The sicko was lumbering around aimlessly. It was wearing the uniform of the East London Youth detention center. Otherwise known as "The Pit"...Well that's what the inmates had called it. The Pit was positioned in rural area near to East London. It was mostly surrounded by a long high mound that acted as a natural barrier which was how it got its name. That hadn't stopped them putting a fence up as well though, Caesar thought in disgust. He hated this place. The sicko stopped moving and started sniffing the air, it had caught his scent. It slowly turned towards Caesar let a low grunt of pleasure and stumbled towards him. Caesar stood up from his hiding place behind a bin and reached over his shoulder for his bat. It was a light aluminium baseball bat that had barbed wire wrapped around the top. He kept it in a black tube that was once used to transport long fragile parcels in the post; he had cut it in half an fashioned a strap that meant that it could be slung across his back and holds his bat when he needed to use his hands.
The sicko was nearly upon when Caesar took a step forward and swung his bat in a wide sideways sweep that hit the sickos head. There was a horrible crunch of bone breaking and blood splattered out from the cuts the barbed wire had made, luckily not landing on him. The sicko fell down as the life was bashed out of it, literally. Caesar sniffed uninterested and looked around, the coast was clear. He reached over and sheathed his bat before kneeling down and patting down the body. He found a whistle and a pair of handcuffs which he pocketed. Might come in handy sometime; he thought. As he finished pocketing the handcuffs he noticed there was a name badge stuck to the corpse. Caesar looked at then did a double take as he realised that it was the guard who had regularly looked him up for the night. What was his name? John or something?
Caesar shrugged and got up, walking towards the wardens building. That was where he and the lads had been living for the last year. Caesar walked to the door and knocked loudly on the thick wooden door. It didn't open. He knocked again louder and heard mumbling and cursing before it was slowly opened.
"Hello, can I help you?" said the door opener, a boy called Slim.
"Get out of my way" Caesar said pushing past him, "I thought I told you to open the fucking door as soon as I knocked?" he said angrily to Slim.
"Yeah you did" Slim replied, his face smiling crazily as always. Caesar looked over at slim now as he shut the door humming to him. He was an odd kid, probably should have been in a mental hospital not a detention centre. He was wearing grey Nikes which was normal enough but from then up it just got weirder. He wore bright blue jeans, bright multi-coloured Tai dye T-shirt, and a black denim jacket that Caesar was sure was a girl's jacket. To finish it all off he wore a bright blur headband that matched his jeans and pushed his shaggy blond hair up in a weird angle and highlighted his bright blue eyes. He was fifteen years old but acted like he was twelve most of the time. He had machete in a sheath on his left hip which Caesar knew had the tip snapped off into a jagged edge.
"Why didn't you open it then?" Caesar asked, his anger settling down. Slim, whose real name was Guy Thomas, was too weird to be angry at. Unless he did something real stupid that was...
"Um dunno?" He said, smiling stupidly then frowning. Caesar rolled his eyes and walked off to the chief warden's office, this was where the others were chilling. Slim followed drumming to an imaginary tune.
"What up, dickheads?" Caesar said the usual greeting.
"Like nuthin' man" Said a sixteen year old big lad, in black tracksuit trousers, a black vest and a navy super dry jacket. He wore a red and black snap back on his head. This was Sledge. His real name was John McKenzie, but they called him sledge on account of his size and the fact that he used a sledgehammer as a weapon. "You been up to much?" he asked.
"Nah mate, just had a piss and then killed the warden sicko thing that used lock us up at night" he huffed, sitting down heavily on leather office chair and plonking his feet on the desk. "What was his name again?"
"Think it was John Southpole" Sledge said, frowning. He remembered the man. He hadn't been too bad to the boys, even been a bit of a laugh sometimes.
"What the hell is the kind of name Southpole" Slim asked sniggering. "Dat's a well lame name"
"Pfft dunno, he dead now though" said Caesar, looking at his watch. It was an expensive brand, taken from the dead Chief Warden whose office they now sat in. He'd been an irritating man, the warden had. One of those men who patronises you and pretends to be all jolly when visitors were around, but had been a right dick when they left. "We got any beer left?" He asked.
"We have one four pack of fosters left" said the last member of his gang. Michael "specks" Baldwin. At Fifteen years old, Specks was the cleverest of the group and wore glasses. He was also the only black member of the gang. He had a small afro and wore a red jumper and black tracksuit trousers and red and white Nikes.
"What?!" Caesar spluttered. "Where did all the booze go?" he said in disbelief.
"Err well we drank it all, you moron" Specks said rolling his eyes.
"Fuck me!" Caesar cursed.
"Lol no thanks, Caesar" slim smirked "I ain't gay"
Caesar stood up and glared at him, he then went out to the bath room that they kept all their water in. It was running low as well. Caesar pored himself a glass from one of the containers. As he drank it he studied his sixteen year old self in the dirty cracked mirror. He wore his leather jacket open and a dirty white t-shirt under that. His black jeans were also greasy and his purple and gold Nikes acid washed from the sun and rain. He had his hair cut in a high and tight Mohawk style, his so called "handsome" face was dirty and a bit of blood was splattered on his cheek. He wiped it off. He had often been called handsome before the disease and he had got with a lot of girls. Caesar's real name was Julius Henderson, but only those three boys were probably the only ones to know that. Julius, what a faggot's name, he thought. He'd got into a lot of fights because of it, eventually being names Caesar, not after the famous roman dictator but because of the leader of the Legion in Fallout: New Vegas funnily enough. He looked at the small supply of water they had left, it was less than the amount of food they had. And that was very little. Something dawned to him, something that was going to be hard and tough. They were going to have to leave the Pit soon...