Chapter 2
SINN'OUS
Uproar. The buzz of electric charged energy snaps from one man to the next. Each sweaty body hyping the next, in a game of survival where the new is to be poked and prodded until it either rolls over and flashes its belly or dies. Either outcome is acceptable in this prison pool of life.
And the newbie flashing in, in all his orange glory, is no exception.
Sinn'ous tucks himself into the shadows, a place he’s grown comfortable in since the first of the rumours spread.
Those whispers turning into a landslide picking up speed the further it travels, collecting new and inventive pieces along the way.
Stories spun into wild tales crossing from truth into a fictional mythology meant to spread fear in the stimulus-deprived individuals.
It’s all he is to them, a scary tale they can murmur about to give themselves the power to justify their own actions.
Too cowardly alone to own up to their own choices.
If you’re going to kill, be man enough to own it.
Unbeknown to the newcomer, Sinn'ous watches with a keen eye for detail. Every neurone to twitch is a hint at who he is, and why he’s here. His soft hazelnut hair and round ass highlighted in that bright orange, it draws eyes from every corner of the room.
And the boy holds himself as if he’s desperate to appear undaunted, and in doing so he is making it so glaringly obvious just how rattled he is.
Sinn'ous is far from the only one to catch it.
The whiff of vulnerability, blood in the sea of sharks.
A calling card to snare anyone in the net thrown out.
The boy may as well strip naked and throw himself at the crowd.
This could, however, work in Sinn'ous’s favour. New, alone, no group to claim him and get in Sinn'ous way. Easy pickings he can pinch up and stuff into a carefully constructed box of his making. A refreshing game of catch, where the mouse is unaware it’s being led astray.
It’s a refresh from the same old faces day in and day out.
This one is clean, sparkling with life that Sinn'ous has to snuff out.
A pass time he can indulge in. And a kill he can get behind.
Finally someone of his tastes, not merely a convenience, but a body made for him to play with.
To coat in blood and tease the life from.
The guard leading the walk of shame, fresh meat to his cell is not one of the more favoured. A stickler for the rules, a real pain in the ass to manipulate. Back straight, head forward, air of boredom dripping out every thread in his uniform. It’s enough to gag even the most entitled.
The boy ignores the open jabs and flexes of power thrown around by the sharks in the room.
Yelled taunts to gauge if he has any bite back, and he does not.
There is no give back or eye rolls, he isn’t unfazed or letting it roll off him, his shoulders tense at every jab and his nervous energy grows.
There is no survival awareness in him, he is baring his belly and flashing every insecurity he has to the entire room.
It’s almost moan worthy how easy he’s making this.
A perfect target. The ideal prey. As if Satan himself gift wrapped the boy and delivered him to Sinn'ous’s front door.
Oh, how fun this will be.
The little fawn stumbles on the stairs, then is dragged up them.
To a cell not so far from Sinn'ous’s own.
The issues arise when Sinn'ous steps through the crowd to greet the boy and none other than the loud and obnoxious Reni inserts himself into the cell like a repulsive haemorrhoid no one wants anywhere near them, let alone hanging off a prospective meal.
He glowers and slips back into the grey sea, eyes pinned on the back of Reni’s head the entire time the inmate runs his mouth and escorts Sinn'ous’s prey to the cafeteria. Almost like Reni knows his plans and wants to crush them under foot and shit all over everything.
The docile fawn will have to wait. Sinn'ous will have to wait. And hope no one slips the boy a warning to the dangers following in the shadows.
With his prey out of his reach for the time being he takes it upon himself to do some digging. And makes his own way up the stairs to slip into the cell his prey’s assigned to.
A whole lot of nothing special. No personal belongings or items brought in from the outside.
No family photos. No postcards. Nothing to clue him in on what leverage he can use.
Not even a scrap of lint or errant shoelace, not that they are allowed laces in here.
Like that stops anyone from killing another or hanging themselves.
It just means we all have to be more creative when staging suicides.
Waste of time. He’ll have to get creative to find this information too. Shouldn’t be hard, the right bribe or leaning on the right source will squeeze out something useful.
On his way out he grabs the end of Reni’s neatly tucked bunk and upends it, dumping the thin excuse for a mattress upside down. The soft material presenting as an anorexic pillow hits the ground under the pretence of making a noise that even an ant would strain to hear.
If you get in my way Reni, I will put you so far in the ground not even the worms will find you.
~~~
The cafeteria presents itself as it always has. An open space cramped full of hot bodies, blunt edges and hard surfaces. Where sound ricochets off the walls on a personal mission to knock someone out.
In a mass collection of grey, the orange beckons to him. It’s squeezed into the queue of waiting men, teetering on the outskirts while smack dab in the thick of it. And tucked right next to Sinn'ous’s prey is Reni and his clique of dead-space.
Sinn'ous grits his teeth, chewing his molars while he works on schooling his features so his irritation doesn’t show. Cutting the line to grab a meal he knows he won’t eat, just to have an excuse to be here to watch his prey, and wait for it to split off from the flock.
He bears no mind to anyone, leaving as soon as his tray is filled. Everyone clears a path, a zipper opening to give passage then closing behind him.
He takes his usual place at the table he unintentionally cleared his first day in. Killing the local gang who resided here had awarded him a free table. Keeping the nice piece of real estate had been a result of the manner in which the locals had ‘moved’ out.
His morning only gets worse, when his prey does the opposite of what he wants.
Of what is considered normal for someone who has just arrived.
Instead of sitting alone like any regular newly incarcerated man does—outside of organised crime groups—the boy parks his ass right next to Isco, the scarred inmate regular folks avoid.
Reni and his damn intervening. Can’t he leave well enough alone? Find another conquest to wet his dick in.
Sinn'ous’s prey is a lost puppy trying to fit in, and inadvertently in doing so has saved itself from the wolf wanting to take a bite.
Narrowing his eyes at his own food tray does nothing to resolve his dilemma.
But watching the boy’s wide doe-eyes running around the room is amusing enough to calm his boiling blood.
Especially when those lost eyes skim over Trevor’s bruised eye and split lip, then skitter away like the bruises personally insulted him.
The soft fear is written in every intake of breath, every shift under prison orange. Sinn'ous has no doubts he will have his prey under his blade within a week. Bleeding all over the floor while his doe-green eyes beg for a mercy that will be denied.
He has missed this. Choosing who he wants. Planning the kills. Stalking his prey. A perfect apple plucked from the many for him to slice into. To carve out a name for himself in the fearful flesh of another.
It’s unbeknown to him if his lack of empathy is something he always had or if it burned its way into him at the hands of his father.
His adoptive father wasn’t a man to be trifled with, and Sinn'ous can’t remember much of who he was when he lived with his biological parents.
Being three when he was taken put a strain on the memories.
He’s not even sure if the faces he remembers are of his parents or of a young mind needing something to cling onto.
The sight of his latest obsession cuts off for a moment by a man in the prison blues of an anaphylaxis inmate. One who is just asking to have peanuts stuffed into his pillowcase alongside his head, and given a little shake to season the fucker into the afterlife.
They move on and Sinn'ous continues the studies of his prey. Whatever discussion is going on at Reni’s table is far too soft to hear.
He can, however, feel the eyes of Isco boring into him, and he makes the mistake of rolling his own over to that scarred face.
A knowing smirk is on Isco’s thin pressed lips for a fraction of a second, enough time to have Sinn'ous bearing down into his thighs to prevent himself from vaulting the table and planting his fist through Isco’s face.
His violent thoughts fizzle out the moment doe-green eyes drift back to him.
Their eyes clash in an open exchange where two creatures look their fill while trying to decide what happens next.
His prey is trying to sort through whether it should approach him.
The open expression is as obvious as it is naively pitiful.
And then everything crashes around them.
He can see the moment someone tells the boy who he is. The fear that crushes the spark behind those soft eyes. It sends the world constricting in on all sides until the pressure grows into white noise.
His knuckles turn white against his grip on the table’s edge.
Aggression raising his blood to boil, like a volcanic eruption under his skin.
Reni’s loud mouth over sharing what he should not.
Sticking a wedge into Sinn'ous’s plans and hammering it in place.
Taking away his prey’s cluelessness, and stamping irreversible damage into his plans of manipulation.
If he is to stand a chance of succeeding in his game of cat and mouse Reni will need to be out of the picture. And the boy will need to see that he can’t survive in here without help. Assistance Sinn'ous will be there to offer him.
He’ll weave himself into the tantalising safety net his prey foolishly steps into.