On his way out the door he retrieves his shirt, tugging it on. He sweeps the sheet from his path, leaving it there to cover Trevor’s unconscious body. No one should bother him while the sheet is up, so they won’t know he is unresponsive on his cell floor.
It’s not Sinn'ous’s problem. He goes there to fuck. Nothing more. Clean up is for Trevorto handle on his own.
2
SINN'OUS
Uproar. The buzz of electric charged energy snaps from one man to the next. Each sweaty body hyping the next, in a game of survival where the new is to be poked and prodded until it either rolls over and flashes its belly or dies. Either outcome is acceptable in this prison pool of life.
And the newbie flashing in, in all his orange glory, is no exception. Sinn'ous tucks himself into the shadows, a place he’s grown comfortable in since the first of the rumours spread. Those whispers turning into a landslide picking up speed the further it travels, collecting new and inventive pieces along the way. Stories spun into wild tales crossing from truth into a fictional mythology meant to spread fear in the stimulus-deprived individuals. It’s all he is to them, a scary tale they can murmur about to give themselves the power to justify their own actions. Too cowardly alone to own up to their own choices.
If you’re going to kill, be man enough to own it.
Unbeknown to the newcomer, Sinn'ous watches with a keen eye for detail. Every neurone to twitch is a hint at who he is, and why he’s here. His soft hazelnut hair and round ass highlighted in that bright orange, it draws eyes from every corner of the room.
And the boy holds himself as if he’s desperate to appear undaunted, and in doing so he is making it so glaringly obvious just how rattled he is. Sinn'ous is far from the only one to catch it. The whiff of vulnerability, blood in the sea of sharks. A calling card to snare anyone in the net thrown out.
The boy may as well strip naked and throw himself at the crowd.
This could, however, work in Sinn'ous’s favour. New, alone, no group to claim him and get in Sinn'ous way. Easy pickings he can pinch up and stuff into a carefully constructed box of his making. A refreshing game of catch, where the mouse is unaware it’s being led astray.
It’s a refresh from the same old faces day in and day out. This one is clean, sparkling with life that Sinn'oushasto snuff out. A pass time he can indulge in. And a kill he can get behind. Finally someone of his tastes, not merely a convenience, but a body made for him to play with. To coat in blood and tease the life from.
The guard leading the walk of shame, fresh meat to his cell is not one of the more favoured. A stickler for the rules, a real pain in the ass to manipulate. Back straight, head forward, air of boredom dripping out every thread in his uniform. It’s enough to gag even the most entitled.
The boy ignores the open jabs and flexes of power thrown around by the sharks in the room. Yelled taunts to gauge if he has any bite back, and he does not. There is no give back or eye rolls, he isn’t unfazed or letting it roll off him, his shoulders tense at every jab and his nervous energy grows. There is no survival awareness in him, he is baring his belly and flashing every insecurity he has to the entire room. It’s almost moan worthy how easy he’s making this.
A perfect target. The ideal prey. As if Satan himself gift wrapped the boy and delivered him to Sinn'ous’s front door.
Oh, how fun this will be.
The little fawn stumbles on the stairs, then is dragged up them. To a cell not so far from Sinn'ous’s own. The issues arise when Sinn'ous steps through the crowd to greet the boy and none other than the loud and obnoxiousReni insertshimself into the cell like a repulsivehaemorrhoid no one wants anywhere near them, let alone hanging off a prospective meal.
He glowers and slips back into the grey sea, eyes pinned on the back of Reni’s head the entire time the inmate runs his mouth and escorts Sinn'ous’s prey to the cafeteria. Almost like Reni knows his plans and wants to crush them under foot and shit all over everything.
The docile fawn will have to wait. Sinn'ous will have to wait. And hope no one slips the boy a warning to the dangers following in the shadows.
With his prey out of his reach for the time being he takes it upon himself to do some digging. And makes his own way up the stairs to slip into the cell his prey’s assigned to.
A whole lot of nothing special. No personal belongings or items brought in from the outside. No family photos. No postcards. Nothing to clue him in on what leverage he can use. Not even a scrap of lint or errantshoelace, not that they are allowed laces in here. Like that stops anyone from killing another or hanging themselves.
It just means we all have to be more creative when staging suicides.
Waste of time. He’ll have to get creative to find this information too. Shouldn’t be hard, the right bribe or leaning on the right source will squeeze out something useful.
On his way out he grabs the end of Reni’s neatly tucked bunk and upends it, dumping the thin excuse for a mattress upside down. The soft material presenting as an anorexic pillow hits the ground under the pretence of making a noise that even an ant would strain to hear.
If you get in my way Reni, I will put you so far in the ground not even the worms will find you.
~~~
The cafeteria presents itself as it always has. An open space cramped full of hot bodies, blunt edges and hard surfaces. Where sound ricochets off the walls on a personal mission to knock someone out.
In a mass collection of grey, the orange beckons to him. It’s squeezed into the queue of waiting men, teetering on the outskirts while smack dab in the thick of it. And tucked right next toSinn'ous’sprey is Reni and his clique of dead-space.
Sinn'ous grits his teeth, chewing his molars while he works on schooling his features so his irritation doesn’t show. Cutting the line to grab a meal he knows he won’t eat, just to have an excuse to be here to watch his prey, and wait for it to split off from the flock.
He bears no mind to anyone, leaving as soon as his tray is filled. Everyone clears a path, a zipper opening to give passage then closing behind him.
