"Prisoner 413, step up to the yellow line, turn to face the camera and do not make any sudden movements." The man on the other side of the glass droned. Dirk stepped in without anyone else, one side of the room being glass. The other side being a white wall with tick marks in it for height. He frowned looking up at it, seeing he was near six feet two inches before turning to face the camera. "Don't smile, make any hand gestures, or gang symbols." The voice continued through a small voice box in front of the glass. There was a speaker in one hand and a button to press in the other. In a split second the camera flashed and he was blinded for almost a minute. "Is there a problem, 413?" Dirk swallowed before shaking his head, "No, I have photophobia." The guard snorted, "Make sure to tell the intake officer that." Dirk nodded squinting his eyes as he walked to the next door on the other side of the room. They had took his mugshot and he saw it briefly on a reflection of the glass. His eyes were bright unsettlingly neon burnt orange. He still looked like shit, but somehow that was comforting to him that at least he didn't look like a threat. The guards took him by the arms once more, walking him to the next area for his intake.
After the court case deciding if the murder of the serial killer Nathanial Morris was self-defense on his part had gone terribly wrong, he had been transported for the longest time until they opened the doors to take out Daniel Clemons, Nathanial's half-brother. The one's transporting them hadn't said a word to where they were going but at the time, Dirk hadn't really cared. They had shut the doors again in Dirk's face, resuming the long car ride before reopening them to take him into a drop off area for prisoners. The building was tall, long, gray, and had bars on every single window he could see. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where he was. There was sign on the entrance way, 'Harker Lee Private Estate Prison' with a number of beneficiaries underneath the name. He only had a moment to glance at it before being taken down a long hallway with his hands tightly behind his back until he lost feeling in them. Then to a separate room where they searched him once more for weapons, checked his cuffs, and then took his shoes and belt.
Never leaving his side, they had walked him to the mugshot room were his ID number had been given to him. 413 was now his name according to the guards. Even the security made offhanded comments about him being far too quiet and agreeable with what they asked of him. Of course, neither of the guards escorting him received an answer about why he was being so docile, which proved just as unsettling as anything else. The next area was with a man sitting at a table, a file open in front of him, a large stack of files on his left, and a significantly shorter one on his right of stamps on them that had a date written underneath red inked letters, "[COMPLETE]", that Dirk assumed were cases for other inmates. There were rows of supplies behind the intake officer. Shoes, clothing, towels and blankets were lined neatly there behind a cage.
"Sit." The officer ordered, drinking cold coffee off to the side and Dirk was sat into the chair in front of him. The man was wearing a blue prison guard uniform with his name written on the breast pocket in white script, "Int. Ofc. R. Summonson". Dirk memorized the name and the face of the man. He was a young man with his brown hair shaved almost like a mow hawk- but of course, within prison regulations. He had piercing brown eyes. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions and you'll answer them as best you can and completely truthfully. Everything you say will be written down and a copy will be sent to your lawyer." Dirk nodded, before the man looked up at him. "These are questions to determine your mental health. If need be, you can be seen by a specialist and be put into either special care or the maximum security you were assigned. Ever thought about killing yourself?" The blond paused before breathing out. "Yes." The pen scratched across the paper. "Ever attempted?" Another pause before he nodded with his soft spoken word, "Yes." Dirk met his gaze as the officer wrote it down before looking down at his fingernails. He felt almost ashamed to admit it that he had gotten low after the game… and lower after Morris. "Feel that way now?" Dirk looked up at him again, wondering if he actually did… ironically and temporarily, he didn't. "No. But I'm on medication."
There was a flicker of a smile from the officer before he went back to writing. Dirk didn't find how it could be funny, but deciding he wouldn't question it either. "Have you recently lost a friend or loved one?" Dirk swallowed before once more staring downward. This time his voice was incredibly soft, "Yes." He had lost a lot within a month. Jenna. His freedom. He had pushed Jake away to keep him both safe and from Dirk's own mental chaos. Now he was here. "Any illnesses or conditions?" Dirk shrugged, "Photophobia, depression, PTSD, and hypermobility… I've recently had one of my kidneys put back in." It caused the officer to do a double take at him before glancing at his file. There were more and more questions before the officer stood up. "Congrats, you qualify to see one of the professionals." He turned toward the supplies, "What size shoe?" Dirk answered him and he had a pile of objects in his hand in a matter of minutes. "Strip. Put your clothing in the plastic bag, your personal items will be inventoried and held until you are released. Put on the orange jumpsuit and follow the guards." He did what he was told, ignoring the stares of the guards at the marks of obvious torture and thinness to him- how badly his bones stuck out from the starvation, how the blades had cut into his back to remove his organs and the bruises that were only now starting to yellow. They continued to look as he zipped up the jumpsuit and put his things into the plastic bag provided.
The intake officer wrote a few more things down, but Dirk couldn't see it from where he was. He stood, taking the plastic bag in his hand to write 'STRIDER' on the front before tossing it into a pile of similar objects. Dirk glanced at it before taking another deep breath, standing straight. The officer gestured to the two guards still waiting in the room. They lead him out and to a steel door, opened it and let him walk inside. It was completely padded; the towel and blanket in his hand went to the floor where he immediately sat. The guard shut the door and he let out the breath he had been holding since the door opened. They were asking questions to assess his mental health and figure if he was a suicide risk- apparently they had determined he was. Dirk imagined that he would stay there until the 'experts' had arrived to tell the guards what to do with him. After a few minutes of hearing nothing but absolute silence from the world beyond, he lay down and stared up at the ceiling. It was better he slept now, knowing he might not get the chance later. It wasn't like he had a chance to prepare for jail, nor did he have any idea what it was going to be like. This was just… common sense. The largest dog ruled the dog house, and whoever fucked with the biggest dog better have a bigger bite than they did. Dirk wasn't exactly in the position to be picking fights either with the sentence he had.
About two hours later they finally came, asked him the same questions as the intake officer had. Discussed his medication and left again in a shorter amount of time than he had spent with the officer earlier. The guard walked him out and through a heavy steel door. They fingerprinted him, grabbing his hand and rolling each finger onto a piece of paper where he had to fill out a form before being dragged back into the hallway and taken to yet another steel door. It seemed that they were already tired of dealing with him.
It hissed open and he was ushered through. Noise met his ears as four floors of cellmates looked down at him as he walked through a cell block. His face upturned to look up at them, the lights all around the room. His eyes were squinted hard against the florescent lighting keeping every inch of the cellblock lit to the fullest extent. He walked through five cellblocks before he saw a cell they were directing him toward. "Fresh meat, boys!" The guard on his right called and the prisoners hooted and hollered at the sight of him. "Oh, look at the cutie~" A very feminine male cooed as he walked by. "Welcome to Cellblock C, need some company sweetheart?!" Someone shouted, some wolf whistled, "Look at the ken doll, Jenson!" He looked up at them; head turning slowly to survey the group around them. Someone from the ground floor laugh, "He looks like a punk ass bitch, come on sweetheart, pucker up!" Dirk snarled as someone came close to him, and they immediately backed away. "Fight to him, boys!" The guards pushed him more toward the walk path ahead before the prisoners could engage him again. They put him inside a cell and shut the door. Not a word was said edgewise from anyone as Dirk tossed his blanket and pillow on the box spring bed. He leaned back on the bed when he sat down, not even greeting the owner of the leg that was swung over the side of the top bunk. He just wanted to sleep. Fuck everyone else.