Bug Sapper

[Roach Copeland]

[Posting while away. Can't wait to come back to you folks and RP!]

The first sign that he was in trouble was the hunger.

One minute, Roach was standing at his locker trying his hardest to remember his combination and then the next, he felt hunger. Not the basic hunger that life had known since the moment two cell came together and then divided into four, eight, sixteen, and so forth. It was a foreign hunger that most never knew about until they were at their breaking point, mentally.

Roach was starving. Mentally, psionically, starving.

"Bugger, turn around."

Roach heard the voice behind him seconds before he felt the pair of hands shoving him into the locker. Normally, his reflexes would have kicked in, helping him smooth the crash, but he was tired, hunger. No concentration. No idea. Confusion.

He slammed into the lockers before crumbling to the ground, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to focus. What had he done? What was going on? He had fed just a few days ago and hadn't used much of his powers. His psionic energies were more than full- He was making sure of that. But something was draining them- drained them. Someone had punctured his stores of energy and siphoned it away until it left only the desperation and Roach.

Hands hauled him up, strong hands. Calloused hands. And once again he was slammed into the lockers, the air from his lungs joining the psionic energy in being lost. Roach gasps in pain, his eyes widening as he felt unconsciousness swim close to his mind.

Tired. Confusion.

Hunger.

"Look at me when I'm talkin' to you!" someone spat into his face before he felt the slap. Harsh, painful, unrelenting. No holds bar. Roach's head snapped to the side as the voice continued. "I hear you got a thing for pickin' on some of my blokes-"

Another slap.

"I don't know if you know this," the voice was closer. Roach squinted, trying to make out the face through the blur. "But those boys are protected by me. And I don't like wankers-"

Another punch- Which ironically seemed to be just what Roach needed to force the first coherrant thought up into his head. Nilesh. Nilesh the bully. Nilesh the natural sapper.

Natural sapper.

Roach felt his lips peel back as another slap came. His head jerked to the side, splittle and blood dribbling down his mouth. He opened his mouth, saliva and hunger getting in the way of words. "Stop- hunger... I..I.."

Something slammed into his stomache and Roach kealed over. Down to the floor and closer to the primodial hunger that he was sure only he possessed. Like food, he required energy. Energy that Nilesh was taking.

That Nilesh was sapping.

Roach tried to crawl away, but a pair of hands grabbed the back of his collar. He snarled, twisting away from the gripping hands only to feel the fist connect to his face.

Blood on his mouth. Darkness. Laughter around him- who was laughing at him? How many people were close? A lot. He could smell their energies. Worse, he could taste their energies. That darker part of him was already wondering which to take from first.

"Look at me when I'm talkin' to yo-"

What stopped Nilesh and the laughter was when Roach's pulled out the switchblade. Roach held it out,
desperately circling around. He didn't snapped the blade out- that took too much thought. But the students had a fair idea what he was holding and what damage it could inflict if the blade came out.

Roach couldn't see. Not in the traditional sense. He saw psionic energy- or was it that he felt it? He didn't know but he didn't care. He heard a few gasps as he stumbled back, eventually backing himself to a corner.

Weakened, scared, confused, and, most importantly, starving, Roach felt his legs wobble under him. He fell to the ground, his weapon being held out infront of him incase anyone wanted to try to get close.

"What in blazes is going on out here?" a voice broke through his own darkness. Someone older with authority. Maybe elderly?

"Mister Deathrage-" Nilesh began before silencing.

"All of you get! Now"

Shuffling feet. Murmurs. That was all Roach heard past the beating of his own heart. Like a drum, the sides of his head pulsated, his breath growing more and more desperate. As if his lungs couldn't register that oxygen was what he needed to breathe.

He felt a pair of hands slap the sheathed switchblade from his hands. He heard it it clatter a few feet away. He was in no position to get it or fight back. Then someone was kneeling near him, mumbling.

And all Roach could do is black out.