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Baxter is 1.83m tall and weighs 65kg. He is extremely muscular due to his excessive use of steroids and performance enhancing drugs. His entire body is completely covered with tattoos, and even some capitol citizens say that he's gone too far with his modification. He has shimmering violet hair and pink eyes.


Baxter Parthenon

2 Years Ago

It's hard to tell the difference between my mom's edibles and normal brownies. You can just about taste the weed, but it's not enough for it to taste disgusting. So I expected mine to be amazing too, when I made them for the first time. But they're pretty shit actually. I mean, they're fine brownies. But the cannabis is too strong and overwhelming.

"Did you lace it with fucking…" Rin coughs, spitting some of it out onto the table. Her eyes are really watering as she coughs more, but nobody goes to help her.

"Nah, I wouldn't put anything in them." I try to reassure the rest of the group, but they don't sound too impressed. Xavier drops the rest of his brownies on the table, next to all the needles and empty glasses. It's hard to make out the features of this cramped, dingy and dark room, but I can still tell it's a mess. I'd shout at him to pick it up, but it's probably contaminated with who knows what now.

"They taste like dogshit." Xavier complains, spitting the rest out on the floor.

They're not that bad. I take another large bite, to prove that they're fine. "Fuck off. I don't see you in the kitchen, dickhead."

"Just get your mom to make some next time." Rin interrupts, dusting her hands off. I'd bite back at her too, but at least she actually swallowed it. She then takes a large gulp of beer, which sounds great right about now. So I take a swig too, shuddering at how strong it is.

"How are you drinking?" Xavier asks, laying back. "I puke everytime I drink and smoke together."

"Well we're not pussies like you." I tell him, which he just groans too. He mumbles something under his breath that I don't hear or care about.

Rin nods. "And we're sort of like...seasoned pros, heh."

"Bloody hell, this isn't some sort of fucking sport, is it?" Xavier rolls his eyes.

As he says that, I feel my body shudder rather violently, as the drink suddenly makes it way back up. I manage to lunge to the bin in time, purging it all out quickly. My eyes water as my tongue burns, but I still feel fine really. Dazed, light headed and out of it, but fine.

"What were you saying about pussies and seasoned pros?" Xavier taunts me with a very smug tone. I feel like giving him a swift right hook, but I stay by the bin, as I think there's still some left in me.

"Fuck off." I don't even look at it. I can handle it fine. I'm just not feeling the greatest at the moment. If it were any day, I'd be stomaching even more.


It's oddly relaxing walking around the school corridors when I'm high. The beige and light blue cracking walls feel much more lively and I quickly forget about how underfunded our school is. And all the little noises sound much more funny. Hearing people shout and chant and scream in their classes when they're meant to be dead silent is entertaining.

I wonder why our schools are so underfunded anyway. I guess most people won't end up using the shit we learn here. Do most fashion designers and artists really need to know how pebbles form? If anybody's interested in it, they can go to one of those specialised schools.

"Baxter! Why aren't you in class?" A shrill voice shouts from behind me. A rather small lady, barely pushing 5 foot 1, waddles over to me with an angry look. Like a penguin, heh.

"Ah, miss, I don't know where my class is." I shrug, leaning against a locker.

The teacher shakes her head and tuts. "Well, where is your timetable then?"

"Lost it." I notice how weird my voice sounds. Is it usually this deep and...does it usually vibrate this much? I stare at the slowly ticking clock as I think about this, averting my eyes away from the teacher who I don't know the name of.

"Baxter, you're 15 now. You should know that you're responsible enough to look after your own possessions. Us adults can't always look after your stuff anymore." She gives me a lecture, though I begin to zone out. I think these edibles were stronger than I thought. Or maybe I just ate too many.

"I'll print you another." She rolls her eyes, though I don't see the point. It'll go missing in a week's time. "Now take that coat off-"

"Yeah, yeah, it doesn't comply with the dress code." Or some shit like that. I'm not going to take it off though as I'm cold and I think I look more intimidating wearing it.

"Take the coat off…" She repeats, so I begin to pull my arms out slowly, though I'm not sure if it's fooling her. I just have to wait for her to walk away and then I can put it back on. "And please just find your lesson. I'll get someone to deliver the timetable to you later."

She walks off, not bothering to discipline me or anything. I mean they can't do much about me being late for lessons. But that's what they think. There's no point of me showing up for trigonometry for half an hour when I'm going to fail it anyway.


"Why you flunking out of school, love?" Prixie shouts, pulling a cigarette down from her mouth. I can almost smell the booze in her breath though she's drowned herself in an overwhelming amount of perfume and makeup. "Baxter, ya such a...such a clever boy, deep down. You just ain't putting the effort in. You really want to throw your future away like this?"

"My future isn't fucking ruined because I missed calculus once or twice." I roll my eyes, picking up a cigarette from the pack. I can't find the lighter however...I probably dropped it down the middle of the sofa.

"Nah, but it's gonna become a trend, ain't it? Ya missing lessons cos of this weed shit." She coughs loudly and gutturally, causing spit to fly on the kitchen countertop. She doesn't bother to wipe it up. Classy. "How can you go from being a perfect all A student, to a fucking flunking all F?"

I don't know why she's trying to convince anybody that she actually cares. "It's probably when you handed me that Xanax all those years ago." I mumble under my breath, though she's too dazed to hear me. I have to keep my rage down though just because it's my mum.

"If you ain't gonna improve, I'm going to have to do something." Prixie takes a puff, looking more relieved than she probably should be at this moment. "I'll make a curfew. Put iron bars on your windows."

"You can't do that." I roll my eyes, not believing that she'll ever go out of her way to discipline me really. "CPS will be all over your ass."

"I can do whatever the hell I want. And if I want to lock in your fucking room, then I will." She declares her empty threats. Sure, sure. Whatever you say then.

I flick the cigarette butts off the table, onto the floor. It probably isn't responsible or smart to get the ash everywhere, but the cleaner can handle it fine. That's what we're paying them all for. As I do it, I wonder if I'm actually making the right choices. I know I'm smart and can do well...am I throwing my life away?

This is too deep of a question to ask when I'm not high. I'll decide when I can get some Xanax again.


Trying to ignore the queasiness in my stomach when I'm so irritated is extremely hard. And having to deal with Rin's constant nagging only makes me want to punch a brick wall even harder. I don't even care if I break all the bones in my hand at the moment.

"Seriously...this skirt isn't made for the cold...I can feel my legs heating up. Isn't that a sign of hypothermia?" Rin moans, as she pushes her obscenely short skirt down even further. It's not my fault that you decided to be extremely thick and wear summer clothing on a winter's morning.

"It's a sign that you should shut the fuck up." I try to get her to stop talking, but she makes a moody hmmphing noise like a toddler and she stamps her feet. I look away from her, instead staring down the alleyway. It's a disgusting sight, seeing the trash bags overfilling and the dirty dripping puddle water fall down the drains. If anything, the putrid smell is making me even more irritable.

She rolls her eyes. "What's got you in such a mood? Can't handle not being able to smoke for a couple of days?"

"It's been a week. I never go a week without anything" I decide, as I stare intently at the water dripping into the puddle. It's almost satisfying. "I can't rest."

"You need help. Like, rehab help. Or therapy." Rin decides unhelpfully. She pulls out a small hand mirror and begins to poke at her ratty blue wig, that always looks wet. It looks terrible but I guess that's fashion for you.

"I'd rather smoke a blunt. Much more relaxing." I mutter quietly. The queasiness is getting worse and worse. And I always feel on edge. This has reminded me why I never used to attempt to come off this shit. How much longer is going to be before they get here? "And you need it too bitch. You're here with me."

Rin quickly snaps the mirror down, clearly tired of her vain attitude. "I'm only here in case you do something stupid and getting yourself stabbed. You clearly can't look after yourself."

"What are you going to do, fucking action barbie? Cock block them or some shit like that? Cause your fucking twig arms aren't going to do shit."

Rin shrugs, not too sure herself. "Haven't you ever heard of safety in numbers?"

"Yeah, one and a half is so much better than one." I mutter shakily, now looking upwards at the roofs to see the pigeons cooing obnoxiously loud. I wonder if I could hit one with a rock.

She points to the open. "Well, if I'm not wanted, I can just leave."

I don't say anything, as I'm not too sure if I do want her to leave. Sure, she's annoying and I'm really not in the mood to deal with people, but I don't want to be alone either. All this paranoia is messing with my head right now and every weird noise I hear sends me into utter fear.

"Exactly. I'll stay if I feel like it." Rin smiles to herself, as if she's made some girlboss move. I don't respond again.


By the time the blood is gushing out of his broken nose, I'm not even sure why I'm angry. I see it drop onto the hard pavement floor of the alley. But that or the guilt doesn't stop me, as I go in for another even harder punch. Maybe I'll break his jaw this time.

"P-please...stop-p." Pyrus cries. I can tell he doesn't know what to do. Should he swing back? Or guard his face? Or try to stop the blood gushing out? He's clearly panicking.

I'm not a psychopath though. I'm not going to keep hitting him when he's down. And I know I let my anger get in the way, but I can just about stop myself once I've done it. I've caused him enough pain to satisfy me. I don't need to torture him anymore. I step back, looking him directly in his stuffy eyes. He's whimpering, clearly in much agony. But I don't try to stop him from running.

"Don't even chat shit about me behind my back, pussyole." I shout as he dashes away, out of the alley and into public again. I hate these people who spread rumours about me just because I do fucking drugs and shit. Sorry I'm not no priest. Just because your mummy coddled you and told you to never touch a bottle of beer doesn't mean all ours did too. And that doesn't mean you have to talk shit about me behind my back.

I let my breathing slow down for a second, as I lean against the smooth wall. I stare at the blood still, not sure how to feel. It makes me feel powerful and strong almost, to see I can cause so much damage, but I also feel strange...I should really find a way to deal with my anger. This shit is going to get me into trouble one day. My dad can't keep bailing me out forever with his money.

Xavier walks up to me now. I know he's really fucking annoying too, but at least he has my back. Nobody else is willing to keep a look out for me. But he does seem uncomfortable by it all. Maybe he doesn't like seeing me brutally beat people like this.

"Have you got the pills from earlier?"

"Yeah, they charged extra. It's what put me in such a bad mood. And that little bitch Pyrus didn't help either." I moan, getting ready to swallow it.

Xavier takes a handful of pills off of me, as a repayment. "I think you should get that checked out. You're going to get in trouble with the wrong people, man."

I was about to put it in my mouth, but that sudden revelation stops me. As much as I hate to admit it, he's true. I don't like to admit I'm flawed, but I guess everybody is. And my flaw is uncontrollable rage. "I'd get therapy or anger management lessons if I could. I really would man. But my parents won't ever buy it for me because they don't fucking care."

"You're almost an adult now though. You'll be able to book it for yourself soon."

"Well that's in the future...let's just stay in the present for now."


Even if it breaks my back, I'm determined to bench this 200 pound weight. My arms shake underneath the weight, as if they're going to snap off like little twigs. The bright gym light shining into my eyes also doesn't help my concentration, as I need to squint constantly. But with the last raw ounce of strength, I lift it back up.

"Woah, congrats, man. That doesn't look easy." The boy watching me says. I think we're meant to be friends because we shot heroin once before. But I don't know his name. I'll just give him some pretentious name like...Sparkavia. I don't know.

"It isn't easy." I barely manage to spit out, wiping the sweat from my forehead now. I'm not going to be able to feel my arms for the next few days.

He looks up and down at my shaking body. I look away from him though as he has some really shoddy tattoos. He has all inspirational messages and odd languages and people's names all over his arms, which just makes me cringe. Get a snake or something, like I have.

"How do you do it? I can barely do 150." Sparkavia shows a relaxed smile. He passes me a bottle of water, which I slowly sip.

"Lots of fucking…" I lose my track of thought. "Fucking...hard work and dedication. I constantly workout in all of my free time."

After a few seconds, he decides: "I'm not pushing myself hard enough."

"Yeah, using 10kg weights and doing a short run every day isn't going to cut it." I say back with snark.

"Hey, I'm trying my best, man!" He whines, but I ignore him.

I slide off the seat, feeling the need to stand and stretch my legs, even if my arms are still struggling to keep still from the shaking. I think I've worked hard enough now. If I keep going I'll end up injuring myself. And I can't harm this perfectly chiselled body, heh.

We walk back to the showers. I'm so glad that these showers are relatively clean. I know druggies are normally really dirty and disgusting, but I still want to take care of my hygiene and shit.

As I strip down, I rummage through my bag and pull a needle out, which is already filled up. I shouldn't even feel it penetrate. My arm is numb to it now. I turn on the shower and watch the steam fill the room, to try to cover my actions. It'd look a bit strange if I was standing in the shower room without turning it on.

I look over my arms, seeing all the little pricks and scars. I'm getting less and less free skin to stab myself with. And I don't want to reopen any old wounds and infect myself. I manage to find the right spot in my deltoid and I pierce the skin, feeling the steroids being injected in.

My breath is shaky for a few seconds, until I pull out. I guess this is technically cheating or whatever, but I'm not using my strength for any competitions, so it's fine. It's much easier than actually working out. I'll always go for the smarter and quicker method.

I place the needle on the ground and step on it as hard as I can, breaking it into many pieces. I scoop up most of it to the bin, but a few fragments get swept away. Nobody will know anything happened and I'll be able to keep up the illusion that I'm still working hard. As long as I don't overdo it…I should be fine.