Fergus Finlay was the boy who would be seen causing trouble around Midtown High, walking around with his pack of cards and wit to save him from trouble. However, he was in for a rude wake-up call; history was awakening, and it had set its eyes on Fe...
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Three days later Fergus was bored and fuming.
He could feel it underneath his skin, it was slithering under the surface, whispering in his ear, driving him almost mad.
It started with itching, at first it was his neck, then it was his torso, and before he knew it, even his toes were itchy. He had been scratching so forcefully, only the sight and smell of blood had snapped him out of it. He had watched underneath the cold lights as a thin layer of blood had coated his fingertips. It hadn't even been a week and he had ruined his clothes.
Then came the sweating, he couldn't sleep anymore. Not that he wanted to sleep anyways, sleeping was for the weak. His mind was troubled. No longer could he really think logically. There were more primal thoughts in his mind. Like the fact that he was locked behind four walls and he couldn't move on his free will. Even the bruises that were almost healed did not bother him.
His eyes danced from one corner to another, almost paranoid as he scratched his ankles again. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from growling, he didn't want to appear like a locked away feral animal. Even though he most definitely felt like one.
One time when he was asleep, he almost swore there was someone sitting on his chest. He couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes but be could feel the coldness, and someones boney fingers almost biting into his chest. A cold shudder had ran down his spine, and he couldn't tell if it was his own mind or someone had really been whispering in his ear. The voice had belonged to a female, even though it was slightly raspy, as if it was an old woman.
“Burn.”
Once he managed to open his eyes, he had stumbled up, growling defensively as he studied every nook and cranny, smelled every corner, but there was nothing but the smell of iron.
And then his appetite grew, it seemed as if the angrier he got, the hungrier the beast under his skin became. He had lashed out to the guards who had kept bringing him food. Had demanded them to bring him more protein, more sugar, more everything. But they just glared and sometimes zapped him with electricity if he became too vocal. He'd bit down a whimper and scurry away from the glass wall.
Whatever he had been planning was forgotten. He was livid.
And he wanted to get out, he couldn't stand to be in anymore.
He let out a deep, low growl as he balled his fists and glared at the thin cuffs. He didn't care about the pain, couldn't even feel it anymore. Only the burning line in his core that became more and more powerful. He could feel it, the bent up energy that sizzled and crackled in the air and under his skin.
And then it came, the small noise of breaking of wires. They pooled on the ground, with the slight dripping of blood that had been running down his knuckles at the force the cuffs had been digging into his skin. He kept growing lowly, angry at the smell of blood, his blood.
