[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1126464824675680277/1131403391491379230/Valiant.gif[/img]

[sub]"[i]School for Monsters!
School for lonely little monsters![/i]"[/sub][/center]

The facility was nothing like Weston had imagined. In his mind, the young man had signed up for an elite training program for those wanting to use their extraordinary abilities to help others. He didn’t mind the compound itself. That it used to be a prison bothered him less than how it still felt like one. That flew in the face of the narrative the brochure had fed him. Not that Weston had been expecting a beautiful, perfect fantasy by any means. He was more of a realist than his seemingly simple nature suggested, and he knew this endeavor would be far from rainbows and sunshine. 

For Wes, it was the company he found himself in that was the most significant discrepancy between what he had pictured before and what he witnessed now. The facility staff, nothing more than correctional officers in actuality, being filled with hatred and distrust only slightly threw him off. That was something he could come to terms with quickly enough. The security personnel weren’t assigned here by choice. It was work, and like any place of employment, there’d always be those who put in minimal effort or went through the motions just to get through the day. Others, like the men from the courtyard earlier, would let their biases and fears rule them. Weston had seen it all too often in the city: put someone in a position of power over others, and there’d always be a chance it would corrupt them. Moreover, these men and women were assigned to an isolated chunk of land occupied by dozens of volatile, superpowered young people, and it was understandable that tensions would grow. 

And that was the crux of the issue for the young vigilante. Weston wanted to be here. He chose this. He sought this opportunity to improve himself, and he was in control of his behaviors. His fellow attendees couldn’t express the same thing. Less than an hour since the group of nineteen had set foot on the island, that was already clear to Wes. There were many here with him, perhaps most, who blatantly lacked that control. Some desired to be anywhere else than in the Juvenile Vigilante Program; a few let their baser instincts rule them; others looked like they’d stab you in the back faster than they’d be willing to share in a conversation. 

The image of the emaciated boy, feather in hand, flashed through Weston’s mind. That one had indeed been willing to spill blood at the first opportunity. 

But then there was Haven. She confided in Wes about not choosing to be in the program, but she still shone brightly amidst the darkness. So, while nothing like what he had imagined, there remained those good attributes within the program he had been hopeful for. 

These thoughts ran through Wes’ head as he separated from Haven and crossed the recreation room. His eyes drifted across the space and lingered on the two forms still in the middle of the area conversing. The redhead and the wolf who hungered for her. Another, just like the thin, tattooed assailant from earlier, who thirsted for blood. 

Weston knew of monsters who lurked in the shadows. He just hadn’t expected to encounter them within the program as well.

His train of thought was interrupted as he neared closer to the rec room’s only entrance and exit. A shiver ran down his spine, and the hairs along his pale arms stood up. Weston faltered mid-step and glanced around. Next to him was the couch, where one of the long-haired boys delighted in a video game. Close by was the large boy introduced as Bulk and the interestingly styled blonde, whom he loomed over. 

Weston finished his step, unsure of what had caused the sensation. Another shiver ran through his body as he strode toward the doorway. This time, it started at his stomach and danced along his chest. It was a peculiar feeling, familiar yet unidentifiable, ‌like something he remembered from a dream but amplified a dozen times. It was pleasant. The more he approached the doorway, the stronger the tingling through his body became, and the better Wes felt. The sensation was comfortable. [i]Powerful[/i]. 

That’s when he saw her. Sitting alone at a table, aside from hair closer to pure silver than white, she was entirely unassuming. Yet, as Wes’ eyes found her, he knew the girl to be the source of the harmonious buzz that now permeated his entire body. He was within ten feet of the girl now and wanted to draw nearer. Just as he contemplated that odd compulsion, the girl’s head turned, and their eyes met. It was only for a moment, barely a second, before Wes broke eye contact, having recalled the last time he had stared at a woman. He forced himself to continue toward the door. As he went, so too did the sensations.

The guards outside the rec room were considerably more personable than those who had accompanied the group to the courtyard earlier. Two guards brought him to a large laundry room after he explained he wanted to wash the residue chemicals of the pepper spray from his hoodie. Double-stacked rows of washers occupied the length of one wall, while dryers took an adjacent wall up. Along the far side of the room were sinks and deep wash basins. 

As Wes only had one item to wash, he took his sweatshirt to a basin and scrubbed it thoroughly by hand. He preferred it that way, as part of him worried the machinery would be too rough for the ratty hoodie to survive. Once satisfied that he had cleansed the fabric of the chemicals, he hung it across the simple line between two nearby corners of the room. That the facility had a basic clothesline among the updated machinery might have been the most surprising aspect of his brief time at Ju-V. 

By then, enough time had passed that the guards informed him they would escort Weston to his new dorm instead of returning him to the recreation room. Security had already taken the others from his group to their respective rooms. Wes failed to notice the exchanged glance between guards at the mention of the rec room.

The walk to the residential area took longer than the one to the laundry room. From the outside, the building looked tall and imposing, but inside, it was bright and comfortable. To Weston, it could have been a five-star celebrity resort.

“Weston Cassidy,” one guard read off a small tablet device as they arrived outside his new room.

Even with the two-to-a-room living situation, it was more spacious than Wes had expected. It was immaculately clean and adorned with all the amenities promised in the brochure. It also came with an already lounging roommate: the same dark-haired boy who had been playing the video game in the rec room. 

Weston, however, ignored it all and went straight to his bed. On top of the sheets was a folded pile of clothing. The plastic grocery bag he had originally stuffed them in was nowhere to be seen. Resting atop the clothing was a small device no longer than his finger. Wes immediately reached for the MP3 player and the carefully wrapped headphones next to it. Inspecting it slowly, he noticed nothing was out of place. Popping the headphones on, the young man held the power button and waited the several seconds the old player took to start up. 

Eventually, [url=https://youtu.be/WAGl-w0QiVA?t=27]light, playful tones[/url] greeted him. Weston noticed it was a different song than he had left off on and had begun partway in. He also knew this melody was exactly four songs ahead of the one he had paused. Wes imagined it had frustrated the person investigating the MP3 player to discover that the skip buttons didn’t work. The only operational buttons were the power, play/pause, and volume controls.

Any attempts they might have made to learn the entire discography of the device would have met with failure. The only way to discern that information would be to listen to the entire music library. An endeavor that Wes knew from experience would take just over thirty-seven hours and seventeen minutes. Whichever staff had tried gave up after barely fifteen minutes.

Still, they had returned it to him in working order, which was all Wes cared about. 

Putting the MP3 player away momentarily, Weston turned toward the other young man in the room. 

[color=BlueViolet]”Uh, hey."[/color] He offered a slight wave at the longer-haired boy. [color=BlueViolet]"I’m Wes."[/color]