The door swung open with a rasping, rusty screech, revealing three black silhouettes against a backdrop of white light. It was then shut and promptly locked when these figures entered the dimly-lit hallway, the illumination evening out so that it was possible to recognize them now: a trio of prison guards, two of whom toted rifles and flanked their more important-looking comrade at the middle, whose face was, strangely, bare, without the impersonal helmet and mask to hide his features.
Aside from the lack of headgear, the guard at the middle was still suited up just as heavily as his fellows, though without weaponry. His hair was blonde, trimmed, and neatly kept, with locks just above being considered short peering slightly over his forehead. Light blue eyes that stared analytically, judgmentally, surveyed the miserable contents of prison cells left and right through gaps between gray, steel bars as he and the other two walked down the gloomy corridor purposefully. His exceptionally pale skin seemed to glow every time he passed under any of the widely-spaced, overhanging lamps.
Gerald lifted his chin up to drink from his can of iced coffee, but he kept his eyes down and to the side to stare down to quiet submission one inmate who looked like a troublemaker, glowering malevolently from the darkness of his cell. This gesture annoyed him greatly, so he actually stopped, waited for the prisoner to back down, and then continued on his way.
Satisfied that he had cemented his dominance, he allowed himself a bully’s smile and shook his can around mindlessly, feeling the liquid slosh around within. The packaging said, in bold words, “Espresso”. Gerald liked the flavor. It was strong on his tongue and it kept him awake when such was needed of him. Now, he wouldn’t admit it, but he had a caffeine addiction, and it was obvious that he was very much fond of coffee.
He and his two bodyguards abruptly stopped before a cell, just before the mess hall’s entrance. Procuring a key, he unlocked the door and opened it.
“Kat Wonder. Burn victim of some sort,” he said, like reading from a roster, his pronunciation of the letter ‘r’ barely perceptible through his British accent. “You have been deprived of all rights except for one, wherefrom you are to remain silent. Cuff her.”
His order was heeded immediately and in the most efficient manner. Kat, who was hugging her knees at a lonesome corner, was propped up, slapped, and cuffed. Being a timid girl, she did not resist, and so her body was rather limp at the hands of Private Regalado as he held her firmly still in the corridor. All around, hands gripped their cells’ oppressive bars as inmates tried to peek out and gawk at the commotion, with other prison guards smacking their fingers away with batons, saying, “Nothing to see; there’s nothing to see.”
Meanwhile, Gerald and Johannes proceeded to another cell, neighboring Kat’s from across the hallway. Handing the key to the latter, the sergeant took a moment to sip from his can as the cell was opened.
“Barry Lenard; blue hair, red eyes, earrings like a faggot,” he sipped from his beverage again. “You have just been deprived of all rights except for one, wherefrom you are to remain silent. Cuff him.”
And it was so. Barry was introverted like Kat, so he wasn’t exactly emotionally prepared for a sudden seizure like this. His lower jaw hung agape with confusion as he was restrained, his brow furrowed with incredulity as he was dragged out, and the increasing rapidity of his breathing marked his great anxiety and stress at the whole situation. He stared at Gerald, right in the eyes, red and blue irises making a contrast, wordlessly asking him why, to which the guard merely smiled in mockery, before knocking back his coffee and finally finishing it with a satisfied “Ahh~.”
“Johan, Regs, get these two to Todd;” he ordered. “I’ll take care of the last one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir.”
Consulting his mental checklist, Gerald thought of Rilyn Naor.
'The hell kind of name is that?' Dark brown hair, glasses, effeminate build. The last of the wanted three, reported to be in the recreational area, connected to the mess hall. Which was good and convenient, because not only was he just two meters away from it, it also had an abundance of trash bins to throw his empty can into. As he approached the doors, a guard politely opened it for him -- an unnecessary gesture, and thus appreciated by the NCO.
The strange smell of a crowd of dozens of peoples’ personal scents, weird food, and the soap they used to clean the area wafted into Gerald’s nostrils. He did not welcome it at all, and wished that he had decided to wear his helmet for this detail. Licking his lips of residual espresso flavor, he craned his head around to look at mainly the guards, whose discipline he was examining. Many of the force here were complete greenhorns without any actual field experience, and it showed in the way they carried themselves and their rifles.
But he would deal with that later. Spying a trash bin near that troublemaker Joshua’s table, he walked over and rightly disposed of his garbage.
