ROGERS
It would be nice to have a week off, where he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking around behind anyone’s back. Where he can finish his shift as it should be done. By the books. No sketchy anything. No laws broken.
Seeing a certain inmate striding up the corridor towards him dampens his hopes of leaving work intact of dirt. He has so much dirt under his nails he could build a hill to live on. He could bury the town’s dead under it.
Sinn'ous stops a few steps short of being in Rogers’s personal space, a box tucked under his arm. “I need you to delete K-Wings video feed for the last four hours.” He passes the box over to Rogers, “and destroy this.”
Rogers accepts the box, sparing it only a brief glance, and cuts right past all the tiptoeing around the subject. “What did you do?” There is only one reason Sinn'ous would want that footage gone.
He’s killed someone.
Again.
“Nothing.”
Sceptical doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling racing into his bloodstream and tingling every joint in his body. He could push for an explanation, a name of the dead someone—or someones’. It’s not worth it though, let him go a few more minutes without knowing, until the alarms blare and he’s given the name over radio with the rest of the officers. A little peace before the inevitable storm of dreadfully suppressed guilt.
He never thought he would be here in his life. Covering up murders. But here he is.
“Sure.”Let’s get this over with.
Good thing he’s already in K-Wing,the walk to his locker is a quick trip to stuff the box inside his bag and lock it away. He can deal with whatever is in there later. The walk to the monitoring room is likewise a short one, cut up by each check point through various locked doors. At least they keep the monitoring system out of the inmates hands. Not that it matters, not when he’s doing the inmate’s bidding.
It’s also not at all surprising to enter the room and find no one monitoring it. Half the time the shift commanderin charge of rosters completely overlooks placing someone on the cameras. It could be that, or the officer in charge for the day has stepped out for a smoke break or something.
Either way, it works in Rogers’s favour. No excuse needed to weasel his way in. The footage is at his disposal and that’s exactly what he does. Disposes it. He’s erased so much footage over the year, it’s second nature to him now. It takes but a moment to delete the last four hours of footage. Dozens of cameras wiped clean in a few well-placed clicks.
And he has no temptation to rewind the footage to see what Sinn'ous is having him destroy, a bit of plausible deniability. It’s also better for his conscience to not see what he’s covering up. Better for his sleep too. No nightmares showcasing murder scenes in graphic detail. He has enough of that from his near death in the laundry room, he politely declines more nightmare fuel.
27
SINN'OUS
Back to his cell, and his prey. Who is still hunched over on the bunk, not quite as pale, but not his usual tanned tone either. And yet, everything has changed.
No longer a meek prey animal. Jasper is a predator. New, yes. But a predator all the same. One that could grow into a competent man, with a little guidance, and a dash of coaxing.
“What’s your name?” The question is abrupt, the tone is devoid of life. Deflated and hollow.
“Sinn'ous.” The answer is automatic. His mind flirting in the idea of guiding those hands to a blade, then a throat. To watch his prey take a life.
Fuck.The curse is a caress of the mind, taking him down into the aftereffects of what this kill means.
“You were given that name at birth?” Jasper’s question is valid. And serves to piss him off. He has to stomp back the crawling creatures of the past. They’re not welcome here.
His memories of life before his father are impossible to access. You could chain him from the ceiling, threaten to skin him alive, and he still wouldn’t be able to recall them. If he had a name before, he has no clue what it could have been.
He hasn’t gone by any name but Sinn'ous since the day he was taken. When his parents died, and his adoptivefather named him.
In order to try to recall he would have to trudge back through all the mess of memories. And that isn’t something he’s willing to do for something so meaningless, not even if he was wearing ahazmat suit. It’s best left in the past, where it won’t worm its way inside his soul.
It took years of careful sculpting to cut his mind into something worth taking pride in.
“Is it relevant.” He deflects. Aware he’s doing it, but unable or unwilling to stop.
“No, I suppose it’s not . . .” Jasper mumbles, dartinghis eyes away from Sinn'ous to the other side of the cell.
He can’t have that, so he stubbornly places himself on the edge of the bunk. Effectively sitting in the boy’s line of sight. It’s petty, he knows. But like fuck will Jasper dismiss him.
