As Andrew Mallory entered the dining hall, he frowned. He saw two little kids pass him, probably only half his age. Friggin locked in with a bunch of midgets. He hated this damn situation so much. Locked away with a bunch of freaks and children, as well as freakish children. Sighing, he took a seat at one of the tables on the far side of the room from the entrance.
After all, he couldn't eat just yet. His damn hands were made of metal, and he had very little control over them. Each one was twice as large as a regular human's arm, and they were much thicker too. Not only that, but they had more joints that a humans arms. He was capable of folding his arm in two places, not just one. Although the could extend out to a great length, both mechanical arms were tucked in to make them appear more normal.
He remembered what they called him. "Arms" or something, because of the accursed hulks of metal were his arms should be. The very sight of them caused him to scowl, and his anger was almost palpable. A very good deterrent to anyone thinking of sitting near him. And if that didn't keep them away, he'd threaten them. After all, because such freaks existed, he had been locked up. Sure, he was one of them, but he still hated them. Then again, he hated pretty much everyone. He hated the freaks for being abnormal, and he hated everyone else for locking him away.
((Hopefully not awful))