Yet, it still is not enough.
Multiple kills are never enough. I always need more.
It’s never enough.
16
ROGERS
Being chewed out by your boss is a hell of a ball grabbing experience, sucking those fuckers right up into your rib cage. And those are on the best of days, not days like today. Where the yelling is echoed by dead bodies and the whispers of dire consequences.
CO Joseph Cunningham has the same look on his face that Rogers no doubt has. The kind of look that could be constipation or a ruptured kidney. Maybe a bit of both.
The younger guard, and recently made father, is the picture of composure under the circumstances. Considering he has a crying baby at home he isn’t externally showing any sleep deprivation. His hair is neatly groomed, his uniform crisp and well maintained, his belt correctly lined in prison issued weapons, his key card clipped in. Nothing but professionalism. If you ignore thesmallfact that he is under Sinn'ous’s thumb, he is the picture of professionalism.
The room they are both sweating in is what you would expect to find in the office of a prison warden. A desk that doesn’t match the chair, a wall of filing cabinets that all have their own personal aesthetics, and height class. Carpet that has a visible valley in the centre running to the desk front and around the back to where a visibly angry warden is seated.
Rogers studies the red tint to their boss’s flushed cheeks, the chewing continuing in a stream of how they’re both idiots who should be lucky if they aren’t assigned to guard dumpsters. And in return, he and Cunningham apologise profuselyfor the hundredth time.
At least Cunningham has an excuse, if he were to use it. Fell asleep in the monitoring room because of a crying baby keeping him awake at home. Unlike Rogers, who has nothing. What is he supposed to say? That he was bored so he went for a walk and left his post in SC. That it’s the middle of the night and all the inmates are locked up so he figured,hey, why not go for a moonlit walk, see the stars.
They don’t really have the manpower to afford firing two correctional officers. And the other—what?—sixteen?—officers on duty actually were where they said they were. Where they were meant to be at the time. Walking the grounds of each Wing. Doing what we like to call leg watch. The marathon of laps back and forth from one Wing to the next.
Rogers listens to the firm warning given to Cunningham and the non-negotiable training meetings and review meetings being placed upon him. And there are a lot of them. Right before Rogers has a fuming boss sticking him into the same classes as the younger officer.
He hates desk work and meetings. Any form of studying he is deathly allergic too. He does not voice this to his boss. His replies are all a polite, ‘yes, boss.’
Then comes the dark warning to keep their mouths shut. To say nothing and if they are approached by anyone in regards to what happened last night they are to direct everyone to speak to him, the warden. Told that if asked they are to only say the cameras’ malfunctioned.
Not technically a lie. Their surveillance system does suck. He’s living proof. And if anyone pushes back on their excuse they can always use that to show the lack of care given to SSC’s surveillance.
The warden’s intense hazel eyes bore into Cunningham, who is doing a good job at concealing his guilt. If Rogers hadn’talready known they are both as guilty as convicts, he would never guess they were both in on it.
“If you get push back just bring up that guards’ have been stabbed and the cameras have failed to pick it up also. And better still, tell them it’s something they should call the prison board over.” Warden’s knuckles crack as he fists his hands a fraction too tightly. “Might even throw the whole prison board under, let them try totalk their way out of this.” That last quip sounded more like Warden was muttering to himself, not the guards standing straight-backed in front of his desk.
A silence passes over the three of them. One that neither officer fills. Leaving Warden to glare as if he is physically trying to burn holes into his own thoughts or perhaps into the members on the prison board.
Their boss growls a curse. “I don’t need an excuse for the higher-ups to use to sack me.”
Neither do they. It would not be in either Cunningham or Rogers best interest to switch wardens, not with them both currently screwing the already screwed system for a psychopathic inmate.
But needs must, and all that. And his needs align in the column of the living. Not the list of deceased who crossed Sinn'ous.
“Cunningham, you’re dismissed.”
Cunningham nods, his skin somewhat pasty. The relief in his eyes when his back is to Warden speaks volumes. And who can blame him, a recovering baby at home, medical bills and more possible surgeries in the future. He doesn’t need being fired added to the list of stresses.
The door barely clicks shut before Warden’s words stink the air. “He going to be an issue?”
“No, boss. I’ll talk to him further, but he’ll keep the story straight.”
This isn’t the first inmate death cover-up Rogers has been a part of, this is just the first he actively participated in. Before and after the deaths. And he’s sure Warden has many more cover-ups Rogers isn’t aware of.
“Good, good. Because this is fucked, on too many levels to count.” A knock on the door collects all the tension and multiplies it by double. “What?” Warden snaps at the sound.
An officer opens the way, sporting a clammy pale look that seems to be the new fashion of the men in this prison.
“An inmate to see you.” He’s gone before the words dry and Sinn'ous steps around the door jambs, entering the office in a predatory stance regardless of the cuffs locking his hands to his front.
