Free Bird

[Endgame]

Free Bird

Welcome to Helena Earl. Home to those inmates deemed too dangerous for the regular penal system, Helena Earl is the single most dangerous, most violent prison in the world.

It's also your new home.

Covering an island off the coast of Cuba, Helena Earl was founded as a joint project between the world's civilised nations, a place to dispose of their worst killers, rapists, and other assorted offenders. A closely guarded secret of the justice system, the prison is deemed 'Extrajudicial'; it operates outside of the law to contain those who break it.

Here, you have no rights. There are no rules, no laws. Just a wall, and the men standing at the top of it with sniper rifles...

...Oh, and the other scum locked in with you.

Containing men and women of all races and nationalities, Helena Earl does not discriminate. In it's eyes, all inmates are equal, and disputes between them are not the guard's business, or problem. Riots are commonplace, and the deaths of their participants swift.

We don't know what you did. That's between you, and the person you did it to. But you're in here with us now.

And we want out.



Guard Timetable
Guards are changed at the same time daily, though at different intervals in different places.

Checkpoints are changed at 8AM, 2PM, 8PM, and 2AM
Cellblocks are changed at 8AM, 4PM, and 12 AM
All other locations are changed at 6AM, 12PM, 6PM, and 12AM



Checkpoints
A checkpoint is a series of locked iron gates watched over by a security station. Checkpoints are maintained by armed guards locked between two gates, and thus protected from both sides.

Cellblocks
Each Cellblock houses one thousand inmates, of which there are four, A, B, C, and D. The four are arranged in a plus shape pattern, with a mess hall in the centre. Block B connects to the Armory via three consecutive checkpoints. Block A connects via four checkpoints to the Entry Complex. Block C connects to the Work Detail complexes. In the space between each of the arms is an excercise yard.

Block A and C each house repeat minor offenders, while Block B houses murderers and D houses rape and molestation offenders.

Each block is a four-story building, three stories of which are cells, whilst the fourth story is comprised of catwalks from which Guards oversee the blocks. The catwalks are accessed via nearby checkpoints, whilst guards constantly move through the blocks themselves.

Each cell is 3 meters square, and contains 2 beds, a toilet and a sink.

Armory
A squat building built off the southern end of Cellblock B, the Armory is where all Guard equipment including weapons, radio trancievers and riot armor is kept. The armory is heavily defended, and is connected via a single checkpoint to the Guard Complex, and three consecutive checkpoints to Cellblock B. It's twenty-inch, reinforced brick and titanium outer walls are built to withstand an explosion less the a metre away, and it has no windows or outer entrances. All equipment is kept in reinforced titanium lockers, the keys to which are kept by Guard Captains. Each Captain has the keys to only one locker, which contains his squad's equipment.

Guard's Quarters
A six-story complex at the south end of the island, the Guard's Quarters, also reffered to as 'Pigsville' are built to house a full complement of Guards, living on-site, each for a period of four months. Containing living quarters, entertainment complexes on each floor, a mess, and amenities, the quarters have no internal defencive measures. They are connected to the Armory and Entry Complex via heavily defended checkpoints, and the sixth floor contains the undefended entrance to the Skyway and Heliport access. The sixth floor also houses the spacious personal office and quarters of the Warden, which overlook the Main Excercise Yard. The Warden occasionally delivers announcements from his office balcony to an assembely of prisoners in the yard.

Work Detail
The Work Detail complexes are a series of two-story buildings which house various workstations. These include a Library, a set of classrooms, a Motorpool, and other assorted stations.

Skyway
A large walkway spanning from the heliport at one end of the prison to the Guard's Quarters at the other end, the Skyway is a safe path for visiting dignitaries and VIP's. Constructed of five-inch impact resistant bulletproof glass, it allows it's occupants to observe the prison while protected from any threat outside the walkway. It's strengthened frame will resist even a ground-level explosion, and not even the high-powered rifles carried by prison staff could penetrate it, in the event a prisoner seizes a guard's rifle during a riot.

Heliport
Constructed on a tower six stories up, and ringed with barbed wire, on three fences surrounding it and on the Heliport's tower structure itself. The only way to and from the Heliport is via the Skyway. Capable of holding six midsize choppers, the Heliport houses two at all times: a prison transport chopper for relocation of prisoners that have completed their sentence, and an armed attack helicopter for retrieval of prisoners that havn't completed their sentence.

Docks
Housed in a subterrean complex beneath the island, the docks provide marine entry to the prison via a partially submerged cave. The Docks are accesed via a checkpoint from the Entry Complex. The keys to all boats within the Docks are kept in the locked section of the Motor Pool, under constant watch. The Docks contain Helena Earl's equivilent of a prison bus: a medium-sized armored passenger barge. Slow, but secure, the barge transports prisoners back and forth from the mainland. It also contains six high-speed Jetski's for persuit of waterborne escapees.

Episode One: A Warm Welcome

1st of August, 2009
8:23 AM

Every man, over the course of their life, will have at least one moment that, to their perception, seems to last a literal eternity. A moment when all eyes are on them, and everyone's watching, and waiting, to see what they do next.

For Marshall, that moment began the second he crossed the threshold of Cellblock B.

The thing that struck him most about the longest walk of his life was the silence.

From outside, Block B was a hive of noise. Moving through the checkpoint, he could hear intermittant laughter, thuds and clanks, and the constant murmer of voices. The second the gate slid open, however, everything stopped.

Two blue-uniformed 'screws' flanked him, each holding an angular X-M8 Lightweight Assault Rifle. He quickly fell into step with them as they entered the block.

The ground floor was deserted, leading Marshall to believe this block was relativly empty at this time of day. He quickly realised, however, as the catwalks that crisscrossed between cells on the second floor came into view, that he was mistaken. From above, looking down upon him, was the majority of Block B's population. They didn't talk, shout obscenities, or throw anything: no, they were silent, and still, and he quickly found himself wishing they would start throwing things. Ridicule, he could deal with. What he couldn't stand was the uncertainty of their stares, their silence. At least, had they thrown something, he would have known where he stood.

"B-45. Welcome to your new home." The screw on his right announced, sliding open a cell and ushering him inside.

"Looks cosy." Marshall growled: "Put up a few curtains, maybe a couch, it'll be just like home."

"Yeah, well you'll be staying here for..." The screw on his left glanced at a clipboard he carried: "Oh. For ever. Get used to it."

"Yeah, and get used to the guys you're in with, too. Only way you're getting new neighbours is if one of them moves into the mourge. Or if you do the same, of course. I'm sure the stiffs are great company."

"I'm sure. Who are my cellmates?"

"Let's see. Your new bunk-buddy's one Stark Freeman. Been here two years now, so the fact he's still alive means he's either a tough motherfucker, a smart motherfucker, or knows how to fly under the radar. I'll leave it to you to figure out which."

"Oh yeah, one more thing. Be careful lighting cigarettes in your cell. Got this crazy chick next door, some kinda pyro. She sees you with a lighter she'll probably shank you for the thing."

With that, the guard tossed him a pack of Horizon 16's, a lighter, and a bar of soap, unlocked his cuffs, and backed out of the cell. As March unzipped the top of his one-piece, navy-blue prison uniform, letting the top half fall to his waist and effectivly turning the jumpsuit into a pair of pants, he heard one of them shout from outside.

"New fish in the tank. C'mon down, Sharks."

Wordlessly, he sat on the clean, tucked-in bunk, assuming the other to be his cellmate's, pulled a Horizon from the pack, and placed it in his mouth, staring silently at the ground. Lighting the cigarette, he drew in deeply, letting the smoke unfurl into rings around his head.

[Ulti]

"You'd think we were living in a dirt mound with all this dirt. I'm thinking I might be cleaning off a few layers of skin."

Have you ever seen a dragon bathe? Of course, that would lead you to ask if you ever seen a dragon. And obviously Ava wasn't a dragon but held the title to the government as well as Helena Earl. At least twice a day, the Azure Dragon showered. One morning shower and one evening shower. The time during each changed. Ava was not in the slightest bit stupid. Make a pattern and everyone will know it. Already a veteran, she learned a thing or two about surviving this backwards prison system.

In Helena Earl, everyone showered together. As they say, everyone was equal. But during this period, that line turns into a pile of shit fast. Ava could always tell the veterans and the guppies apart. The vets walk in, make no eye contact, and walk out. Five minutes. Guppies would wash themselves slowly, always eying the person next to them. This lead to brutal confrontations if their mate next to them didn't appreciate the stares. And obviously, being a lone female always lead to one thing or another. Most female inmates showered together and apart from the males. Ava was the only one who showered differently.

Again, Ava is far from being called a nitwit. She knew who to trust her safety to: guppies. Even a guppy rapist wouldn't try anything on his first day. Unfortunately, that day no guppies were up and about. Ava entrusted herself to Ricardo, an ex-hit man who took down the wrong person and ended up here. Though muscular in size, he wasn't the brightest bulb in the bunch. Ava doubted he thought much of the opposite sex. He didn't even glance at her when she took her spot and dropped her towel.

But unfortunately for him, Ava had to abuse his strength for a bit. Another man took a place next to Ava. James, a man who never told any story straight. Ava never could tell what he did. From murder to rape to the mafia, James apparently did it all. He also seemed to have a liking towards her, though displayed crudely. While he admired her shapely form, Ava planned his demise.

Ava rubbed the towel she was using over various intimate regions of her body. James, without a towel of his own, eyed it like a wolf watching a rabbit.

"Mind if I borrow that, finger licking?"

Ava almost choked on her laugh. Finger licking? That was the worst compliment from him yet. But the plan had to go through. Flipping her smirk to a shy smile, she gave an innocent nod. James, probably thinking of nasty things, turned his head away for a second to clean his face. His hand was open, hoping to receive the dirty towel. Within that time slot, Ava twisted the towel until it was as tight as it could be. Then with quickness that only a person of her style, she struck Ricardo in his intimate region before snapping the towel back into James's hand.

Ricardo gave a painful grunt. Ava took this time to turn off the water and pick up Ricardo's towel. When Ricardo looked to the side, all he could see was James and the twisted towel. Ava was already out of the area when Ricardo managed to figure out what just occurred. Or at least what Ava wanted him to figure out. She waited to hear the satisfying sound of a fist breaking bone. To her, it sounded much like the final whack of a stick breaking open a pinata.

Satisfied at all, Ava whistled a wordless song back to her cell.

[Prophet]

Filthy...

It was quiet for once. Some were at the showers, some were still asleep. The early morning brought with it another new day. Was it a beautiful sunrise? Was it a rainy, overcast morn? Were there rainbows and rabbits?

Wretched...

The cell was empty. One bed lay unoccupied, its resident obviously out in the shower or at the mess hall. The sheets lay uncovered, tossed aside with the carelessness of a child. What did children do now? Did they play? Did they cry? Were there tortured whines for a new toy?

Disgusting...

There was a slight rattling breath that broke the silence, an echoing grating that ripped across the room like the death cry of a dying bird. Zachariah's throat vibrated with the guttural sound, his pale white Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at the wall, murmurs running slightly through his tightly closed lips. Cracked and white, they were the same color as the veins sticking out of his hands, evidence of his new found survival muscle. His eyes, a overcast gray, stared unblinking into the wall, as if attempting to intimidate it into answering an important question.

Sinnerssss...

His grip tightened on the small bound Bible he held in his hands. It was about the size of a pack of cards, hardly threatening. He had been allowed it just sparingly, and they had made sure to give him nothing with which he could use as a weapon. The yellow pages were dusty, and they shook under his tightened grasp. He did not move, simply holding the book tightly as he watched the wall closer, and closer, looking for some hidden meaning there.

They will all burn...

Suddenly, he stood, as if possessed by some sudden call, taking his brown Bible and placing it on the side of his bed reverently, his eyes darting wildly from bed to bed, the gray orbs bouncing this way and that before glancing up at the ceiling.

"I hear you..." he mumbled slightly to himself, glancing around quickly before sighing out, letting himself sit back down on the bed with a small sense of relief. He placed his hand on the bed, stroking the covers absentmindedly before his fingers slid across a slightly rectangular lump in his mattress. It was only then that a rare smile broke his chapped, pale lips. and his breathing slowed to a normal pace. He sat upright, almost as if he had just taken a seat in his favorite armchair, and leaned back on his hands, a golden grin gracing his peaceful, wrinkling face. Even as shouts about newcomers, and fresh fish met his ears, he did not react beyond a flicker of an eyelash. A psychologist might have placed him at that moment as completely content.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, my Father...

The Lord had spoken.

[Zaphod Beeblebronx]

Matt sat in the lunch room staring at his food. He hadn't eaten in days. It looked like some one had peas, corn and potatoes and threw them back up in nice little piles. He looked away from it and cleared his mind he didn't think about the regurgitated food on his tray, he just started wolfing it down the "corn" as fast as he could trying not to chew. When he first got here he realized that when it came to life in here, don't think too hard about what your about to do. He pushed the tray away from him and picked up his orange juice carton. He stuffed it in his pocket and walked back to his cell leaving the rest of the food for whoever. He grabbed a couple of sugar packs on the way out.

When he got back to his cell he put the orange juice in a cooler that he had gotten from another inmate. There were about seven other frozen orange juice cartons inside. He slid it back under his bed and pulled out a small pot and moved it into the corner next to the toilet. He then stuck his finger down his throat and threw up the corn. He then rinsed the corn off and put the pot filled half way with corn on his bed. He then took out the sugar packs and emptied their contents into the pot. He then reached under the bed and pulled out the lid and put it on the pot. He put the pot under his bed and laid down.

Now he had to wait a couple of days until the corn fermented. Until then he had to find away to get a hold of a heating unit strong enough to boil sour mesh. He might have to pay for one but he didn't want the guards to know. He already had a copper wire, funnel and a bigger pot. So far so good. Now he just had to find some one with a smoking problem and an extra lighter.

[Nigga Sauce]

There were two things that kept you alive in this prison. Having smarts and having people that will watch your back and die for you. See since Ahmad, or should I say Luck, has always had a gang of atlest five people made up of people who got locked up for being his accomplice. Beside them, he only kept it cool with the other individuals who wanted out of this hell hole. He though wanted out most of all. Staring at the picture of his wife and daughter, he could only think about her birthday which was not that far off. He was gonna be there for his daughter a she turned 5 no matter what it took. There would be no death sentence. He was not going to let his wife and daughter watch as he is buried. He would never put them through that.

Sticking the picture back under his pillow, he stood up and walked over to his cell door. Looking at all these pthetic souls who would die here, Luck could only wonder how he survived such a hellhole for two years now. So many fights he had been in and so many motherfuckers that attempted to try and kill him. Ahmad was aware of the social status and he knew who to talk to and who to avoid. Stepping out of his cell, Ahmad made his way to the workout room to excercise like usual. As he walked, the black guards nodded at him and the prisoners that are cool with him, said what up to him. Once he reached the workout room, Luck met up with his close friend, Brandon, a killer convicted of shooting and killing the cheif of police and all those in his house at that moment.

"So what's the plan today?" Brandon asked in an unsure voice.

"Nothin much. I'm bout to work out so, when I think of something, i'll let you know. Now spot me whille I lift these weights." Luck answered as he laid back on the bench and began lifting up 200 lbs.

[Ulti]

An alluring smell stopped Ava dead in her tracks in front of the cell next to hers. This smell was familiar, but stronger. New. The everlasting and simple smell of tobacco and toxins wrapped simply in an innocent sheet of paper.

"Tobacco means cigarettes. Cigarettes means smoke. And when there is smoke..."

Ava peered into the dingy cell. She knew this cell to be of Old Louie, a one time ex con who pulled too big of a heist and was betrayed by his entire team, leaving him bitter and cold. But this wasn't Old Louie. It was a guppy. Finding this odd enough to stop and think about it, Ava began to walk back and forth in front of the cell, water dripping from her still wet hair and body.

"Now what would a guppy be doing here? A new roomie for Old Louie? But Louie hates company. Especially youngster. Oh, damn it! I forgot! He was bludgeoned to death yesterday. Old Louie never could pick a fight. Oh well. Guppy's death room, not mine."

Twirling back, Ava marched back to her cell. She gave a cheerful nod to her mate, Zach, before dropping her towel. Dignity had left Ava long ago. She was practically living with the guy anyways. She continued to whistle her song as she searched the tiny cell for her clothes. You folks on the outside might think ol Zach is one lucky guy. You try to get it up when all you can concentrate on is the large burn mark that covers most of her back and legs. Ava, having finally found her fire blue uniform, fumbled around trying to get it on before finally accomplishing the task.

"Can you believe it Zachy? The guppy next door is a smoker. He has a lighter! I am going to hear and smell it all night. They are trying to torture me, I swear. Maybe you should fake being a smoker and get one for me."

[Endgame]

Savouring the acrid kiss of niccotine searing into his brachiolli, March warily eyed the door to his cell. It was inevitable, he figured, that someone would 'test the waters' so to speak. They say first impressions last, and he intended to make his unforgettable.

His breath caught for a moment as his gaze unexpectedly met another's: A young woman, wrapped only in a towel, and still dripping. He'd assumed Helena Earl to be an all-male prison.

The woman vanished, only to reappear seconds later, apparently pacing outside his cell. He wondered silently if she was scouting him, sizing him up. Not that the entire cellblock hadn't got a good look at him on his way in.

Well, not all of him, he thought, his fingers lacing behind his neck to trace the raised flesh: his burns. A single word seared permanantly into his flesh, by his own hand.

For another several minutes, he sat in silence, before coming to the conclusion that his cell was, by all intents and purposes, the single most boring room he'd ever inhabited.

Climbing to his feet, he checked the silver watch on his wrist: 10:00. The mess would be open by now, and he hadn't eaten since they'd dragged him into a helicopter three days ago.

His stomach gave a low growl, prompting haste, but he ignored it. He wouldn't survive in here if he couldn't deal with his own needs. Rather then dashing off to the mess hall, he calmly strode from his cell, and remembered he had absolutly no idea where the mess hall was.



"Excuse me."

His low voice trailed off as he began to consider the possibility that simply going to the next cell over and asking for directions wasn't the best idea.

Before him, a pale man lounged on a cot, tightly clutching a small, leather-bound book, completly oblivious to the near-naked woman standing beside him, a blue uniform pulled up to her waist, back to him.

March, however, didn't shy or excuse himself. Instead he found his eyes wandering past the supple curves of her shoulders, following the spine down to find a large, red scar that descended below the waistline.

For the first time since he'd entered the prison, the corners of his lips twistched upwards. In the back of his mind, the guard's warning repeated, but he decided it was probably just an exaggeration.

"I was just looking for the mess hall." He claimed, addressing neither in particular: "How about you point me in the right direction?"

[Wazz]

The mysterious man stared at the wall while sitting still on his bed. Following the crack in the blank, concrete wall to the floor. Isaak tilted his head ever so slightly as the crack gave way to a trail of blood on the B Block floor. Drops that have lasted almost as long as the prison itself.

This was the only time Isaak could think for himself.

The trail of blood drip dropped to the corner where the single drops merged into a pool.

The Eurasian man stared into the brown discolouration on the ground as thoughts whipped around in his head. Recently his cellmate died so there weren't any distractions from his own thoughts. Isaak stayed like this for almost an hour before he realizing the feeling of pain in his abdomen.

He required nutrients.

The Russian stood up from his made bed and walked out of his cell in the silent morning, the lights creating a dim atmosphere. He could only faintly hear the rustling of other inmates and the mumbling of the guards, 3 stories up.

Isaak walked towards the mess, he would be out again before most people entered.

[Prophet]

The content smile only faded from his lips upon the entrance of his bunkmate. Dripping wet in the towel, as if she was coming straight from the pool instead of the prison showers, came her. Zachariah's glazed gray eyes turned to her tanned, wet skin, but they did not spark. After nearly a decade of being in the prison, it took more than a dropping towel to inspire lust in him.

"Good morning, Ava," he said politely, his voice gruff but smoothing in the company of his bunkmate. She had come here five years after he had. He remembered her entering block B; he remembered the catcalls, the whistles, the hoots, the hollers. It was a miracle that she had survived this long.

Whore...

"Have you no shame?" he asked tiredly, his voice dropping as she changed, yet again in front of him. Not like he expected a serious response. In the long time they had bunked together, she had never answered that question peaceably. He watched her as she searched for her clothes, fumbling around the tiny cell as his left hand stroked his Bible absentmindedly. His breathing was normal, coming in steady, deep waves. This was comfort level; after nearly five years, it was only Ava that this Zachariah came out around. A friendly Zachariah? He eyed the burn marks on her lower back, the crispy red flesh raw, and twisted; like a huge rip in a beautiful painting...

It'll be your whole body once Hell has you, sinner...

"Can you believe it Zachy? The guppy next door is a smoker. He has a lighter! I am going to hear and smell it all night. They are trying to torture me, I swear. Maybe you should fake being a smoker and get one for me."

Zach shook his head suddenly, Ava's words snapping through his mind. He shrugged his shoulders, standing up shakily before shaking it sadly.

"Thou shalt not lie, Ava," he replied his back cracking slightly as he stretched his body. He was already wearing his dull white prison uniform, "God has put me here for a purpose, and I'm sure it's not to deceive our petty guppy over there."

I'm here to destroy all you evil fuckers...

"And who knows what kind of trouble you'd get us into with that th-" Zachariah stopped abruptly as a slight footstep caught his ear. His gray, worn eyes turned from Ava's burn mark to the cell door, metal bars glinting in the cold light of prison morning, and they widened a bit at the figure that was now there.

"Excuse me."

The man spoke in a low voice. Zachariah recognized it from the cell next door. The guppy. He wore his jumpsuit around his legs like a pair of pants. His posture, his look, that not-so subtle grin. He was a guppy through and through.

"I was just looking for the mess hall." He claimed, addressing neither of them in particular: "How about you point me in the right direction?"

Lustful weakling... Smile at the Ava again and I'll drive a cross through your god damned eyes!

"Down the block," replied Zachariah, simply, his finger stretching down to point to the corridor, "Go towards center. Hall is in the middle of all blocks."

With those words he shut up. Zachariah barely spoke in groups larger than 3, and the only one who he traded any more than the needed words, was Ava. And that had taken about 3 years to build up. The guppy with the cigarette would be able to figure it out from there. He sniffed slightly, the scent of smoke still strong in the air, and he glanced at the man, eying the cigarette still held in his hands. It was still smoldering at the end.

"Ava," he stated, sitting back down and picking up his Bible, "Play nice." His eyes drifted to the smoldering cigarette butt, and he opened the Bible to a random page.

"Love thy neighbor as thyself..." he read quietly to himself.

Nail thy neighbor to his tree if he doth not agree with me...

[Ashes Remnant]

Stark made his way through the halls. The inmates bumped against him of course, yet he still knew where he was going. He always had a way with directions, which helped him immensely whenever he lost his sight. Nonetheless, he lived on. Somehow. A blind man, making it in Helena Earl, how odd. He was easily lost in a crowd though, and had something none of these other inmates had. Connections, and knowledge. Brute strength was good and all, but a mind is a terrible thing to waste. Losing his eyesight made him realize this. While he couldn't see the garbage on the floors, or blood stains on the walls, he knew more about this place than any inmate. He heard things, he knew people, he had resources.

And his new roommate was an idiot. He'd been welcomed into his cell, and left before realizing he wasn't alone. Stark had been curled up in a dark corner, testing the new man to see if he'd notice. He didn't. He left for the mess hall, so Stark did as well. He'd stopped for directions, asking the pyro-girl and the preacher. Stark kept walking. He'd meet up with the man in the mess hall. He'd already noticed some things about his new roommate. The main being, he was a smoker. Stark knew plenty of ways to get cigarettes. Corrupt guards would sneak them in to certain inmates, mainly female ones as they could give favors. This allowed them to get circulated in through the inmates, and there were plenty of ways to get them. Stark used his mind to trade. While the men were evil, murderers, and rapists, most had some form of honor, and left the blind man alone. This made it easy to overhear things.

Stark made his way to a table in the mess hall, not getting food. He heard over twenty conversations at once. Some were talking about the new guy, some about some girl in the showers, another about trying to escape. Some people would never learn. Once you entered Helena Earl, there was no leaving. Stark found that out real fast. He'd made some close friends within that first fateful year, they'd all been shot by the guards. Oh well. Life goes on. And so Stark waited for his new roommate, a blind man sitting in a sea of noise.

[Ulti]

Ava whistled out an exhausted sigh. Again with the lectures? If his praying wasn't enough to bug the crap out of her, now she had to be scolded. Endearing as Zach was, he could be a pain. Don't lie. Don't be envious. Good morals to the average person. But he had to face it. They and the rest of the inmates at Helena weren't normal at all.

An odd thing happened then. Zach actually stopped. There was nothing that prevented him from lecturing Ava on her unclean ways. She turned to the sound of another voice. It was the guppy from next door. It was an encounter that was a bit odd for Ava. Usually the guppies take days to get a nerve to even talk to others. Either this guy was the worst guppy she had ever seen or someone who had a death wish.

As soon as the guppy mentioned mess hall, Ava was suddenly incredibly hungry.

"Wait! I'll come too!"

Ava zipped up the rest of her and scampered out of her cell after the guppy. Might as well satisfy two hungers at once.

"So, what are you in for?"

[Rainfire]

If only it wasn't random...

His eyebrows squinted in heavy thought, thoughts that flooded through his mind worse than a Dutch Damn breaking. It was like this everyday. He went over the designs, the schedules, the formulas, and everything else. Math and psychology all twirled around just like everything else in the miasma that was his psyche. He licked the tip of his right index finger as he flipped the page through one of his journals. He had made the paper himself and bound them in old book-covers that he had recovered from the library. The guards at least allowed him things like that now, after being in Helena Earl for almost nine years.

Alastor was what you would call a thinker, and that would be putting it very loosely. He had done some things in his time that if he was ever to speak a word about now, he'd probably be killed for it. After all, what better place to stage a hit than a prison? It was almost genius, except for the sense of obviousness that came with it all. However, he had survived this long for the main reason that he was arguably the smartest guy in the prison... arguably. Those arguments lead to fights and those fights usually lead to death, so he kept his mouth shut for the most part. The only time he would open his mouth would be to answer questions or to ask for something himself... or in the rare case, to start a fight between others just to gauge the reaction time of the guards.

Oh yeah, the guards. Random changing... but at scheduled times? This is complete bullshit... besides, nothing can ever truly be random, at least, nothing a human does.

He scratched the short and decently-kept goatee in more thought before he slowly closed the journal and got to his feet. He tossed the journal in a box in the corner ad looked around his cell. His gaze brought him to see pictures and drawings and mathematical formulas all around. Of course, any kind of writing was written in his own version of Latin, just like that in his journals. It was so that the guards couldn't randomly come through and read what he was writing and furthermore, his plans. They had been at least four years in the making, if not more. Arguably you could say anyone in here had "plans" from the first moment they stepped foot in this place -- well, except possibly that preacher. He didn't really seem to want anything at all, those his eyes betrayed other things.

Alastor did a few stretches from the unoccupied top bunk of his cell. He had not received a cellmate in two years. It gave him extra space to put things and sometimes it was nice to change it up and sleep on the top bunk instead of the bottom. At any rate, they almost refused to give him a cellmate for fear that something would happen to them. It wasn't his fault. They just died in their sleep or slipped on something wet on the floor and cracked their skulls open. It had nothing to do with the fact that the last four cellmates they had assigned him had been done so that the security and the Warden could keep an eye on him and his activities. No, it had nothing to do with that at all.

Alastor's eyes followed figure of the guppy on the other end of the cell block. He seemed to have his wits about himself, which was more than most guppies could say. There was some action between him and Ava, and then the preacher was in the mix. In some ways it was always fun to watch it all like a sitcom, something to do to keep him from getting bored. He popped his neck a couple of times and decided he should probably go grab a bite to eat. Before he did, however, he hid everything he owned in their particular places with the particular "traps." He now owned the majority of the most useful texts from the library, or if he didn't own them, he copied them, word-for-word. It was painful... and it cost him a lifetime's companionship of arthritis in his right hand. He received medication though, some really nice medication, so it was all gravy to him.

He stood up and walked out of the cell, and down to the Mess Hall. He nodded here and there to an inmate he knew or a "friend" that he considered in this place. Some others gave him murderous glances -- no one was perfect in this place, everyone had at least one enemy, or perhaps just a person who wanted them dead. Most of the time it wasn't even personal... you just had to have some kind of entertainment in here. Nonetheless, he found his way safely to the Mess Hall, received his food, and sat down in the corner at his usual table, where no one else was. It was from here that he could observe everything in the Mess Hall and take more notes of the guards and their pacing habits and everything else.

Grub's not bad today.

[Endgame]

"What am I in for?" March repeated, growling the words in his low, harsh voice, as he fell into step beside Ava. Neither of them noticed, but he managed to synchronise his footsteps with hers: Old habits die hard.

"The smokes are cheaper in here, that's all. No tax, you see, like the duty free shop at the airport, if the airport smelled of piss and blood, and had bars on every window."

Silence descended over the two, and March, quite content to walk in silence, began taking in his surroundings.

They passed a checkpoint, though this one was open and unguarded, and presumably was locked at night. The mess, situated in the middle of four cellblocks, had one such checkpoint on each walls. Prisoners sat in huddled groups, glancing at other groups from time to time, some in malice, some fear. Screws watched from gunwalks above, rifles resting casually against the rails.

"I guess this is the part where three tough guys try to take my food and I fend them off one at a time before the fight's broken up by screws, right? Least that's what it's like in movies." He intoned, breaking the silence with a cursory glance around the room.

[Ulti]

"Smokes? That's a weird reason to come here. Well, you are in B block so I guessed you offed someone. Me? I'm more known to the public as an arsonist. I did not intentionally set anyone on fire. They were just accidents. But you know the courts. A kill is a kill. So, here I am!"

Hearing no response to her, Ava shrugged and enjoyed the silence. It was better than to hear a guppy gushing how he was framed, innocent, betrayed, that sort of filth. Everyone knew you deserved to be here. The only thing you can complain about without getting punched is getting caught. All inmates had their little tale of the chase between them and the piglets. It didn;t really matter to Ava who chased you or how you were caught. You ended up here like the rest of the mates.

The luscious scents of the mess hall wafted through the last cells of the block. For a prison, the food was pretty good. It held down right and didn't give you unpleasant effects. If you got past the taste, you could have a good meal. The real danger was finding a place to eat. No one sat in the same place twice so it was difficult to figure out where the gangs were. Last thing you will ever do is sit at a gang table you had no connection too.

"Movies try to make prison life seem like that. Though they are pretty correct on some areas, the food halls are never right. But why should we risk it? Grab your grub and stick close to me. I'm a natural at driving people I don't like away"

[Derogon]

Thomas sat in his cell, reading one of the little books that came from the library. He looked over the books edges to see if anyone was looking, satisfied that no one was looking at him he pulled a dull #2 pencil from under his mattress and started scribbling computer codes he remembered years ago. Then Thomas heard the clanking of chains and the voices of a new prisoner. He replaced the pencil back under the mattress and set the book on top, moving towards the cell bars, he saw that it was a new prisoner and his escort. The prisoner was bald, scary looking and really tall. Thomas waited for the sign that everyone else knew that a new 'guppy' arrived. Thomas hated the word, deeming it to high up for new prisoners, he called them by what they really are, 'fresh meat'. But being scrawny, he couldn't really use the term as seeing how everyone was usually bigger then he was.

"New fish in the tank. C'mon down, Sharks." A prisoner called out, rallying the others to see the new guy.

Thomas laughed, as the 'fresh meat' lit a cigarette. "That poor girl." Thomas thought, knowing that the prisoner next to the new guy was a pyromaniac, and that she would kill for just a spark.

Thomas yawned and stretched as he left his cell to the mess, to grab some food. He passed the others cells, the new guys and Starks', Ava's and the religious insane guy, Zackariah.

'That guy gives me the creeps' Thomas thought once more, as he saw Zackariah reading the bible in his cell. As he looked away from Zackariah he caught the sight of Ava just barely in her towel. Ogling her, he continued walking until he bumped into something hard and fell onto his ass.

"Watch were you going small fry." A voice in front of Thomas sounded off.

"How about you make me meat freak." Thomas said before looking up at the person who said that. 'Oh shit.'

The man in front of Thomas stood taller then the new guy and he was very muscular. "What did you say nerd?"

"I-I-I didn't mean t-to, mate. A slip of the tongue." Thomas stuttered, scared shitless.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood." The big guy dropped Thomas to the floor and continued on his way.

"Over-grown brainless ape." Thomas whispered under his breath and walked into the mess hall.