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Ezra's Profile
- Arrogant. Patronizing. Hypercritical.
- Restless. Impulsive. Changeable.
- Intelligent. Ambitious. Curious.
- Obsessive. Indulgent. Uninhibited.
The only child born to borderline-geriatric Columbia University professors from the Upper West Side, Ezra expected (and was expected to achieve) excellence. He was a product of deep coffers, petri dishes, privilege, and a stranger’s younger, more hospitable womb. He was a pet project, a little something for Dr. and Dr. Halabi to focus on during a shared sabbatical year. He was, in other words, a true miracle; it was a surprise to all those outside the immediate family that Ezra never gagged on the silver spoon that’d been shoved so far down his throat, it very nearly popped out his ass.

New York City was a beast of a playground, and its underbelly rippled with an irresistibly tantalizing nighttime scene. Ezra tore through it all with numb gums and a sugar-dusted nose. It was incredible that in the daylight hours, he managed to collect degrees and academic accolades as though they were lost coins on the street: a bachelor’s in physics and mathematics; a master’s in ecology and evolution; a doctorate in developmental biology. Ezra bounced and buzzed from lab to lab, from classroom to classroom – chasing a sort of erudite high that was damn near close to what he snorted up through a rolled Franklin.

There was no deciphering the exact moment it happened: the addiction. The cotton-mouthed, rusty-throated, everlasting thirst for a drug he’d never quite expected. She’d somehow slipped beneath his skin, somehow embedded herself in his veins, his head, his fucking heart. He didn’t know how it happened. He hardly knew her name; she was just another pretty face. But he’d flashed his throat to her once – twice – in the throes of their lovemaking, in a lapse of judgement and a sweeping surge of curiosity, and now he couldn’t fucking stop.

(Drain me dry.)

He’d moan, he’d cry, he’d gasp.

(Fill me up.)

He shivered at her touch, and convulsed without it. The boy who once lived at the top of the world now existed beneath it, existing solely to hold it up for the one person (the one thing) that mattered. Days passed in a blur before melting together into a singular, starless, endless night...

Dawn broke somewhere, at some time, in Syracuse – quarantined deep in the bowels of the isolated Carmine facility. Over a month passed before Ezra could even begin to scratch the surface of his old self, and yet the withdrawal continued to linger. Still, cutting through the remaining obsession were rushes of curiosity and swells of anger. Slowly, so slowly, he began the strenuous transition from patient to researcher. Carmine hadn’t known who he was when they’d picked him up as just another victim, another subject, but the old Ezra Halabi had much to offer in the facility’s labs. It was a symbiotic relationship of sorts, he reasoned, settling in and taking full stock of the surrounding resources.

State-of-the-art equipment, guaranteed protection, full reign of his own labs and research, and the hunters.

His very own legion of hunters.
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Ezra Halabi

Age 34
Gender Male
Sexuality Heterosexual
Height 5'9"
Build Scrawny
Occupation Carmine Researcher
Species Human
Subspecies None
Power N/A
Meg's Information
Date of Birth: Not Specified
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