But Sinn'ous is willing to place aside his needs for the moment. This is the best way to show his prey how harsh prison life can get. To snap the stick of fear, to implant his manipulation into the very pathways of activity in his prey’s mind.
A scared prey will panic. Will run. Will fall into a trap that would be otherwise seen. Blind panic to push his prey into asense of reliance. The animalistic impulse to seek help from someone stronger.
And if he can pin this to Reni, or drag the man into it somehow, all the better. He has to get Reni out of the way so he can corner his prey. Two predators can not hunt the same prey. Even if their desiresaren’t matched and they’re both seeking different uses out of the boy.
They can’t both get what they want. And Sinn'ous always gets what he wants. Always.
It’s time to kill two birds with one stone. Two outcomes from one small fight.
~~~
Each corridor overlaps the next, long windowless tunnels to funnel you from point A to point B. There are no visual aids to direct you from one Wing to the next. All you have are your mental maps and a stain on the wall or floor to mark the way.
This particular corridor however is broken up by shut doors, their plaques prominent in the otherwise white backdrop. Which highlights the bright nauseating orange beacon of solidaritystepping into the counsellor’s office and shutting the door.
Every angle Sinn'ous tries for, to lead the boy into his trap, are blocked by others planting walls in his path. And it does not help that his prey is stupidly unobservant.
By Satan what is wrong with the boy? Do his instincts not work at all? How can his senses not pick up on the vial vibe the counsellor exudes. Sinn'ous saw it a mile away at the first glimpse of the man. And here the boy is, closing himself off, alone in a segregatedroom.
He wouldn’t be so irritated if it was him the boy followed. But all these other men he keeps wilfully trotting after, like a lamb to the slaughter. It’s making Sinn'ous’s job harder.
And glaring at the inanimate plaque and its chunky letters isn’t doing anything but inciting the need to spill blood. The door’s flimsy build is the only thing stopping him from kicking it in, because he can hear the conversation going on behind it as clear as if he was lying on the desk in the middle of it.
Every word from the counsellor’s mouth is slimy and rotten. “. . . Okay, I’ll add you into the system to get you that job assignment. Anything else happened?” The counsellor asks in a fake professional voice of concern Sinn'ous knows is full of so much hot air it’s singeing the man’s ass hairs. “Anything noteworthy? Anything got you worried?”
The pause between question and answer raises Sinn'ous’s hackles. If the boy spills his troubles it will put a damper in Sinn'ous’s plans. He can’t very well push the boy if his efforts will be reported. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, like bile expelled from the mouth of a rotting corpse.
“No. Nothing. I mean, the mattress sucks. But no, nothing.”
His lips pull into a dark smile at the words. The brush off and the hidden truths. This is promising, leaving room for him to back the boy into unforgiving corners and not have to worry about guards getting into his business.
No one likes a rat. And the confirmation the boy isn’t a rodent brings a positive light. Even under the shadowsof the counsellor’s unsavoury practices.
The conversation ends and Sinn'oussilently ducks away toprop himself against the wall of an adjoining corridor. Listening to the click of a shutting door and the shuffle of prison shoes on dusted concrete floor.
He gives the boy a brief head start, then follows in his wake. Stalking at a vastdistance while his prey weaves and winds through each corridor in clear distress. It has Sinn'ous’s brows furrowing.
Does the boy not know the prison’s layout? How can he not retrace his steps back to the cafeteria or A-Wing?
You have no survival skills, do you?
He knew it to be the case, yet seeing it first-hand has his own skin itching. He would never be so helpless, so vulnerably lost. The boy will not last in here, even if Sinn'ous weren’t going to ensure his death, another would claim it.
It means there will be a lot of work to put into keeping the boy alive long enough for Sinn'ous to lure him away into a private corner to slice and play. To draw blood and watch the body cool as the life drains away.
I-Wingis currently unoccupied, it would be a perfect place away from prying eyes. Vacant and disused. Only issue he’d have is pulling a guard aside to unlock the door and let them in. It won’t be hard to do, just more tedious reliance on others. It’s times like this that have him longing for the freedoms beyond these walls. Where he can do as he pleases and doesn’t have to rely so heavily on others. In here, though, you need allies—cogs to turn in the direction you want them. Being a loner gets you killed.
The boy’s face scrunches when he reaches a fork in the corridor. His face turning this way and that as he glances in both directions. Eventually he picks a side, and after a brief hesitation, takes it.
This corridor will lead them to the cafeteria, it’s one of the longer routes but it’ll get them there allthe same.
Sinn'ous steps into the cafeteria close behind the boy, and while his prey slinks over to the line to gather and wait for food, Sinn'ous beelines for his own table. Striding down the centre of the room, he pauses by the table Trevor just sat down on and procuresthe man’s tray. Trevor sighs but doesn’t argue, just stands once more and goes back to get another.
He settles his stolen tray on his likewise stolen table. This table was one he claimed on day one. It had been vacant when he entered the cafeteria for the first time and ever since then it has been his. It was a few days later when he learned that he’d inadvertently cleared the table of its occupants. It had belonged to the group of inmates he’d killed to secure an ally in a guard, Rogers.
The meal is eaten without much thought, flavours blurring into one bland mix. Although he does take his time on the slice of vanilla cake, it’s dry as all hell and back but overall isn’t too bad.
The feeling of being watched isn’t one he experiences often, usually people go out of their way not to look at him. So it’s unsurprising when he glances up to find doe-green eyes locked on him.
