Author's Note: Hey there! Sorry it took so long to get this up, stuff popped up. Anyway, a big thanks to everyone that reviewed and/or followed the story when it was just a prologue! It was an unexpected surprise but a very welcome one. Anyway, without further ado, chapter one!

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Three months. It had been three months since the FAYZ wall went down, three months since those horrid trials, three months since he was removed from hell on earth. Not that many kids would say Saint Edith's was exactly pleasant, as a matter of fact he himself was far from liking the place. But he had to admit, it was much better than the FAYZ. Here you didn't face starvation, here there were no constant battles, here you didn't have to fear for your life every second.

Not that that stopped everyone. No one got out of that wretched place unaffected. Many were anxiety ridden and had trouble relating with other people. And those were just the lucky ones. He himself suffered from nightmares. Of course he hadn't told anyone this, willingly anyway, as the 'good' nurses of Saint Edith's always seemed to find out. After all, he had no one to tell.

It hadn't been a hard decision on the part of those deciding, A.K.A. not him, to send him to the facility. There was no doubt that he was one of those that had suffered greatly and was often in the front lines of the battles in the FAYZ. He, Sam Temple. 'The Hero.' 'Light hands.' 'The soldier.' Not that any of those titles mattered now. His powers were gone, if he had heard correctly everyone's were. There was a time when he would have been absolutely thrilled to be 'normal' again. But now? Well, normal was just a daydream from him now. Everyone had known he was in FAYZ. The images of him burning Gaia and Penny had been seen by many, quite possibly most of the planet considering how media seemed to move at the speed of light. And now he was locked up here. No, he would never be normal again, and with that knowledge he found himself missing his powers.

But maybe not quite as much as some other things he missed. Things like his friends. After being brought in he had been locked up in what they called 'evaluation'. Then he had been talked to, forced through a great many therapies, and treated like a child throughout it all. It was almost laughable. Sam was no child, not any more. Three months and he had yet to be released to mingle with the other occupants of the building. From what the nurses said they wanted to make sure they were 'ready' to encounter the other survivors. Who 'they' were Sam wasn't completely sure. He knew some people, those that had 'not suffered as much trauma' (as if anyone that was there had been through less than hell) had been released early. Not released as in released to the outside world, released as in able to move through the halls, hang out in common areas, and be forced to attend classes for the schooling that had been missed. A good deal of it was still highly supervised, yes, but it was still a bit more freedom.

Freedom that Sam didn't get. Apparently he was one of 'those ones', the ones not ready face the world yet. Or at least deemed to not be ready by the nurses. All he knew about the situation was the whispers and gossip from the nurses that 'took care' of him, and by that he meant watched his every move. Apparently there was some sort of plan to release those that were deemed in need of further care in a roughly similar time frame, apparently so they could 'settle in together' or something like that. What on earth that meant he did not know. He also did not know who the others were, as they had been careful enough to not mention any names.

And that left him to ponder. Everyone that had died had been brought back, which meant it could be literally anyone that had been in the FAYZ. But who might they deem to have experienced too much trauma to be released right away? The names of almost every person he had known in the FAYZ flew to him. Everyone had been through so much, anyone could have been deemed for it to have been 'too much'. Quinn, Edilio, Lana, Dekka, Brianna. He thought of them soon enough, but not quite as fast as he thought of others. Astrid, how he missed her. Was she here? He had no idea, although part of him doubted that she had been deemed ready to face the outside world. Not after what happened with Little Pete. Little Pete, one of the only two that was believed to be truly gone after the event. Him and Gaia, also known as the Gaiaphage. It did make some sort of sense. If it was little Pete that brought them back he might not have been able to bring himself back. And why would he bring back the thing he had been so desperate to destroy?

Sam pulled himself out of his musings with a sigh. He glanced up at the ceiling, although technically he had been staring at it the whole time. A white ceiling surrounded by light blue walls, meant to be calming. But how could he be calm? If the little tidbits of gossip he heard were true(he felt like Taylor, getting his information from little bits of gossip and proceeding to cling to it) then those that were meant to be released would be released soon. Soon. While he didn't know exactly what soon meant, whether it was a month or a day, it was something. And at the moment something happened to be enough.

With a small sigh he closed his eyes and went back to thinking. And, soon enough, he slipped into sleep and thinking turned to dreaming.

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"Tell me, Mister Soren, what does this look like?"

"A inkblot."

The response was said in a rather bored deadpan, and the first voice couldn't help but let out a groan on response to this. However, there was patience in his voice as he went on to say, "no, Mister Soren, I mean what does it look like to you. What does it remind you of."

Now the beginnings of a smirk started to stretch across the face of the boy seated in the chair across from the therapist. There was just a hint of snark in his voice as he said, "bits of ink scattered across a card, designed to help determine whether the patient is in good mental health."

The therapist narrowed his eyes slightly at this. He was a large man with a full, thick beard. He looked more suited to cutting down trees and braving the wilderness than trying to help troubled youth. Or, in this case, troubled youth that didn't want to be helped. It was clear that he was now becoming impatient with his patient. However, he tried not to let it show, instead saying in an even voice, "we've been through this many times, you know what I mean."

A surge of triumph passed through Caine at these words. Yes, he knew what the therapist, or quack, as he had been mentally referring to him as, wanted, and he had absolutely no intent on giving it to him. He forced on his million-dollar smile as he exclaimed, "exactly! We've been through this so many times that you should know exactly what I'm going to say in response to those cards. So why continue doing it? Clearly I've passed this long, drawn out test of yours."

At first the therapist said nothing in response to the teen, instead studying him with calculating eyes. Finally he said, "very well, if you insist on failing to comply with the therapy I will jump straight to the good news."

This came as a bit of a surprise to Caine. There was good news? Sure, in the time he had been at Saint Edith's he had learned that news was given all the time, but almost never good. Yet part of him doubted that whatever he had to say it would be truly good. Or at least not good in his eyes. But then again he doubted that he could find anything truly good at this point.

Taking his patient's silence as an okay to continue the therapist went on, "you are far from being a fully functioning and productive member of society. You are rude, egotistical, an egomaniac, and still suffer from many symptoms of trauma from your experience."

Caine opened his mouth to protest, only for the therapist to raise his hand and signal for him to be quiet. And, grudgingly, he accepted. If there was one thing he learned during his time here it was that if you made too much of a scene while still deemed 'unstable' it was sedatives for you. And despite the general rules of the place it seemed like everyone had different opinions on what was considered 'acting out', 'dangerous', and unstable. So he settled for giving the therapist, whose name he had never bothered to learn, a bitter glare.

Completely unphased by this he continued, "however, you have made some notable progress. You are no longer hallucinating, threatening to harm others, and displaying other similar dangerous behaviors." This got a raised eyebrow from Caine. Great, he bitterly thought to himself, they noticed I'm not as insane as I used to be. Give no a gold star, doc, I'm a model student!

Little did he know that his sarcastic train of thought wasn't too far off from what would actually occur, although his definition of a 'gold star' was probably quite a bit different from that of the doctors. Failing to notice the eye roll the teen gave him he finished, "and so, you have been deemed fit to be released into the general population of Saint Edith's Academy."

Shock. That was what he felt, complete and utter shock. His eyes went wide and not words left his mouth. While the boy simply stared at the bearded man the therapist grinned before finishing, "tomorrow you will move in with a new roommate who has also been deemed ready to get acclimated to a larger setting, and then you will be given a tour of the building, well, the parts you haven't seen. From there it won't be long until you are given your new schedule, so you won't have as much quiet time but you will get more interaction.

The only response Caine gave for about two minutes was silence as he processed this. Then, when he was finally able to find words, he muttered, "words fail me."

With that he was lead out of the room and brought back to his 'dorm' (he liked to call it a holding chamber). A room with a bed, some books, a table, and absolutely no sharp objects. Not that he paid attention to any of those. Instead he began to anxiously pace back and forward along his room, chewing on his thumb nail as he did so. Was this good or bad? He had absolutely no idea. And not knowing angered him, especially when he should be the one deciding how he felt about the situation.

Progress was good, but not because he wanted to conform like everyone around him seemed to think he should. He was glad to be out of that horrid slump he had entered after coming back. Somehow it managed to be even worse than when he came back after spending three days with the Gaiaphage. He had died, he knew he died. Despite Little Pete sending him off on a good memory the moment he came back he felt pain, unbearable pain. Then there was anger, uncontrollable anger, and he ended up locked up in this horrid place. It was enough to make him snap for a while. Only this time there was no Diana to help him get out of it. It was just himself, people that claimed to care, and pills, endless pills. To be completely honest with himself he wasn't really sure if he was completely better. Wasn't sure if he wanted to face people, although he sure as hell didn't want to be surrounded by those Doctors constantly. It felt like he was trading one evil for another.

With a sigh he moved to sit down on his bed, staring down at his hands and not making a sound.

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AN: Yeah… it's probably pretty obvious where this is going. I apologize that this chapter wasn't too exciting, still kind of in scene setting mode. I promise the next one will have much more interaction and whatnot.