"Tips, run, dammit, get out of here!" yelled Mavin, pushing a thin blue-haired boy forward. "We can't have you captured!"
Tiranapinus Cyrillus stumbled forward, fell, cringed at the sound of bootsteps, and tried to get back up and run. There was the door. In front of him. If only he could just make it to the door, just make it there, he would be fine. The door, the escape route out of Otherworld, his home, to someplace else. No one knew where yet. Test subjects didn't return. There wasn't time to find out. The others were always there, always ready to get at them while their backs were turned. They couldn't risk that. Tips, bruised an battered took one last look behind him at his home. Not that he'd ever had much love for it, but that was what it was. His home. Where every moment he lay in fear of what was around the next corner, for the shapeshifting others could be anywhere.
"Remeber," Mavin screamed, running forward, "You're the last!"
The Cyrillus clan. His family. A family of oddities among their people, great powerful leaders, mutants among their own kind. He was a discrace. The youngest child in the family, the rest of whom had all been murdered, and he jumped at every little sight. That was how one grew up, living in Otherworld. Constant fear. He took one step through the portal.
A girl named Eva was just moving into her house. The people in the neighborhood claimed it was haunted, and especially that the spirits lived in her room. Of course, that simply made her want the room more. But she never expected this.
It was ten'o'clovk on a late summer night, 2024. She had been getting a snack, and walked into her room to find something she'd never expected.
Her closet door opened, at first seemingly of its own accord, and a boy walked out. He was thin, almost gaunt, and looked to be in his teens. His eyes were green, bright and taking in everything, though not necessarily happy. His clothes were odd. A tight, black long-sleeved shirt with a navy blue cape around his shoulders, and navy gloves, and on his legs navy pants. These garments seemed to make him look thinner still. The outfit was covered in snags, rips, and snares, most of which revealed scars, cuts, and bruises of many sorts. She thought perhaps she may even have seen a rib poking out of the young man's chest. One of his eyes was bruised, and would soon be much more black and swollen, and there were more cuts near his lip and other eye. He stumbled in as if weak, with a limp like his leg may have been hurt. But the thing that struck Eva as most odd was his hair. It didn't seem to go with his odd getup at all. It seemed almost... modern. It was a tossed mess, here, there, and everywhere, and the color of it was a bright, crisp blue.
The boy looked at her, and his eyes showed shock and fright, before he collapsed on her floor.
She went over to him. Was this a ghost? But if so, what an odd ghost. Was he real? A figment of the imagination? Perhaps she was simply dreaming. After three minutes went by, she finally dared to touch him.
This boy was tangible. And he was alive.