A/N: To avoid confusion, I feel I have to point some things out to new readers – Seth Hoffner is not my OC. He was an actual character from the series, featured in couple of early episodes of season one as T-Bag's 'companion' (you may remember him as "Cherry"). He died in the eighth episode by committing suicide.
This is an alternate universe story, revolving around the idea of his character surviving and then being included in the escape. Also, this is the second attempt on the same story that I've been posting here for the last year or so.
Well, with that cleared up, enjoy the rewrite of the second chapter! Also, feel free to message me should you have any further questions.
Beige's got to be the most terrible choice of wall color. I can't really explain it rationally, but something about that unhealthy, sickly hue just gives me stomach pains. And I was now forced to stare at the repulsive shade in the dim interrogation room for what felt like an infinity. That, combined with the quiet ticking of the clock and the soft tapping of the inspector's fingers against the table, was bound to create the most terrible, overwhelming feeling of nausea.
In effort to resist it, I tried to focus on something else. My mother's silhouette in my peripheral vision. Her grey, worn-out coat outlined against the light. Faint trace of tears on her wrinkled expression. Red silk scarf wrapped around her ever-thinning hair. I couldn't believe she was still there. Telling the officers how I was a good kid. How I would never harm a fly. Despite all the fucking evidence, she still held on that glimmer of hope that I didn't turn out like the scumbag of my father.
At that moment, I felt like I should be put to death - if not for the crime against that family, then for the one against my mother. She never deserved any of this. The woman who supported us with love, care, and strength through the roughest times was now in desperate need of the same, and there I was, putting her through another ride to hell yet again. No, I wasn't anything like my father – I was a hundred times worse. He might've been a pathetic, worthless coward for abandoning us, but I was officially a whole new low – a criminal. And that stain would be attached to her name all her life.
The inspector let out a tired sigh, bringing me back from my inner battlefield to the real one. One glimpse of his weary visage was more than enough to tell me that he was finally fed up with the complete lack of cooperation on my part.
"Still nothin' from you, Mr. Hoffner?" he more stated than questioned, fiddling with a pen in his hand. I looked down, not willing to keep an eye contact. I knew he was reading me like an open book and it made me feel so vulnerable and hopeless. It was like my fate had already been sealed in his eyes.
"You know, I've seen plenty of these cases in my time. Couple o' clueless kids, stumbling upon an opportunity for easy cash", he smiled knowledgably, with no real humor to his words.
"But then, along the line, something goes wrong. People get hurt. Innocent people, Mr. Hoffner."
His voice was bitter and heavy, but I deserved no better. The problem was, it all sounded so simple, when Brian was talking about it. Steal couple of cars, sell the parts, get the money. I get enough to buy my mother the much needed medicine, and Brian pays off his father's piled-up debts. No obstacles, no trouble, no people hurt. It wasn't supposed to come to this. That little girl wasn't supposed to be in the car. But musing on what should or shouldn't have been was utterly pointless at the moment.
"One of you's gonna talk, you know", he warned, "That's the one that's getting outta here on probation, kid. And the other – well – the other's gonna be facing court action."
I gulped, the content of my stomach threatening to come right up. No. He's only trying to scare me. I've known Brian all my life, damn it. If there was one thing I knew for sure in that whole madness, it was that Brian wouldn't talk. He wouldn't betray me, wouldn't throw me to the wolves, precisely because he could be sure I would never do the same.
"Lemme tell you something, son – the jury, they're one tough bunch. Ain't gonna go easy on a kidnapper", he continued, "If you don't talk now, I guarantee you'll be seeing the inside of a prison cell – in a maximum security, that is."
"Stop it. Just stop it, now." I turned abruptly at the sound of my mother's quiet pleas. They were not addressing anyone in particular, but rather voicing the utter despair of a dying woman. She looked so tortured and worn out I was afraid she might breathe her last right in that sickly room. I must really be one sick bastard to be able to put her through this hell.
"Ma'am, I don't wanna upset you, but the truth ain't always pretty", he said, taking the pleas were directed at him, "Besides, your kid's gonna-"
Sudden screeching of the door interrupted his speech. His partner stood at the doorway, giving him a short nod as she walked into the dim light of the interrogation room. "It's over. The kid talked."
I couldn't speak. I couldn't even move. Later, I distantly recalled the officers cuffing my hands and leading me out, but at that very moment it all felt as an out-of-body experience. The only thing going through my head was how wrong I was – about the goddamn plan, about my best friend, about myself.
Still, at the doorway, I managed to regain just enough strength to turn around and take one last look at my mother. In her glistening grey eyes, I saw an emotion I never did before, and only much later realized it had been nothing else but utter shame.
As expected, I got no rest on my first night in. The quiet hours were mostly filled with nightmares and sleepless intervals and the buzzer came way too soon. We stepped into the usual routine – count, showers, breakfast. Though I felt weary, I still tried my best to stay cautious and alert. I dared not even look at anyone directly for the fear of unintentionally triggering a conflict. After witnessing that outbreak of madness the day before, I knew it wouldn't take a lot get the monsters riled up.
I was more than glad to meet up with Charles once more during breakfast. God knew I could use some trusted company after the nerve-racking first experience of prison showers. Although guards made sure no one actually advanced beyond few leers and smirks, being naked in the presence of the men who shouted such horrific threats just the day before made me feel anything but secure or relieved.
Charles didn't seem to mind me joining in, as he was preoccupied with trying to feed his cat. The furry animal gave both of us a good laugh that morning when she greeted me by running right under my legs while I was washing up. To say I was shell-shocked would be a tremendous understatement.
"What was her name, again?" I asked as I carefully petted her on the head, earning a quiet purr.
"It's Marilyn", Charles replied, trying to persuade her to eat a chunk of some unidentified meat we were served for breakfast, but to no avail. I couldn't blame her, though – I barely got myself to take few tiny bites. The messy mixture on my tray kind of reminded me of my school lunches. It was quite depressing, realizing my sisters were now being fed the same rubbish as the very scum of our society.
Rather than focusing on the food, I tried to make small talk with Charles, "So, um, I didn't think they allowed for pets in here. How come they let you keep her?"
"Eh, that's something called earned trust, kid - years without spot on my record", he replied and chuckled once he saw my expression, "Wouldn't hope for privileges yet if I were you, though."
I realized I must have looked somewhat eager, and I tried to brush it off with a smile. My only hopes for the moment were to live to my parole, and possibly reach it with all my limbs and organs still in place and functioning. It was a long shot, though, and I was well aware of that.
Prisoners were allowed few hours of yard time each day. Most looked forward to the rare opportunity to stretch their legs, but for us newcomers they represented nothing but hours of anxiety, as we were practically open for attacks from any side. So I stuck to my usual behavior, which served me well enough – don't look at anyone, don't hold your head high, keep near someone you trust.
Charles was proving to be something of a 'dream cellmate' thus far. I felt silly, thinking of the phrase, but how else do you describe the guy in a maximum security prison who isn't insane, doesn't make unwanted advances, and doesn't mind you constantly following him? I was dealt a damn good hand – true, definitely better than I deserved after what I'd done, but I was way too giddy about my fortune at the moment to let self-pity overtake me.
For a while, I strolled alongside him, taking in a brief lesson on the workings of the system. Inmates separated amongst themselves by race, which was clear to see in all realms of prison life. It was a plain ignorant thing to do, but as my opinion didn't mean shit in there, I knew better than to challenge the false morality of murderers.
Various gangs fought for dominance, which often resulted in yet another pointless thing I probably shouldn't challenge – race riots. They were brutal and bloody, and few survived with no scarring, whether that of physical or mental kind. And since corrupted guards and gang leaders did the job that warden only did on papers – that of running the place – much bloodshed between inmates was often turned a blind eye to.
Charles briefly stopped his mostly-monologue to return a friendly nod and a smile at a tall, confident-looking inmate passing by us. I gave him a puzzled look and he explained quickly, "Michael Scofield – a very bright and interesting young man."
"Can never tell what he's really up to", he continued, looking consumed with thought, "I still can't figure out how someone like him ended up here. A very interesting person, indeed…"
We stood there awkwardly for couple of seconds, until Marilyn's curiosity brought Charles back from whatever inner musing he'd had going on. She'd noticed a bee buzzing and before you knew it, she was out of Charles' arms trying to catch it. He tried calling after her a few times, but apparently the flying object making fun sounds was way more fascinating than her owner at the moment.
"Don't worry, she does this all the time", he explained apologetically, "Wait here for a second, I'll go get her."
I smiled, following them with my gaze for a while before choosing to wait by the nearby fence. The weather had been nice whole day. The phrase "calm before the storm" immediately crossed my mind, but I shook it off. The last thing I needed was for my commitment to staying alert to turn into paranoia.
As if reading my trail of thoughts, a genuinely deep, disturbing voice soon sounded behind me, "See somethin' interesting over there?"
I jumped in surprise, turning around to find a mountain of a man hovering over me. A knot of fear formed in my throat, but I found it hard to even come up with any sort of response, let alone voice it. Though I tried my hardest not to let my panic become apparent, I still predictably failed in that intention. The man leaned a bit closer, smirking in amusement at my obvious discomfort.
"Don't be scared, I ain't here to hurt ya. Well, at least not if you play along."
Although my mind was screaming for me to run, my body froze in place and I found myself unable to escape the man as he approached me. Unfortunately for me, I often found fright to be more compelling than both fight and flight.
"Hey! Let the kid go."
My tormentor seemed to recognize the voice as he turned his attention to a small group of men behind his back. I was afraid he might just disregard them, seeing he could've easily taken all three down in a notch if he wanted to. To my surprise and relief, he merely grinned as he raised his hands in defeat and slowly backed away. Once he was out of sight, I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing mind.
"You okay, boy?"
With danger temporarily gone, I turned to face my 'helper'. I reluctantly accepted his outstretched hand, unsure of his intentions. For all I knew, he might as well be just another attacker. He snickered at my hesitance and I looked away, feeling a bit uncomfortable.
"I'm Trokey. And you ain't got to worry about me or my men; we're just here to help the brother out", he claimed, a sleazy smile plastered across his face. Yeah – somehow, I'm not convinced. His presence was way more unnerving than it was in any way calming.
"Look, I know you're new, but you'll see soon enough that we whites gotta stick together in here", he continued, "When we don't, we're easy targets. You saw it right now with that rughead, didn't ya?"
I stared at him, silent. I didn't care for his racist blabbering, but I didn't wish to confront him. If he was able to scare away the guy at least twice his size with few words, either he or his gang had some influence in here. How great, that I didn't know, but I was nevertheless disadvantaged by having absolutely none whatsoever.
Once he noticed Charles approaching us, he smirked and signaled for his cronies to back away. "If those niggers give you trouble again, just come and find us. We'll protect you", he leaned in to whisper before finally following the other two. I barely got enough time to sigh in relief when Charles materialized right next to me. I smiled upon noticing Marilyn was resting safely in his arms, but his face was solemn as his gaze followed Trokey and his friends.
"There are plenty of people you should avoid in here, Seth", he said gravely, "but the Alliance – they're one of those that definitely make the top."
I looked at him, somewhat confused. "You mean Trokey? If so, I don't care for him – he's the one who came to me." Charles shook his head. "Trokey's just a backer", he explained, "A second in command for T-Bag; or Theodore Bagwell, if you will."
His voice was low and careful, but the name meant nothing to me. "You haven't heard of him?" he said, looking fairly surprised, "That monster killed and raped six children back in Alabama. He runs the Alliance for Purity in here – a group of white supremacists."
My stomach turned upon hearing that. On my first day, I nearly got raped and affiliated with the Hitler Youth. Couldn't get any better. And to think that some minutes ago I was so delighted about my supposed fortune – I must have cursed myself.
"Very powerful. Very brutal, too", Charles continued, "You don't want to get on their bad side, trust me. Maybe even less on their good side. They have their ways to lure you. I've seen it happen before, with many young men, and it would always end in worst ways possible."
At that moment, I felt so hopelessly weak. I knew there existed terrible, gruesome people in the world, but that fact always seemed so distant and unreal… until now. Now, that I was locked up with this T-Bag and so many more ill minds, and I could do nothing to defend myself if they tried to attack me.
"This guy, T-Bag – where's he now?"
"Infirmary. Word is that John Abruzzi, the mob boss, got him sent there", he answered calmly, "He's one of few men in here who can threaten that animal and outlive it."
He set to say something else before he was interrupted by a loud buzzer, telling us it was time to get back to our cells. We obediently filed in a queue and waited for the guards to lead us in. Once there, I collapsed on my bunk with a heavy sigh. It was only my first day, and I already felt drained and exhausted by the experience. Obviously, I was off to a good start. I soon became consumed with thoughts and memories and it didn't take me long to begin drifting into sleep.
However, a loud scream resounded before that could happen, effectively ending my temporary serenity.