"Stupid. Stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid." David's mind kept repeating, he looked around the room and worked hard to match others expressions as they looked on at the aftermath of his interference.

"You didn't know she could do that. Relax."

"No. You didn't know what she could do. What could happen. And you stuck your nose in anyway. Stupid."

"But nobody saw..."

He snuck a quick peek at Sasha, who was checking out the wreckage that was Billy Isaacs.

"That's not exactly true though, is it..?"

She turned her head towards him, as if sensing he was thinking about her, and he quickly looked away before their eyes could meet.

"Yeah, but she thinks you blew him up. What was it she said..? 'Do svidaniya, Davinski, So much for not beink human bomb...' So she doesn't know everything."

He looked at the two people being restrained under heavy guard.

"...just that you did something."

They began to be led in single file out of the room, he pulled his eyes away from the two and looked back ahead towards the blonde Russian girl.

"But that's alright. You heard her. She's not going to say anything. She was sitting facing the other direction. Plausible deniability."

She looked back at him in line, he wasn't prepared for it this time and the pair held eye contact.

"I mean, what's she going to do. She's Russian. What, she's going to trade on the information or something? What kind of stupid, prejudiced idea do you have of her? She's just a simple Russian girl..."

He curled his top lip back to return a sheepish smile, hopefully delivering some kind of sense of reassurance. But not feeling confident in it in the least.

"...with an unknown number of 'friends' she very deliberately was evasive about, who seems to have some kind of undefined familial or military ties, who has been in our country for less than a week and is very cagey with details..."

They both looked down at their feet, self-conscious of their held eye contact.

"You're a god damned idiot. Stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid."

Sasha was led out the room as she was ahead of him in the line, so he dared raise his line of sight once more.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stop that shit. Stoicism. What is it stoicism teaches us? Plan, think and control what you can, and stop sweating what you can't affect or change."

As David was also led out of the room and Sasha was back in line of sight, he distracted himself by looking at the rooms and locations he passed on the way from the Recreation Wing back to the Residential Wing. Committing the different locales to memory.

It was good. It would be important for later. Knowing where everything is. When called on to go somewhere at set times. Keeping things moving. Orderly. Not ruffle feathers, not make waves.

The group were led into another wing and down a corridor with dormitory doors on either side. The rooms' doors remained closed whilst attendees were manouevered and paired before different doors. A guard grabbed David by the upper arm and physically moved him to just in front of a specific closed door. No pair, no partner. This would be his home for the duration.

"This is good. This is very good. Plenty of time to 'think, plan, and control what I can'. Plenty of solitary time to figure out where to go from this god awful mistake, free of threats and distractions. Just you, your thoughts, and..."

He turned the knob and as the door swung open, he saw the boy Director Virgil Rowell had referred to as Frederick Jackson sitting on one of the two beds.

"Well, fuck..."

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Fritz had been handed a soft rubber ball as he'd been delivered to his dorm, and after he'd noted the presence of two beds, indicating an inevitable roommate, he'd chosen one bunk through the use of no formal process whatsoever, and proceeded to spend all of 10 minutes, maybe less, bouncing said ball off of walls, floors, ceilings, windows, over and over and over until the sound of the soft thump against surface became more unbearable than the boredom of waiting. The cliche of it felt comical almost at Fritz' expense, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't intentionally mocking; either way, he was done with it. The ball dropped from his hands and rolled away into a corner to be forgotten.

The time passed slowly; Fritz considered turning in for the night just to skip ahead, but his mind steadfastly refused to succumb to slumber, racing with the day's events and implications of his current circumstances. He knew Ju-V was a last-chance when he'd accepted the offer, but now it truly sunk in; this was it. He didn't even have the refuge of self-exile - if it wasn't here, it was jail, and there were no two ways about it; Fritz was sure Jones' heavy paw upon his shoulder would guide him all the way to the gallows pole if it had to.

So Fritz just sat around, inspecting the surprisingly well-equipped room that had, he deduced, been notably pre-inspected; there was nary a point nor edge to be found, even the furniture corners rounded off. There was nothing to do but wait, so wait he did.

Only to be thoroughly disappointed that someone so dutifully un-entertaining eventually walked through the door, a feeling which appeared to be returned in kind. The young man's face said it all - shock, repulsion, a general dejection at forfeiting the dorm-room lottery. The charming affectation of the skunk-stripe through his hair did little to endear him to Fritz.

"Same to you, buddy." Fritz decided to open with, crossing his arms and putting on a well-practiced, unwelcoming frown.

"It's not--."

He sighed and brought himself to make direct eye contact with his new roommate.

"Don't take it personal. It's not because of you in particular. Five seconds ago, on the other side of that door I thought I'd scored myself a solo room."

Fritz sucked his teeth, changing tact and turning smarmy instead of hostile. If he was going to be lumped with a boring roommate, he'd have to make his own fun.

"I've heard worse than jerking off while trying to sleep, so knock yourself out." He rolled over, facing the wall, arms still crossed. "Place isn't exactly the Marriott, if you hadn't noticed already."

David looked around the room.

That didn't seem right to him. The room seemed to be furnished with more than he figured you'd find in this type of rehabilitation facility - in particular, a really nice TV - but he had no real first hand knowledge of any. He opened his mouth to say as much, before realising that his new roommate might actually be speaking from experience.

So instead he closed his mouth and picked up the plastic bag of his clothes, testing it for its weight.

At least that was something to be said. He was able to wear his own clothes in this place - albeit a much cut-down version of his wardrobe.

Fritz, meanwhile, made an outward show of ignoring David, but with a practiced subtlety and a habitual hyper-awareness instead watched him secretly over his shoulder, ducking back when he risked being caught. Loathe though he was to admit it, the sleep he'd been getting after the first few days in pokey - once he'd gotten used to solitary - had been some of the best of the last few years, the guarantee of overnight safety a basic luxury he'd long forgotten. Fritz was not looking forward to returning to half-slept nights, light enough to wake at a moment's notice. His palms were already clammy at the thought of sleeping without a weapon.

The plastic bag derailed his train of thought completely, and Fritz watched with an air of light awe as David turned the bag upside-down and a pile of clothes cascaded from the opening onto his bunk. It was all sturdy, well-constructed, in good repair, and even Fritz could tell it was a tasteful collection. Raw envy flooded up from Fritz' stomach at a pace and ferocity that surprised even him, and he swallowed hard to subdue it. He sat up, swinging his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed and watch David in earnest, subtly kicking his own, significantly smaller bag of possessions further underneath the bunk and hopefully out-of-sight.

They maintained a polite-but-awkward silence for a few moments as David rustled around and Fritz watched, before an instinctual voice in Fritz decided it was in his best interest to learn what he can about his new bunk-mate, and a quieter, less-familiar voice decided it would be nice to just try talking to someone again.

"So what's your story, skunk-stripe? You apply, or was it a 'pragmatic suggestion'?"

The meaty slap of his brother's body hitting the cement in their basement rushed back into his mind, before he answered the question.

"It certainly wasn't my idea, no." He replied quietly.

He didn't bother to parrot the same question back, and instead went in a different direction he'd be more willing to answer if his roomate chose his next question on 'the path of least resistance'.

"So where exactly are you from?"

Even if Fritz couldn't see the tension rippling through David's muscles as he answered, the smell of it was unmistakable. Kid had some no-go topics, it would seem, a theory quickly backed up by his hasty re-direction of conversation. Fritz sucked his teeth and decided to let sleeping dogs lie for now. If his new roomie acted up, or gave an attitude, or gave Fritz any other kind of reason, he'd pry further, regardless of how uncomfortable he might feel in sharing. But, for now, sail smooth waters.

"Buncha places. Nowhere in particular. Bounced around fosters for a while, then scrapped the system entirely. I guess if I have to give an address...San Fran courthouse is where you can post me fan-mail."

Fritz took another nosy at David's pile of clothes.

"Doesn't look like you packed to travel, either. Got, what, a couple hours to throw your must-have digs in a suitcase and get on-board?

It seemed they'd had two very different trajectories.

After the tragic day, it'd been quite a few months before he had received the Aegis form letter, requesting his presence. With a date set for weeks following that. With his own particular story, they hadn't had the same eagerness to get him in an enclosed box quite so quickly as his foster-formed roomie.

He suspected he'd come from somewhere more distant than California state from his speech and mannerisms, but he guessed if he'd had his own touchy topics, he was more than entitled to his own prickly points as well as for his origins.

"Had a little time. But figured we get laundry here... didn't want to pack anything I couldn't lose in a pinch. Their 'offer' didn't smell like much of a holiday."

He reached over to the other bunk where Fritz lay, with a hand out-stretched.

"Jackson, right? That's what the guy said your name is. Mine's David. Other than the girl you tried to pluck herself, I don't know that I'd worry too much about what the rest're thinking about you. You missed some fireworks, I think they might have something else they're talking about now."

Fritz almost flinched as David approached and reached an arm out - it took him longer seconds than he'd like to admit to realise it was a friendly gesture, a hand proffered for shaking. The kind of interaction he'd long retired.

Gingerly, Fritz reached out and grasped David's hand in his own, his firm grip surprising himself.
"Fritz." He said, as firmly as he could. He'd had enough of correcting people already, and he was only two introductions deep. "And I'm not particularly worried about what anyone thinks of me. Head down and get out the other side. I don't have the luxury of a safety net if this gets all fucked up."

David noted his roommate's demeanour. Squirrely. Snark to warn of the potential to strike, but eager to stay clear, keep to the shadows. Not be noticed. Defensively aggressive. He could relate to the desire to not be seen from his own high school experiences, but he suspected that was probably about where the similarities would end.

"Probably about the best possible attitude to have for a place like this." So what the fuck was that before? was the unspoken thought. "A few of the others'd probably be better served thinking that way too."

He went back to putting his clothes in drawers. Opening the top drawer he found the tv remote. Turned it on, and tossed it on Fritz' bed. "Put something on. Background noise." He picked a set of headphones out of the drawer as well, holding them up for inspection.

"You get some of these as well?"

Fritz hadn't actually taken the time to rummage; he'd assumed minimal was provided, and was well-accustomed to keeping himself entertained within his own mind, without the need for external distractions. TV hadn't been common even before he began living on the streets, and though he'd noticed the device when he'd arrived at the room, he'd paid it little mind. He picked up the remote like it was an alien device or a particularly sensitive pipe-bomb.

Ignoring whatever the telly was blaring, he opened his own drawer, finding his own pair of headphones within. He lifted them from the drawer and inspected them himself, subtly mimicking David's movements. He wasn't sure what David was looking for, and less sure what he himself expected. Turning back to the remote he stabbed three random numbers on the numberpad and let the TV switch over; with no knowledge of channels, he didn't really know what was 'good' or 'bad'. Much to his chagrin, that quiet voice in the background prompted him to socialise again, and against his better judgement, he obliged, stretching his arm out with the remote in-hand as he watched David plug his headphones in, noting what to emulate in a moment to setup his own.

"You pick your favourite." He said, attempting what he hoped was a friendly tone and smile to match. "I don't have much in the way of taste."

"Favourite, nothing." David replied casually. "Just want background noise to blot out the silences... And the not-silences. This place is probably going to take some getting used to."

"If I accidentally stumble upon 'Oz' right now, I'm going to hang myself from the lights with my own socks." David's sarcastic mind responded to the current level of social awkwardness.

He took the remote and threw the channel to some cartoons. Familiar background for David from years past, less so for Fritz.

He finished putting his possessions away in the drawers and sat on the bed. He checked the time, it still seemed pretty early. He ate heavy at home for lunch, making the most of his remaining freedom and not knowing what the food would be like here toninght. He suspected the same couldn't be said for his roommate. Hell, he didn't look like he'd had a good meal in a while. Considering Fritz he guessed whatever it was they were planning on feeding them, they'd only be given a spoon.

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Mentions: N/A
Interactions: N/A
Location: Alcatraz Island; AEGIS Complex, Recreation Wing - Dorm Room

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The office decor was rich in reclaimed dark wood and stone, classicly designed and in stark contrast to the rest of the facility and even this wing's generally sterile looking interior and harsh stone exterior. A laptop rested on the desk. The chairs within were a high quality firm leather. A warmer refuge away from necesary order.

It was easy to speculate as to whether the reclaimed wood was meant to be something of a metaphor for their place in this facility and the Director's role.

But such a conection was beyond Brian's capabilities.

Taking his own seat he scowled at Noah from a face still caked in pepper spray residue, as his eyes burned in two ways. Noah’s scowl, however, remained fixated on the floor, her foot tapping against the floor as her mind anxiously raced with all the potential punishment scenarios awaiting her. But just in case either party decided to go for round two, the security staff who had escorted the pair made their presence felt in keeping the two separate.

"I'll make this brief for you, Brian. You've been here long enough. You know the rules." There was no sigh of resignation within his voice. No disappointment. This was duty. This was statement of fact. Cold and unyielding, more aligned with the decor outside of these walls than within. It didn't bode well for Noah, even if this was only her first run-in with this man. And he'd warned them less than a half an hour earlier on the sports court!

"You don't take these things into your own hands. You know that. You'll be having a 'cooling off' period." They anger left Brian's face, to be replaced with a look of concern. Whatever this punishment was, he was aware of it, and it was enough to bother him.

"Sir!" He exploded to his feet. Once again demonstrating remarkable quickness in spite of his size.

The Director held out a single hand. He didn't intend for this to be a conversation.

"A week. BUT we will inform you if there is any change in William's condition. You know how things work here, Mister McIntyre." The use of his surname to further emphasise and bestow the sense of personal responsibility upon Bulk's head. The kid Noah had been introduced to as Bulk looked crestfallen, but made no effort to argue the punishment. Was it because it would do no good? Or because he knew the judgement to be fair? Or did he fear that even worse was possible if he dared to respond like that?

"Now, leave us."

In the fraction of a second of a glimpse he gave Noah before he walked away, escorted under heavy guard, the redhead saw a change from the rage-filled face that met her before. But was this a brief look of concern for her, or was he merely looking at her whilst thinking of his friend and his dire state?

She would probably never know.

The room fell silent upon Brian’s departure, and the atmosphere felt heavy between the seconds until the door closed behind him and the few beats the Director took before addressing Noah. She expected to hear frustration: that such actions were unacceptable, explosive invective… But the thing was: Noah had never directly and intentionally used her powers on another person before. A hundred 'worst case scenarios' had raced through her head as she'd sat outside his office awaiting this time-- and given the sequence of events that had led Noah to this facility in the first place, these weren’t really outside the scope of reality. The guilt, anxieties and fear of the unknown consequences made her hands tremble, even whilst she kept her face firm and unwavering, if only to not make the other boy who was waiting think it was him that had got to her.

His tone now shifted, from a firm one of meting out punishment to those who had been made adequately aware of this place, to a slightly softer one which she had been yet to hear-- off-puttingly so.

"I had thought that I had made myself clear earlier in the gymnasium..." He opened, finally puncturing the uncomfortable silence. Immediately, Noah was about to explode with an outburst of an argument: that it was self-defense, that he'd--

Then she caught the wry knowing smile creased across his face. Perhaps he knew more about what had happened, what this Billy was like, that he truly did have it coming his way, than he first let on.

"You did. But did you see anything that happened before that?" She settled on as a reply, trying to control her nerves and avoid sounding combative or accusatory.

"He's a tricky one, William. We change up the camera cycles weekly, for a while there twice a week. It makes no difference, he sees the pattern and acts around them. It means there's never really any video evidence which corroborates people's stories. But there's also too much smoke for there to be no fire..."

"Then why the hell would you let him--"

"Why would I let him be in the first group of program-attendees that you all met? Well, first of all, that's usually left to random chance. But then I found it tends to work out worse if he's not brought in that way. A group of twenty, six long-timers, the new group outnumbers him. Maybe he targets one or two, but those six people have a lot more attention from the twenty wary new people who don't know what to expect. If your first encounter is from a larger group setting - say the cafeteria. There's too much going on around them. New people are even more vulnerable. Perhaps not the most satisfying answer, but it's the truth."

Noah began to get a sense of why the wry smile had crossed his face once Brian had left. Perhaps he was happy for some kind of justice to have met him, even if it wasn't institutional.

"I know why you're here, however. Your accounts of the incident with Mr Sterling, as well as my own suspicions as to what prompted such a response from you on this occasion with William..."

Just the mention of the name of the disgusting pig that was Howard Sterling was enough to elicit a bristling response from Noah. On this occasion, though, the figure of authority standing in front of her seemed understanding-- empathetic, even: a completely different experience from the one she’d had with the university officials. She remembered how his laying down of the law in the gymnasium took the form of a plea for empathy from the group rather than a group punishment, so maybe he was going to be reasonable, understanding and fair in her treatment here.

The Director opened a laptop computer that rested on his desk, and revived it with a quick tap of the space bar.

"Especially since, on this occasion, he left more evidence than usual..."

He turned the laptop around with a video already open and paused to the relevant frame. Billy had been distracted, caught off guard by the series of events and lost track on the cycle of cameras. His hand reached out in a claw-like grasp for a region below her belt.

"So what do you suppose he was doing here?" The Director asked. It was an incredibly confrontational question which he had seemed to spring on her relatively lightly, all things considered.

"The asshole was trying to feel me up." She answered through gritted teeth, discreetly trying to fight back the fight or flight response that activated in her the second she’d laid eyes on the video clip. The Director took a second to turn the laptop back around, and nodded understanding her response.

"That's good." He replied. "Your testimony combined with the footage should make it possible to deal with him should his condition change--"

He turned the laptop back around, and used a pen to point at another boy - the quiet, handsome one with the cool-looking hair she had seen on the bus - who was sitting in the background playing chess with the blonde girl she'd boarded the bus with. His own hand was also clawed over a chess piece, while his eyes were barely slits as he glared beneath his brow in concentration. It was an easy detail to miss. She certainly would have, even with the video still, had it not been drawn to her attention.

"But I was asking about him..." The pen tapped against the screen, right against his shock of discolored hair. The Director held tight eye contact, watching closely for her expression and response to the question at hand.

"I-- uhh-- he looks like he's playing chess." the young woman said dismissively, but the hesitation was enough to give her away. She certainly thought he was doing more than just that. She remembered how Billy's hand had frozen on the spot, never finding what he was grasping for, as if an invisible force was stopping him in his tracks… Even if she didn't understand why the young man had taken such actions to protect her in the first place, it was pretty obvious that he had been the one to save her.

But why would she snitch on the man and his actions? Rowell had said it earlier himself: to not take justice into their own hands? He might forgive her for her own response and be empathetic to her situation, but that didn’t mean he’d be so lenient with third parties getting involved and stirring up trouble.

Strangely, the Director smiled at her response, as if somehow satisfied by it.

"Perhaps..." He said. He turned the laptop back around and tapped in a few commands, looking down at the screen with a wider smile, before closing it again.

"I meant what I said earlier, about taking things into your own hands. But given how this specific situation turned out, and given that you were-- targeted... in this situation. Your probable concerns for how this would be handled after what saw you brought here in the first place, I think you've probably been through enough and know not to respond this way in the future? Yes?"

Noah had opened her mouth to respond when she saw Rowell open a side drawer from his desk and place some objects on the wooden surface, directly in front of her.

The vape pen and pack of spare cartridges that had started all of this.

"In fact, it's probably left you feeling quite anxious."

Frowning with confusion, the young woman looked up at the director and saw another smile there once again. She was immediately suspicious of the offering, considering what had happened the last time someone pretended to show her any form of kindness. But unlike the circumstances with Billy, this exchange appeared genuine, with no ulterior motives or hidden conditions.

"Oh my God, thank you" She replied gratefully as she pocketed the vape pen and cartridges before Rowell could change his minds, breathing a sigh of relief. It was a nice consolation gift considering the latest trauma she had been subjected to.

"I've been told your guitar has passed through security and should be waiting for you on your bed, once you get back to your quarters. Banks here will walk you back." He gestured to one of the two guards who still held her in close scrutiny. The red haired girl rose and was joined by the guard as they walked to the door.

"Dinner time will be in half an hour. I'd tell you let the rest of your group know but they've all been shown to their individual quarters. Just know you won't be confined there for more than the next thirty minutes."

Well, this had been a surprising turn of events. Rather than wallowing in despair at being given further punishment or being subjected to further trauma, Noah felt more in control than she had at any point since she got on the plane that day. She had regained her possessions, was being informed of upcoming mealtime, provided with means to control her anxiety, and even made privy to some of the behind the scenes facts of this place. The cameras, that animal Billy and his reputation… Even the strange actions of the cool-haired boy who seemed to be her hero in disguise (she’d have to tackle that later). Most importantly, her one-on-one time with the person who ran this place made her realize that he wasn’t a callous dictator, but a fair, reasonable leader open to discussions who kept his word and was willing to fairly punish those who deserved it.

Taking his last statement as her queue to go, Noah stood up, smiled at the older man and took her leave, allowing the guard to close the door behind her.

The Director re-opened the laptop and tapped some commands in, before smiling again at the screen.

"You want to know why I did that." He uttered aloud at the weighted silence from the remaining guard in the room. He didn't respond, but his posture suggested he'd hear any explanation which was provided.

"Two months..." He replied to the void. As if that was enough of an explanation in and of itself, until extrapolating further.

"Aegis provided two months of 'free, privately funded therapy' to him to find out what he knows… And got nothing. The report from the therapist was that there could have been twelve months of sessions and he still would likely say nothing."

The guards eyebrows rose, as he absorbed what he was being told, unquestionably.

"In that household, he's either an absolute fool who somehow knows nothing, or he's a genius who has somehow managed to bottle it all up and never said a word."

The eyebrows dropped as he took this new information, the further explanation, on board.

"A five minute look at his report cards down the years will tell you David Fermi is no fool..."

The Director turned the laptop around, a still image of the boy with the two-toned hair on board the bus standing over the sleeping red headed girl with his hands up, fear in his eyes like a deer caught in headlights, a look across his face as if he'd somehow he'd been left exposed to all the world, was left upon the screen.

"...so perhaps it will just take something else to get him to open up."

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