Edward opened one eye as the loudspeaker came on and drew a nail across his forearm until it bled. He wasn't a sadist or a cutter, but he used the announcements to tell time in some way or another. When the voice did any sort of 'good morning' that went on the right arm, but any alarms went on the right leg. So far he had been here for 37 'good mornings', if they were actually using a 24 hour clock then he had been here a month and a week. There seemed to be an problem every seven good mornings, it was about three good mornings into each new arrival speech that an alarm went off. not surprising given the limits the mind and body can take.

So how was it that he wasn't a screaming nutjob? It was Magic. He thought about every trick he knew, from sleight of hand to the disappearing elephant. Practice made perfect and he continued to work it out in his head. Sawing an elephant in half would be awesome!

Perhaps you have heard the story of Major Nesmith. He was a prisoner of war in Vietnam, held in solitary confinement for seven years. They train the soldiers that if they are ever captured and forced into solitary confinement they must activate and engage the mind to keep themselves from going crazy. They are told they must visualize and see themselves doing something that they enjoy doing.

So every day Major Nesmith would play a round of golf. It was not just a simple round of golf. It took him 5 hours every day to play this round of golf. Every day he would go to the closet, pull his golf bag out of the closet, count his golf clubs, count his golf balls, make sure his shoes were there. He would visualize cleaning his shoes and getting everything ready to go play a round of golf. He’d put his golf bag into the car; he would drive to the course. He would get out of the car and take his bag. He would walk up and pay his green fee. He would get all ready to tee off. He would select his golf club. He would make the shot. He would watch his shot. He would walk over to the ball….for 5 hours a day he would play a round of golf in his mind. In his mind he visualized all the details of the golf course; from the direction of the wind to the color of the grass, and each day he would play his 18 holes.

After seven years, Major Nesmith was released, and he returned home to the United States. Not long afterwards, he was back on his home course. And… although he had not actually played golf in over 7 years, because he had visualized himself playing in his mind, he took several strokes off his previous best score.

This obscure story saved Edwards life daily.

By this time neither Joseph or Nicholas knew how long they had been there in that little cell. Sadly it was at a point neither could really bring themselves to care anymore, the reality of no way out crushing them or just depressing's gripping hold who could say.

Joseph was thankful for his prison mate. Nicholas was always a threatening presence for the guards. Sure they kept up the tough guy act, make fat jokes at the guy, but it didn't take much to see they were scared of him. The imagination left very violent images of what would happen if he got his hands on one of them.

Still since he didn't need to eat much as his own obese body was practically self sustaining, Joseph could use their time for long meals. He never used it to go outside though, he couldn't bring himself after he did it the first time and almost immediately began crying and needing to go back to his cell immediately. It was one thing to be stuck I that cell, but being stuck with the sky right there and no way of flight, it broke Joseph's already wounded heart.

Still Joseph took solace in the fact they were in a cell where they were surrounded by like minded furious mutants who just needed one or two things to fight back. After all, you know what they say about people with nothing to lose.

Nathan after hearing a voice damn close, he remember he had a roommate and he removed his hand from his eyes. staring at her with his light blue eyes for a moment before pushing himself up into a sitting position"its not that i think it, i know it" he said, sighing "i have a hyper Accelerated Metabolism, if i dont eat constantly i start shutting down til finally i crash.. ever see some with Hypoglycemia? same thing but a thousand times worse for me" but she did have a good point, staying still and moving as little as possible would help somewhat so he leaned against the wall, right beside the bars of their cell door. "in for? all things are a little fuzzy at the moment, which is odd for me, uh.. last i remember a few others and i were kicking ass on those that were killing people at the party" then turning when he heard someone shout out if anyone in there was a Mutant, and someone replied they were. "yo!!" he called out. "got one here too" revealing that he too, was a mutant.

and then came the morning announcement over the intercom, and the more he listened, the more he was growing pissed. "oh, funny man' he said, hearing the guards and their jailer laughing at his pathetic joke, he turned and pulled himself up. "if your shy, i'd turn away" as he stood and laughed right along with the guards. "hey Alpha!" pulling his sweats down in the front and wipping out his hose. "this is what i think of your humor" and he began pissing straight through the bars, right onto the floor of the hall, groaning the whole time. "oh wow, that feels good" combination of his usual go with the flow, do what i want attitude with the lack of energy that was quickly heading to the big E on the meter, it didnt make for someone that thought his actions through at all. "hey" snapping his fingers at a guard. "chuckles, clean up on isle four" shaking it dry, before he tucked it back into the sweats and moved back to his current bed, cause be damned if he was staying here any longer then it would take someone to say just passing through.

Perhaps more dramatically than intended, the young man whipped around to face his previously undetected cellmate. This was most likely due to his senses being shut down for so long, he figured. To her, this appeared almost comical, as the man's poker face was completely unfitting to this gesture.

He lost no time in examining her with his eyes, from head to toe, looking for abnormalities but also, almost unconsciously, for wounds. Her tone of voice concerned him slightly, especially when he thought about the kind of treatment he received from what he could remember of the trip to the facility. But something was nagging at his ears, and before he offered to look her over, it finally registered - the voice on the loudspeaker was familiar. Very familiar.

He turned back to the bars in strangely slow motion, his eyes bulging with surprise, his face flush with color, his muscular arms gripping the bars with such a force they gave out a quiet creak - or were his bones creaking? When the voice was gone he was stuck in this position for a moment longer, until a guard made a motion of coming closer. He let go, gradually, and pushed himself away. To Eris, he seemed like a lanky lab monkey again - perhaps his build was just an illusion of light and shadow?

The young man exhaled slowly, loudly, pushing all air out of his lungs. The flush disappeared from his face, and his slightly stooped posture made him look like a manequin in the dim light. He turned towards her again, like a zombie not in full control of his body, and took a step - but by the time he reached her his posture was upright again.

"I'm Chris," he said in the same inflection-less voice. "Are you well."

After the announcement and the strange actions of her cell mate, words came out of his mouth. It was a simple greeting followed by a caring inquisition. Well, since he wasn't treating her like a freak it may be safe to say that he was also a mutant.

"My name's Eris. And yea, I'm fine. Just a couple of scratches and bruises, and a massive headache," She responded. All the noises in here were hurting Eris's head, but there wasn't much that could be done about that.

She stood up, uncomfortable with the dramatic height different when sitting, and walked over to the door of the cage looking around. Eris had no idea what happened to Rachel and while it seemed impossible, there was still a chance she was here. However, her head throbbed too much for Eris to call out to her friend. So with a defeated sigh, she returned to the corner of the room. There was no use wasting her energy on anything else.

.

She let out a laugh and immidiately cringed at the pain from her injuries. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts when I breathe. They definitely bruised a rib amoung other things." Mika started to sit up. "At least they were too afraid to try anything other than beat me. Told them I was still strong enough to burn it off, lucky they believed me." She looked up at Walt, who didn't look all that great either, although he was unsurpisingly better off than she was thanks to his gift. "You love being a knight in shining armor so how about you do something heroic? Preferably something that gets us out of here?"

EDWARD

As Edward made his daily scratch hung to measure the time for how long he had been in this Hell-Hole, a Guard walked up to his cell, and despite the glass shielding around his face you could tell he was interested.

"Inmate number 339-273, stop the cutting immediately, or you'll be escorted to the Vet's Office," he ordered and made for his side-arm.

The Vet's Office was code for the prison infirmary, which did nothing more than strapping patients down on cold metal tables and either pumping them full of drugs, putting sub-dermal tracking devices into their bodies, or doing autopsies...

NICHOLAS AND JOSEPH

There were two guards assigned to keep watch over the Oregonian and Brit due to their strength and ability to fly. In Processing, the sweeping camera on the elevator that every inmate took on the way down, these two were given a higher than normal probability rate for an escape attempt. Emphasis on attempt though.

NATHAN AND ISABEL

When Nathan began playing class clown and whizzing on the cold, hard prison floor, a Guard with a stun baton approached the cell. Specifically the guard that Nathan had called 'Chuckles'. "Inmate number 628-426, you think you're funny? You think you're some kind of Adam Sandler pissing on my floor? Well guess what I am," he said and slammed the stun baton against the metal bars that Nathan had pressed up against, sending a magnified electrical current through his already malnourished body, thus making him even weaker. "Guess who's having a nice helping of floor cleaning duty for breakfast this morning?"

CHRIS AND ERIS

As Chris and Eris assessed their health and acknowledged their present situations. The one guard assigned to watch over their cell put a finger to his ear, as if receiving a new set of orders and nodded.

He approached the bars and spoke in a disgruntled tone, "Inmate number 247-47, approach the cell entrance immediately,"

MIKA AND WALT

"If those mothers did anything more than beat you, I'd have their heads on my breakfast trays," Chris said as he helped look Mika over, "aside from the bruising, is everything else ok?" He asked her, then in a fit of anger he approached the bars.

"You mother lovers have some explaining to do!" He yelled out, "do any of you know who I am? I'm Walter Ashmore! And I demand to speak to whoever's in charge!" He yelled to any guard who would listen, and summoned as much strength as he could to pry the bars apart, but somehow his enhanced strength was on the fritz.

Then he realized the problem, the clunky grey wrist band on his arm. He was never one for jewelery, so they had put this on him. He glanced over at Mika and saw that she too wore a wrist band.

"Oh poop," he said, while outside his cell a group of guards unassigned to a certain cell started to make their way to theirs.

LATER- 0830

Then the Alpha came back on the speaker, "change of plans, newbies. Your breakfast time will be held with everyone else in the Doghouse, well, everyone who isn't named Walter Ashmore. Looks like we got ourselves a celebrity in the building," he mocked Walter.

All down the Newbie Cellblock, the cell bars were activated and slid away slowly. The guards stationed withdrew their heavy weaponry that resembled high powered machine guns.

The guards unassigned reached Walter's cell and the guy in front slammed an armored fist into the back of his head, "that's for my buddies at the hospital," he spat down on Walter's chest.

"Inmate number 339-273, stop the cutting immediately, or you'll be escorted to the Vet's Office."

"Inmate number 339-273 understands and will stop."

He opened his eyes to take a long look at the guard with hand on his side arm, it was in a cross draw, 'Lefty' as he called him. Over the month, he watched and learned the guards by body language. 'Stomper' had metal caps on his shoes for the sound they made on the deck plate and preferred to kick rather than use his baton or gun. 'Lefty' was indeed left handed which gave him a leg up when dealing with most others. 'Twitch' was a fidgeting person, probably a smoker given how his uniform always has a whiff on it and his need to keep his fingers busy. God, had it been that long since a drag?

"Change of plans, newbies. Your breakfast time will be held with everyone else in the Doghouse, well, everyone who isn't named Walter Ashmore. Looks like we got ourselves a celebrity in the building."

Oh crap, this wasn't good. Often times the guards would give other prisoners an extra 'exercise time' in the main mess by turning off the bracer, not all, just one or two. Usually one with an uncontrollable power and someone with a beef like the 'whiz-kid' over there. Then the guards let them smack each other around for a few seconds and turn the collars back on before gunning a few down. They always do it with the new recruits. All the same, he hoped the would serve real meat for the food today if only to ruin it with a fight.

Carefully and with no sudden movements, he put on his clothes for the day, trying yet again for the month to get the device off his arm. He sat on his toilet and doubled over to hide his arm as he dislocated each of the 27 bones. It was just like handcuffs and how you move your fingers. He had taken great care to move his limb as little as possible, eating and everything with one arm to try and let some manner of atrophy set in. Flexing up only when inspected for the illusion of security aaannnddd, YES! he can slip the bracer up over his dislocated bones.

He did not take it off, he just made sure it could get past the halfway point before slipping it back on and flushing before getting dressed the rest of the way. Now that he knew he could get lucky, it was only a matter of time before someone else did something stupid and he could take advantage of it.

Nathan stood there, holding onto the bars as Chuckles came over. "no sir, just want you to know what i think of you all" he said, smiling. "i would imagine your a piece of shi.." before he could finished the was hit with the current from the baton, that traveled through the bars, doubling in strength before coursing straight into him. Nathan saw stars as he hit his cot, his limbs not listening to him, jerking all over the place, every other muscle completely seized up and tight. oh he probably shouldnt have let the loud mouth on the speak get to him, but hindsight was 20/20, and he really wasnt known for thinking things through.

when he was finally able to move, he laid on the bed, feeling even worse off when Chuckles asked who was getting a helping of cleaning the floor, Nathan groaned. "your Mama, she's use to being on her knees right Chuckles?" shaking his head to shake off the effects of that 'shocking' experience. it was while he laid there, that he heard the announcement about them dining with everyone else. "hm" looking over at his cellmate. "you getting the feeling that, that doesnt sound good?" he asked her, giving a weak smile

"Inmate number 247-47, approach the cell entrance immediately," The guard at Eris's cell grumbled. Confused at their use of numbers instead of names, Eris looked over at Chris. The question was plain on her face. But it would never get answered unless she spoke up.

"Which one of us is inmate number 247-47?" She asked the guard. However, before the guard could say anything, an announcement came on. Breakfast was going to be troublesome. They are in most prisons. But Eris couldn't deny the fact that she was hungry. It felt as if forever had passed since she was in her dorm room eating dinner. Also who was this Walter Ashmore celebrity? Eris never kept up with pop culture. It seemed like a waste of time. The press also twisted reality and made things more dramatic than need be. Most of the time there wasn't any relevant information anyways.

Looking back over at the guard, Eris could tell that he was pissed off. So using her 50/50 chances she walked up to the bars. Besides it hopefully wouldn't hurt her if she wasn't the one they wanted.

"Inmate number 247-47, approach the cell entrance immediately,"

Chris slowly turned towards the guard at the entrance. He looked at him for a long minute, trying to decide if he should associate these guards with Alpha's actions. His face had no expression, but his hard eyes on the guard's face betrayed his inner works slightly.

But as he leaned forward to walk towards the guard, a heavy stone slid into his heart. The sensation was so sudden that he instinctively grabbed his chest, and looked down to see if he was attacked. But this... this was fear, wasn't it? The body's chemical reaction to fear. What the hell did they do to him!?

"Which... which one of us is that number." He was physically forcing the words out of himself as he mirrored his cellmate's question. At this point he couldn't look away from the guard, even as she came closer. Instead of answering, the guard raised his right hand to chest-level and tapped his wrist where a watch would be. Puzzled, Chris looked at his left, then right wrist, and found a bracelet of smooth black material fit snugly to his hand. On it, the figure 24747 was represented by a collection of aluminium numbers screwed or glued to it. When the scientist raised it closer to his eyes to examine it, surprised he hadn't noticed it sooner, he became aware he couldn't feel the bracelet's touch against his skin. In fact, there was an aura of anasthetic around it, a black hole in his senses. He attempted to force telemetry from his skin, but something interfered with the signal. Something external.

Just as Chris was about to push his finger under the bracelet, something pushed against his shoulder. Hard. He looked up at the guard, who was stabbing him with his shock baton, now fortunately off. "Hands off." he growled through his teeth. At this point, some message stopped playing on the loudspeakers and the door to the cell opened. The scientist took a step forward, but stopped at the doorway of the cell.

"Yes." He tilted his head at the guard, to emphasize an inaudible question mark.

As Dragonis was being dragged unconsiously into the doghouse his mind was trying to work out what had happened. He was on his usual trip to the library gerting all the usual looks and harsh comments when suddenly he saw his neibour leading a group of people in SWAT like outfits. After his neibour had seen him he had pointed and told the group "THATS HIM!" It took Dragonis a couple of seconds to work out that he was pointing at him and the guns were being aimed at him. A couple of seconds was a second too long as a man from behind launched a heavy tranquilizer dart into the back of his neck. His scales had came out blocking the other projectiles but the tranq had already done its worst and before managing to attack back he fell on the floor asleep.

The guards opened the cell door and chucked him in. (So. Who wants to be my cellmate?)

Isabel put a hand up to cover her mouth. Not in disgust at her cellie's crude display, but to hide a grin. She just decided she had the best cell mate a girl could ask for. Unfortunately, and she knew this quite well, people like him didn't go over well with guards. One of them, who was now stuck with the nickname "Chuckles" forever, walked up and hit the mutant with some kind of electrical baton. He fell backwards to the floor by his cot.

Isabel jumped down to help him up, looking expressionlessly at the guard as he walked away, memorizing what she could of him. His face was obscured(cowards) but she got a look at a serial number, and made note of his stride. She supposed it didn't matter which one he was. They were all going to die.

"You getting the feeling that, that doesn't sound good?"

She gave him a crooked smile and said, "It sounds delicious. And you were whining about being hungry anyway."

EDWARD

When the cell doors opened, Fidget, a Guard so designated by Edward because of his many nervous tics, and because (and unbeknownst by Edward) his face was always reminiscent of a Pablo Picasso painting due to his severe nervousness, kept his eye on the passing mutant prisoners as they made their way to the Mess Hall for Meal Time, but his attention was quickly diverted from the masses as Stomper, a Guard who loved to assault the inmates with his combat boots, dragged Nathan into the middle of the cell block.

NATHAN

When the doors opened, Nathan was still trying to recover from the electrical surge generated by the baton, sweating and giving off a one liner to Isabel, until the guard designated as Stomper, and the one that Nathan had pissed in front of, and insulted his mother, charged into their cell.

"Inmate 472-235," he directed at Isabel, I say this only once: Do not intervene," he growled from underneath his face-plate, and then he proceeded to drag Nathan out into the cell block, not caring that it was starting to fill up with frightened and hungry inmates.

"Everyone pay attention!" He declared and dropped Nathan at his feet, "because Inmate number 628-426 has a little spunk in him," he paused and slammed his baton into Nathan's side, "AND," he started to yelled, "SPUNK. WILL. NOT BE TOLERATED!" he declared, in between words he slammed the night stick into Nathan's body, harder and harder every time.

When he was done, he raised his weapon above his head, "how does it feel?" He asked, himself breathing heavily, "how does it feel knowing I have the power to kill you, and to make fun of your mother? How does it feel knowing I can piss on you in front of everyone?" Without waiting for an answer, he got down to Nathan's face and screamed with all of his might,

"HOW DOES IT FEEL?!"

ERIS

"Inmate number 374-7, this does not concern you," the guard who had approached their cell spoke to Eris, "now make your way to the Mess Hall for Chow Time, if you brown nose again, you'll join that thing," he threw a thumb behind him at the scene in the hallway.

CHRIS

"Inmate number 247-47," the guard said stepped aside, motioning for him to join the scene in the hallway, "we were made aware of the events that had transpired upon your capture, and your loyalties were tested then, as they shall be now,"

"We are aware of your mutant abilities, and that mechanism on your wrist grants you just enough power to do one of two things and cement those loyalties. You could give Mr. Guard enough strength for one final blow to the inmate, granting him a swift death, or you could give enough strength to said inmate so that he can survive this encounter and go to the Mess Hall, though that choice would erase any privileges of Vet Office visitations. So I ask you this, where do your loyalties lie?"

ISABEL

While everyone was filing out of their cells, either watching the 21st century flogging, or heading to the Mess Hall, Isabel was left with a front row seat to the torture of a young man who had a hand in attempting to rescue her, and now the roles were reversed.

Would she use what little power and strength she could muster and save Nathan? Or would she obey her captors and keep her head down by heading to the Mess Hall?

WALT

Walter was knocked unconscious by the guards when they hit him in the head, or so they had believed. Even with the Dampened Bracelet on, he had a pretty hard noggin.

So he stayed limp, which wasn't all that hard as he watched birds circle his head and the stars manifest in his eyes, his ears could hear the whispers from his fellow prisoners as they recognized him, revealing to others that he was the reason they were all here.

That couldn't be, Walter tried to say, but no words or movement came from his mouth, all he did wrong was kill a couple of guards at the rave, and that was in an attempt to rescue Isabel. Maybe that was it, could it be that Isabel wasn't as innocent as the scenario showed itself?

But Walter couldn't think much more of the subject as a wave of ice water fell over him, waking him back up.

He tried to wipe it away, but found himself to be chained to a cold metal chair, sitting before a cold metallic table. The room he couldn't see beyond a foot though as all the light was directed at him.

"Well look at that, our VIP is awake," a voice said beyond the darkness,

"Go to Hell," Walter said and spit on the table,

The man beyond the shadows laughed as a Guard behind Walter slammed his face into the table, "Oh Wally," he said and clapped his hands, "is that any way to speak to your father?"

Edward watched, he watched and he learned. Stomper was using his baton today, uncharacteristic of his namesake but then again the baton itself had greater symbolism in its phallic glory as he beat down on the other in an alphas display of power. The lucky bastard stood with hands in pockets and memorized the muscle movements, how stomper framed his stance, the way the arm moved in the body armor while coming down. Every detail was given the same attention as trying to solve another magicians trick on stage.

Then, beyond the scene, was everyone else. He watched to see who was reacting, guards and prisoners. Was anyone getting off on this display, was anyone looking away? He saw as someone dragged a new unconscious form into his cell after he had left. He'd probably miss chow time so Edward would have to do something about sneaking the newbie a bite of lunch if they got that far.@Minimum

Nathan laid there, waiting for the effect of that damn shock he took to wear off when the doors to the cell opened and a new guy walked in, along with chuckles. "hey, dont talk to her" when they spoke to Isabel, before he was dragged out into the cell block for all to see. groaning he turned over, and was about to push himself up to stand after he was dropped. "i've got a name you walking phalluses" he'd be damned if he was going to just be referred to as just a number. and then he was hit in the side and his arms gave up and a he fell to the floor again, groaning as he coughed in pain. but the pain wasnt over, as he kept coming, with each word he was hit with the baton, harder then the previous.

doubling up, his body moving into the fetal position Nathan groaned on the floor, pain shooting through every inch of his body as he rolled over onto his back, staring through watering eyes up at his one that liked to hear himself talk. it hurt to breath, it hurt to blink. his whole body felt on fire. he was pretty sure they'd kill him and not think twice about it, but still, didnt mean he was going to be anyone's bitch, least of all here. at the question that was asked right in his face. Nathan, fighting through the pain laughed up at the man "i knew a bitch in forth grade named Bessie that's hit harder then you" before he spat in the man's covered face. "my drunk old man beat on me harder.. if thats all you got" laughing. "you should go take some lessons somewhere.. your dismissed" waving his hand, weakly but still managing to wave it in a dismissive manner. "you'll have to kill me. cause i didnt let my drunk ass old man break me, and i sure as shit wont be broken by you or Chuckles or the one on the loud speaker with the superiority complex break me" he meant Broken in the psychological way, cause he was pretty sure something was broken in the physical one.

"...So I ask you this, where do your loyalties lie?"

Chris stared at the guard. He was overwhelmed by the sheer power of fight-or-flight that was pressing down on his brain, and unconsciously began fidgeting with his bracelet again. This... this man, did not deserve to have his head attached to his body, and on the other hand, suggesting a mere nudge in his direction put Chris's body in physical pain. He exhaled forcefully and turned to move towards the other guard and his victim, sprawled on the floor and choking on insults that somehow flowed out of him by themselves.

The guard, intent on silencing the broken young man forever, stopped in mid-swing. His eyes challenged Chris to react, and his body was tense like a spring, his hand ready to modify the swing vector to hit either of the prisoners. The man on the floor was shaking slightly with the pain, his breaths raspy and shallow as his lungs forced against cracked ribs. And as Chris's eyes move from the prisoner to the guard, all he could imagine was grabbing the baton from the guard's hand and smashing it against his half-helmet with all his body's augmented might. The man caught the look for what it was and slammed the baton against Chris's shoulder as a warning, not enough for a fracture but for an impressive bruise.

The draw was set. Crouching, the young man found the other prisoner's neck with his hand, and sent the strongest signal that he could muster that would accelerate biological repairs beyond the body's natural limitation. But he read this body first, and realized even as he proceeded that this would be useless - the prisoner was completely drained of energy, which his body consumed in an absurdly high rate. The body would not repair itself without a price.

Chris rose to his feet. His banded wrist was completely numb now. But the pressure on his mind was gone. When it wasn't only about him, the choice between fight and flight was obvious. He tried each of the muscles on his arms, chest, legs, made sure his shoes were comfortable. Then, he straightened his gaze at the guard.

"Your move."