"Hey, Cambell."
I almost didn't turn. I was in 'think' mode, and it didn't register that someone was calling me out by a name that wasn't my name. It was the 'please don't' uttered by a second person that made me glance in the voices general direction. Then it registered that one of the two inmates leaning against the wall was trying to get my attention, because both of them held my gaze way longer than necessary.
"What?" I asked, simultaneously responding to any name calling they may have done earlier, as well as calling them out on the freaky staring – if they hadn't called my name, anyways.
"Your friend just went apeshit." The shorter of the two informed me, to which the second guy cringed and glanced in the opposite direction. So they had called my name.

"Torres?" I asked, switching into 'internal panic mode'. I seriously hoped this had nothing to do with the 'Loki' incident the radio was talking about. "What do you mean?"
"Dunno; we saw it on the way out. She just started bangin' on the doors, an' no one tried to stop her."
The second guy nudged the short ones arm unstealthily, and the short guy just didn't even care.
"Did you see anything else?" I asked, already slowly backpedaling to go check on the cell to see if it were true. "Just that? How long ago?"
"Like, an hour ago? That was it, but, uhhh… wait why? Is something else happening?" Shortie asked. "Hey, wait!"
Fuck this shit.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

"Torres?!"
Loki looked up from his book just in time to see a concerned looking Cambell skid around the corner and into their cell. Cambell looked momentarily thrown before wheezing out 'what happened?'
"We needed pants," Loki said in Torres's matter-of-factly voice. "And I refuse to do laundry; I only asked for clean sets of clothes. And a knife. They delivered on the first, not so much the second."
"A kni… Okay." Cambell was still breathing heavily, though clearly trying to hide it.
"Careful," Loki said, looking back down to his book. "Anything faster than a brisk walk and you'll rend your heart in two."
"Oh hardy-har." Cambell flopped onto their mattress and sighed. "I ran up two flights of stairs and down God knows how many hallways for you."
"You didn't need to, I was fine." Loki muttered. "Why the concern, anyways?"

Loki noticed Cambell ignored his question. "Weren't they mad though?" They asked instead.
"I suppose. But you'll never guess what I saw… and heard." Loki smiled as Cambell's expression flicked from exhaustion to curiosity to a mask of polite interest in a span of two seconds.
"What? What'd you hear?"
"Guess."
"You literally just told me I wouldn't be able to."
"I enjoy this game of ours. Humor me."
Cambell sighed and rubbed the side of their nose. "Uh, someone's pregnant?"
Loki shook his head.
"SHIELD is going to release us all tomorrow?"
Another dismissive shake.
Cambell sighed in annoyance and shrugged. "I dunno man, just tell me."
"I'll give you a hint – it's about what you asked me for before."

Cambell frowned up at the ceiling and its many spider webbing cracks before turning their head to frown at Torres instead. "…a security room?" They asked softly, as if they would be able to take the words back if that wasn't what Loki was referring to.
Loki gave the best 'trust me' grin that he used to give Thor whenever he suggested a plan that could very easily end in both of their deaths – or disownment. It might've seemed frightening coming from him, but apparently from Torres it just looked reassuring. It's the damn eyebrows, Loki complained, they're too high.
"That, and…" Loki paused for dramatic effect, "a password to one of the doors." He said.
Cambell, to his complete disappointment, seemed utterly disinterested in the news.
"Torres that's useless," they finally answered. "All the doors need a keycard as well, not just a passcode."
"Yes, but," Loki continued, "this particular door leads to the hallway that the security room is located; all we need is a k-"
"Torres." Cambell interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm gonna stop you right there, because there is no way in hell that I'm about to go snooping for a keycar-"
"We can do it together!" Loki insisted.
"No."
"I-"
"No Tor!" Cambell near-shouted. "What's the matter with you? Head down remember? We'll get out here soon enough." With that, Cambell rolled over and presented Loki with their back. A stupid move, had he not been under contract not to kill everyone, ever. The turn of events didn't bother Loki so much though – this was only one attempt made. He had more than enough ways to trap Cambell; one of them was even being instigated as they sat in their cells.

Before he'd returned to his favorite grey hell-hole, he and the red-headed assassin had come up with multiple ways to corner not just Cambell, but any other inmate that may have outside information. The first idea they had was to divide the prison guards up into five groups – since each group of guards only stuck to one arm of the penitentiary. Each guard would be fed a very specific piece of information – and then ordered under threat of job and life to not tell anyone else in the other groups. What they didn't know was that there were actually five different pieces of information – one for each group of guards. Hopefully, if Cambell had a friend in the guard, they would feel compelled to tell the inmate their secret (and it was a good one – not the kind you can actually keep). All Loki had to do then was get Cambell to tell them what they'd heard, and then they'd know from which group the mole was from. The plan wasn't fool-proof, which was why they had countless more. It was a start, at least.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

When I'd first gotten my hands on the button-radio, I thought it'd last me until the next week. Amazingly, it'd been on and running 24/7 for nearly a full month and it still had yet to demand a battery and then die. I was fairly certain that this thing came with its very own kind of battery; I vaguely remember that the radios file was linked with four more – one of which was a battery. I think. I'm not sure… It was seven years ago, give me a break.

Anyways, I don't think this things ever going to die – or if it is, not anytime soon. Which was just as well because the shit had hit the fan this evening and the whole prison was abuzz. Well, no, the guards were abuzz. We prisoners were sleeping… or pretending to sleep, in Torres's case. I swear she thinks I'm stupid.

Anyways, every guard had one thing on their mind: drones. I had no idea which channel I was supposed to concentrate on first because for once in my prison life, every station was saying something useful. The cell-guards from hall A were talking about the drone in between each time they 'cleared' a section of cells. Apparently Stark had invented one earlier this year that could turn invisible – and they were now installing one in each of our rooms. I bet this has something to do with the Loki thing… omygod. My eyes widened in the dark of the cell. What if Loki's in here and they're trying to find him with the drone? What if he's disguised as a guard or something… OR HE'S INVISIBLE TOO?!

B-guards were talking about the drones as well – though they were (understandably) more concerned about the fact that the drones would have tiny guns attached to them – loaded with bullets and sedatives. C-guards didn't like the fact that the drones had x-ray vision that could take pictures of you naked. One of the C-guards pointed out that their armor could probably block parts of the drone's vision – though another guard wondered about the health risks of 'all those x-rays buzzing around and shit'. I had to agree with the second guard – that seemed unethical and unhealthy (both of which were director Fury's middle name).

The guards in the upper and lower levels of the cafeteria were not looking forward to the fact that Fury had explicitly stated that these drones would be replacing every one of them at the end of next month. It made sense to me – invisible x-ray drones with tiny guns (that were probably invincible if Stark made them) were a thousand times better than any guard in here. What was truly alarming, however, was that according to those in the gym and laundry wing, the new drones would start being introduced to our cells by the end of this week – just three days away.

This is not good. The drones would see that I had a radio. I wouldn't even see the drones – hell, I could be shot dead before I even knew there was one in my general vicinity. Or… maybe… It was possible that I missed some information. Earlier today there was something about a code one and Loki. I bet this has something to do with him. It has to have something to do with him. Maybe the drones were supposed to be finding him, and the fact that they could be used to spy on us was just an enjoyable side benefit. But then why replace the guards… OH! Because Loki could kill the guards! OF COURSE! Wait… shit, but, he could kill us too! …Oh for fucksakes, I chided myself, you're a criminal, Fury doesn't care if you die.

I twisted the hem of my blanket between my thumb and forefinger. This is such shit news. This is such terrible, shitty, awful fucking news. I glanced over to Torres, who dramatically faked a sleep-sigh. She had her back to me, and was facing the wall; I could juuuuust see the outline of her figure thanks to the green exit light in the hallway. I wish I hadn't turned this radio on, I whined mentally. That way I could remain blissfully ignorant and pretend to sleep like Torres and only have to worry about what's for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Seeing her there on the bed though, all fuzzy-blanketed up and ignorant of the impending shitstorm that was about to rattle the windowpanes and blow down the front door made my heart wrench. I've got to tell her about Loki. I had to tell her about that at the very least; she – all of us – were in danger. Fury wasn't going to tell us about Loki because he didn't want us to panic and riot – but there was no way in hell I was keeping something like this to myself. Besides, I had a track record of collecting and giving away his dangerous secrets. Why stop now.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

"I did it!"
Mister Smith poked his head around the corner of the den. "Did what?" he asked.
"It worked, I did it," Mrs. Smith proudly announced.
Mister Smith stood awkwardly behind the office chair his wife sat on and surveyed her handiwork. "How'd you get it to run?" he asked, slowly stirring the batter in the large bowl he held.
Mrs. Smith twisted and tapped the wooden spoon in his hand. "Faster dear – whipped, not stirred."
Mister Smith sighed and wiggled the spoon dramatically. "How'd you make it start?" He repeated.
"Oh it was easy," Misses Smith said with a grin. "There was a restart… button."
"There was?" Mister Smith asked.
"Well it swore at me first, but yes." Misses Smith said as she traveled through the tabs on top of the program. "It was under settings."

Mister Smith shook his head. "I'm still taking that thing in. Just not this week – finals are coming up." He turned to walk out the door. "IT always has problems in finals week," he explained. "Kids suddenly lose the ability to upload documents and convert files all – inexplicably – at eleven fifty five pm." He said. "The best ones," he said, popping his head back into the room. "Set you up for disappointment the day before. I got three emails about buggy computers this morning, and one about a sick grandma."
Misses Smith gave him a sympathetic smile.
"It's insane." He finished.
"I know." She said, turning back to the computer.

"Don't…" Mister Smith paused his stirring again. "Don't mess with it too much," he asked. "Just let it do its thing."
"Why?" Misses Smith asked, frowning at the many pictures of the director-of-SHIELD-in-a-tutu.
"It might… change." Mister Smith said vaguely. "The last thing it said before it stopped working for me was that it was 'ineffective against current security standards'. I don't know what it's doing, but I don't think anything beneficial ever came from fighting security standards."
"Our own?" Misses Smith asked, looking for the antivirus shortcut that usually sat on the desktop. "But ours has been uninstalled."
"Well that's why I don't like that Dontopen thing." He said, "Because we don't have any security for it to fight."
Misses Smith made an 'ooooh' sound and tapped the small 'x' on the screen. "Ah." She said awkwardly. "I keep forgetting this isn't a touchscreen."
Mister Smith sighed and walked back to the kitchen. "Just put that on hold for now," he called. "We have to finish up here before everyone arrives."

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

My original plan of telling Torres about Loki the moment I woke up failed – because I forgot. I got distracted somewhere between waking up and her shuffling around to go shower. She came back thirty minutes later to kick the foot of my bed to wake me up again and inform me that we were about to be late for breakfast. It was after we went our separate way for free time (a new one for us – we used to be inseparable) that I remembered. Nowadays she tended to wander around aimlessly or bother the librarian (we literally only had three shelves of books - and no one cared for them). In fact, the librarian was also one of the meal servers – who was also one of the guards for the cafeteria during the nightshift. I swear; they must have barracks here or something because these guys never seem to leave.

The point is, I only remembered once I'd settled into my designated bench out in the courtyard. Today was finally warm… well. It was warm if you sat directly in sunlight and behind a wall that could block the wind. I didn't have a wall, but one of the supports on the outside walls jutted out just enough to do the trick. Either way, I wasn't about to move to go tell her. Or maybe she's being shanked right now. I froze in a half-reclining position before mentally shaking off that thought and leaning back down. Torres is unshankable.
But Loki.
Oh for fuckssssaaaaaakkkeeeesssss.
I heaved myself back up and sighed. At least I got a good thirty minutes in.

Despite the fact that the penitentiary only have five main wings, the place was an absolute nightmare to get through. It wasn't so much that the inmates took up too much room; most stayed in their cells or milled about the cafeteria and courtyard. It was the guards. Forget the drones having x-ray vision, these people looked at you like they were searching for your soul – and were having trouble finding it. I was half expecting one to suddenly push off the wall to grab me and peer down my throat to see if there was something down there. Maybe they could use their infrared stuff. Does infrared make your throat light up? Wait, no, they'd have to turn the lights off first. WHERE THE FUCK IS TORRES I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.
"Hey," I said, stopping a passing inmate a moment later. "Have you seen my friend? Goes by Torres, taller than fucking life, blonde hair, brown eyes, looks like she want to-"
"Murder someone?" They finished for me.
"That's the one."
The inmate shook their head sadly. "Nah, sorry, haven't seen 'em."
I sighed and waved them goodbye. "Aight, thanks."

That was phenomenally useless. I did a mental checklist of everywhere I'd already been; she wasn't chilling near the 'library', and I didn't even bother checking the gym because she'd long given up on that place. Our cell was empty, as were our wing bathrooms. Is she seriously going to make me look through all the bathrooms? … I could just wait until lunch…
"Cambell?"
I jerked around at the sound of Torres's voice and sighed in relief. "You! I was looking for you!" I chided.
"So I've been told," Torres said, looking me up and down. "What's so important that you feel the need to run around the grounds for me?"
"Who told you I was looking? It's-" I quietened and sidelong glanced to the left at the guard just behind me. "…Nothing. I just wanted to know if you wanted to play cards."
Torres cocked an eyebrow and nodded.

"Fantastic. Let's go."
"I hope you brought the cards." She said loudly.
OhmygodTorresshutup. "They're in the cell." I said, matching her loudness.

As we walked back to our wing, I went over how exactly I was supposed to tell her that a homicidal evasive megalomaniac was running amok in the penitentiary. I also couldn't figure out how to tell her this without revealing how I know. Also what the hell do I say about the drones? Do I even mention them, or would that just push her over the edge more? No… she doesn't like it when we act out; remember how she got all weird after you even mentioned the security room? But… there was something different about Torres now – she was angrier and way more confrontational. I mean, she was the one who brought up the security room last night… and she suggested finding a goddamn keycard. No, I don't think she'll care how I got my information.

"Are you well, Cambell?" Torres spoke up from behind me. "I can practically hear those gears spinning out of control."
"Cell," I answered, not rising to the bait. It really didn't bother me much anymore – I think this is her natural state, and the niceness I got in the beginning was just her outer layer. Maybe she trusts me now. Makes sense, I thought. She became an asshole around the same time she started telling me about herself.

"Okay." I muttered as we entered our cell. The door didn't close during the day, so I motioned for her to sit on a bunkbed while I leaned against the doorframe to make sure no one was within earshot.
"What's all this about?" She asked. "I thought we were playing cards."
"Cut the shit, Torres." I whispered tautly. "This is serious."
Torres slowly straightened and gave me a concerned frown. "Oh… what's wrong? You look…"

She trailed off and I stared down at the end of the hall a second longer before giving her my attention. "You have to promise not to freak out, okay?"
Torres nodded quickly, looking moderately uneasy.
I sighed and decided that being blunt was the best approach. "I think Loki is in the penitentiary proper, and I'm pretty sure he's disguised as an inmate."
Torres's face went blank.
"Don't freak out."
"What do you mean?" She asked, voice suddenly dropping an octave.
"I mean," I peeked nervously up and down the hall again. "…I think he's hiding." I finished, turning back to her. "And I think Fury is using drones or something to find him."
Torres cocked her head and I saw a flicker of a frown flit across her features for a second.
"Drones?" She asked.

"Yeah, Fury's got these… invisible x-ray gun toting drones that're supposed to be slowly replacing the guards coming up this Friday."
Torres, bless her, was not freaking out… unless her freaking out face was blank – in which case she was in an absolute tizzy.
"Cambell how do you know this?" she finally asked.

"Don't worry about it."
"Cambell!" She snapped. "How. Do. You. Know?"
Tell her. Just tell her about the radio... or don't. I searched her face for the answer to my internal war, but I couldn't get myself to form the words 'I have a radio'. "I just heard it from the guards." I muttered, glancing back to the hall.
"You're lying. Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying!" I insisted and scowled at her. "I heard it from them."
"And you just asked, I suppose?" she quipped.
"No. I…" I scratched nervously at the back of my jaw. "I just listen…"

Torres was obviously trying to put two and two together, but I was not about to help her.
"When did you hear all this?" She asked.
"When you left; I also just… walked around."
Torres didn't buy it, that much was obvious. Hell, I wouldn't've bought it if someone tried to sell me this story.
"Listen," I tried to placate her, "it doesn't matter how I know, just know that I know."
Torres shook her head no and got up from her bunk. "No," she said, crowding into my personal space. Fuck she really is tall; I cringed slightly and looked up to her. I'm not short, but fuuuuucking heeeeeeell-

"I want you to tell me where you're getting this information from." She growled near my ear. With her arm above my head and the fact that her face was just about six inches from mine, I was very nearly about to spill my guts out to her. Why wasn't she put away for murder before this I wailed. Unfortunately, my self-preservation instincts took over instead and I shoved her away from me. I must've caught her at a good time (for me) because she stumbled backwards easily enough, and nearly plopped back onto her bunk.

"Fuck you." I snarled, taking a small step forward. "I'm trying to help and you're acting like a fucking dick."
"You're awfully well connected for an inmate." She murmured, advancing on me as well.
Oh shit, I suddenly realized. She thinks I'm an agent or something! Tell her to chill! "We'll you're really fucking unconnected for someone who's supposedly lived their lives stealing information." Not chill, not chill!
Torres looked murderous, though I think it's safe to say that I must've too. "Talk like that'll get you into trouble." She said.
"Oh, what are they going to do Torres? Throw me into jail? You think we have a fucking chance of getting out?" I snapped, and noticed how close I was to either crying or stepping up and breaking her neck. Chill please. "We're fucked two ways from Sunday, and all I'm trying to do is make life a little less hectic for us."
"All I want to know is who's helping you."
"NO-THE-FUCK-ONE! I've been doing shit alone from day one! You think I fucking need your help – anyone's help!?" I shouted at her, taking the last few remaining steps between us. "All I'm doing is trying to warn you, and you're being a fucking ass about it."
"I'm not an ass-"
"You're a giant fucking ass and I don't need-"

Torres put a hand between us, and on impulse I grabbed it, stepped on her foot and shoved – hard. Naturally, we toppled because I forgot the crucial part about subsequently letting go of her hand once I had shoved. It probably wouldn't have mattered anyways because she grabbed the front of my shirt and dragged me down with her. I came to a second later with her bent over my head and muttering about head wounds bleeding more than most.
"You fuck-" I snarled, pushing upwards.
"Silence!" She hissed, pushing back down and smothering me with the blanket she was using to wipe up my blood. "You just knocked it on the edge of supports." She consoled, hastily motioning to the bed above me.
"I knocked it?!"
"We cannot let anyone see this."
I batted at her hands and rolled away from her and stood up. I had an odd sense of vertigo for a second, but it passed as quickly as it came. "This is your fault." I snapped.
"You pushed me," she snarled in equal measure, wiping the floor with her blanketed foot. "Listen; if anyone sees this, we're both in trouble." She said.

"No, you're in trouble." I corrected, gently touching the large bump on the right of my forehead. The sudden trickle from that small amount of pressure informed me that I was moderately not okay. "I'm the one with the fucking head injury."
"If you call the guards," she hissed, "I'll tell them about that radio you've got wedged in your ear."
I stilled my subpar medical ministrations and internally panicked as I listened to her continue wiping the floor.
"You be quiet, and I will too." She muttered a moment later.
Well fuck me. I raised a hand back to my forehead and leaned against the doorframe again, taking up watch. Fuck me, because I am fucked.
For a while all I heard was the gently scritch and swipe of the blanket being pulled across the floor. Head wounds really must bleed more heavily than most, because it looks like someone just dropped an entire can of red paint at the foot of Torres's bed. Serves her fucking right - banging my head on her bed; what was she thinking?

"Are you trying to anger me?" I heard a moment later.
"What now?" I growled, turning towards her.
"I told you to keep a low profile, and you're standing in the doorway with your face covered in blood!"
"I'm making sure no one's coming!" I quietly hissed.
"You're practically a beacon! Get away from the door!"
I huffed and threw my hands in the air. "Fine," I said, flopping onto my bunk. Torres glared at me and went back to wiping the floor.
"You missed a-"
"Don't." She deadpanned.

I didn't offer to help, but she seemed more than happy cleaning up by herself – not that I would've helped if she asked. She was not pleased five minutes later though; when there were no more bloody floors, but an overabundance of bloody blankets instead.
"We must dispose of these." She said.
"That's the understatement of the century." I muttered into the palm of my hand. I had a major headache, and every word out of her mouth grated on my nerves. "So go get rid of them."
"No," She said. "Lunch starts soon, and we have to deal with that cut on your head. You can sneak them into the wash after lunch."
"Me?" I asked incredulously. "You mean you, right?"
"I don't know how to work the washers," she said indifferently. "Besides I cleaned the floor."
"You knocked my head!" I reminded her.
"You pushed me."
"Because you were about to push me!" I said, exasperated with her and the entire situation.
"I was not," Torres said, reaching into the hem of her pants. "I was about to show you this."

I saw the keycard flash before my eyes for what seemed like milliseconds before it was tucked neatly back into the lining of her pants.
"Torres-" I whispered breathlessly.
"But," she said with a shrug, "You don't need it, right?" She asked. "You don't need me."
I wanted to kick myself. And the small tug on one corner of her mouth told me that she knew it, too.
"Let's fix your head." She said. "And see about the rest later."

I sighed and let her steer me to the open door of the wardrobe. She scrubbed, not too gently, at the side of my face before observing her handiwork.
"You look awful," she complained, before tugging a few longer strands of my hair over the right side of my face. "Just keep it like that until we reach the bathroom, and we'll deal with it there." She instructed. "Now change your shirt, you've got blood on the collar."
"Why do I get the feeling you've had this conversation before?" I asked as I turned around and looked for a fresh shirt. True to her word, it seemed that Torres stunt with door-banging had gotten her a lot of clean pairs of clothes. Well, it'd gotten both of us clean pairs because we had the same size. There were only two sizes here – small and large. No varying lengths, because in here everyone was apparently seven feet tall.

I turned to her a moment later and found her looking me up and down nervously.
"…What?" I asked, hand automatically going back up to my head.
"Nothing, nothing, don't touch it…" she frowned again and glared down at our shoes.
"mnphnnam's Torres."
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, leaning in.
"My name." She said, head still bowed. "My name's Juliana. Torres." She looked back up (down) to me in the eye. "My name is Juliana Torres, and I'm sorry about your head."
I felt a lump lodge in my throat as I tried to choke out my own name.
"Cambell." I finally muttered, unable to look her in the eye. She didn't say anything, but I knew she was disappointed. And probably knew that I was lying, too. We stood there for a heartbeat, I looking down at her feet, and she at the back of my head. I saw her legs shift and retreat from my vision, and I watched her shoes pass through the door.
"You coming, Cambell?" She asked, pausing.
I glanced up from my head-hanging position and frowned quizzically.
"Your face is still a mess."
I nodded and followed behind her, mindful of keeping my head down and hair positioned just-so.

When we reached the entrance to the nearest single-bathroom, I paused while Torres opened the door to glance inside and make sure no one was in there.
"Fine." she said, moving behind the door and holding it open for me. "Be quick." She muttered, and closed it again once I was inside. The shadows under the door indicated that she stood guard outside, making sure that no one else tried to get in. The only problem with the single-bathroom was that it was definitely monitored. There was a very obvious camera above the door, which was why no one ever used the single bathrooms. Except, generally, when the prison food didn't sit well and you couldn't tell if you wanted to hurl or… you get the point. You trade one sense of security for another. If I was being watched, though, I doubted they'd care too much that I was just wiping my face – Torres had gotten rid of most of the red.

I got busy pulling a few sheets of toilet paper (because of course the hand towels were nonexistent) and ran it under the water before pulling up my hair to examine the damage. The wound wasn't too deep – but it was split wide, almost like it got caught on the bed first before tearing loose. The blood was already caked around the edges, and I was loath to wipe it away and make it bleed again. I settled with dabbing the light pink steaks off my face and neck, and rinsing the wound as best as possible. It wasn't until I had my head underneath the faucet that I remembered not to get the radio wet – and realized that it wasn't in my ear at all.
Torres! That fucking bitch!
I jerked out from under the water, hastily dried my face and swiped my hair back in place.

"Torres," I snarled and banged open the door into her back.
"Here." She huffed from behind the door, simultaneously holding out her hand and giving me the 'oh please' look.
I sniffed indignantly and snatched the radio from her hand, and slid it into my pants pocket. "Guards could've seen that," I whined quietly.
Torres snorted and rolled her eyes. "We need to get to lunch before they lock the gates." She informed me as she pushed off the wall in the direction of the cafeteria.
"Yeah," I agreed halfheartedly and followed after her. We were reaching one of the cafeteria entrances and the point where the conversations turned unnecessarily loud when I finally got the balls to blurt-
"Smith."

Torres turned to me with her signature half-cocked eyebrow.
"M'last names Smith." I mumbled, glaring at the plastic tray that I had just picked up and was hoping would spontaneously combust.
Half balls. I couldn't get out my first name.
Torres took it in stride though, and nodded thoughtfully. "Smith… but you prefer…?"
"I prefer Cambell." I insisted.
"Any reason?" She asked.
"Yeah."
She glanced back down to me, but also graciously accepted that I wasn't about to explain that either. She was better at this than I was. She gave out a full name, and all I gave her was a last. She's a decent friend I guess... apart from the head banging. "So…" I began as the lunch-people dumped random mixed fruits into one of the trays compartments. "Are you still Torres, or Juliana?"
Torres flicked a piece of fruit that had dropped onto her thumb back of the servers. It hit one of them square between the eyes.
"I'm Torres." She said sternly.
The server didn't bother arguing.

A/N: Okay, so, this is a lil' bit important (for me, anyways). I've put up a poll up on my profile page in regards to this story; and I'd super appreciate it if any of you would give it an answer. It'll help me with the next few chapters without having everyone just write the answer in the reviews, namsayin? Also thanks for the reviews so much you guys, it super helps me know what's up and going on in your heads, because I haven't unlocked my telepathy skills yet. I'm lagging. (And thanks to everyone who already pollededed!)