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[h2][color=630460][b]SAGE[/b][/color][/h2][hr]

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[b]Four Months Earlier.[/b]

Blood was trickling into his philtrum, making a steady path to his upper lip.
If visions were so trustworthy, then [i]why hadn't he known the punch was coming?[/i] Of course, he had learned that his visions could be fickle, that they were often vague and disconcerting. It was still a pain in the ass to have the [i]ability[/i] to see into the future but for it to never be worth a damn. He was like Cassadra in a way, except he completely believed his visions, they just were useless. If he had a vision of a car, it could mean a lot of things. It could mean a crash, it could mean a car was destined to hit him, it could mean that someone somewhere was driving a car from a crime scene. 

His visions were completely [i]subjective[/i]. Though, their accuracy didn't even really matter, it wasn't like he could talk about them. He'd tried talking about them to his mother, to his father, to a shrink. It was always the same disbelieving response or "[i][b]Sage, don't make jokes like that![/b][/i]" He wasn't making a joke though, he was honestly [i]seeing[/i] things and every moment was just another moment where he was waiting to see more. It was just another moment of waiting to understand even less.

He'd had a vision today, one that had assaulted him upon waking up but it hadn't involve a punch. It had involved the figure of a man moving silently and soundlessly along a rain splattered sidewalk. He hadn't seen for sure but he'd known the man was following someone, he'd smelled the distinctive smell of crispy, buttered croissants. He'd seen a flickering streetlight. He hadn't thought much of it, he wasn't a vigilante and if someone was getting stalked nearby then he couldn't do much about it. It wasn't until he'd passed a café that he'd passed a million times before that he'd [i]realized[/i].

The smell of crispy, buttered croissants.

He'd reacted immediately, he'd turned too quickly. A fist had met his nose and he had stumbled backwards. Though he was dazed and clutching at his bloody nose, he drew back his hand to throw one in return. He'd felt the jolt of the of a dart sinking into his shoulder right as his hit had made contact with flesh. He'd been confused at first, disoriented and shaky. 

"[color=630460]What-?[/color]"

The utterance of that single word had sounded so soft in the night. It was the sound of a child, a [i]very scared[/i] child. When he'd crumpled to the ground, he'd thought he was dying. The blackness that had closed over his vision had been comforting, like a blanket, like being tucked in. He had genuinely dared to hope that this was it, that some terrible person had killed him and it was over now. He was entirely peaceful.

It didn't last.

-

[b]Present Day.[/b]

Paragon was hell.
He had thought that highschool was hell, that college was hell, that his parent's home was hell but he'd been wrong. [i]Paragon was hell[/i]. It wasn't just because of the orderlies, or because of the people, or because of the tests, it was because of the [i]collars[/i]. He had never liked his visions but they had been a very important part of him. The collar stopped them until he was in controlled environments for testing, it was a pain in the ass. 

They were inhumane as it was, he'd asked the therapist about them before. They sent a constant pulse through the central nervous system that neutralized the abilities, some sort of electro-whatsit was constantly being sent through his nerves. He had argued the point before that there had to be some kind of detrimental health effects from that, he had been ignored for the most part. He mostly kept his opinion to himself nowadays, unless he was feeling argumentative. 

Luckily for the fine orderlies of Paragon, he had decided to take his new "home" in stride. He cracked terrible jokes as frequently as possible, he laughed off things that they said that he found rude. He tried to be jovial, for the most part. He was still acting out, the way that he always had. They kept an extra eye on him because of his disorder and his instability but that just seemed to fuel his desire to grab their attention. At times he would do things that could easily be deemed as dangerous, though that usually ended in punishment.

Isolation was the standard procedure.
Sage Worcester was [i]not[/i] the kind of guy who coped with isolation well. So, he tried to avoid going overboard if he could remember the consequences. He tried not to instigate too many fights. It was hard for him, it made him feel like a kid that was constantly sitting on his hands to keep from grabbing things. He was dealing with it though, he wasn't [i]enjoying[/i] it but he was [i]dealing with it[/i].

When he finished his session and entered the common area, he could see the old teacher dude, [i]Kennedy[/i], and the ill-tempered blonde, [i]Victoria[/i]. He made sure to stride in with his head held high, his shoulders straight and his steps even. It made him look as arrogant as a war horse, and just as ready for a fight. 

His tone was a stark contrast, full of dramatic flair and transparent friendliness. "[color=630460]Hello, fellow suckers. How'sit?[/color]"

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