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Cael Fionn, "Stray"

Male #3

0 · 559 views · located in Paranoia Prison

a character in “Paranoia Prision”, as played by Thadine

Description

| Real Name |


Cael Fionn


Image



| Speculated Name or Nickname |

He later on adopts the name “Stray” due to his tendency to wander away from the group at random times.

| Speculated Age |

Appears to be in his early twenties, perhaps only 21.

| Sex |

Male

| Role |
Number 3 Inside


Image Image



| Backstory |




| Personality |


So begins...

Cael Fionn, "Stray"'s Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cael Fionn, "Stray"
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#, as written by Thadine
| Cael Fionn | Stray |


Amongst the darkness of some amazing, widespread void, consciousness began to seep in, like light entering a tunnel. However, the gloom seemed heavy, like he was swimming underwater in full clothing, each movement only pulling him back into the abyss. He drifted in and out of this state a few times, coming so close to the surface, only to be tugged back by whatever force was causing this. Then suddenly, he was awake.

However, he didn’t open his eyes. No, he just focused on the stimuli around him, the pain in his head, the aching of his body, and the smooth surface underneath his fingertips. The discomfort in his mind washed in and out like waves, the pain pulsing rhythmically. After awhile, the feeling became almost soothing, like the sound and feel of a steady heart-beat that could easily lull a child to sleep. He almost wandered back into the shadows of his mind, yet something kept him awake. Not his discomfort or pain, but rather a feeling nestled somewhere inside him. A feeling that spoke, saying, “something is wrong.”

He moved his fingertips ever so slightly, brushing them along the ground. Shards of pain jolted up his arm, and he winced. At that motion, light came piercing in, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, curling his fingers inwards. His nails scraped along the surface he was laying on, and he felt the coldness. In fact, his whole body was cold, as if he were frozen from the inside, bones and all, ready to shatter at any instant movement. He breathed in. He moved his arm slightly, tried to focus in on what was going on around him. After a few minutes passed, which seemed like hours, he had decided that he better open his eyes, even if the light would hurt.

Opening them suddenly, he was blinded by radiance all around him. Blinking a few times cleared his head, and he looked around from his stationary position, not moving his body at all. He was staring at a wall. It was a deep gray colour. Tilting his head slightly, he glared out of the corner of his eyes at the floor. Gray as well. However, something else caught his attention. A splatter of something dark on the ground that reached up to part of the wall, glinting in the bit of light that spilled from a window above. It looked like paint at first, though its consistency was a bit too thick and the colours were uneven. There were some patches that were bright red, others that were brown. Who would paint a small area of a room like that?

With the bit of strength he could muster, he placed both hands flat on the ground, and lifted himself off the floor, working into a sitting position. He instantly fell back towards the wall, banging his head on the hard surface. He let out a quiet curse, reaching a hand up to rest it on the injury. It was at this moment he tried to make sense of things. Why had he been laying on the floor? He was never so un-organized as to end up in any other place than his own bed. Why was he hurting? Letting his eyes move around the room, he spotted a bunch of other people, lying on the ground, all seeming to be either asleep or knocked unconscious. How the hell did he get here? He shut his eyes for a moment and ran his hand through his hair, though his fingers caught in something. Brows knit together, he moved his fingers, feeling something crusty and hard caught in his hair. Bringing his hand down in front of his vision, the substance that was on his hand was dark brown, similar to the colour that was splattered on the wall. Looking for an explanation, he turned his head to look back at the sprinkled surface, only to focus on something entirely different.

Someone was lying against the wall right beside him, covered in the paint as well. He didn’t react right away, rather narrowed his eyes to look over this person. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that underneath the paint were various wounds, cuts and gouges, bruises and swollen areas from what were probably broken and fractured bones. His eyes wandered up, locking onto the face of the victim. Their eyes were open too, though milky and cloudy. Suddenly, he realized it wasn’t paint in his hair and on this person sitting beside him.

It was blood.

He jumped suddenly, scrambling away from the body and further along the wall, his gaze locked on it as if he expected it to get up and come after him. It did not move, and internally, he yelled at himself for thinking of something as irrational as that. The feeling of dread inside of him grew even more, and he searched his mind, trying to find something to explain this. To explain the body, the people, his pain, the room, everything…however, it was blank. He tried to think back to last week. Yesterday. A few hours ago. His thoughts simplified even more. His name, his age, what he looked like.

No answers came. Panic flared inside of him, and he let out a strangled breath, still focusing on the body. His view changed to all of the people lying down. Some of them had blood on them too. In fact, most of them did. His eyes wandered to the door that sat at the opposite end of him, and he struggled to his feet, a hand still on the wall for support. He started towards the door, unsure of his footing, stepping over the people still lying down. His foot met the stomach of someone, and he muttered a quiet “sorry” even though he was sure that they wouldn’t hear.

He placed his hand on the door knob and twisted.

Defeat. It was locked.

He turned and slid down to the floor, leaning against the wall once again. Multiple scenarios and possibilities of what could have happened began playing in his head, like a movie. However, he doubted every single one of them. He’d have to wait for others to wake up before he could question them, and see if they could remember anything.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cael Fionn, "Stray" Character Portrait: Kelby L. NeSmith
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Image


Image




Groaning he would rub the back of his head. Weird party... He'd think trying to wake himself up. His eyes wouldn't open, it was like they were glued shut. His hands felt sticky, almost as if he were laying in oil. He dared not touch his eyes while unsure of what was on his fingers. Slowly he'd work his eyes open mentally cursing himself as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He would lay there, unsure of where he was.

Comeon... think... last place you were...was... uh.... His thoughts hit a speed bump. Where was the last place he was? Slowly he'd get himself into a sitting position, looking down at his gloved hands. On his fingertips, the sticky liquid still there. Bringing his fingers up to his nose, he'd scrunch it up. Smelled more like Iron than anything. Looking around he'd notice a girl a few feet away. He'd try standing, almost tripping on another person, who seemed to be unconscious. Hesitantly he'd try stepping over the person in his leather boots.

Didn't know I liked leather so much. He'd think to himself, as he realized he was wearing a leather vest, leather pants, and leather gloves and boots. A star necklace hung on his neck. Though he seemed to be shirtless. He'd wipe the sticky/iron smelling substance on his leather pants and continue making his way to the woman. She seemed to be covered in the same substance as his hands... well now pants were. "Hey..." He'd whisper, careful not to disturb the others. The woman didn't seem to respond, though she did seem to be harmed physically. Bruises, scraches, cuts, all down her body, then it hit him. He'd look around the room, everything and everyone was covered in this substance. It wasn't oil...it was blood. He resisted the urge to gag, as he looked back at her. She was dead... and he was covered in what he assumed was her blood.

He'd back away to a far corner, trying to see if there was a way out the window... nope... not one. He'd look around for a way to escape, he wasn't going to be in here, not with all these people... and not with all this blood. I don't need to be around a dead body... no sirie... not me... He thought as he spotted a door. Sweet Escape! He'd think to himself enthused about a way out of this asylum. His happiness was short lived however, the door was locked.

His eyes scanned the room until he saw someone curled up against a wall. Making an 'are you kidding me' face he'd exclaim. "Don't tell me you're dead too.." His voice seemed to echo throughout the room. That's all he needed, really... lets wake people up... I'm sure they'll be happy to see their alarm clock...a man... with... he paused his thoughts, checking his hair, a man with black hair covered in leather, and blood...yeah they'll be happy to know he woke them up.

They'll think I killed them... He thought thinking the other person against the wall was dead as well.

What a fun... day? Night? This was....perfect...fucking perfect.