Opia: n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there's someone standing there, but unable to tell if you're looking in or looking out.
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Chapter One: Begin Again
A blonde youth sat at a table inside of a small, white room. His sharp sapphire eyes briefly scanned over a series of cards that were laid out before him, each containing a basic geometric shape. He had been instructed to keep his forearms flat on the table surface before him, stim-pads and wires connecting him to a machine that spit-out vital signs in the form of slopping lines.
On the other side of the table was one of the many neuroscientists the blonde semi-reluctantly regarded as family. The man wore a lab coat and had his dark-gray hair tied back into a pony-tail, light-brown eyes focusing on a vertical board that separated him from the adolescent youth, but more importantly, shielded the youth from being able to see what card was currently being displayed, "Roxas, can you—"
Roxas stared forward now, eyes borrowing into the man's light-brown ones as the card that displayed a star levitated in front of him, rotating so as to face the scientist. However, the man in the lab coat wasn't amused, a frown etching on his face, undoubtedly annoyed at the blonde's impatience over the experiment.
"Can you—" The scientist started again, but he was effectively silenced when the adolescent across from him begun levitating all of the cards, including the ones on the scientists' side, "Roxas-!" The name fell from the man's lips in a warning, but the authoritative tone waivered under the intense stare of the younger male.
In response, the blonde's mouth quirked up into a grin, levitating the remaining, but sparse, equipment in the room, including the table both were currently sitting at. The machine that was meant to record the blonde's vitals was now working in double-time, colored lines blending together as the sloping lines turned into a series of mountain peaks and deep trenches.
"That's enough, Roxas!" This time the command didn't come from the scientist, but from a voice over the intercom. A voice Roxas recognized as belonging to Vexen, the man who had acted as a surrogate father to him. The amused grin faded from Roxas' face as the levitated items were dropped, cards fluttering down around them like confetti from a birthday party.
Roxas stood now, pulling stim-pads from his skin as he did, "Can I go back to my room now?" Roxas maintained eye-contact with the scientist, though the question wasn't directed at him, instead to the voice over the intercom. His question was punctuated by the overwhelming silence that filled the room, the scientist eying him as if he expected the youth to lunge at him. Roxas was used to their fear, even if he had never given anyone a reason to fear him. His altogether icy exterior and ability to bend steel bars with his mind was all the motivation people needed to stay clear of him.
"Fine"
The answer from Vexen was reluctant, but Roxas didn't pay it any iattention as he walked out of the door and into a dimly lit room filled with computer monitors that played live video feed of the room Roxas had just been in, as well as other monitors that were in charge of recording all of his cognitive activity. Vexen wore a frown the moment he spotted the blonde, but he didn't say anything as he instead led the adolescent out of the room and into a sterile-white hallway, "You can't just make up your own rules."
Roxas snorted at Vexen's scolding as he pushed past a double hinged door, "Says the man who plays God for a living." Roxas had known since he was a child that he'd been genetically engineered in the lab, constructed from embryonic stem cells and carried to term by a woman who died giving birth to him. His real mother, the egg donor, had been cursed with telekinesis which she passed down to Roxas. Unlike his mother, though, Roxas had been bred to be a superior race of human. Having grown up in the military base, Roxas had been raised as a solider, child-hood stripped from him the moment he turned nine. While he excelled in hand-to-hand combat and could manipulate objects twenty times his own weight, he failed in the majority of emotional and social aspects.
"I mean it, Roxas, these people—"Vexen had stopped walking, leaning closer to Roxas as if to block-out any prying ears, "—these people are looking for compliance, not rebellion. Do not make yourself expendable." Roxas could sense genuine fear in Vexen's tone, as if the older male was privy to knowledge that Roxas wasn't.
"Expendable? I'm human too, not some fucking lab rat." Roxas gritted his teeth, anger boiling beneath his hardening gaze, "These people are fucking monsters. I'm tired of being experimented on, Vexen. At the end of the day, you get to go home to your family. To your wife and your two daughters, but me? I'm eighteen and the only world I know is this fucking military base!" Roxas was yelling now, oblivious to the military medical staff that weaved around them, casting curious glances at the confrontation.
"Keep your voice down, Roxas!" Vexen spoke through clenched teeth, a hand coming to clasp onto Roxas' bicep in an attempt to control him before redirecting him down the hallway.
For the moment, Roxas followed orders as they continued walking down the hallway, "I know you're human, but these people, they don't care. They're looking for results and if you keep acting out, you're going to get hurt. When they look at you, all they see is dollar signs and a weapon." Roxas would be lying if Vexen's words didn't cut deeply, high-lighting realities Roxas had only thought about while tossing and turning in his bed at night.
Roxas pursed his mouth shut at that point, yanking his bicep from the man but still following the older male towards his bedroom. Upon arrival, Vexen slid his identification card through the electronic lock outside of the door, red-light flashing green. Inside, Roxas' room mimicked that of a cheap studio apartment, basic necessities with only a few adolescent flares serving as testament to Roxas' humanity. Even if he couldn't be a normal teenager, it didn't hurt to pretend.
However, as they stepped into the living room, door closing behind them, Roxas sensed something was wrong the moment his eyes came to rest on a suit-clad Saix. In all of his eighteen years, Roxas could remember only meeting the man four times, each time leaving an inexplicable sour taste in his mouth.
"No one informed me you would be visiting, Saix." Vexen spoke now, an amicable smile on his face as he regarded the man.
"We have a strict cease and desist order from above. As of now, your entire lab and all of its equipment are to be surrendered over to me. "Saix's tone was less friendly in contrast, his golden-eyes void of any identifiable emotion as he presented Vexen with a document that presumably detailed the order.
"That's—This is absurd. What is the meaning of this?" Vexen glossed over the papers in a state of raw fury and confusion, eyes darting between the papers in his hand and to Saix who remained nonplused, "You're firing me? And what about Roxas? What happens to him?"
Saix rolled his shoulders in a shrug, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, "There's some concern that you're too emotionally invested in your experiment. It's clouding your judgement and, as such, you've been deemed unfit to continue running it." Saix then turned his gaze to Roxas, eyes trailing up his length in vague acknowledgment, "As for Roxas, I believe he falls under equipment."
"We'll just see what Xemans thinks about this." Vexen replied, turning to exit the room only to freeze when several military swat members entered the room, guns drawn and barrels pointed at both Vexen and Roxas.
"Stand down, or we'll respond with lethal force." The unidentified militant's voice was muffled behind his protective helmet and mask, taking cautionary steps forward so as to intimidate Roxas and Vexen into listening to him.
In response, both Roxas and Vexen slowly raised their hands above their heads in surrender, "Just do what they say." Roxas spoke softly, his voice wavering as adrenaline pumped through his body, pupils dilating in response to his sympathetic nervous system. He eventually came to rest his hands on the back of his head, fingers interlacing to suggest his complete compliance and surrender.
"They'll kill you if you comply, Roxas." Vexen spoke matter-of-fact, his tone flattened as both men kept their gaze forward.
"And if he doesn't comply, we'll kill you instead." Saix's voice filtered in from behind them.
"Then I comply." Roxas responded quickly. The fear of death was nothing but a dull ache in the pit of Roxas' stomach. He had nothing to lose, but Vexen had his family and an entire life outside of the military base. Even if the very thought made bile rise in his throat, Roxas knew that he was just a lab rat.
The militant who had spoken earlier now lowered his gun and stepped behind the two men, withdrawing hand-cuffs from his belt. Roxas flinched at the cold metal that bit into the flesh of his wrists, teeth gritting out of discomfort as he was yanked back by the bicep, held in place by the military officer.
He was then shoved forward, forced to walk past the remaining swat members and Vexen, who was cursing Saix while simultaneously pleading for Roxas' release. Roxas had barely stepped over the threshold of the doorway when he heard the gun-shot. The sound reverberated through Roxas, daunting realization working through his body. He yelled, face contorting into a mixture of horror and panic as he realized Vexen had been shot, "Vexen! You sick fucks!" Roxas continued yelling, a frothy heat building in his throat as it became raw with profanities that he directed at Saix. He then lifted a leg, crashing the heel of his boot into the shin of the militant's leg.
His bicep had been released, sending him sliding forward onto the white tiles of the floor. With focus, Roxas used his telekinesis to snap the metal chain of the hand-cuffs, swinging his leg simultaneously to kick the injured militant's legs out from under him. Roxas quickly rose to his feet and with his hands now free, retrieved the gun the militant had been holding before firing a bullet into the man's chest with little remorse.
He then raised his arm to point the gun at the remaining swat-members who had flooded the hall, guns poised at him. Roxas held his finger on the trigger as he stepped forward. He then raised his free hand, thrusting it forward which resulted in the soldiers being thrown backwards as if they were nothing but rag dolls, colliding against concrete walls with enough force to snap bones like twigs. In his anger, the lights above them flickered until they popped and plunged the hallway into a dim darkness. He stepped forward, re-entering the room where Vexen was strewn across the floor, blood pouring from a bullet-hole in the back of his head.
Roxas didn't acknowledge the corpse, though, his gaze focusing on Saix who held a pistol in his hand. The man who had showed little remorse or apathy, now trembled with fear as he tried to steady the pistol in his hand. In desperation, the man fired his gun, but the bullet stopped just short of the center of Roxas' forehead. With the same control, Roxas was able to flip the bullet with his mind and maintaining its speed, the bullet flung forward until it embedded itself in the center of Saix's forehead. A short, strained gurgling came from Saix before the man collapsed, blood oozing from the wound in rivulets of blood.
Roxas now came to kneel beside Vexen, gently rolling the man onto his back. Roxas knew that there was nothing he could for the man, but it didn't cease the tears that rolled down his cheeks. The blond exhaled sharply, body trembling as he momentarily cradled the man's head in his lap, "I'm sorry." He mumbled through his tears, repeating his apologies several more times as he tried to comprehend his own reality. Still, a greater reality settled around him. A blaring alarm rung out around him, informing him that if he wanted to live, he had to leave. With a final good-bye, Roxas removed Vexen's identification card before fleeing the scene.
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For the most part, Roxas knew the facility like the back of his hand. He was quick on his feet, sliding the identification card through the electronic lock that lead to a stairwell. He propelled himself down the flight of stairs, stopping short when bullets ricocheted against the concrete walls of the stair well, causing Roxas to look up where another militant was firing at him.
Still, he continued the descent before slipping into another corridor, narrowly avoiding running into more militants who were in the middle of restraining any unauthorized staff members. Red-lights flashed around him, signaling that the building was being placed into an emergency lock-down.
However, as he turned down another hallway, he came face to face with a militant, gun pointed at him. Roxas froze, blue-eyes darting between the solider and the stair-well behind him, "Don't make me hurt you." Roxas warned, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Let me go."
In response, the militant lowered his weapon before lifting the shield that covered his face, "Roxas?" The voice was cautious, but familiar.
"Leon?" Roxas questioned, a small wave of relief washing over him, "T-They killed Vexen. Please, you have to help me escape. If-If I stay—" Roxas tried to take a step forward, but the brunette raised his gun in response.
"I have orders to kill you." Leon spoke, his voice unmistakably wavering as he steadied his weapon. Roxas considered the older male to be one of the few friends he had on the military base, having been mentored by the man in hand-to-hand combat under the instruction of Saix. They had cultivated a brotherly bond during the decade they'd known each other, but now, Roxas wasn't sure if any of that mattered now.
"Please, Leon. Don't do this." Roxas' hands trembled now, knowing that if the man did attack, he'd have almost no choice but to react.
This time, though, Leon lowered his weapon to his side, "I know a way out, but we have to be quick." Leon instructed hastily, gesturing for the blonde to follow after him. As they entered the stair-well, Leon led Roxas down the stairs, gun drawn in the event that anyone tried to stop them. As they reached the bottom floor, Leon opened the door with hesitance, both males keeping their eyes peeled for anyone that would get in their way.
"There's a sewage system beneath the base, it's about five miles long." As Leon spoke he pressed himself up against one of the walls, looking at Roxas, "You understand, of course, that this isn't over. They're going to hunt you down, Roxas." Leon spoke steadily, as if he believed Roxas had a choice in the situation.
"I know." Roxas responded, nodding his head, "I know." He repeated, giving the older male a reassuring smile despite the fear that pulsated through him.
With moderate ease, Leon was able to safely escort Roxas to the basement and to a sewer grate that was used to drain water during hurricane season. With assistance from Leon, the males were able to remove the grate, "Here, take this." As Leon spoke, he unclipped a flash-light from his belt and handed it to Roxas.
"Thank you, Leon." Roxas smiled meekly, turning the flash light on as he descended the ladder that lead down into the sewer. Half-way down, Leon reapplied the grate overhead. Once Roxas located solid ground, he followed the sewer system.
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Just when Roxas was beginning to believe the sewer system had no end, he heard the pitter-patter of rain, and before he knew it, he was standing at the mouth of a large tunnel where the water emptied out into a trench. As Roxas exited the sewer system, he realized he was in the middle of an open field surrounded by woods.
The crisp night-air invaded his lungs as he stepped further into the field, rain falling in sheets and soaking straight through Roxas clothes. He found himself looking up, eyes squinting into the rain that created gentle patterns on his skin. He ran fingers through his hair, slicking it back. He'd only seen real rain once in his entire life, but he'd never felt it. Thus, like a child discovering the vast complexities of the universe, Roxas extended his arms skyward, spinning in a circle. As he now dropped his hands to his side, his fingers grazed over the tall grass of the field, sensations he'd never experienced before sent neurons exploding within his body. His tears mixed with the falling rain, tears that were still falling over the loss of his only family, but new tears that came with the realization that, for the first time, he was free.
Still, he had to push forward, to put distance between himself and the military base. Thus, he pushed himself forward, running as far as his feet could carry him.
xxx
Just as the sun had begun peaking over the top of the horizon, Roxas stumbled through the woods and onto a paved road that lead to a motel. Roxas stared at the building in awe, and while he had a vast basic understanding of the world around him, he had never experienced any of it. With hesitation, his feet propelled him forward until he was standing inside of the main-office, bell ringing above his head. At the sound, a large pump woman emerged from a back room, eyes scanning over Roxas with a look of utter confusion, "Boy, you look just short of a wet-rat."
"Can I—" Roxas began speaking, pausing as various movie scenes flooded his memory, each giving him a clue as to what he was meant to do in this scenario, "—get a room?"
The woman gave him another look over, "Sure, it'll be seventy-five for the night. Cash or credit?"
Roxas felt his mouth work itself into an 'o' shape, recalling that the real world worked on a currency. Roxas frowned, "I don't—"
"You runnin' away from somethin'?" The woman suddenly asked, leaning forward to get a closer look at the trembling blond.
"No, I just—"Roxas' had started his answer quickly, but it faltered as he tried to gather an explanation.
"Save it. I used to have a boyfriend who beat me real bad too. Listen, I'll make a deal with you, I'll let you stay in a room tonight. For free, but if you want to keep staying here, you'll either need to find some cash or work for me. Fair enough?" The woman spoke, turning to pluck a room key off the hook, holding it just out of Roxas' reach.
Of course, the comment about domestic abuse was lost on Roxas who merely furrowed his brows together in confusion. Still, the chattering of his teeth told him to nod his head in agreeance, "Fair enough." He agreed hesitantly, accepting the key, "Thank you."
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Back out in the rain, Roxas looked down at the key that displayed the number thirteen, and counting off the numbers in his head, he finally found the room the key belonged to. As he slipped inside, he closed the door behind him and made an immediate beeline to the bathroom, peeling away rain-soaked clothes as he did.
Under the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, Roxas marveled at his disgruntled appearance. From his telekinetic exertion, several of the blood vessels in his eyes had burst, staining the white of his eyes a crimson red. Still, he was mostly unscathed and turning from the mirror, he turned the shower on and stepped inside of the tub, his trembling momentarily heightened as his body adjusted to the change in temperature.
Once cleaned up, he realized his clothes were too soaked to put back on, prompting him to lay the fabric out to dry as he kept a towel wrapped around his waist. Eventually, his own exhaustion won out and climbing beneath the covers of the motel's bed, he found himself drifting in and out of consciousness until everything faded to black.
