Lithe fingers play across iron bars, dark green eyes closed as flashes of inmates appear before eyelids and screams echo in her ears. She releases the bars with a labored breath, eyes slowly sliding open. She can still hear the screaming and she can still see the inmates. It never goes away, even when she sleeps. Prisons are hell for meta-humans, especially ones who have problems controlling their abilities. As one capable of psychometry (discovering history about an object by making physical contact with that object), it was a particular kind of hell. She couldn't even sleep without seeing inmates who had slept in the bed before. It was exhausting and made it difficult to sleep soundly. Of course, being locked up in Belle Reve left her without a choice but to deal with it. She'd made polite requests to be placed in other, less-used cells but had been told to "shut up and suck up, inmate". Sometimes though, when loneliness got to her, it was nice to touch the bars of her cell and feel their presence, to feel that she wasn't so alone. She knew there were other inmates—she could hear them screaming sometimes, but she never got to see them or talk to them of course. That wasn't allowed and it never would be and so, her only connection to anyone, living or dead, was her ability.
The sound of footsteps interrupt her thoughts and she backs up before getting down on her knees and raising her hands above her head. That's what they always wanted of her and even if they didn't, she didn't want to appear disobedient (and she also didn't want to accidentally touch one of them and see their past). Footsteps draw closer until they stop right in front of her cell and she locks eyes with one of them, narrowing her gaze. She wasn't typically hateful but the guards of Belle Reve were always so rough and treated the inmates unfairly. She didn't care if they were "bad guys", they still had rights.
"What's going on?" She asks, but receives no response, of course.
Seeing that she's already on her knees, her cell is opened and they quickly enter, overwhelming her. Although compliant, they taze her and she drops to the floor of her cell, instantly receiving visions of inmates previously there. Handcuffs are placed around wrists and again, floods of previous wearers. She's grabbed and dragged out, all the while groaning from the sensory overload. Eyes are opening and closing rapidly, flashes of shitty lighting constantly forcing her to close her eyes again. She doesn't understand what's going on or where they are taking her. It's all so unfamiliar and none of them are touching her bare skin so she can't get anything off of them using her ability. So she clings to the handcuffs and tries to soothe herself with the presence of her only friends: former inmates who wore the same cuffs she was right then.
When she was finally relieved of the visions and the handcuffs, she found herself confined in a somewhat small room, sitting in almost the exact center of it. In front of her was a table with a small box. Upon laying eyes on the box, an anxiety fell in her stomach and she swallowed thickly. Eyes trailed over the front of it, observing it's small size, and her eyes only move away from it when movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.
"The dybbuk box, said to be haunted by a restless, malicious spirit. Also said to have hurt a lot of people..." A woman of about average height with short black hair and dark brown eyes dressed in a business suit stated calmly as she emerged from the darkness.
"Who are you?" She demands.
Eyes move to the box, now identified as the famous Dybbuk Box, and that explains the anxiety causing butterflies in her stomach. Eyes then move to the woman again, swallowing thickly. She didn't want to be in the same room as this box, whatever it was or what calamity it had caused and by the looks of it, this woman was to blame for why she was here. Once again, she wasn't one to hate, but she really didn't like this box.
"It doesn't matter. Touch the box." She points to the box.
"Fuck that. I ain't touchin' that thing." Fingers immediately wrap around the chair, prepared for force to be used.
"It's my understanding that you have requested less-used cells." The woman says, moving around the box and into better lighting, "If you just touch this box, you'll get that."
Silence. Well, maybe the box wouldn't be so bad and less-used cells certainly wouldn't be. Eyes fall on the box again and she sighs, releasing the chair and scoots to the very edge, rubbing pale fingers together as she carefully approached the box. Slowly, fingers brush over the box, hesitant. A brief flash and she releases it with a sharp intake of breath. A glance at the woman and then, with more confidence, she places her hands firmly and eyes drift closed. It's hazy like a dream and she can't see it clearly. The sounds, however, are clear, almost as though they're happening right by her ear. She can hear the slow creak of doors as they open, and a gentle rumbling sound that instills a fear in her that she's never known. Then, a pounding heart and gasping breaths until the heart beats no more and the last breath is taken. A sharp gasp from her own mouth as she comes reeling back to reality finding the woman staring at her with some amazement.
"I want my less-used cell." She states flatly, withdrawing from the box and sitting back in the chair.
What the fuck was this? Standing out here with about six other inmates with some sort of device injected in her neck, she is definitely not happy. Sure, it's nice to see other inmates, especially other females (one). Granted, she looked a little crazy. Dark green eyes look over each and every one of them. She finds the female one first. She stands there in an orange jumpsuit, just like the rest (save for two), and her hair is long and blonde, pulled into two long ponytails (the tips of each are a faded pink and blue respectively). She has a small black heart beneath her left eye and ROTTEN across her lower left cheek. She has more tattoos from what she can tell. Eyes move to the next figure: a tall dark-skinned man dressed in a white somewhat torn-up shirt with an unbuttoned orange shirt and matching pants. His head was fairly bald but his beard was full and well-trimmed.
Compared to the next inmate though, he was hardly bald at all. He caught her eye the most. He was covered in tattoos, even his head and he was beautiful. Some of the tattoos marked where his bones were, such as the sides of his skull, his teeth, his nose, and his eyes. Others said words she weren't sure what they meant like Diablo and 213. He was wearing a similar outfit to the one before him, but without a shirt on. His torso was covered in tattoos and her eyes washed over them out of the corner of her eye, until she felt her eyes on him. Then she quickly moved onto the next one. This one needed to keep up on his hygienic. He wasn't clean-shaven at all, in fact, his facial hair was shaved a bit strange and so was his hair. He had dark circles about his green eyes and he had a silver tooth. He was wearing a black tank top and some black cargo pants and looked like a really rough character (granted, they all did). The next figure was difficult to see; he had a jacket over his face, but she could tell he was muscular and tall. Eyes move to his hands, which are a strange color and appear scaly. Eyebrow quirks with interest and eyes move back to his hooded head. The last figure was obscured from her view and when she tried to wiggle to see him, she was quickly interrupted.
"Alright, this is the deal: you disobey me, you die. You try to escape, you die. You irritate or vex me, you die." A man dressed in military-like clothing and a baseball cap on and a gun in front of him interrupted.
Harley raised her hand almost instantly and green eyes instantly find her. "'m known for being quite vexing, I'm just forewarning you..."
"Lady, shut up!" The man shouted.
A thick swallow. "Whoa, bro, I am not down with this."
"It doesn't matter." The man responds, "Listen up, this is the deal. You're going somewhere bad to do something that might get you killed but till then, you're my problem. Here's your shit. Get what you need for a fight. Wheels up in 10."
A slow turn and she strides over to a box with Calisto written across the top. A soft smile comes to her lips and she bends down, fingers drifting across the top. Instantly, she's flooded with visions of who has touched the box and where it's been. She pushes through these visions and opens the box slowly, finding a pile of various things inside. On top was a military-style jacket with long-sleeves and four rows of buttons towards the bottom. Fingers trail along the article, feeling the material beneath her fingertips and again, visions flood her mind. She quickly withdraws and gives a heavy sigh, before reaching past it to remove some other clothes. A quick glance around, realizing she was the only other woman here (and not liking it). Harley was just stripping without a care and here she was, clutching her clothes to her chest.
"Don't worry, no one's gonna look, sweetheart."
Instantly, her head turns and she's looking at the scruffy inmate from earlier. A glare is sent his way and she clings to her clothes even more, mostly to avoid hitting him. Was he saying she was ugly? Fuck him. Not literally, obvious—.
"Leave the chica bonita alone." A voice states flatly and again, her head is turning, this time the other way and there's the man with the beautiful tattoos. This is just what she needs: two men fighting over her right as she's about to get almost-naked. A deep sigh and she speaks.
"Both of you leave this chica bonita alone, fuck off, and turn around." She says, dropping her clothes to the ground, and quirking her brow as hands move to the bottom of her orange shirt. Almost instantly, the man with the tattoos turns around but the other (an Aussie, she's sure by his accent) doesn't. Again, she glares at him but quickly finds it within her not to care that he's looking. After all, she's pretty sure she's wasted at least seven minutes of the ten she had before wheels up, and starts undressing. He quickly looks away, appearing surprised that she started undressing despite him looking, finding other things to occupy his interests like that pink unicorn he had tucked away in his jacket. Yeah, she saw him put it in there. She wasn't an idiot.
"Behold the voice of God." A soft beep and the woman from earlier, whom she now knows as Amanda Waller comes onto the screen. An eye roll, dismissive in nature follows and she doesn't particularly care to pay attention to what she says next. Instead, she finds herself staring at the tattooed man. He's interesting to her and she isn't sure why. Of all of those there, he interested her the most. He was so mysterious; he spoke the least and well, he didn't even have eyebrows to make much of facial expressions either. There was just something about him that interested her, way more than Waller did. She's taken aback when their eyes lock. She's a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, or rather, an interested female caught staring. She quickly looks away, focusing on Waller again, although not actually paying attention to what she's saying because she can still feel him looking at her. God, what has she started?