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Octavian Kaleb Throne

There's no such thing as a "purebred".

0 · 455 views · located in Greyson Reformatory

a character in “Welcome to Greyson Reformatory”, as played by Xunnamius

Description

"You're one of those new guys, correct?"
"Yes sir, Garrison Commander. I am Staff Sergeant Scott Reese. I received this assignment from RDECOM North, sir."

"RDECOM? So you're a prissy little researcher turned soldier? Wonderful," the Commander said sarcastically. "Just what we need down here." The man sat down at the table across from his new subordinate, a few sheets of translucent material in his hands. He placed one of the sheets down on the table. The moment it made contact with the surface, the material lit up like a miniature computer screen. He began tapping and flicking at it with his fingers, scrolling through some sort of data file. It was a moment before he spoke again. "Seems you've been assigned to sector 11." The Commander looked up from his data sheet momentarily, staring into the eyes of the man that sat across from him. "Do you have any idea what you've signed up for, researcher?"

"I was told it'd be a type of guard duty, sir."

The Commander chuckled. "Of a kind. Sector 11 is one of our prison wards. Holds some of them mutant freaks. You know, the ones we've heard all the stories about." In response to the Commander's words, the Sergeant's eyes grew big. The other man chuckled once more. It was a dry, humorless sound. "Yes, son. You're going in with the freaks. You'll be serving under the Warden of entire directorate. He supervises the so-called Greyson Reformatory. If you have any questions, you are to answer to him, understand?"

"Y-yes, sir!" The sergeant replied.
The Commander began tapping furiously on his screen-pad thing. "Now, before I send you on your way, I'll warn you about a particular freak." There was vitriol evident in his voice. "Same freak I always warn all the new fish about."
The Sergeant raised an eyebrow. "Sir?" After a moment, the Garrison Commander slid his screen-pad across the table. The Sergeant took it in his hands. "What is this, sir?"
"A case file on delinquent BK201. He's in sector 11. Dorm 25. He doesn't exactly go by any nicknames or even his real name as far as we can tell, but this year he is responding to Boy 5."
"Boy 5?"
"Read the file on this animal, son." His tone was stern. He wasn't a man who enjoyed wasting time. Or breath.

As the Sergeant quickly looked over the first page, he saw that the file's contents had been heavily redacted. He glanced up at the Commander, a quizzical look on his face, but was met with a stone cold expression of stoic implacability. He quickly returned his eyes to the material in hand, starting this time from the first document. It seemed to be some sort of police report or court record.


+------------------------------------------------+
| CLASSIFIED ā€” PARTIAL REPORT ONLY |
+------------------------------------------------+

Agency ORI: IL1039485
Region: X
C.S.A. 1
GRID: 7
ORG: s13For The Public: No
Juvenile: Yes
Charged as Adult: Yes
Search Conducted: Yes
Agency Report #: 300450001136





Clerical Information ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ:
ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ
ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ
ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ
ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ

+------------------------+
| OFFENSES SECTION |
+------------------------+

Aggravated Battery
Aggravated Assault
Burglary of a Federal Building
Criminal Vandalism of a Federal Building
Larcenyā€”Shoplifting
Murder in the Second Degree
Murder in the Second Degree
Improperly accessing a Federal computer, system, and/or network
Introducing a virus or other contaminant into a Federal computer system
Conspiracy to Commit Global Terrorism
Conspiracy to Commit Treason
Conspiracy to Commit Mass Destruction
Criminal Contempt of Court

ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ


The rest of the report was redacted to the point of impenetrability, so the Sergeant stopped trying to read it, looking up at the Commander. "A minor? Conspiracy to commit global terrorism?! Mass destruction?!" In response, the Garrison Commander took out a cigaretteā€”the cancerous nicotine kindā€”and lit up. Smoking wasn't allowed on the premises, the Sergeant had been told that explicitly, but this was the Commander of the complex. Sergeant Reese figured the guy could do whatever he damn well pleased.

Skipping to the next document, the Sergeant encountered a few more incident reports, though they were filed by the Greyson authorities, meaning they occurred within the facility. In one of them, incident #AW0954, he found a narrative describing an "attack on mission-critical systems" where some data was rendered unretrievableā€”most of it "image and video data relating to BK201 himself".

The Sergeant kept flipping through document after redacted document until he came upon BK201's custody file.

Greyson Reformatory ā€” Delinquent Custody File


ID: BK201

Name: Octavian "Taven" Kaleb Throne

Age: 14

Gender: Male

Sexual orientation: Unknown. He seems to have no preference. Might even be asexual. Guards have, on occasion, ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ, ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ "ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ" could be determined.

Role and Dormitory Assignment: Boy 5, Dormitory 25

Time at Greyson Reformatory: Third Year

Abilities: Our research on the mutation of BK201 in inconclusive. He was first believed to be a "technopath" or elite cracker by the arresting military agency, but it became apparent that his abilities transcended the scope of the technological. After ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ Federal building, he was able to break a 2048-gigabit symmetric key encryption, something that no "hacker" or cracker, from script kiddie to elite, is able to do due to the laws governing physics and mathematics. He did not exploit some underlying vulnerability in government systems eitherā€”he literally brute forced his way into a highly secured government network in polynomial time. After analyzing the affected systems, extensive electrical damage had been done to the hardware itself, implying some sort of low-level tampering utilizing a sophisticated set of tools. The hardware damages that were detected would, theoretically, have enabled BK201 to perform the feats he did, but at no time did he ever have direct access to the hardware in question. These systems are distributed all around the worldā€”thousands of miles from each other. He had only infiltrated a single government building and was apprehended after only 15 minutes. None of the other complexes housing the affected systems had been compromised in any perceivable way.

BK201 was also able to shield himself from bursts of gunfire, and was able ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ bodies of his victims through some unknown force.

Dr. Daniel Ralstinkhov, RDECOM North, on subject BK201 during study session 17: "To describe him as a 'hacker,' an antiquated hollywood term, is inaccurate. This little monster is something else entirely. He seems to be ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ... like some sort of ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ or biblical ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ. We would be able to more quickly demystify the boy's abilities if he would simply explain the methodology and procedure behind the evocation of his mutation to us."

Though Dr. Ralstinkhov's multiple requests to "aggressively interrogate" and, subsequently, vivisect BK201 were all denied, his research has enabled Greyson staff to manage and contain BK201's abilities, even without fully understanding them. See the "Warning" section at the bottom of this document for more information.

Personality: As of late, BK201 seems docile and compliant. He does not speak much, nor does he complain about his roommate, unlike various other delinquents within Greyson custody. From what we can tell, he does in fact have a conscious, so he is not a textbook sociopath. He has espoused his beliefs in a "fair world". Our research on his social skills, especially pertaining to other delinquents, is inconclusive.

However, do not let this fool you. As agency report #300450001136 and the report on incident #AW0954 demonstrate, BK201 is an incredibly violent child. He will not hesitate to use his abilities to kill those he considers enemies, perceived or otherwise, if such an action would bring him closer to his end goalā€”as seen during his one-man attack on the Federal ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ building, where two government agents were killed and several others were seriously injured when he tried to crack the ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ and instigate another ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ war.

History: BK201 was apprehended during an in-progress ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ on Federal ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ. He was attempting to ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ. He was able to gain entry through use of ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ, an ability that that is not fully understood by our researchers. See the "Abilities" section for more information. Had he not been apprehended, ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ, ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ, perhaps destroying it altogether. Perhaps destroying everything we've worked so hard to rebuild. It was not only within the interests of our country to stop him, but in the interests of all countries. All peoples.

On the scene, two Federal Bureau of Investigation agents were found ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ. ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ in the ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ with a ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ. The other was missing the entire underside of her ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ. ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ. The child, then 11 when first taken into custody, admitted to ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ "ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ" due to, quote, "his parents". He gave no further comment.

BK201's biological mother and father are both high-ranking politicians and noble purebreds. Their entire lineage is of pure origin. DNA tests have confirmed that BK201 is, indeed, the son of Michelle and Michael Thorne. How this mutation occurred within a purebred bloodline is still being heavily researched and is top priority. According to the boy, his parents may have been abusive in some shape or form. His claims were not investigated.

ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ.

Be very careful around this one.

Likes: He does seem to enjoy interactions with technology. Before he was barred from using any and all technological devices and had the AESC anti-ability restraints placed on him after incident #AW0954 two years ago, he would be on the room's PC for the majority of his free time.

Dislikes: The guards (a lot), "adults," and any authority figure in general; small confined spaces; being touched without permission; being called "cute"; talking at length; rude or arrogant people; people who agree with the philosophy of the guards, the reformatory, or the government. More than anything, he hates purebreds.

Secrets: During psychological evaluation, it was revealed that BK201 seems to wish he were born a true purebred, like his parents. This is contrary to his everyday behavior. He seems to believe that there are "no such thing as purebreds," and that the world war adversely affected every single living organism on Earth.

Fears: He appears to have an abject fear, perhaps even a phobia, when it comes to relying on anyone whom he considers an "adult" or significantly older than him. He seems to have deeply ingrained trust issues, possibly brought on by his childhood.

He will also quickly become violent if placed into a cage or small enclosed space, even if by his own will. Our studies suggest he is claustrophobic. To reiterate: do not put him into small enclosed spaces. Such an act would put the AESC inhibitor collar at risk.

Crush: BK201 does not seem to sport any type of love interest or even base sexual curiosity. We are not yet sure if this is a side effect of his ability, or if he is simply too young to have developed the necessary cognitive faculties.

Boyfriend/Girlfriend: See above.

Height: 5 feet, 100 lbs

Build: Skinny. Not muscular. Not toned. Short stocky frame. Somewhat short for his age. Tan-ish skin. Mixed childā€”mother is black, father is white. Brown eyes. Black curly hair. Often spotted with a bored or angry expression.

Distinguishing Features: Some freckles on the back of his hands. Irises exhibit a "red rim" when he evokes his power. Less noticeable is the ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ.

Photographs on file:
Image
Image
Image
Image

Note that, during the occurrence of incident #AW0954, our database systems were compromised and we lost a substantial amount of data on BK201, including much of our graphics. The images above, which portray BK201 while on the run and during his criminal trial, are all that could be recovered.

Warning: At all times, BK201 must be wearing his AESC full-body gear and inhibitor collar. From Dr. Ralstinkhov's research, it has been determined that BK201's ability operates on the foundation of physical contact with his bare skin; therefore, BK201 must not expose any skin on his person, excluding his face and neck, and must always be wearing the special AESC material that dampens the efficacy of his ability in its totalityā€”especially around the hands. He is also to be handcuffed at all times.

To reiterate: do not come into direct contact with his bare skin.

His ability also seems to be exuding or leaking from his person, which has adverse and often times disastrous effects on the living organisms around him. It is for this reason that we use the inhibitor collar on him, which constantly injects a certain drug into BK201's system. This drug has the effect of stymying the bodily functions that enable mutant activity within human beings.

These two precautions together make BK201 docile. They make him manageable. They make him containable. He is to be watched at all times, and is never to be allowed access to any electronics or to make physical contact with any other delinquent.

...

The Sergeant looked up at his commanding officer, nonplussed. He pushed the screen-like device back across the table. He'd had enough.
The Commander smiled. "Welcome to the Greyson Reformatory, where you get to deal with shit like that every day."
"Does... does he really exist?"

The commander exhaled a plume of smoke. "Dismissed, Sergeant."

So begins...

Octavian Kaleb Throne's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alecia Moore Character Portrait: Kelson Xavier Randall Character Portrait: Octavian Kaleb Throne Character Portrait: Eli Anderson
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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#, as written by Xunnamius
"The rules here at the Greyson Reformatory are simple; do as your superiors say. Be upā€”"

Welp, that's enough of that. Alecia was leaning against a light pole towards the front of the courtyard, sun in her face, arms folded across her chest, hoodie up. The operative word being was. The moment the loudmouth at the front of this little march of the neophytes started pattering on about rules and what not was the moment Alecia lost interest. Not a day through the doors of this concentration camp and these masters of the universe were already trying to shove their despotic dogma down everyone's throats.

Despicable.

With her hands in her pockets and a look of disgust fresh upon her face, Alecia began pushing and shoving her way towards the back of the crowd. Boys and girls alike threw her looks ranging from fright and fragility to menace and sadism, but none moved to block her retreat. She noted the general age range of the inmates as she passed them by. To Alecia's disdain, they all seemed younger than her. Nineteens, eighteens... some sixteens, definitely a fourteen... was that a twelve year old? Alecia shook her head, grimacing, fists balled.

Government fucks. So these were society's new "racially undesirable elements," to be concentrated and exterminated at will by a fascist batshit plutocracy dominated by a monied purebred aristocracy afraid of its fellow citizens. These are children for god's sake. What could they have possibly done that would warrant incarceration?! But the question was purely rhetorical in natureā€”Alecia already knew the answer. Outside of these walls was a world harsh and unforgiving for your average mutant. You either eat or get eaten.

Most mutants were relegated to the ghettos. An entire sector of society: feared. Subjugated. Boxed in. Persecuted. Caged. Abandoned. And then ignored... that is, until they decided to fight for their rights as human beingsā€”and were summarily crushed for it. Alecia had witnessed mutants being beaten to death on the streets for simply asking questions. For speaking up. Mutant boys on their way back home being stalked in the twilight of the evening duskā€”never making it to their destinations. Girls and women being snatched off the streets, to be found in a back alley somewhere the next day. She had to deal with such dangers on more than one occasion herself, so she could relate.

These kids trapped in this "reformatory" were probably caught doing what they had to to survive. Left to feed on the scraps of purebred society in order to stay alive. To provide for their brothers and sisters. Their families. To prevent what's left of their communities from crumbling further.

In short, it was the purebred government behind all of this. At least, Alecia believed so. She inhaled through clenched teeth as memories assailed her. The purebreds took everything. First her only brother. Then her friends when they destroyed her gang. Then her possessions. Her home. And now even her freedom. As icing on the cake: nothing has changed. Despite her best efforts, the purebreds still rule with an iron fist.

Her sacrifices and those of her compatriots were made in vain.

A deep-seated rage bubbled up from the bowels of her gut at the thought, threatening to overwhelm her better judgement, but she managed to keep her cool by reciting her own personal prayer over and over in her head: they will pay if it's the last thing I do.

As she neared the edge of the crowd furthest away from the bloviating warden at the other end of the yard, a hulking mealy bald man locked eyes with her. He was so musclebound that his poor overstretched t-shirt was liable to burst at the seams with the slightest provocation. The most interesting part about him, aside from what looked like the beginnings of a sunburn across the top of his head, were his tattoos. The man was marked from head to toe with swastikas, the symbol of the Xenoziā€”a mutant supremacist street gang that believed anyone who joined their ranks was somehow "closer to god". Of course, anyone not a member of their gang, including purebreds and even other mutants, were nothing more than scum of the Earth to them. Alecia made sure to smirk at him.

His cold blue eyes were fixed, following her as she walked by, but she turned up her nose. More likely than not, he recognized her, even with the hood shrouding her facial features in shadow. She was, after all, one of the four commanders of the most infamous mutant gang that ever was. Her old gang considered the Xenozi to be a frienemy, but the two gangs hadn't left off on the best of terms last time they'd met. Guess that's as good as enemy Alecia thought, narrowing her eyes threateningly. He confirmed her suspicions by growling softly. Her smirk only deepened. From the looks of the guy, he was definitely an Xenozi hitman. Probably older than she was, too.

The people that surrounded them took a few steps away, privy to the tension in the air.

However, despite her instincts telling her to prepare for a fight, the entire encounter came and went without so much as an exchange of insults. Disappearing back into the crowd, Alecia pushed onward, finally reaching the perimeter of the gathering and the entrance to the Greyson facility. While everyone was busy listening to Master Chief spout his rules, Alecia wanted to do a bit of exploring. You know, be productive. Unfortunately, there was a little problem. Four guards were stationed right behind the group of newbies. Riot guards, by the look of them. Probably insurance in case any of these new arrivals were unable to behave themselves.

There was no way she was getting past them, not until this blathering warden guy finished his little soliloquy, which would go against the idea of leaving early. Unless...

Alecia smirked again, an idea forming in her mind. Slowly she turned, walking back into the crowd, this time a little less courteous with her shoving. There were a few "hey!"s and "watch it!"s, but no one retaliated. Heh. After a few moments, she reached her intended targets: some poor kid who looked like he'd wet himself at any moment and, next to him, some tall guy rocking the hipster chic like there was no tomorrowā€”oversied glasses, a fedora, five o'clock shadow, the whole nine yards. She came to a rest behind them both, as silent and motionless as a ghost.

"... will not be allowed into each other'sā€”"

Alecia raised both her hands, palms forward, one hovering an inch or two behind the kid, another behind the hipster. She then tapped each of their backs with as much force as the gentle brush of a feather.

The hipster tripped forward into several other inmates, nearly falling over his tangled feet, as if someone had kicked him in the back with all their might. The kid, on the other hand, flew forward as if a jet engine were strapped to his butt, bowling over the person in front of him. Alecia grinned, bleeding back into the crowd behind her just as the fireworks ensued. Mr. hipster turned to look over his shoulder for the person who had pushed him. His eyes immediately locked on to the closest figureā€”some random girl.

"Hey, huh. Funny girl, huh?" He started, tone threatening, voice rising in octave and intensity with each "huh". "You like pushing people, huh? Huh?!"

The girl gave him a comedic look, a cross between "what are you talking about?" and "go fuck yourself". The girl angled her head, chin up, eyes wide. She was missing some teeth. "Funny? Come say that to my face, pretty boy."

That's when a deep voice boomed, running swiftly upward in crescendo. "YO?!" The very ground itself shook slightly, drawing the gaze of the hipster, the funny girl, and several others. The kid Alecia launched had bowled over the person in front of himā€”the Xenozi hitman with the swastikas. "WHO. THE. FUCK. IS THROWING LOSERS AT ME? YOU THINK THIS SHIT IS FUNNY?!" He stamped his foot again, causing another miniature earthquake. Unlike the hitman, the poor kid was still on the ground a few feet away, eyes fraught with terror. Alecia began to feel bad for the kidā€”a boy no older than thirteenā€”especially with the Xenozi lunatic about to rampage right next to him. She took a step forward, preparing to scrap her plans and step into the conflict on behalf of the boy when she noticed something peculiar. It seemed as though a piece of translucent glass? were in front of him. After a moment, Alecia put two and two together. A force shield? The kid had some sort of telekinesis or something. She retook her place among the crowd, nodding to herself slightly. Good for him.

The hipster simply stared at the Xenozi hitman, eying his body art with an air of distaste, lips pursed. The wrathful hitman turned to face the hipster. "You know me or something, bro?" Though he'd lowered his voice, everyone could feel the ever present promise of violence just below the surface. The hipster did not respond. "You deaf down syndrome havin' hippie mother fucker." The hitman rolled his neck slightly from side to side, punctuating each word in his oddly melodic string of insults. "Why the fuck you staring at me like that? Do you know me?!" When the hipster gave him the finger, Mr. Xenozi went apoplectic. Now a few rows back from the mess she'd caused, Alecia sat back and admired her handiwork. She could almost make out the blood vessel bursting in the hitman's forehead.

She smiled, sighing softly. And it begins.

With a shout, the hitman brought his fists to bear over his head, bringing them crashing down atop the hipster, forming a small crater in the ground with his attack. Alecia's eyebrows shot up, impressed. Mr. hipster had easily avoided the hitman's wrath and was now ever-so-cavalierly defying gravity by floating a few feet above the ground, off to the guy's left. Far from finished, the hitman cocked his fist, preparing to throw another earth-shattering blow. Preempting him, the hipster floated further off to the side, revealing a Latino woman who had been standing behind him. Upon seeing the man's cocked fist, the woman bared her teeth, black spikes emerging from her skin like a porcupine. However, before the hitman could move to attack, he was stopped in his tracks. Throwing a look over his shoulder at his fist, he barked in surprise. It had been bound by some sort of golden lasso. After a moment, more of the luminescent ropes were flung around his fist, pulled taut by their wielder, almost causing the hitman to lose his balance.

"What is this?" He snarled, following the golden glowing ropes back to their source. It was funny girlā€”the one the hipster first accused of pushing him. Squinting, Alecia noticed that the girl was using strands of her own hair wrapped around her arm to restrain the Xenozi hitman. Interesting.

"Are you insane?! Stop this!" She demanded, her face rife with indignation.

If the warden was even remotely aware of the small skirmish, he didn't bat an eye, but that didn't mean the commotion went unnoticed. As if on cue, the four riot guards along with a few others she hadn't first noticed pushed past Alecia and the other inmates with blatant disregard for manners or common decency, shouting commands at the combatants. With the authorities occupied and the coast temporarily clear, Alecia broke through the remainder of the crowd, shoving one guy into another in her attempt to move expeditiously. Though she now stood on the perimeter of the gathering, there were dozens of wide open yards separating her from the entrance back into Greyson. She be spotted if she tried to run that length at a normal pace. She damn sure couldn't walk it. She didn't have invisibility powers or anything cute like that either. Puckering her lips in concentration, she kneeled down, taking a racer's stance, digging her back foot into the ground.

By the time the guy Alecia shoved dusted himself off a few moments later, she was gone.

**


"ATTENTION: EXTRA PERSONNEL REQUESTED IN YARD SIX."

Alecia sported a furtive yet smug smirk. Her plan had worked perfectly! They were even asking for more assistance over the intercom. Hah! Dropping her hood, she strolled through the male side of the Reformatory. She'd have years to explore the female side to her heart's content. Why not have some fun here and now on the boy's side?!

She strolled through the halls as if she owned the place, earning a wide variety of looks. She even peeked into some open doors when she thought no one was looking. She was obviously female and obviously didn't belong, but none of the guards seemed to notice, and none of the inmates were peeved enough to care. In fact, some of them were definitely sizing her up, lust evident in their stares.

"Ay mamĆ­. TĆ¹ tan caliente!" Alecia paused mid-step, leering at the guy who'd just addressed her. Though she couldn't translate, she recognized the lewd tone. He was a brunet boy surrounded by a few of his friends. Eighteen years old, by her guess. "Come ov'a here," he continued, making a come hither motion with his hand, "let me talk to you right quick."

She flashed a warm smile, moving towards him until she was a couple of arm lengths away. She looked him in the eyes, still smiling. He mirrored her expression, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Suddenly, she frowned.

"I wish you would," she hissed threateningly, face contorted, head held at a sight angle, voice dripping with vitriol. Shocked, the guy hopped backwards, hitting his head on the wall behind him. His friends just stood there, taken aback, mouths open, utterly non-plussed. With a short chortle, Alecia pivoted on her heel and continued on her way. The cat calls resumed after she got further down the hall, but at a much more hushed tone, as if the sounds weren't meant to reach her ears.

Smart boys.

She had no problem with completely wrecking them if it came down to it. Physical strength meant nothing to her, thanks to her force vector manipulation ability. She'd break them like so many twigs. People would learn the pecking order and learn it fast in here, just as they did out in the real world. She could both handle and dish out more shit than anyone. That's how she become one of the four commanders of the Mutant Militia, after all.

She would not stand to be objectified nor walked all over. Not by the government. Not by the authority in here. Not by other mutants. And for damn sure not by any purebreds.

That's when a new thought struck her. As she turned the corner, her hand found its way to her chin, the knuckles of her index and middle fingers close to her lipsā€”her typical contemplation pose. Are there any purebreds in this place? She wasn't entirely sure. It'd be stupid to put them in here, but if there were... she'd definitely be interested in learning their identities. Surely they'd be obvious to spot, with their sanctimonious world-views and their flashy expensive clothing. Honestly, she'd love to meet one.

Alecia clenched her fists.

She had a few... questions for 'em.

Not one to get lost in her own interrogation daydreams, Alecia continued down the corridor. Every so often, she'd encounter a numbered door, though they didn't seem to follow any specific order. This place was kinda lain out like a maze, with a series of interconnected entrances and exits and extended halls that branched off from this "main" hall. How annoying. Leave it to the will-bearers of the patriarchy to design something so illogical. A circular design would be more fitting for this death camp.

She also noted the positions of the various security cameras that lined the walls and ceiling. They were pretty high-tech. Probably had thermal infrared, night-vision, facial recognition, the whole shebang.

When she first entered the boy's hall, she'd spotted the number "050" on one of the doors. A bit before she'd rounded the corner, she spotted "025". Now, as she made her way down what seemed like the last length of the main hall, the numbers were decreasing even more rapidly. "019" ... "014" ... "012" ... "008" ... "004" ... "001". The space between each of the rooms was bisected by a hallway that lead to even more rooms. Interestingly enough, the cameras around dorms 012 and 014 seemed to have been wired pretty recently, because exposed cables extended from the devices across the ceiling and into the adjacent wall.

Cheapo government. Humans have existed for thousands of years and that fact still hasn't changed.

After a bit more walking, Alecia stopped in front of the door titled "Dorm 001," reaching the end of the main hall. From the looks of things, it would seem as if the neophyte orientation session outside had come to a close, since guys she recognized from the crowd outside had begun to appear in some of the halls as she walked by.

That little fact could wait, though, for Alecia found her interests piqued. The door for Dorm 001 seemed a bit different than the others. Bigger, perhaps? Maybe just older? Hmm. She examined it with her hands, feeling the material. It was some type of metal. Hard and resilient, like the other doors she saw. She grabbed door's handle, giving it a good twist. The metal lever didn't even budge. Locked. She returned her hand to her chin. Hrn... Then why is this part of the hall soā€”

Alecia's ears perked up, tuning in to a sound in the distance that was growing louder by the second. It was the lockstep rhythm of a synchronized military march.

That meant guards. A lot of them. Thinking quickly, she flipped up her hoodie, hiding her hair and face and leaned against the door to Dorm 001 as if she belonged there. Not a moment later, several guards turned the corner in formation. Between then was... someone. Some kid, by the looks of it. He was definitely young, with curly hair, deep brown eyes, and a look of utter despondency etched into his face. They'd collared him like some sort of animal, as well as cuffed his hands together.

Alecia grimaced. These Greyson assholes sure do have an obsession with mutant children. It was disturbing. What're they trying to do, build a sex ring of some kind? Or worse, maybe a god damn army of indoctrinated kids...

That's when the boy surrounded by guards slowly looked over his shoulder to stare directly at Alecia. Their eyes met, even though Alecia had her hoodie up. For a moment, she was confused by what she saw, but then it clicked.

Mikey? She reached out her hand towards him. "Mikey?!" She vocalized the thought, invoking the name of her only brother, but by the time she stood upright and took a step towards the gaggle of guards surrounding the boy, the kid had turned his head and was now facing forward again. Alecia pinched the bridge of her nose, internally berating herself. Of course that wasn't Mikey, stupid. Mikey is... She couldn't even bear to finish the thought. Fortunately (or perhaps not), she didn't have that kind of time.

"Hey, you! Girl with the hood! What're you doing in the male hall?!"

One of the guards had stopped walking and was now pointing at her. The other guards and some of the inmates in the vicinity all turned their heads to stare at her. Seems like she'd drawn attention to herself.

For a moment, nobody moved.

And then she cheesed it.

"GRAB HER!" The guard who had originally identified her barked the order at the two others that flanked him. After a delay, they responded, barreling at her like two offensive linemen. The others pointed their weapons at her, but by the time they'd aimed, she'd already cut the corner and was headed down one of the side halls. Other inmates were quick to get out of her way, some of them even cheering her on. For those unfortunate enough to remain in the path of the guards, they were mercilessly shoved aside, slamming into the walls or through their doors.

As she raced past the middle of the hall, it was obvious that they weren't going to catch her. She was kind of cheating anyway, using her ability to unnaturally increase her speed. In a few more moments, she'd completely dust them.

That's when the guards got smart. Apparently, they'd dealt with fast ones before. While the guard on the left continued to bear down on her lead, the guard on the right halted his advance and kneeled, aiming his gun at her unprotected back. Pulling the trigger several times, the weapon's report exploded throughout the entire hall, reverberating off the walls and doors in one large cacophony.

But Alecia's speed wasn't her ability, merely a symptom of it. She felt the rounds come into contact with her skin before she heard the gunshots and instantly reacted, nullifying their forward momentum so that they dropped to the ground, harmless. However, such a move required concentration, and her running slowed to sub-olympic levels, allowing the other guard to gain on her.

She didn't have enough time to dig her heels into the ground and launch forward, so instead she turned and was greeted with more gunfire. This time, she caught one of the projectiles in her hand like something out of a Japanese animation, smirking at the guard with the gun as if to say "what now, bitch?". Taking a quick peak at the munition, she noticed something odd. It looked less like a bullet and more like some sort of needle or syringe.

Her smirk grew in intensity, her face twisting in pure conceit, hair snapping around her head as if she were in a hurricane thanks to her countering gunfire with vector manipulation. "Are you bitches trying to tranquilize me? REALLY?!"

That's when the running guard finally got within arm's reach. Again, she was not afraid of physical confrontation. She could manipulate any force, and that's all physical strength isā€”a combination of forces. This guard posed no threat to her. She'd break him like she'd break a pencilā€”easily, messily, and all over the place.

She gritted her teeth and adopted an open posture, arms out to the sides, as if welcoming the sprinting guard. Daring himā€”begging himā€”to just try it.

When they finally made contact... Alecia was mowed over like a four year old against a speeding train, to careen off the wall and land on the floor several feet away, the guard on top of her. "Aaaah, get off me!"

She was completely confused. How did her ability not work on him? Did she fuck something up? No. Not possible.

She tried pushing him off of her, manipulating the forces as she usually did, and everything seemed to go as planned, until the forces came into contact with the guard's body. At that point, they just... fell apart, as if he had a magic shield or something. "What the fuck, man! Get off!" She protested, pushing at the man's chest, trying to get out from under him.

"Smug punk! Cease your resisting!" He shouted, raising his fist, preparing to strike her.

Thinking a mile a minute, an idea popped into her head. If she couldn't directly manipulate the forces around the guard, then...

As the guard's fist rushed down towards her face, Alecia slapped the ground next to them with the heels of her shoes and the palms of her hands, throwing the majority of her remaining energy into augmenting the resulting reactionary forces. The consequence was spectacular.

Both Alecia and the guard flew up to smash violently into the cement ceiling. Unfortunately for the guard, he was on top to take the brunt of the damage from the impact. So vicious was the collision that the guard's body remained embedded in the ceiling while Alecia fell back down to land painfully on the ground. More gunfire rang out from the second guard. He was much closer now, but had apparently reconsidered engaging her in melee combat.

Smart man.

However, it was becoming harder and harder to nullify the momentum of the tranquilizer rounds. That last move had cost a crap ton of energy, and she hadn't eaten in a while. That's when she noticed the alarm siren blaring over the intercom. "Shit," she muttered. Guard #2 probably called for backup, or radioed in a riot or some crap. She was definitely in trouble now.

Picking herself up, she ran for her life, turning the corner to the hall that led back up to the main hall and dorm 012.

"Don't forget the cameras!"

Right, the cameras. Looking up, she saw the cameras all pivoting on their axes to face her... but she also saw the shitty wiring job along the ceiling. Now that she thought about it, those wires probably supplied electricity to all the cameras along this part of the side hallā€”either that or video feed. The same was probably true for the surrounding main hall as well. Perhaps even the cameras in some of the rooms!

Good ol' cheapo government!

Feeling hope rise along with the emergence of a strategy, Alecia crouched down like a frog before leaping high into the air, grabbing the massive trunk of wires with both hands and ripping it out of the ceiling.

They snapped as she came down. Luckily, she avoided electrocution.

The red lights on the cameras immediately surrounding her died out instantly.

Without a second to spare, she used vector manipulation to leap towards the end of the side hall, rounding the corner back into the main hall and coming to rest against the first door she saw. The hallway was filled with more guards than inmates, and none of them seemed to notice her.

Yet.

Without further ado, she tried the handle to the door in front of her: Dorm 012. Whatever, it'll do. Luckily, it opened. Without thinking, she rushed inside and closed the door behind her, locking it. She leaned against the door then, taking a quick but necessary respite. After a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was a security camera overlooking the entire room, but she wasn't sure if it was active or if her little wire stunt had deactivated it along with the others. That's when she noticed the two guys standing there, looking at her like she was a mad woman.

"Hi ya fellas," she said in the calmest voice she could muster. She wasn't much able to hide the panic in her tone, however. "I had a little fun with these mutant-hating purebred assholes, but now I'm in a bit of trouble. Mind hiding me?"

OOC: Of course she'll inevitably be found. They'll probably search all the rooms. Or maybe the camera in the room still works. In the meantime, it's a good chance for some conversation! xD

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alecia Moore Character Portrait: Octavian Kaleb Throne
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#, as written by Xunnamius
Imagine being taken from your home. Taken from your family, the life you know, the routine you've grown accustomed to. Try to picture being free to explore the world in one moment, and then confined within a slim casket in the next. Able to struggle, but not stretch. To see and hear, but only in muffled adumbrations and dampened quasi-sensations. You yell out, you scream and cry, but those around you can't seem to hear you... can't even comprehend you. They don't notice your dire straits. Your confinement.

You are trapped. Trapped in a tiny subset of the world you once knew. Your every senseā€”diluted. Every thoughtā€”corrupted. Every feelingā€”crushed in its infancy. Not allowed to remain lucid. Not allowed freedom of thought.

Suffocating, slowly but surely, in an ornate glove-like sarcophagus constructed special, just for you.

A boy, phlegmatic and apathetic in both mannerism and temperament, garbed from neck to fingertips to toes in an immaculate all-white body-glove suit, was being slow-marched down the hall in shackles by a small detachment of the Reformatory's military personnel.

The past, like one colossal blur, was inaccessible to the kid. A misty haze of lights and colors and sounds. He couldn't remember distant events. Facts. Who he was, where he came from, if he ever had any family or friends. He couldn't even recall his first day at Greyson, save a few bits and pieces. Even something as close as this most recent morning was a chore to recollect.

He blinked a few times, his drug-induced stupor lessening to some extent. Lucidity came in fleeting spurts. One second he was ambling along down the hall like a zombie, surrounded by an entourage of guards. In the next, he'd become aware of something constricting his hands. Something around his neck, exerting a sort of pressure. Something like that would normally be painful, but whatever they'd been doing to himā€”whatever substance they'd been mercilessly injecting into himā€”left his pain receptors (along with just about everything else) relatively numbed.

Unbeknownst to the Greyson staff, his body was starting to get used to it. Used to whatever drug they were administering him. He was starting to develop a resistance. It was thanks to this adaptation that he was allowed any moments of lucidity at all. The doctors and scientists around here would much rather he stay a malleable glomp of putty in their hands.

I'm dangerous. That much he knew.

It took him a moment to remember where he was. Greyson. Greyson Reformatory. His name. Octavian, though mom called me Taven.

Mother.

He drew a blank. Again, trying to traverse the memory stack up to that point was impossible. Retrospection of the distant past before Greyson was strictly off-limits to him.

But he tried anyway. Mom. He drew another blank. Mom. A faceless figure, but still nothing. He clenched his jaw, screwing his eyes shut, concentrating on combatting the effects of Greyson's drug and piercing the fog. Mom! Evaporating the mist. Mom! He began to recall little things. A scent. A gentle caress. A hand ruffling his hair. A word...

That's when something pricked him in the neck. Octavian sucked air through clenched teeth, hissing, eyes widening. Though he'd experienced it a thousand times by now, the sensation still came as a complete and unwelcome surprise. It was an injection. He could feel it, the jarring pain of cool sterilized steel being autonomously rammed through his skin, delivering its unholy payload into his bloodstream.

And then he felt nothing. As surely as it had come, his train of thought left the station without him, the ever-present fog once again setting upon his cognitive faculties like a storm, filtering his senses. The glimmer of intellectā€”the spark of lifeā€”was gradually draining from his eyes, his head bowed, face stoic, mind wandering as he was marched to his destination.

As his entourage turned the corner, he spotted someone who looked out of place. Turning his head, he saw a slender hooded figure leaning against the door to dorm 1. For a moment, he connected with the figure, locking eyes, but the injection was already taking effect. He'd lost interest, breaking eye contact and facing front, when someone called out. It was a female's voice, though Octavian was too drugged to really care.

More things were happening around him. His vision was spinning, albeit slowly. Sounds were coming in as distant echoes. Within them he sensed intent. Will. Barked commands. Anger. The guards were shouting something. He turned, facing backwards, looking in the direction of the hooded figure, but it wasn't there. It was moving swiftly along the wall, making a break for the side-hall so as to not be cornered.

Did that girl's voice come from the figure?

Two of the three guards bringing up the rear of Octavian's entourage tensed, as if preparing to give chase. They're going... to... cat...ch her...! Basic thoughts were becoming harder and harder to hold on to.

Even though he did not know the person under the hood, Octavian understood that she was most likely another prisoner, just like him. He had to help in whatever way he could.

Feeling the numbing agent within the drug burning through the last vestiges of his lucidity and sentience, the boy reached out and weakly grasped the sleeves of the two tensed guards with all his remaining might, a handful of cloth in each hand. Looking up at them through clouded eyes, Octavian saw the men turn their heads towards him. They said something, but he couldn't understand it. Their voices were too muffled, too garbled.

The drug had run its course. His senses were locked down.

The guards shook off his meager grip, giving chase, but the boy had succeeded in delaying them just long enough for the figure to bend the corner unmolested. She was busy sprinting up the side hall like a speeding bullet. The two guards, sufficiently belated, barrelled after her.

Octavian's consciousness returned to limbo, awaiting the next moment of lucidity between injections.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aston Damien Cole Character Portrait: Octavian Kaleb Throne
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#, as written by Ashes-6695
Ī±Ń•Ń‚ĻƒĪ· āˆ‚Ī±Š¼Ī¹Ń”Ī· Ā¢Ļƒā„“Ń”

Image "All in," Aston called undoing the snap on the silver and diamond bracelet that he'd won about a month ago at the same game. A few of the other boys and girls standing around the table and behind him raised their brows at the sudden confidence in his poker hand. In the month he'd called the bracelet his, he wouldn't have dared throw it into the center of the table, though some of the onlookers towards the game could understand why he'd thrown it in. The girl who'd still refused to fold thus far had something that he wanted. A beauty pageant queen gone sour, she often waltzed around Greyson wearing that silver diamond-encrusted tiara atop her head like it made her queen or something, letting it sit on her messy dark hair. Aston wanted it. He'd wanted it for a while. "Go on, throw in the tiara."

"Aw hell no, Aston, you gotta be shittin' me!" She retorted, a look as sour as her attitude on her face.

"C'mon, Rox! The guy said all in," one of the boys standing behind Aston shouted across the table, a little smirk on his face. "And while you're at it, throw in the chicken cutlets, too!

Aston turned, raising a brow at the boy who'd interjected. "Why do you want her chicken cutlets? What the hell are you gonna do with 'em?"

Rox - or, Roxanne, as Aston preferred to use the feisty young lady's full name - raised her brow even further than Aston's had gone up, crossing her arms in a huff of confusion and down-right aggression at these boys thinking that they could get everything from her in the matter of one hand. "What the fuck are y'all talking about? What chicken cutlets?"

The boy behind Aston put his hands on his chest, about where boobs might have been, had he been a girl. "The chicken cutlets."

"It's a stick on bra, moron!" She shouted in retort, slamming a fist down on the mess hall table and causing it to shake a bit. "And what the hell are you gonna do with 'em, you don't even have boobs!"

"Neither do you," He said, dropping his hands from his chest while he shrugged. A circle of 'oooooooh's came from a rather decent percentage of the guys in the vicinity. Roxanne, on the other hand, who's tan skin had turned a rather red color, looked as if she were about to storm across that table and bite off the kid's head. Aston raised up a hand, as if in surrender of the action. Breakfast hour would be over soon, and many of the other patrons had already left, heading back to their dorms, or on their ways down to courtyards and respective "hang out" places, as well as heading out to scheduled chores and punishments, to boot. This couldn't go on for ever, and he still needed that tiara off of her head.

"Relax, okay? If she's too scared for an all in, she's too scared! No big deal if she wants to fold!" He intercepted, leaning back in the folding chair he was seated in. His comment seemed to strike the right nerve with Roxanne, however, and as her reddened face seemed only to grow redder, he watched with a smirk as she threw her fist down on the table once more.

"You asshole! You're bluffing!!" She called out, gritting her teeth.

Aston only widened his smirk at her, flipping his long blonde hair over his shoulder. Beauty queen his ass, he was prettier than her and he was a guy. That probably made her mad in itself. But soon enough, much to his pleasure, there she was, throwing down the tiara from atop her head before reaching into her low-dipping shirt, pulling out the chicken cutlet bra, and tossing the little squishy tan cutlets into the pile as well. "You're gonna let me have her chicken cutlets, right?" The boy asked, leaning over Aston's shoulder.

Aston almost immediately lost the smirk. "What's in it for me? You ain't getting something for nothing."

"Come on! What are you gonna do with 'em?" The boy retorted, but as was apparent from the look on Aston's face, he wasn't going to get them simply based on that fact. After all, Aston was plenty selfish. "Fine... Uh, you know I got a sister here! I can get you some of her makeup and stuff!

Aston almost immediately regained his interest. Turning back to the table and back to Roxanne. "Alright, bring me as much as you can by tonight, or I'm taking them back and frying your computer."

"You're gonna regret you're little move, cause that bracelet's mine now, anyway!" Roxanne called with false confidence, throwing down her hand. While her hand was good, she still had the deeply set worry that Aston's could be better, after all. "Four of a kind!"

"Ooh, close, but no cigar, princess!" Aston called, throwing down his own hand before grinning and raking in the pile at the center of the table towards himself. The boy behind him eagerly snatched up the chicken cutlets and raced off before Aston could really actually interrogate him about the actual reason the guy wanted those chicken cutlets, though, seeing as the boy was straight as an arrow and nowhere near being transgender, Aston figured that he was just going to stick them to his roommate's face. "Straight flush~."

"DAMNIT!!" She shouted, slamming her fist down on the table and causing the contents on top of it to clatter.

"Aww, poor little princess," he consoled, pushing out his lower lip in a fake pout as he held out the glittering tiara. "You want it back?"

Roxanne was just about to take it, too, reaching out with her hand, when one of her friends stopped her, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her away. "Don't fall for that you moron!" Her friend shouted at her while she pulled her away from the table and towards the exit. "That shit's Aston's now! You should know better than to take somethin' metal from somebody who's electrically charged, dumbass!"

Huh, smart friend.

It was entirely true, obviously. Aston wanted that Tiara bad, and he had had no intentions of giving it back with that phony offer. Sure, she'd let her touch it, but she certainly wasn't going to want it after the terrible shock he would have sent her through it. Metal was a conductor, and he already had tons of it circulating from his hand into the the object and back again the same way. Yes, most certainly, that shit was one-hundred percent, completely, his. He placed the object on his head carefully, before snatching up his diamond bracelet and placing it back where it belonged. The remainder on the table; a gold tooth, a fake Rolex, a new case for his cell phone, some fancy, glittered headphones, a baseball cap with colorful Aztec patterns on it, three unopened packets of candy, and two packets of cigarettes, were quickly gathered and stuffed into the pocket of his oddly pattered, knit hoodie which he wore with a layered black skirt, tight black skinny jeans, and a pair of white converse which had been drawn all over in similarly Aztec patterns. If not for such obvious flatness to his chest, he looked perfectly feminine. And even with his male physique in the equation, he was one hundred percent gorgeous.

Pulling his phone from the over stuffed pocket to check the time, as well as check for a possible, rare signal and any possible, rare messages, he decided it was time to be heading out from the mess hall as well. Wasn't Greyson getting a good number of new inmates today? He supposed it was an intriguing idea to go and visit some of them, at least to appeal to his curiosity about the new arrivals, if not to mess with them a little bit. He'd start off in the boy's dorm, obviously, since he now had a huge pocket full of useless crap that he needed to stuff inside the drawer of his dresser. What he was going to do with most of it, he wasn't sure. Cigarettes could get you practically anything, but some of the objects were a pretty tough sell. The candy... Well, he would keep that, just because one could never go without too much sugar, what with the meals at Greyson being absolute shit in his personal opinion.

He slipped into the building swiftly, scampering up the stairs and hurrying towards dorm twenty five, where he was lucky enough to only have to share the room with one other dude, and happily got the computer inside all to himself. Not a bad deal, though certainly it was less than he'd been used to before getting stuffed in here, though he chose not to try and think about his home life. Sure, it had been... fine? Yeah, fine. But who knew what it was going to be like when he got out. That stupid tattoo felt like a burn again, an aching scar that seeped into his heart and filled it with dread. He sort of wished he could just cut it off his chest and be rid of it, but that was the thing about joining his family's gang - it was supposed to be a permanent position. People didn't normally get kicked out, they got killed. And who could really say how hard it would be to--

Aston shook his head, pausing on the middle step of the first stairway and trying to shake the thoughts from his head. I don't care, I don't care, I don't caaaaaaaaaare! He shouted mentally at himself, trying to will himself away from the subject and onto a different one. There was commotion upstairs, wasn't there? He could think about that instead! What the hell was that anyway? There was definitely some shouting going on, probably from guards. Probably from some stupid guards, excuse him. After all, what time was it? Unless someone was having some major shit they were trying to pull it wasn't as if they could even call girls out for being in the building anymore, seeing as it was about twenty or twenty five minutes past the time at which it was allowed for either gender to be going in one another's dorms. Then again, of course, perhaps the guards may not have been aware of the time just yet, seeing as most were still in the lunch room, and it could have quite possibly been just a girl or something. What a dumb rule to begin with.

He completed climbing the stairs and waltzed into the hallway, barely catching a glimpse of one of the searching guards as they turned down a hallway. Ha!! How laughable, he thought, smiling at the idea. These morons lost their target! Well, he could get the full story from someone else who'd been around when it happened, but the front pocket of his jacket was heavy with poker winnings, and he was far too eager to empty it out first. And then, there were the new arrivals! What kind of a person would he be if he didn't torment greet the newbies? There were far too many important things to be done.

As he came nearer and nearer to his room, he recognized the small entourage that was escorting his roommate back to the room, and felt his smile drop away from his face. Sure, he was used to seeing the treatment of the smaller boy, but... It still rubbed him quite the wrong way. The kid was far too out of it almost on a regular basis, and while Aston understood it was for safety or some shit along those lines, the concept was still as unsettling and uncomfortable as ever. It might have freaked him out and made him nervous in his first week, sure, but now it was more or less just... sad.

Jogging to catch up with the little group before they made it to the door and walking alongside despite one of the remaining guard's stern looks at the flamboyant mutant striding along their 'of the utmost importance!' guard duties. After a little while of just looking at his roomie's blank, drug-induced expression, Aston started digging around in the pocket of his hoodie through his winnings. Quickly managing to pull out the Aztec-patterned hat without dropping everything else from the pocket, he dropped it onto the boy's head before scampering off towards the door on his own. "You can have it, I don't want it!" He called, despite not knowing whether or not the boy was able to understand the words coming from him, or even knew that words were coming from him at all. Either way, he kind of hoped that the guards would leave the odd little baseball cap on the boy's head.

He pushed through the door as quickly as possible, trailing over to his dresser and dumping everything that he could aside from his cell phone and a pack of fresh candy into his top drawer, which he had carefully saved for all of those sorts of little collections. The makeup he would be acquiring later, however, would go on the desk alongside the computer, where a mirror sitting at the back edge of the desk sort of qualified the space also as Aston's vanity. His side of the room was adorned with girly things and odd things alike; mostly things that he'd accumulated after arriving at Greyson. Only a few things remained from his days when he'd first arrived, like his normal, guyish clothes and thick leather bracelets. Once in a while he surprised people and wore them, but it was pretty rare.

Having officially cleared his pockets, he dashed from the room almost as quickly as he had come, running around the entourage and hurrying down the hall to find something to do and someone to bug. At the very least, the list on the bulletin board that named who was rooming with who would have changed, no? He could see the new arrivals from that list and pay them a visit, if he didn't manage to run into any on the way, that is.

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