Contrary to popular belief, Jett wasn't an idiot nor was he as reckless as he led people to believe. Today was one of those rare serious moments; as of lately, they'd been becoming much less rare. Jett Lavelle was stressed about immortality, about power, about life. He'd never admit it. He was becoming a responsible adult and wasn't sure how he felt about it yet.
He and Toby had set up this warehouse to play doctor and scientists. There was a series of rodents in cages on one table and on another were tools and syringes. People were locked down to tables at their wrists and ankles, mouths bound to silence their cries.
A few of the people Jett had captured were homeless, and a few were not. He'd looked for people with disease and individuals who were clean. Test subjects. Lab rats. Controlled experiments to see just how far his disease magic could go. What could he control?
He stood over a homeless man who he'd diagnosed with some kind of fever. Like the flu. Jett had placed his hand on the man's bare chest and closed his eyes to focus on the illness, trying to find its root. Searching out what it was effecting. He felt too akin to it. Slipping into the body and searching out troubling aspects was second nature for Jett.
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