Chapter Text
Prologue
And Then There Were Sixteen
“Are you ok?”
“I am. Why? Does it seem like I’m not doing ok?”
“I don’t know. I just felt like asking…but, you would let me know if you were feeling sad or angry or anything, right? Because I’m always here to listen. You always listen to me when I vent, so it’s only fair.”
“…I know you are. I just have nothing to talk about right now.”
“Ah…Alrighty then! I’ll see you later, Junior! Love ya lots for Dad, lots for Mom, and lots for me!”
“I love you too, Honey.”
The last memory I had before waking up was boarding a prepaid taxi with my boss to attend a ceremony meant for me and fifteen others. I was never one for celebrations. They were too much of a hassle for me to appreciate; too noisy, too crowded, too unnecessary. This celebration especially hadn't really interested me either until my boss forced me to accept the invitation.
Have you ever heard of Hope’s Peak Academy? I mean, everyone has, even those who wanted nothing to do with it. Although if you were one of the rare, fortunate ones who never heard of it then I apologize in advance for dragging you down the rabbit hole with me. You see, it's a prestigious high school in Japan that accepted students who were the best at their prospective talents, and, the much less renowned, reserve course students that paid their way into the school or the ‘lucky’ students that gained a spot through the yearly raffle. The relationship between the school and its students was mutually beneficial: researchers sanctioned by the government were given the chance to closely study the students and record their findings for the betterment of the world and the students would be offered resources no other school could provide to advance their talents and be set for life after they graduate.
Hope's Peak Academy’s influence began to spread throughout the world with the first to capitalize on its success being America. With the assistance of the Japanese government, who was willing to send over researchers, an Ultimate Talent Program was developed. In Japan we would be called Super University Levels like their Super High School Level students, but Ultimates was quick and simple. Talent scouts for this program were staff or alumni that came straight from Miracle Falls, an uber prestigious college in Los Angeles. Get scouted by them and you could get everything you could ever hope for: the recognition, the boost in social standing, better education and support.
It was nothing more than elitist drivel.
My job was supposed to remain a job. Something under the radar. I never wanted it to be sensationalized, because it wasn't something that needed to be sensationalized, and yet I was scouted. Maybe it was a teacher or teachers who watched me without me knowing. Maybe it was my boss that spread the word about me. Maybe it was one of my clients or someone related to one of my clients’ family or friends. Or maybe a scout was related to one of my clients and they gathered information about me immediately after they saw me work. I still wasn't really sure how the UTP found out about me, but they did and sent me an invitation to become a member of their 25th Class, with a ceremony scheduled on April 19 which was five months away from when I received the letter. My boss just so happened to be in my apartment that day, and just so happened to come across me trying to rip it to shreds. After giving me a lecture about turning down chances of the lifetime and threatening to “knock some sense into my dumbass brain”, he managed to convince me to give it a shot.
Ah, sorry. Throughout this exposition I hadn't introduced myself to you, had I? My name is Wendell Ackerman Jr., and I guess I’m now considered the…
ULTIMATE DESAIROLOGIST
…not that the title mattered much to me, especially not in this strange situation.
My body was sore and heavy like lead, head aching at the back and temples, tongue sticking to the roof of my desert dry mouth. This obviously wasn't my room. This mattress was too comfortable and too wide. The colors were the simple greys and yellowing whites you would find in my apartment and the smell wasn’t nearly as musky. I also doubted that this was a hotel room or a dormitory. The paralysis spell slowly faded, feeling creeping back to my dull senses starting with my fingers, the longer I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. Sucking in a sharp, strangled breath, I rolled to my side and ended up crashing to the floor, head narrowly missing the nightstand. Fortunately for me there was a soft carpet separating my body from the hard wooden floor beneath it which lessened the impact, not by much mind you, but it was better than nothing I suppose. Planting a hand on the nightstand, I forced myself to my feet, legs shaky and breaths uneven.
It took quite a while for me to recover. There was something strange about my head and body, but I just couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The more I tried to figure it out the more my head hurts.
Now that I had a better view of my environment, I was left feeling even more lost. The walls were a dark purple with damask patterns, the bed was a four poster set between a dresser and the nightstand with a small ottoman at the foot of it, and above it was a monitor with blinking red dot at the bottom right. In the night stand’s drawers there were anatomy and cosmetology textbooks. On top was a simple lamp, a box of testosterone patches, and a framed family photo. I slammed the frame down on its face and stumbled around the bed towards the dresser. Wrenching the doors open, I found about ten hanging copies of the outfit I was wearing (a black pinstripe double breasted vest and trousers, a dark gray collar shirt that matched my eyes, and black loafers and socks) and ten black satin two piece pajamas. And in the dresser’s drawers there were packages of brand new non-thermogenic cosmetic kits, a packet of black bonnets, medical gear (scrubs, latex gloves, plastic caps, disposable aprons and masks) were neatly folded in separate plastic covers and piled on top were face shields.
My weak legs then took me to the door-less bathroom right across the bed. Checkered floor, solid gray walls, a toilet and a wastebasket, a laundry hamper, a towel rack and a shower with glass doors and black binds. I opened the cabinet right above the sink. All the same brands back home. I closed it. The normal response should be to panic, because nothing about this made any sense. At most I felt irked. Confusion was a hassle since it meant needing to think hard, and I preferred just coasting through life without anything challenging my daily routine. This wasn’t just throwing a wrench into my life, this was throwing the entire toolbox.
Hearing a light thud, I turned around and spotted a small handheld device on the bed that definitely wasn’t there before. How did it…hm.
I threw a shoe at it from afar. When it didn’t explode, I shuffled close and held it in my hands to better examine it. Was this a phone? No, it looked more like a very thin pad than it did a phone. Or did phones resemble thin pads nowadays? I never bothered using anything but a cellphone, so I wouldn’t know. Curious, I pressed my finger against its dark screen and waited. The screen turned on displaying the Hope’s Peak insignia.
SAT, 3:32 p.m.
Welcome Student 009: Wendell Ackerman Jr.
- School Rules & Regulations
- Student Profiles
- Academy Map
- Notes
- Pocket Pet
Was the UTP behind this then? Tch. Whatever the hell was going on, all I knew was that I didn't want to be here any longer. I needed to find the boss and get out.
The only tab that seemed to be available was the map. That’s good enough, I guess. I’d thank whoever gave me this if I weren’t 100% sure they were also the one who got me into this mess.
After slipping my loafer back on, I moved to the exit. Opening the door, I was immediately hit with familiar freezing temperatures. Stale blue tiled floors and walls, and a workstation/dressing table where embalming and reconstruction equipment, chemicals and some cosmetics should be stored, and a red medical waste bin. Trolleys and stretchers, and next to it was a stainless steel sink with cabinets where the cleaning and disinfectant supplies should be kept. At the center of the room was an embalming station with two stainless autopsy tables, and embalming machines. Most notably there were sixteen unoccupied cold storage units. A morgue right outside my room. Great.
I marched towards the, hopefully, actual exit, and grabbed the handle. I glanced over my shoulder at the cold lockers for one last second before twisting the handle and pushing the door open.
The walls here were the same, the floor was checkered black and white, and there was antique furniture decorating the hall that you would find in a Victorian mansion which greatly clashed against the modernized monitors. The map said I was in the East Wing. There were seven other dorms and a supply closet just like how there were eight dorms and a supply closet in the West Wing. On the right wall was Dove Gupta, me, Jackson Brown, and Quincy Addams. On the opposite wall was Abigail Watterson, Hänsel Hoffman, Hinako Wakahisa and Seo-yun Kim. They were Ultimates scouted to be a part of the 25th Class too. Seeing how I didn’t see or hear anyone at the moment I must be the only one awake. For a brief moment I considered ringing one of their doorbells before deciding against it. They were strangers. And Ultimates were known to be eccentric, so that would make them eccentric strangers. Exploring the building alone would be less of a hassle.
First I walked out to the room labeled as Lounge A the two wings. White was the first thing that came to mind. Pure white floor, pure white walls, two round tables with four chairs that were white. White white white white white! Blegh! It was like someone had a mental breakdown and poured bleach on everything, and it made me want to claw my eyes out.
There was a sliding door here that led out to a terrace, but the pad had it labeled as LOCKED. I gave the door a few lackluster tugs and, yeah, it was locked. I tried to peer out the door, but the glass was too opaque for me to get a good look of what was outside.
I scratched my scalp, sighing. My boss always scolded me for messing with my tight coils, saying that was why I had that one loose coil hanging around all the time, but I couldn't help this habit. I was annoyed. I needed to scratch my scalp to be less annoyed.
When I started to head to the staircase, I heard one of the doors from the West Wing click open. Ah. Someone else was awake. I was hoping to get more exploring done by myself, but if they saw me leave without a word then that would be rude…I guess I could wait. Maybe they were decent company.
“WHERE THE HELL AM I!? WHO DARES KIDNAP THE GREAT FINN BLACKWOOD!?”
I hurried downstairs.
.
.
.
One by one the sixteen participants find themselves waking up in an unknown room.
Once they meet the game will commence.
.
.
.
I hadn’t bothered searching the place thoroughly, opting to examine the map and give each place a passing peek. There were three levels in total. The halls in each level had the same wall pattern but in different colors (blue for the second floor and reddish brown for the first) and the same checkered floors. In the second floor’s West Wing there was a Parlor Room and a Student Store both leading to an extravagant Library that was also connected to the closed off terrace and with a staircase that led downstairs. There was another staircase in the hallway right across the third floor’s staircase that led to the bottom floor and was between the Incinerator and the Utility Closet. At the second floor’s East Wing there was an Infirmary, a Sauna and a Recreation Room that also had a built in casino, and opposite to these rooms were a Regular Classroom, an Art Classroom, a Music Classroom, a Woodshop Classroom, a Chem Lab and a Public Restroom. Like the library, at the end of the hall was a staircase that led downstairs. I hadn’t looked into these rooms, preferring to end straight to the first floor where there was a Foyer decked in antique paintings, plants and furniture like a full-sized Benjamin clock, a Living Room at the West Wing that had a Laundry Room where the library’s stairs led to, and at the East Wing was a Dining Room connected to a Kitchen with two Pantries and and a staircase that led up to the second floor’s East Wing.
This mansion or whatever else you would call it was a mix between modern and vintage sensibilities. Not only that but it was a mix between a house and a school.
The foyer’s front double doors had mosaic windows with unnerving designs. The window on the left was that of a white fox sleeping in a field of flowers under an orange, yellow, and red sun. The window on the right was of an awake black fox standing in a barren desert under a silver and gold crescent moon, its red eyes maliciously glaring at me. I tried to open them, but like the sliding doors leading out to the terrace, there was no getting them to budge. Exits unusable, my boss nowhere to be found, there really wasn’t much else for me to do but to raid the contents of the pantries.
Searching through the second pantry, I encountered my favorite brand of granola bar. I mean, whoever these people were had my personal belongings and information so this wasn’t all that surprising. No less creepy of course. There were also a ton of snacks you wouldn’t get in American stores. I wasn’t sure what the point was for these kidnappers to do this. Were they trying to give us Stockholm Syndrome? Trying to convince us to stay to make some Ultimate Zoo to keep us as pets? Anything was possible. While I was seated on the second pantry’s floor, munching on my third bar, I heard voices from outside. It appeared that the rest of my peers were awake now, not that I was going to bother moving to introduce myself. No. I did enough walking today, they could find me themselves.
There was a muffled voice getting closer. Oh, will you look at that, I was going to be found sooner. Goodie. “…like, this whole thing is so mega weird! Do you think this is some sorta hazing ritual!? If it is, I, like, totally hate it and want it to stop!”
The door slid open.
Standing at the doorway was a short person with pinkish fair skin and a somewhat messy mid-neck length dark brown bob with bangs parted in the middle and two tufts sticking upwards like tiny horns. They were wearing a vibrant rainbow tie dye t-shirt and a hooded jean jacket, black cargo pants, black and white lace sneakers, and green socks with one pulled up straight and the other shagging. Their nose was pert and their hazel irises were small compared to the whites of their eyes. They stopped scratching the bandage on the bridge of their nose, eyes widening once they noticed me sitting in the dark.
We stared for a drawn out moment.
Hoodie pointed at me and screamed, “Aaaaaaah! Vampire!”
Huh. It’s been awhile since I was compared to a horror movie monster. Vampire was the basic choice, though, right after Frankenstein’s monster. I finished the rest of my simplistic breakfast, undeterred.
“Oh my. Benji, are you alright?” asked a calm, androgynous voice.
“What’s up with the screaming, Pipsqueak? You nearly popped my eardrums from over there,” came another nasally voice.
Two other people walked up behind Hoodie.
One was a slender person of desi descent, having a two inch height advantage from me, with warm brown skin and short, almost pixie-cut, wavy beige hair that was brushed behind their ears and kept out of their diamond-shaped face by a golden hollow centered star clip. They were wearing a white turtleneck beneath a khaki double-breasted trench coat that reached their knees, gray slacks, and brown espadrille flats without socks. Their nose was long and thin with a gold and red crystal piercing at the right nostril. Despite their eyes being shut it felt as if they were peering into every inch of my soul.
The second was a pale and heavily freckled curvaceous person. They were holding a DSLR camera that was attached to an orange strap with black film strip embroidered designs hanging around their neck. They had a mischievous twinkle in their dark blue eyes that was rivaled by their concerningly wide Cheshire grin. Their straight neck-length dark auburn hair was kept in purposeful rectangular clumps with bangs cut in an uneven v-shape and a retro pink ivy cap. They were dressed in a cutely baggy pastel rainbow sweater and matching running shoes, a lavender collar shirt, and dark blue bell bottom overalls.
Sighing, I stood up, brushing dirt off my pants, and pulled down the ceiling’s cord to turn on the light.
Star Clip held their cheek with a clinical smile. “Well, it seems like we found our long lost sixteenth member. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Oho! So this is the mysterious desairologist? Hahaha! He’s as depressing as I thought he’d look, it’s almost boring. How about you give me a smile, Sunshine.” Camera snapped an unsolicited picture of me. I squinted my eyes with a disgruntled grunt.
“Geez, dude, why were you sitting in the dark? You nearly gave me a mega heart attack! Like I’m not nervous enough!” Hoodie whined. “Seriously thought my neck was a goner…”
“I’m sorry for scaring you, that hadn’t been my intention,” I said, “I’m just not one for starting conversations.”
Star Clip stepped around Hoodie to get close to me, arms folded under their chest. “You had us quite worried, you know. We thought something must have happened to you when you didn’t answer your door. Wandering alone in an unfamiliar place like this increases one’s likelihood of getting harmed. I understand that having to speak with strangers isn’t easy, but you mustn’t risk your safety like that.”
While they spoke in a gentle manner, it was no less reprimanding. “…Sorry, again,” I muttered, straightening my tie.
They offered a hand which I shook, albeit hesitantly. Their grip was firm and confident, and I couldn’t help but be a bit intimidated by this person. “My name is Dove Gupta. I hope we can get along during these trying times, and if you ever need someone to talk to I’m always here to lend an ear.”
DOVE GUPTA, ULTIMATE PSYCHOTHERAPIST
Only nineteen years-old and yet she had managed to make a big name for herself within clinical psychology circles with her adamance on debunking myths about mental and emotional disorders and advocating for the better treatment of those with invisible disabilities. She wrote several educational books, had taken on clients of all types, even criminals, and used her money to expand on her research.
“Oh! Introductions part two: electric boogaloo!” Hoodie jumped in with a peace sign and a flashy wink. “Benjamin Addams’ the name! Most peeps just call me Benji, though, since Benjamin’s def a mega mouthful and you can too if you want! Have you heard of me?”
BENJAMIN ADDAMS, ULTIMATE RADIO JOCKEY
It took me a moment to process the jumbled words that just spewed out of Hoodie’s mouth. “Outside of the short summaries I read about my class through the Ultimate Talent Program’s website, yes. I have heard your voice a few times. Your show is very popular with the teen demographic in my town. Benji’s Extraordinary World?” It was a daily variety show, always on at exactly 8:00 a.m., where Benjamin would give his insight on current events and whatever was popular, sometimes he talked about his own interests and personal life, played music that was requested or chosen by himself, and had famous guest stars. Fans described him as a trendy and easygoing guy that everybody wanted to be friends with.
“Correctomundo! Great to know one of you knows about me!” Benjamin pointed two accusing fingers at Dove, lips puckered. “This one over here knows jack squat! Zilch! Nada! Talk about a total hit to my ego!”
Dove stuffed her hands into her trenchcoat’s pockets, tilting her head forward a smidge. “My apologies, Benji. I rarely pay much attention to radios and podcasts. Work has me quite occupied, I’m afraid.”
Benjamin threw his arms behind his head with a giggle. “Nah! It's all good, I’m just jossin’!”
Camera rolled her eyes at his antics before propping a hand on her hip. “Quincy Addams, celebrity hunter extraordinaire. Sadly, I’m this chump’s step sister.”
QUINCY ADDAMS, ULTIMATE PAPARAZZA
Quincy Addams, an apprentice to her infamous photographer cousin, Richard Addams, she had built a network of vicious paparazzi and journalists from the ground up in her freshman years, and had used her talents to bring misery unto a plethora of celebrities. Many scandals had been unearthed due to their relentless pursuits, but many celebrities that hadn’t done anything to warrant the debasement to their image were caught in the crosshairs.
“You know, just cuz you have the freedom to be an asshole doesn’t mean you should be one,” Benjamin grumbled.
Quincy snickered as she flapped an uncaring hand. “Oh, cry me a river, Pipsqueak. If you don’t want me calling you a chump then don’t act like one.”
”Are you sure you’re the Ultimate Paparazza? Ultimate Antichrist fits you way better, in my opinion.”
Quincy flipped Benjamin off.
My stare unconsciously flicked between the siblings. I stuffed the granola wrapper in my pants’ pocket with the rest. “…I’m Wendell Ackerman Jr., nice to meet you.”
“Hello, Wendell.” There was a hint of warmth in Dove’s smile. “Now that we have you, how about you join our group? Everyone else is in groups of three exploring every inch of this building, so we might as well stick together. We should introduce you to them. I’m sure they will be relieved to see that you’re ok.”
Yay. Meeting more people. My alone time was good while it lasted. “Sure thing.”
”Welcome to the team!” Benjamin said, “My dude? My pal?”
Oh. He was asking which I preferred. ”Go for either. I don’t mind.”
”Whatever you say, my dude!”
As we walked out of the pantries, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, goosebumps formed on my skin. Was there someone watching us?