Cassiopeia unfurled herself from her thin woollen blanket, stretching languidly like a cat against the grate of the air conditioning vent in the corner of the cell. The best part of sleeping on the metal floors rather than the cot she'd been provided was the early wake-up call: the heavy footsteps of the prison guards as they clomped their way down the corridors resonating beneath her fingertips. She began to count, tapping her bare foot in an even rhythm, a metronome. They were moving too quickly for it to be the morning rounds and judging by the cacophony of noise moving swiftly towards her door, they certainly weren't bringing breakfast.

Reluctantly pushing herself up from what could have been two more minutes of blissful relaxation, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders like a travelling shawl, tying it to make sure the guards couldn't take it off her. They usually did when she was to be led around like... like many cows – cattle! That was the word! As she stood, the screws that had once fastened the grate to the wall slid off her skirt and clattered against the ground. It seemed like she wouldn't be needing those anymore.

Cold, clinical light flooded into the room as the guards shoved the door open impatiently just as she was tying her shoes, contraband (laser) pen clenched between her teeth as she tried to remember how to create a perfect loop with the laces. With the door wide open, the yelling and screaming from other prisoners outside reached deafening levels. If the men standing in the doorway, jiggling the handcuffs ominously didn't care, then she shouldn't either.

“Morning,” Cassiopeia greeted as she moved the pen to its usual position, tangling it in her hair. The guards – as always – didn't respond, merely clamping down the cool metal handcuffs around her skinny wrists and dragging her outside to some unknown location, untied laces and all. They were clearly in a rush, since they didn't confiscate the unique addition to her clothing or the 'weapon' behind her ear. “Where are we going?” Again, no answer.

She could hear her heart beating in time to her hurried, clumsy footsteps and it thudded painfully when she was forcefully strapped into the seat. A place in the Ark she'd never seen before! Her lips twitched in excitement, whistling the manic Varsouviana polka – one of her father's favourites – as loudly as she could to block out the panicked murmur of all the teenagers packed together (and the yelling of one boy a few seats over). She was leaving the Ark, wasn't she? 

The butterflies in her stomach twisted and shuddered violently.