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RP with Alec

Zach finally found his way back into his duplex, an ice pack pressed tenderly against the underside of his lower jaw. It didn't take it very long to start swelling, though thankfully the bruising wasn't obvious given his complete covering of scales. He slumped onto the bed, though his legs hung off a bit and his tail even more. Gaius had hurt him, again. Another islander with no regard for the laws that had once bound them off the island, without the need for a chip. But in exchange for that freedom here there was safety, and that above all was his concern. Safety. His own life. To keep himself alive when more and more frequently he was in danger.

He'd stopped noticing, but it created a sort of sick cycle, and because he'd blinded himself to its cause and effect he could never be the one to stop it. It was vital to his survival that he ignore its existence. The more he found himself loyal to the labs, the angrier his fellow islanders grew. When they lashed out at him, his loyalty only became stronger. There seemed no other respite but the same actions and choices again and again. The simplest way to break the cycle would be for him to open his eyes again and think. To realize what he was doing on the island in the first place, who had brought him here, for what purpose, and that buried underneath the layers of fanatical ignorance that constituted his current self he would find nothing but disgust and loathing for the twisted creature he now was. But that would require responsibility, and there was not enough of that in him to account for all the mistakes he'd made just on the island alone. Rather than face the truth of the situation he stayed happily mired in a sort of fantasy world that, like his very body, was not even the product of his own imagination but someone else's.

There had been a time, a single time, when for the space of perhaps thirty minutes of consciousness he'd re-realized exactly what was going on, without looking through a distorted lens. What he had done, what allegiances he'd found, what constants he'd wrought out of his acceptance of being a "pet" project, they couldn't be taken back. He would be abandoned by all and untrustworthy to all, some freakish hermit who even he himself would despise till the end of his days. And he couldn't handle that. So during that time he was reckless without hope, strangling Gaius to tempt fate and getting what he was looking for. So he returned to his world of impenetrable ignorance never again wanting to see the world as lit by truth. Unlike before, he actively sought to spin any opinion that the doctor forced upon him now into an unquestionable truth.

And so he lived now as an utter fanatic. He couldn't see it for himself, having - for his own sanity - renounced his past as nothing but a series of human failures. This, what he was now, was what he was meant to be. It seemed so simple. How could things be any other way? But what had satisfied him for a time was now not enough. Not when nearly everyone he met now chipped away at his beliefs for their own gains, their own personal victory against him, some triumph over what they thought was evil when in fact the blindness to reason was the only coping mechanism Zach had left in his arsenal. How was it evil to feel appreciation? He was indebted to Sabin for his life three times, something he had no way to pay off but with the apparently valuable currency of devotion. Once when Moreau had been ready to kill him, once when Chubbs had ravaged him, and when the pain of his final change had been so overwhelming and so drastic it was akin to a death. But he was dead no longer. No. And he wouldn't go looking for a fourth opportunity to challenge death. He needed protection in the form of friends. Allies. Bodyguards of a sort, even. People who shared his radical opinions with the same fervent belief. But one didn't just find those kinds on the island. No, that was impossible.

If he wanted them... he'd have to make them.

He couldn't help but grin at the thought. It was so many things he wanted, all at once. Though he did love the island and nearly everything about it, he was struggling with a lack of purpose. It wasn't anything vital, but without something to do it did get rather boring and repetitive to live there at times. Now he had a plan, something to do, a way to ensure that no one would dare to throw punches or nasty insults at him again. So those who were on good terms with the doctors and labs were a veritable minority? Certainly that could be changed. He wanted for himself the protection that such unquestioning loyalty to a cause could offer.

But he would have to start another day. The adrenaline from being punched had made him weary and now he wanted to rest his eyes. With a grumbling sigh he placed the ice pack at his bedside and curled up on the matress on his plated stomach. In a matter of minutes and despite the pain of his bruised jaw, he was asleep.

RP with Tommy

RP with Chana

RP with Lucas

Once Sabin had left again, Zach carefully placed the bottle and the button down on the chair and settled down in a more comfortable position on his stomach. He considered for a moment pulling the blanket over himself, but realized the futility of covering his enormous wings and thick spine. He'd lost an eye, but it wasn't quite as easy to grasp as one would think. The gauze that pressed up against those empty eyelids gave the vague impression that it was still functioning, that somehow it wasn't as serious as it had sounded. It was gone, but he would grow it back, right? If Sabin got the permission for that. He hoped so. If not, it wasn't like he'd never been prepared for a situation like this. In that previous life of his, he'd spent a decade with just one arm. He'd been quite certain at the time that he'd never get it back, and so he'd gotten over that horrible realization of loss once before. All it would take was time.

Whatever painkillers he'd received during or after the surgery wore off roughly an hour after he'd been left alone in the hospital room. It left him with a pounding headache that centered in that apparently empty cavity that had once held an eye, to the point that he couldn't think straight except between throbs. It was hard to tell, given there was no sign of a clock. Nor was there a window - so he had no idea what time of day it was, or if it was night. All he knew was that at a certain point the pain grew so fierce and blinding that he suddenly blacked out.

When he awoke again, it was in the same room, but with a heavier, warmer feeling. Blearily he supposed it was some other strong painkiller now in his system. At least it didn't feel like a spike was being driven through his head. His eye... damn it, he still only had one. Damn Lucas. Damn it all. Even this power to buzz those who tried to attack him didn't feel worth having had to give up his eye. Precautionary measures... Sabin could only do things to those who had already hurt him. It was wonderful, except that Zach had to get attacked first. If he could just get rid of that possibility somehow, then he wouldn't have to end up like this. He appreciated what Sabin did for him, but he felt guilty sometimes that he wasn't doing anything in return, that one day Sabin would notice his efforts were being wasted and would simply and quietly stop bothering. Zach didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to be alone in facing the multitude of crazed islanders who frequently threatened his life. Since the first time he'd asked Sabin to deal with islanders who'd hurt him, it had transformed from a want to a need. He needed Sabin's protection. It was the only thing between himself and death. Nothing was asked of Zach but to accept his fate here on the island and to let the doctor deal with the... delinquents. He did both very easily and gratefully, but it never felt like enough. He grunted to himself and closed his right eye tightly, trying to get more comfortable on the bed but failing to in his worry. Maybe if he could find a way to stop these violent islanders he could return the favor to Sabin. He could show that he was actively trying to solve his own problems without resorting to senseless violence. He would eliminate the violence. That was the only way he could prove himself worth Sabin's protection. The loss of his eye would be the last loss he'd ever have to endure.

He drifted off again soon after those thoughts, when the dose outweighed his energy. Consciousness seemed to be fleeting, and recuperation was a bit more strenuous than he'd expected. They left him food and water at some point, but his stomach wasn't settled and he couldn't get down more than a couple bites. So things came back to the short statement Sabin had said toward the end of their conversation. Safety in numbers. But what numbers could possibly be drawn upon for safety? He'd been given two names, no more. With upwards of eighty islanders, there were almost none who had embraced the perfection of their new forms. It was absurd. They were selfish in not acknowledging what was given to them, and downright unworthy for lashing out at him and potentially others. But... maybe there was a way to show them what they refused to see. If he couldn't find allies it was merely a matter of making them. He'd be showing them the truth and teaching them to accept something they were supposed to accept anyhow. It was noble in every sense of the word. He didn't even need the nobility of the act though, just its end product - loyal, intelligent islanders with no thirst for rebellion and no drive to destroy. It ensured safety for everyone, especially himself. And in the end, his well-being came first.

Under the influence of such heavy medication it was hard to make any concrete plans, so he merely waited out the time in the room. He gave possessive glances to the two objects resting on the chair whenever he found a reason to turn his head. A protection, and a warning. He didn't plan on hesitating to use either. The minutes stretched away into hours, into a day or perhaps two. The next time he awoke it was not to the sterile smell of the labs or the bright white walls of the hospital room, but to the quiet bedroom of his duplex. For a moment he felt it had just been a horrible nightmare brought on by fear. He reached up to his face and the leather material of the eyepatch was brushed by his thick fingers. Both the panic button and the jar were sitting on his bedside table. No, it hadn't been a nightmare. All of it was real.

RP with Miller