Upon first glance, The Metro City Prison For The Criminally Gifted is just another run-of-the-mill prison, albeit larger and more spacious, in order to accommodate all its inmates. In truth, its long, twisty hallways can be daunting for a first time inmate; a maze of steel and granite, with special...alterations, because normal just doesn't pose any kind of threat or challenge to the abnormal.
Orange jumpsuit sagging severely around his feet, ten year old Syx walks boldly and purposefully down the long, echoy hall, sending nods and waves to inmates he's most familiar with. Familiar or not, however, the majority of them flash him thumbs ups and big grins as he passes their cells; he puffs his little chest out; he feels important.
Syx continues to strut, right past a security guard. Minion sputters bubbles nervously. No need to sneak around this time, it's too easy. Besides, he's feeling a little cocky. He receives a stern glance, and the guard waves him on with his nightstick. No one is ever really interested in what he's up to. His intelligence is above average (though his common sense often times can be below), and because he's intelligent, he's been able to hold up a trading racket for months now. He steals, smuggles, and transports things from prisoner to prisoner, because who else could do it? After all, he's just a child, and it's so easy to talk the guards into letting him out.
'I'm bored,' he says in a pathetic voice, showing large, sad eyes. And if he's lucky, and comes across a soft-hearted fool, one lip tremble later and he's free.
Minion sighs in relief. "That was easy."
"I know, right?" Syx says excitedly.
"Too easy. You think they'd learn by now." He shook his head. "That guy is definitely going to be fired."
Today is a day like any other, a marvelous one. Hungry eyes watch him as he moves freely, on his way to see a certain someone. He makes a drop off on the way, delivering a nudie magazine, and, slipping three bent cigarettes into his pocket, he turns on his heels and heads back in the direction he came.
Life is great. He loves feeling important, special. Sure, cigarettes are the currency in here, and he doesn't smoke- but the looks of appreciation on the men's faces when they approach him, open-handed and desperate, is reward enough. Besides, it keeps him busy, keeps his mind off the outside world, with no bars and free range. Frankly, the idea doesn't sit well with him. From what he's seen, the outside is huge. How does anyone manage to get to where they need to go, without getting lost? No, he would much rather be here, where things are predictable and you're lead by faded, dark shadows on the ground that used to be bright yellow tape, and meals are handed to him, and there is always plenty of time to think up new and exciting things.
He's built and configured many amazing and entertaining things within these very walls-in fact, it's practically a goldmine for someone like him-if you know where to look, and who to talk to.
Minion says, "I don't know...something doesn't feel right. I don't like the looks of that guy. You saw how he looked at us the first time."
"Oh, relax, Minion. We've done this a million times."
"If you say so, sir."
Syx isn't interested in hearing the alien fish's paranoid blabbering. He just wants to get the job done.
He passes the security guard once more, and this time, he looks at him a bit harder than last, though he's still allowed to pass. He decides to ditch the plan, for now, and to make the drop off at lunch. He thinks he might be able to weasel his way into the court yard, maybe find a game of cards. Exit in his sight, he rolls up the ridiculously long sleeves of his jumpsuit and—suddenly, a big, meaty hand clamps down on his shoulder.
He looks up at leering face.
"I think the warden wants a word with you." The guard makes a face and looks like he wants to pull back, but doesn't. "And bring your...fish? With you."
Syx blinks his large, green eyes, mind working furiously. "I was just going to see the warden," he says coolly, resisting the urge to swallow. "I can go myself. I'm old enough."
Minion blinks, dumbly. The guards have no clue he's sentient, and he wants to keep it that way. If they knew, most likely he would be ripped away from his master, and that just wouldn't do.
The guard bends down so that he's face to face with Minion, who blows a bubble and again, blinks very slowly. "I don't think so, kid."
And so Syx is ushered away, the cigarettes in his pocket weighing a ton. He knows he needs to be rid of them, but the guard is so close behind him he can hear his uniform (from the sound of it, third day without a wash) crinkle. There's no time. He can only hope this visit is unrelated.
"I told you," Minion manages, out of the corner of his mouth.
Syx gives the ball a violent shake to shut him up.
They stop outside the big, wooden door, with a sheet of obscure glass and dark letters that spell out "WARDEN." The guard clears his throat, knocks, and a voice says 'come in.' The guard opens the door and, hand still on Syx's shoulder, pushes him through the threshold.
"Ah," the warden says, peering at him over a pair of reading glasses. He waves his hand slightly. "Have a seat. Thank you, Lyle."
Syx obeys, sitting in a squeaky wooden chair that doesn't seem to go with the rest of the room. Minion sits in his lap, looking far too terrified to be a normal fish. Syx hasn't ever seen a normal one, but he's pretty sure they don't shake and quiver.
There is a big, old wooden desk here, suspiciously without piles of paper work on it, and a monstrous bookshelf that takes up two walls. On more than one occasion, the warden has loaned him a book or two- the prison library doesn't have much, since many of the inmates are either completely illiterate, or more interested in bodybuilding. No one's sure how Syx became such a proficient reader, with the inmates teaching him most everything; some say he's just exceptionally gifted. When the warden finally pulled him aside one day and offered to teach him, he replied that he'd been reading for a while already.
An uneasy silence fills the room as Syx tries to appear indifferent and innocent. He's been in this very room hundreds of times already, there's really nothing unnerving about the warden; he doesn't talk down to Syx, which is always appreciated, but he has a gut feeling that he doesn't always come down as hard as he should, either. It's a good thing, undoubtedly, but sometimes angers him, though he doesn't know why.
After a few moments of reviewing a folder, the warden folds his glasses up and tucks them away, motioning to a small-screen television mounted on a gurney. He snatches up a remote and stabs a button, leaning forward in the comfortable looking chair.
"Take a look. This is from a couple weeks ago."
Minion gasps dramatically, and the ball containing him begins to vibrate violently. The warden either doesn't hear, or simply ignores it.
Syx recognizes the scene at once. The hall with the blinky camera. It's obvious he's been caught, but he won't speak just yet. Perhaps it's all a misunderstanding. But no, there he is-or, well, part of him. The image is choppy and distorted, but it's not hard to make out his over sized blue head and part of his arm. He doesn't know what to say.
"Look familiar?"
Syx squints, playing it cool. "Not really."
"There aren't any other blue inmates in this prison, Syx."
"OK. It appears to be me. So what?" It's no secret he practically has free range of the prison. That proves nothing.
The warden looks at him, leaned back in his chair with his fingers pyramided in front of him. "Empty your pockets, Syx." He hesitates. "Empty them, or I'll empty them for you."
Again, the warden isn't threatening at all, with his white bushy mustache and his kind eyes. But there's some unknown force driving Syx to once again obey. He slowly slides his hand into his pocket and takes out the three (now severely bent) cigarettes, hops down from the chair, and (after carefully placing Minion in his stead) comes over to place them on the edge of the warden's desk.
There's a startled kind of silence from him, but it passes quickly and his eyes soften. "Yours?"
He nods.
"Really, you've taken up smoking?"
His tongue feels like sandpaper. "Yeah."
Apparently anticipating his answer, the warden produces a shiny silver lighter out of thin air, and then peels open a drawer. There is a cigar in his hand now. He bites part of it, which, judging from the smell must taste terrible, and sets flame to it. A few deep puffs later, he's offering it to Syx.
"Go on, then." There is nothing intimating about the way he says it. Actually, he sounds kind of friendly, and Syx reasons that if he can fake his way through a few puffs, maybe things will actually work out this time.
He's glad his back is to Minion. He's probably belly up, by now.
He takes the lighter with trembling hands, straightening out the thing before putting it between his lips, and lights it. He inhales, but only holds the smoke in his mouth. This isn't so hard, he thinks. Timing his exhale shortly after the warden, he takes another puff, before accidentally swallowing some of the smoke. Smoke stings his eyes, and he coughs and sputters, gasping for air. The cigarette drops to the floor, forgotten, and while Syx chokes and gags, the warden is quick in stepping on it and banging him hard on the back.
His chest burns and his throat is raw, and he vows to never touch another cigarette for as long as he lives-provided he does live. It seems like a lifetime passes before he can breathe again.
The warden bends down and picks up the snuffed out cigarette, throwing it into a trash bin beside his desk. He returns to his chair, cigar still in hand. The kindness in his eyes is gone now, replaced with an eerie seriousness.
"Don't lie to me, Syx. Did you think I wouldn't find out?" The boy rubs his throat a bit more, avoiding eye contact. His voice booms as he says, "not a thing goes on in my prison that I don't know about. Now... tell me who you were delivering these two, and I'll forget this ever happened."
"No way!"
He holds his hand up. "I'll make sure no one knows it was you."
"You can't make me," the boy said defiantly.
The shadow of the guard from earlier appears outside the door, apparently roused by Syx raising his voice. He opens the door and peeks inside, his eyes moving from Syx to the warden. "Everything OK?"
"Fine, Lyle," he answered with a nod. "Just wrapping things up. Wait outside for him, will you?"
The guard nodded once. "Sir."
"Okay, Syx." He rose from behind his desk and walked around it. "We're done here. But I want you to keep your nose clean, you hear? You may think these men are your friends- but they're not. They're criminals. And not petty criminals, either; some of these men have taken another life. And I know you're smarter than that."
Insulting the closest thing he had to friends? Syx frowns, retrieving Minion from the chair. Surely he must be exaggerating- he can't think of a single inmate he's met that seems to have the potential to kill another human being. He even looks up to most of them. He turned and opens his mouth to say something, but the warden crouches down, clapping a hand on his shoulder, and says in a low voice, "I'll make you a deal. You cut the funny stuff, and you can borrow as many books as you like." He presents him with the two other cigarettes. "So no questions are asked," he says with a half smile.
Skeptically, as he slips the cigarettes back into his pocket, he studies the wardens face. "You mean it?"
"You have my word."
Syx thinks long and hard, and then nods. He holds his hand out, and the warden shakes it. "Ok, chief."
"Call me warden."
"Ok, warden."
The door opens and Syx walks out, ahead of the guard accompanying him, feeling strangely proud. The respect is nice, but books are better. Especially the kinds the warden has; books about fantasy lands, dictionaries-hours of fun for a hungry, eager mind like his. After the drop off and explaining that he'd lost the last cigarette (luckily not resulting in any broken bones), Syx takes Minion to court yard, after all, and narrates everything he sees and does. And for that half an hour, he's no longer a villain-in-training, thinking up future names and costumes; instead, he's a regular ten year old, waving a stick around.
A/N: I don't think I made any mistakes (its, it's, their, there, they're, etc) , but if I did please let me know? I'm still trying to learn all the mechanics of writing. Thanks!