A/N: Well! This has gotten more attention than I originly thought!
And thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou *Shawnee runs and hugs you, then throw CM Punk plushies to everyone* Sadly this TECHNICLY isn't a new chapter per say... Just a better version of the first..Sorry.
I could blame it on life, on my anxiety disorder taking my attention, or writers block causing me not to update but I'm infamous for writing-one-chapter-supposed-to-be-multi-chapter-s tories then not writing at all, but I promise I'll keep going with this!
Damn it was hot. So fucking hot. Hot enough to make all the inmates drown in their own fucking sweat, while this hunk-of-junk tin shoebox the county retardly called a 'prison bus' drove (Very fucking slowly) to a correction facility called Newtown Agency.
Newtown Agency- or 'New Age'- was a fairly young prison, but backwards with technology. Still, it held a whole hellava bunch of lethal little fucks.
Why am I going to New Age? Long story put into a short, choppy story; Close, poor friend was sick and needed surgery but he didn't have enough money to pay for it. My dumbass thought it would be a good idea to rob a few convenient stores and a bank to get the cash...And well, the rest is like history, something I despise and do not want to talk about.
I was caught, booked and shipped on one of the most shittiest buses ever to meet my maker.
The bus was grey inside and out, had eleven ugly ass tan benches that, If I'm not mistaken, were covered in dried puke. Or at least mine was. I didn't pay attention to the others' seats.
Because you never make eye-contact, unless you either want shanked or some old wrinkly, sex-deprived man lovin's.
The only place that was air conditioned was two small booths, one where the driver sat and a teeny-tiny box in the back so the 'Court ordered' babysitter could watch the heathens.
Those bastards.
A wheeze and a sneeze could be heard from behind me, most likely from inhalation from the fucking fumes coming in from a broken tail-pipe or some shit.
I don't really know much about cars, so tail-pipe was just a long shot in the dark.
And I'm most likely right. With a sigh I lean my head on the grimy window and watch the red Arizona desert pass by. I try to imagine what it would be like to wander around the desert, living off the land and relying on me and me only.
It only seemed like five minutes until one of the guards yelled "Welcome to your home away from home boys!" a hateful chuckle escaped his blonde-mustache infested lips.
I turned my gaze from the red dirt to a icey gray building, no less than one hundered feet in height and double that in width.
"Wecome to New Age!" The bald guard, Guard Austin as I found out, checked the inmates out of the prison bus.
I was first out followed by man larger than myself, with full sleeves of skull and tribal tattoo's totaly opposite of my colored, lively ones. Behind him was the love-child of Sargent Slaughter and steriods. An 'All 'Murican Bwa' with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
The rest I didn't see, because I'm not one to gawk. Shank or Man Loving's, remember?
One of the prisoner's- I think his name is Jeff, or James. Something starting with 'J'- colorful hair bobbed from one side to another as his had whipped left and right, as he was taking in the surrondings for the first time.
"This is it..." You could hear his deep southern drawl. "The Apocolypse!" An annoyed sigh came from the big, muscle-y guy, fully equipt with a army buzz-cut and Militia appearance. "It's not the Apocolypse.."
"How do you know?!"
"Because, I just do."
"How?" A new, squeaky voice asked. He almost sounded innocent.
"I don't know! I just do, okay?! Don't question me.." I couldn't help snicker at that. It was way better than any arguement you could witness, probably because of the fact someone might get his throat slit.
And that can get the adrenaline pumping. _ Once inside, I felt surprised as cool-air hit me. At least New Age is built a little better than the bus.
Guard Austin and the bus driver-Whom was non-humoriously called 'Taker'- split ways as myself and the other low-lives were probed, pictured, finger-printed and admitted.
"Phillip Brooks." A short, almost attractive looking red-headed woman said. She had her hair down, only being kept back by a hair band. She wore the blue cop uniform, A gun, some mace and a black night-stick attached to her brown belt.
" I will escort you to your cell." She reached out for the metal chain hanging around my waist. We walked no less than a mile to the large-ass room were it looked like thousands of jail cells are located.
I was curious, so I had to ask: "How many cells are there?"
Red-head must be kind of friendly or kind of crazy, because she answered with a smile, "Three hundred seventy nine. And that's just the west wing." She made some sort of 'hmph' sound mixed with a laugh. She is mighty frighting.
"There is four other wings, plus a mental ward. So we're pretty packed." I guess it would hold three hundered cells, seeing as it had four floors that went all the way around the walls with cold grey steel bars.
She lead me up three flights of stairs, talking about shit that wasn't important. I ignored her and watched the inmates I came here with+ being taken to their 'home away for home'.
I don't know their names, so I'll go by what nickname I would give them.
Tribal and skulls was on the second floor with Sargent Slaughter junior.
Squeaky and Militia-Man were on the first, Rainbow was being lead to the fourth floor.
There was one with a big mouth, and even bigger ego heading for the same floor as me.
Man, I hope I don't share a cell with him.
"Here you are, Brooks." The red-headed cop- Amy, but will go by 'Lita'- said to me.
She stopped, never letting go of my chain, took out her keys and opened the cell door. Damn, she must be the trusting type.
"Chrissy, you have a new cellie.." Lita told the inmate.. Appearantly my 'Cellie'.
"How many time's do I have to say this?...I. Don't. Want. A. Cell. Mate." His low voice called out, it sounded almost like a whisper.
"Oh c'mon Christian, don't be like that. I made sure he doesn't talk too much for ya`." She offered and pushed me into the cell.
A cold and maniacal clank and light foot steps told me Lita closed the door and left. I listened to her light foot steps, a small and slow pitter-patter noise.
It was dark, despite the daylight coming from the barred and bob-wired windows.
I blink a few times trying to adjust my eyes. I can't see much, but I spot what looks like a sink, two bunk beds hanging on the wall... And I can see a guy-sized slumped over figure.
I jumped slightly when it turned it's head towards me. "So.. Listen up and listen good." The man I'm going to share a small space with- Christian, I think- warns me. His voice sounded rough, like he hadn't spoke in a while.
"This bed, half the sink and half the toilet and toiletries are mine. The rest is yours. Don't touch my stuff and I won't bother yours." With that small introduction he turned over and sort of flopped in his bed.
Well...This should be interesting.
A/N: Yeah, That's the new first chapter! I had one of my relatives to beta and I trust her to touch-up the dumb parts.
Also, the guys that were on the bus with Punk are...
Randy Orton, Jack Swagger, John Cena, Jeff Hardy, Chris Jericho, and Dolph Ziggler.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing besides the CM Punk Tee shirt I won't eave at home. :)