Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted was just like any other large federal state prison in America. It was large, intimidating, built by grey stones, and was surrounded by ten foot tall wire fencing and patrolled by guards and police dogs born and bred for this purpose. Their schedules were tight, gates to their cells opening at six in the morning to allow them to enjoy breakfast that was only available until nine. Then they had to do their work, be it making clothing, bedding, clocks, signs, furniture, calendars and of course number plates that were to be sold to make a profit for the prison so it wouldn't have to rely on Government Funding entirely. After work they were allocated time out in the courtyard, where there was exercise equipment, places to sit, and smoke smuggled cigarettes if they had any.
Then there were the breaks for lunch, of course, as well as dinner. After all this was said and done they were to be back in their cells by eight when the gates would shut, lights out by nine, and they wouldn't be allowed out until six the next morning when the whole routine would begin again.
Yes, Metro City Prison was very much like any other jail in America. Save for two things, which were small, blue and green.
It had been a week now since the little boy and his fish had fallen from the skies in their courtyard on Christmas Day. Of course they had all been thrown by his arrival, and the first thing half the prisoners did was smuggle the little tykes into a cell in an attempt to keep him and raise him. While they were criminally gifted, many of the men within the walls were family men who had turned to a life of crime to support their family because of bad circumstance.
Others were just born to be bad.
Once the Warden found out about the little boy though, he was all but ripped from the arms of some of the prisoners along with the little fish in a ball. Prison was no place for a baby, that much everyone knew. Yet when the Warden phoned Children's Services, as well as other such places, none of them wanted him. Their reason? Lack of funds, not enough beds, or out right honesty that they didn't want a blue boy from the skies in their homes. One Church, which had even sent out a Priest to investigate the child, announced him to be Satan's spawn and should be killed.
Warden saw the Priest removed from the grounds immediately.
"Satan's Spawn, I swear." the Warden muttered as he watched the green eyed child suck on his fist as the little fish snuggled as closely against his side as possible. "Well then, lil' guys," he bent over to the two, who immediately gave him all of their attention. "looks like you're stuck here."
The baby simply gurgled at him, as if agreeing with the statement. He could swear that, sometimes, the baby seemed to be capable of understanding every word being uttered by those around him. With a brain that big, maybe it was possible? Who knew at this young age, since the baby was incapable of speech yet.
Despite his superior knowledge and ability to create things no other baby could, sometimes the prisoners, and the Warden, forgot he was still a baby.
Some nights while the rest of the prisoners were asleep and the guards were drinking their strong black coffees, a shrill, high-pitched scream would echo throughout the large prison walls. It was so high and loud it had reminded some people, at first, of a siren going off. The sound was no siren, but the cries of a little alien baby in distress.
Seeing how he was the 'pet project' of a small cluster of prisoners the guards had allowed it so the baby and his fish could sleep in different cells each night until he was old enough to have a cell to himself. This meant moving a cot, bought at Good Will Services, from cell to cell every night. So that was where he would sleep, wrapped up in a blue blanket that had been 'fixed' by one of the more sew-worthy inmates and had added some little skulls to the design.
The prisoner whose cell he was sharing tonight was merely known as Barrel, named as such for his crimes of using a double barrel shot gun to rob convenient stores, banks, and post offices across Metro City. Despite the severity of his crimes the man was a short, podgy, 'dumb' appearing man. His voice was slow due to a learning problem, but he was smart enough and he had been the first to really take to the little blue baby.
He sat up in his bed and rubbed at his eyes as that high-pitched scream continued to resonate in the air around him and make his fillings tingle. All around him he could hear some prisoners swearing and grumbling, threatening Barrel if he didn't see to the kid they'd 'see to him' the next morning for letting the little guy cry for so long without taking care of him. Barrel was quick to lift the wailing baby out of his cot and held him at arms length first and turned him around to quickly sniff at the baby.
No, he didn't need a change. So it must be that other thing.
Barrel grabbed one of the four bottles that always came with the cot and baby and settled down back onto his mattress but not before grabbing the little fish. While it couldn't cry or screamed like the baby, it certainly grew distressed if it was separated for too long. Setting the fish besides him on the bed he held the screaming baby, before moving the teat of the bottle into his mouth. The baby fell silent instantly, and started eating hungrily, small blue hands clutching at the bottle desperately.
Unlike a few of the men in the prison, Barrel had no wife or kids waiting for him outside but he had been the oldest of three. And like any 'responsible' big brother, when he was younger he had helped feed and change his baby sisters when their mother would be 'out'. None of them knew their father, and if Barrel had known any better, he probably would have worked out long ago that their mothers 'late night business' was hardly legit or legal. But still, she loved her kids, and that was enough for them.
He sighed in the darkness, the only source of light being that coming from the little green fish that they had named 'Fishy' all on account of not being able to decide on a name. The baby had been named by the Warden, grabbing a name out of thin air. Jude. Then he'd thrown in Percival in honour of the man in charge of the prison at the time. John came next, Barrel was certain it was to do with Johnny Cash, a great singer, the man in black, and who had toured jails giving concerts. He had even come to this one, once upon a time, but long, long before Barrel's own time. There was even a plaque in the mess hall that told them the date the man had performed live.
Naturally every name needed an end, and since nobody knew the baby's true name at all it had been decided on 'Doe'. Just like any nameless body found, John Doe. But this baby was very much alive, and he kept a lot of them on their toes.
"Tell ya whut, Jude." Barrel said in a hushed voice, and the baby's eyes opened to look up at him, "I dun think ya deserve ta be in tha big joint. Ya ain't dun nuttin' wrong, 'n whuts wrong wit everyone out there not wantin' ya? Yer a good kid, ya learn real quick like. Not like mosta us."
Jude gurgled around his milk, emptying the botle quickly and filling his empty tummy. No doubt in a few hours Barrel would be up again only this time needing to change him. "Ya got brains, dat much is obvious," he chuckled, glancing at the large head the baby possessed. "Boy. You hadta be a C-Sect, or your poor Momma'd still be hurtin'." he chuckled slightly to himself, then stopped and sighed. "Wonder where your Momma is, 'n your Pop. Why'd they send you here? Gotta be millions of places bedda. Maybe it was a mistake."
The blue baby had finished eating now, and had let go of the bottle to wipe at his mouth with his own hands. Those big green, knowing eyes, filled with a sad look. It was a mistake; he knew it had to be. He was meant to have landed somewhere else, somewhere better. But still, he had found a delightful little place to call home. Jude was surrounded by men who actually cared about him, who taught him things, and who actually fed and changed him. While they weren't blue like his parents at all, they were a good substitute he had found.
But still, Barrel's words were right. This was a prison, a place for really bad guys. Why were they bad? What had they done? Didn't they deserve to get out once and a while? The only time they went anywhere was to go and break rocks on a side of the road and for what purpose? Whilst he hadn't seen this he had heard it in passing by some men, and Jude was a good listener. It all seemed so mean.
He decided, right there, that he would help them get out if only for a little while. They'd be so happy! It would show them just how thankful he was for everything they'd done.
Now, all he had to do was devise a way to do it.