapes the edges of his mind. The two needles he snatched up he wraps in a towel he grabs with a faint grim smile, then shoves the bundle in his waistband. Those will be important later, but not now.
Sirens blare setting off a new flash of possibilities in his mind and he realizes he's almost out of time. A door buzzes and he slips through, scraping his shoulder on the frame and he ignores the burst of pain as his flesh tears. He's outside, waning sunlight warm on his cold skin, and he stares around desperately. All he needs now is one opportunity.
Ten minutes later he's in a car, not speeding because that would draw attention. Just a leisurely drive with the owner of the car chattering away to him as if they are the best of friends. Because as far as the driver knows, so they are. His shaken passenger smiles and nods in the right places and thinks hard, fighting down nausea and the pain of whatever Div gave him burning through his blood stream. He rubs at his arms and keeps his eyes on his new friend.