You'd think that after two years, Beyond Birthday would have gotten used to prison life by now. That he would have conformed, seen the error's of his ways and whatnot's. The fact was, he hadn't. He was annoyed at the whole situation. Annoyed and angry. That damn woman. He never should have underestimated her. As it was she couldn't even let him burn in peace, and had arrested him, much to his profound embarrassment. In all his attempts to get L to look his way, to show he was as good as if not better than the great detective, he had never factored in prison, or her. His first day here was hell, bandaged from head to toe like a modern mummy. Pain racked his body, coursed through his veins in ebbs and tides that crashed over his conscience like a tsunami. The guards pretended not to notice his muffled cries of pain, or they just didn't care, as he lay in the infirmary between his trial. He was tried, unable to testify over his obviously fragile, unraveling mind, use the insanity defense and convicted. Life sentence of prison time, no parole. The media, of course, was abuzz over the trial the whole time, like buzzards hovering over a fresh kill. Jeez, couldn't they just leave him alone? Once his trial was over, and he no longer had to endure the circus that was his trial, and see her, that bitch who put him away, he found life semi unbearable.
Time became molasses, and passed slowly. So slowly, seconds felt like hours and mere days were eternity, as he lay there in his bandages, unable to move and itching all over with increasing intensity as time passed. His pain was great at first, yet even that slowly faded to a dull throb as time passed. They never gave him anything to help ease the pain, instead opting to see him suffer for his crimes. They barely changed his bandages, when the time was needed only slapping burn medicine on his scorched flesh grudgingly. He kept his eyes closed in those first tenuous days, and he dreaded opening them till he was healed. He never spoke, leading the prison doctors to believe his vocal cords were too charred from his suicide attempt, and that he could no longer make any sounds at all, he was so quiet. He hardly stirred, and rarely moved, till the day when he felt his bandages come off and stay off. He lay still, as usual, waiting, until he finally noted that new bandages were not being applied, and a whisper of a conversation was happening next to him. "It's so odd." The woman Doctor was saying, talking to the male nurse that was her aide. "I know. Sort of creepy, and supernatural." The man said and she gave a repressed sigh. "Cartilage usually never grows back once burned off, yet his clearly is back after being burned off him." He felt her cross her arms over her chest, imagined the fear she must have in her eyes, on her face and he smiled, if only inwardly.
"And look at his skin, not a single burn scar. No evidence he'd ever been on fire." The male added, and his tone sounded troubled. It brought to mind the highly suspicious, religious and overzealous tribesman of Africa, the way he sounded, and Beyond giggled madly inside his own head. He'd finally realized they were talking about him. "His hair's back too, you noticed that? Plus, he never moves or makes a sound, not since day one and we never gave him pain med's yet he must have been in great pain and never once cried out." He sensed her turn to the Zulu man and speak again, before he could add another comment. "Go on, time for you to go. He's not awake, probably a veggie mentally which would explain some things. I'll close up and wait for the next guy to come on." The male thanked her and left, too eager to get away from Beyond to think past what that might mean for her, leaving her alone with him un-bandaged and obviously healed. He heard her pick up his chart, and murmur a name to herself. A name he had not heard in weeks, not since he was first arrested by that woman. "Rue Ryuzaki huh? You must have some angel looking out for you, or the devil himself." She came close to him, stood next to his shoulder as he lay there, her finger finding the steady pulse in his neck. It was than he decided to act, he'd been "Comatose" for far too long.
The first thing he did was open his eyes, and look right at her. Medium red hair, well-balanced with a splash of freckles across her face, fair skin and deep green eyes. She was almost pretty in a way. She had a swan's neck, long and graceful and she wore the typical prison doctor outfit. He waited, eyes never leaving her face as she checked his pulse. Once she counted the beats, she gazed down, and jumped back some at the sight that greeted her. Piercing red eyes, unlike any color she had ever seen on a human, peered out from between black colored lids. "You startled me!" She cried out, knowing one had to be brave around inmates and never show fear, making her slap his shoulder with a haughty air. He felt a smirk lift a corner of his lips, and he watched her, sitting up. She reacted that way for a reason though, and he shifted his head silently, to gaze at the nearest mirror over the sink. He saw his own reflection, nothing more. Pallid, nearly corpse colored flesh stared back at him, from the lack of any kind of light during his weeks spent under wraps. Crimson eyes gazed, expression impassive, and he knew no mortal could ever see his Shinigami eyes. Such a shame really, that such a lovely shade of red would go unnoticed among the world of men, even though he himself hated his eyes.
His hair was as usual, an unruly mess that refused to be combed or tamed by any means. Gazing at himself, he was forced to see the reason why he took such extreme measures to grab L's attention. He looked exactly like L did, with red eyes instead of L's grey ones. In fact, they were twins, though no one knew and L himself refused to believe Beyond was in any way related to him. But how rare was it that such genius existed in two individuals at a given time who looked exactly alike? The odds of this were slim to non existent. He shifted his gaze to peer at her again, his thumbnail moving to be chewed by his teeth. She gasped again, this woman was unsettled over something. He stared, nail chewing and emotionless expression making her uneasy with his silence till she spoke. "How do you have red eyes?" She demanded, taking an authority air over him, making herself more important than she really was to try to intimidate him. He was not intimidated. But what she did say caught his attention, though bored and dull expression remained. Red eyes? She saw his red eyes?! Such an idea was unheard of, and yet he almost answered her, till she interrupted what he was going to say, by giving a wave of her hand and speaking again. "Oh right, you can't talk. Too bad, we could have been such friends." Sarcasm. Hmmm. She went over, as if his presence didn't bother her and made a big deal over casually grabbing a walkie talkie and turning it on, commenting to co-workers that the B.B killer was awake. He liked the sound of that, and he stared, pulling his knee's to his chest, resting arms on the tops of his knee's and curling up on the spot.
He still chewed his thumbnail, the keratin never stood a chance as he listened to her receive orders and confirm two guards to come and escort him to his cell. She than turned to gaze at him again, and she gave a small shudder. Coming closer, she spoke. "Your all better now,.. somehow,.. and you will be escorted back to your cell. I suggest you don't try anything funny for Julio and Juan have been here for a long time and can take down men three times your size." This little speech was supposed to intimidate him again? He found his black lids blinking, red hues going wide as her words echoed in his mind. He found he liked her and he allowed a smile to form on his face. They sized each other up some. Each staring at the other, each studying the others face and expression. He shifted his red eyes to glance up, over her head. He saw her name floating in red along with her soon to be death date. He sighed. It was closer than he thought. Her name was Victoria Vasquez. Interesting! her name had the same letter in both. "What are you looking at up there?" He heard her ask, and his gaze shifted from above her head to look at her face again. "Better, I'm down here. Not up there." She felt odd saying this, as usually she had to tell a guy to look up from looking at her breasts. Beyond blinked first, though he would never admit it, as he heard a door open and he swiveled his face around to see who entered.
Julio and Juan apparently. Neither of the two appeared Hispanic in origin though Juan could be the closest. Julio and Juan sounded like Spanish names. Juan was a little over six foot tall, dark skinned though not overly so, black cropped hair, light muscle tone. He looked like he could be poster boy for all immigrants from India or something. His uniform appeared slightly tight, to accent his growing muscles, as if on purpose. Beyond already didn't like the looks of this guy. Julio appeared white. Blond hair, Nazi style hair. Blue eyes, slightly smaller than Juan. He appeared more laid back, Damn they got here quickly! How long was he staring at her? He studied them for long moments more than shifted his gaze to look at her. She nodded, speaking "You'll be taken to your cell, though you get tom come see me a couple times a week to make sure your well enough for prison." This cracked him up inside even if he didn't show it on the outside. Well enough for prison. What a contradiction in terms! He stood than, feet hitting the floor and he felt how cold the bleak, gray tiles were. Julio and Juan came over, each on either side of him. Sigh. He didn't need this muscle, he was in prison, what was he gonna do? "Let's go." Juan spoke, accent hard to place. Maybe he really was from India? He nodded and turned to go, following them into the hall.
They seemed to know where to take him, and the halls were quiet this time of day. The inmates must be out in the yard, or whatever it was they did when not in their cells. He wondered what kind of prison this was. Would he get outside time? Would he have access to books, a gym, T.V room? Not that he was that type of guy, he probably would never even use them. Well, he might watch T.V. He heard a rumor once, that inmates loved watching the show Cops. He would find out, now won't he? He, however, was going to see an example of life's cruel ironies. He was escorted to cell block "L", as if life was rubbing it in his face. He could only assume "L" here meant the cell block for those serving a life sentence. He noted the cells, how small they were and he inwardly sighed. This was going to be hell. Damn, why couldn't he just die like a normal psychopath? The numbers though. He'd be kinda high up in the ladder. Just how many people were serving life sentences? Julio and Juan stopped in front of one cell, a key unlocked it and the door slid open. And he felt irony slap him in the face again. Cell 636. Why couldn't he be three cells down and be cell 666? Who the hell was in that cell? They watched him, and he knew he had no choice but to go in. But damn, what kinda man, what kinda criminal got cell 666? He was curious now. Glancing back, the door was slid shut.