summary: Luke Ellis endures the Institute's cruel daily routine of testing and injections, constantly watched by sadistic staff, knowing his TK abilities are leading him toward the terrifying back half, or not?
tags: luke ellis pov/the institute (Stephen King)/psychological horror/child abuse/telekinesis and telepathy/forced experimentation/mind games/childhood trauma/angst/found family;;
9:30 am, The Institute, Front Half, Maine 2023.
Just like every other day, the clock's alarm woke me up like my life depended on it. I always thought the sound of it was similar to an emergency broadcast, that impelling feeling that something atrocious is about to happen, yet you have no clue what it is.
And that, well, sums up each day at the Institute. Waking up early, or if you're lucky (if it can be considered lucky), slightly later, because they "prioritise" your sleep — or at least that's what they try to make you believe. Then breakfast, pancakes to sweeten you up and make you believe you're in the land of Pinocchio. Next, tests over tests, shots for dots, they say.
"You need to see the dots," or "The dots are the next step to get back home, Luke."
They think I don't see through their bullshit, but let me tell you, I am so full of this that I am almost starting to believe everything's up for a greater good, just like they always reassure you.
It's been about twelve days since they brought me here, or well, kidnapped me and forcefully shoved me into this hellhole.
The Institute welcomes kids and teenagers torn from their families, who are divided into two categories: TP, telepathic, or TK, telekinetic, depending on the type of extrasensory powers — I am a TK, but my powers aren't as good as the others. Kalisha is such a strong TK; she can feel your feelings through your mind, like a drill. Unfortunately, she gets tired easily, though.
Meanwhile I can barely move a millimetre a paper clip, and I guess this bothers Hendricks. He's the chief doctor, the one who conducts all those tests about dots and shit, trying to lead us swiftly to the back half. His right-hand man is Tony, a fucking arsehole. Let's say that Hendricks is the one checking on the stats, while Tony is the one who actually tortures you. Maybe I should tell you about the tests… yeah, right. The enhancement phase is the very first one; I already went through that luckily. Shots for dots, remember? We receive regular, painful injections of a secret serum, which is the primary method of "enhancing" our psychic powers. They often cause terrible side effects like migraines, fevers, and temporary paralysis. The first time I received the shots, I vomited more than once onto the floor of the laboratory and on Tony's shoes too (I was quite proud of that until I received a strong backhand and a bleeding nose; now I try to avoid it, to say the least). Then for TKs like me, this often involves trying to mentally move or affect small, inert objects under pressure, usually with increasingly heavy or difficult targets. By "pressure" I mean being electrocuted.
Whatever. Let's cut the introduction, and let's get back to the reality, right?
I am Luke Ellis, by the way. I should have introduced myself way earlier before explaining all of this. 14 and always considered a damn genius; guess Mrs Sigsby thinks that too. She's the boss down here—
"Luke, come here!" Mrs Sigsby shouted from the dining area, her voice always terribly squeaky and honeyed, or for me it was just as taunting as the sound of a coffin lid being nailed shut. I swallowed the last of the synthetic pancake, which suddenly tasted like wet cardboard, and pushed away from the table. Mrs Sigsby stood by the doors that led to the corridor. Beside her was Tony, looking like a freshly scrubbed sociopath in his dark turquoise uniform, ready to punch your face if necessary. They weren't looking at me, though. They were focused on the corridor entrance to the dining area.
"We have a special ceremony this morning, Luke," Sigsby cooed, putting a sickeningly gentle hand on the shoulder of a small, trembling boy named Timmy.
Timmy was a TP, barely eight years old, and he’d been breaking down for about seven days. Today was his last day in the Front Half. He walked all the way to one of the circular tables and sat down in front of a supermarket cake that smelt like sugar and stale sprinkles. Seven candles, the exact number of days he stayed in the front half. Such a great way to say bye to your life, masking the passage between the two halves with sweets and smiles. It was supposed to symbolise a wish for the future, but everyone knew it was just the Institute snuffing out their light.
"Blow out the candle now, Timmy," Tony directed, his voice sarcastically gentle. Timmy’s lower lip was quivering. He didn't blow. He just stood there, staring at the terrifying darkness beyond the corridor door. The silence stretched, thick and painful, broken only by the hum of the Institute’s lights.
Then, he moved. Not toward the door, but sideways. Timmy didn't scream or cry; I swear in my eyes he looked like a grown teenager, except he wasn't. He made a low, gargling sound—more like a frustrated animal than a little boy. He grabbed one of the candles, blew it out and then dropped to the floor. Immediately his tiny hands shot out, wrapping around Tony's neck. Tony was caught completely off guard.
Timmy’s small face was contorted into a mask of pure, maniacal rage I’d never seen before. His eyes weren't crying; they were glowing a terrifying, pulsing red. He wasn't using telepathy, or if he was, it was an uncontrolled, devastating blast of pure psychic breakdown. I wondered if it was going to happen to me one day.
"He's fried!" Sigsby shrieked, jumping back and knocking over a stack of trays.
"Get him! He's unstable, for god's sake!"
Tony groaned, ripping his grip. He fumbled for the tranquiliser gun on his hip. Timmy, still making that awful noise, saw the gun, and his eyes fixed on it. Before Timmy could react to anything, Tony was back to being himself. He simply drew back his large, meaty hand and delivered a sickeningly loud backhand across Timmy's face. The small boy's head snapped to the side, and the frightening red glow in his eyes instantly disappeared. He crumpled, stunned and silent.
"Useless little brat," Tony spat, shaking his throbbing hand like he just touched some kind of insect. He scooped up the semi-conscious Timmy like a sack of laundry, bringing him toward the corridor doors. Mrs Sigsby smoothed her shirt, her face regaining its sociopathic composure. It weirdly made me scrunch my face in response.
She fixed her gaze on the sobbing, bewildered children, then shot a look of pure disdain at the limp form being dragged away.
"Such a terrible waste of energy," Sigsby's voice dripped with syrupy judgement. "A little composure is all we ask for, dear. Remember, we are all here to help you."
She looked directly at me then, her smile tense. "We'll be back to you shortly, Luke. Don't worry about the mess. Tony here has it all under control." The corridor door slammed shut behind Tony and Timmy, leaving behind the smell of spilt syrup, fear, and the lingering, painful echo of what the hell just happened. I watched as Kalisha sniffed; Nicky's shock was visible in his face too, while George was stacking a bunch of Twinkies from the vending machine one on top of the other. He didn't seem bothered by all of that.
My mind was spiralling until I felt a cold, hard tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Dr Hendricks, his face pale and stressed from the morning's chaos, but his eyes were fixed on me with clinical intensity.
"You," he said, his voice quiet, and he forced himself to be warm. "Ellis. You're not going back to your room. There’s been a schedule change." My blood went cold. A schedule change was never good; of course it never was. It meant the staff was panicked, and they would rush new, dangerous procedures to re-establish control.
"But Dr Hendricks," I started, trying to sound reasonable, "it's not my time for the next round of shots—"
"This isn't about the injections, Ellis," he interrupted, his fingers digging slightly into my shoulder, guiding me away from the dining area and toward the Rear Labs. "The events this morning need an immediate calibration of the TK containment field. Your abilities are weirdly interesting and available, and frankly, we are not going to have a repeat of that fiasco with Timmy."
He pushed me through a heavy, insulated door marked "Laboratory". The room was small, cold, and smelt faintly of metal and plastic gloves, like always. In the centre was a chair, different from the other times. It was heavily padded, secured with wide leather straps, and had a thick metal collar resting where the subject’s neck would be. So my neck? Jesus Christ…
"Sit," Hendricks commanded. "This will be quick. I just need you to exert maximum TK force against the surrounding field. We need a clean, stable reading of your current Neg/Pos transition to ensure the integrity of the facility's defences." I stared at the chair. It was a trap. If I held back, they'd punish me with Tony's "encouragement". If I used maximum force, they'd get a definitive reading of my abilities, which they'd use to target my weaknesses. And that metal collar looked uncomfortable.
"Dr Hendricks," I said, my voice carefully modulated to sound slightly fearful but compliant. "Is that chair... new? Will the data be recorded on the central terminal or the local unit?"
Hendricks frowned, annoyed by the question. "Local unit, of course. Stop wasting time, Ellis. Strap in now!" Hendricks’ annoyance was my opportunity. He always gets distracted down here, trusting the machinery over his own eyes. I sat down, my mind racing faster than my body moved. I tried to look resigned as I fumbled with the thick leather straps, buying a few extra seconds. The metal collar felt cold and heavy against my neck.
"Sir, wait," I said. "If it's the local unit, shouldn't we make sure the cable is properly connected to the containment field regulator? I noticed during the last diagnostics check the TK output caused an input spike to the—"
"It’s fine, Ellis! I wired it myself!" Hendricks snapped, but he still paused, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He hated being questioned, but he hated a bad data output more. "Straps tight, Ellis?" Hendricks asked, turning back. Usually Tony was here, making sure to strap me in as tight as possible, but he was… busy with Timmy.
"Yes, sir," I managed, breathing shallowly.
He returned to the small console and initiated the sequence. A low, powerful hum filled the room as it activated around me. It felt like something was firstly tickling me, then drilling into my skull.
"Good. Now, push, Luke. Give me everything you've got. Let's see the dots, or whatever you usually see. Maximum effort."
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried my best to show my power. The pressure built in my head, a raw, burning energy, but it still wasn't enough; I wasn't enough. The metal chair groaned, the straps pulled tight, and I felt the strong resistance of whatever was pushing me back.
Hendricks watched the screen. His frown deepened. "The numbers are fluctuating wildly. The output is unstable and pathetically low. It's reading far weaker than your usual, Ellis."
"I... I can't, Dr Hendricks," I panted. I was feeling weaker and weaker.
Hendricks ran a hand over his face. "Dammit. You're giving me garbage, Ellis. We can't use this… ugh, fine. Deactivating."
The pressure immediately vanished as he quickly unstrapped me. "Get out of here, Ellis," I panted heavily before nodding and walking outside the laboratory.
I practically stumbled out of the lab, rubbing the faint red marks the collar had left on my neck. I needed to rest. I needed to see Kalisha and Nicky, just to feel normal again.
I found them near the vending machines, just past the main lounge. The staff had gone into full clean-up mode, trying to erase every sign of Timmy's breakdown. They always try to pretend this is a safe space for us, somewhere we can feel at home, ignoring how we feel.
Mrs Sigsby was nowhere in sight, likely in her office observing us through the cameras, like the damn creep she is.
Kalisha was hunched over the snack machine, fiddling with a token. Nicky was already seated on one of the beanbag chairs in front of the large, perpetually-on TV, watching one of the shitty cartoons they always put on. George was still stacking his Twinkies and Twix... and Twizzlers… and, Jesus, how many tokens does he have?
I walked up to the vending machine. Kalisha didn't look at me, but I knew she felt me.
"Hey," I murmured, leaning against the cold glass. "Got the chips yet?"
"Working on it," she replied, her voice flat.
I leaned closer, whispering to the vending machine glass itself. "Timmy's breakdown has them spooked."
Kalisha slid her hand into the coin slot. "Yeah. That was... intense." She pulled out a token and dropped it back in, selecting a bag of stale corn chips. She looked up, her gaze boring into mine. "Did you hear what Sigsby said?"
"That we're all here to help each other?" I scoffed sarcastically. I replied back, "No, I mean when she was talking to Hendricks."
Kalisha didn't miss a beat. "I caught fragments. Something about a schedule change and needing to keep an eye on us." She tilted her head slightly. "They always keep an eye on us; what can make a difference… oh! "Have you got any spare tokens for the fizzy stuff?"
"I might have one," I said, fishing in my pocket. I dropped a token into her awaiting hand. Then shrugged and walked over to the TV area, my body sloping onto a beanbag next to Nicky. The noise of the cartoon was a welcome, stupid blanket. I hated that show, but yet, it felt like a small tradition we had while staying here.
Nicky looked over, his eyes still showing the residual shock from the morning. "What was that? Hendricks dragged you to the back?"
"Almost," I muttered, shaking my head. "Just another test. They're scared the whole place is going to blow up. Did you hear anything about the 'keep an eye on us' thing?"
"Nah," Nicky said, distracted by the TV. "Why? I don't think it'll make a huge difference."
We were not going to be another Timmy. I was Luke Ellis, fourteen, and currently the smartest kid here.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a couple of my remaining tokens. I got up, walked back to the machine, and bought a stale Honey Bun. The synthetic sweetness coated my tongue, a terrible reminder of the fake reality we were forced to swallow every day.
I settled back onto the beanbag. Kalisha was still standing by the vending machine, calmly chewing her chips. I let out a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. I don't know why, but I felt so tired, and I swear to god, I didn't even realise that, at some point, I fell asleep.
---------------------------------------------------
hey everyone, this was my first ever fanfic or whatever this is. I'm not sure if this was meant to be a oneshot kind of drabble or a story of various chapters, I'll see what comes with the flow.
areudirty
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
2087
kianamaiart
