Coldwave: Leonard Snart & Mick Rory

one

Leonard looks around frantically, eyes and neck swiveling to and fro, as he scans the area. He's being escorted by a large man. A dark skinned guard in a blue and black uniform.

As happy as the teen boy is to get away from his father, being surrounded by all of these criminals isn't much better. A scrawny eighteen year old with frizzy curls and grey-blue eyes, he fears for more than just his life in here. He's heard the stories of what goes on.

The guard, who's name tag reads: Wikcston, let's go of his orange jumpsuits collar, and pushes him into a hard, grey cell. He lands with an echoing thunk, as his shoulder hits the cold cement. The impact jars him, upsetting previous cuts and bruises.

Sitting up and scooting closer to the slimy wall, he plants his back against it as he rubs his aching arm. Leonard's mind is blank with worry, unable to keep his mind off what's happening back home, and what might soon happen to him here. He knows his skills don't lie in fighting.

He sits like that for nearly three hours, although he doesn't really keep track. His eyes are still glued to the bare floor, his nude feet having become numb to the harsh chill of the cell. He grew bored an hour ago, of watching his steaming breath create fog in the frigid air.

There's a rattling that disturbs him, causing him to flinch every time it comes near him. The guards are opening up the gates. It must be recreation time. Great. Note the sarcasm.

"Okay kid, time to get up." Leonard looks up to the soaring metal bars, from where he sits. He stares into the mans eyes. The same that escorted him here. He scoffs. "I'm being serious, boy. Don't make me, make you." The guard raises an eyebrow, wooden beating-stick resting gently in his palm. Although he's feigning peace, Leonard knows it's meant to intimidate him.

Rolling his eyes, Leonard gets up slowly, and lazily walks towards the metal rods. Wikcston slides a pair of white slippers through the crack, and motions Leo to put them on. Bending down he grabs the flimsy pieces of cardboard and cotton, sliding them over frozen feet.

Standing there, an attitude to his impatience, he waits for the guard to make the next move. It isn't long, as he un-clips a set of keys from his black belt, and pushes open the creaky gate. Grabbing Leonard by his still sore shoulder, he pulls the boy into the hall. Leonard grits his teeth, trying hard not to wince as pain shoots through his arm and chest.

"Walk!" the guard barks. Leonard does as he's commanded, while flashes of his fathers wrinkled forehead and arched eyebrows burn in his mind. The scornful looks he'd be giving his son as he said the same words, forever indented in his subconscious.

"Just follow the hall all the way down. There are guards along the way who'll point you in the right direction, so don't even think about escaping." Leonard tries to ignore the guard whisper under his breath, "It'd be your funeral, kid."

Closing his eyes and steadying his breathing, he follows the workers down many halls. He passes empty cells, and bolted doors with strange noises coming from within them, which makes him walk a bit faster.

As he approaches the cafeteria, where they'll have a half hour lunch before they can go outside to the Yard, he loses his nerve as he hears the scattered voices get louder and louder. The yelling and overall craziness that's before him, is something he loathes. He just wants to be back in his peaceful haven; Away from other people, away from all the noise, and alone with his own thoughts.

Warily walking into the large room, there are tables strewn about. Some inmates sit alone at tables, while others are laughing and joking with one another. Men are standing up, trying to look intimidating, scaring some of the more vulnerable boys as they tower over their small bodies.

Leonard tears his eyes from the dynamic scene, willing his feet move him towards the Feeders. There are two of them, one robust, and full bodied. Her meaty hands scoop a glob of brownish, soupy food onto his Styrofoam plate. It bends from the pressure. There are hairs growing from the mole on her cheek, and she gives him a small smile, which he politely returns.

The other woman is actually quite pretty, her raven hair flowing beneath her hairnet, and piercing blue eyes connect with his as she adds what Leonard thinks is cornbread, to his plate. Her slim frame and smooth complexion doesn't fool him though, because she seems to be the tough one. He grimaces as he tries to smile, her beady eyes searing his back as he walks away. He shivers.

Scanning the room, he looks for an empty place to sit, not particularly wanting to interact with anyone. He figures keeping his head down will keep him out of trouble. His luck seems to be out though, so he goes to walk towards a stretch of wall where he can sit on the floor, until by some miracle, a guy gets up from a lone table as he's waved over to another group.

Lifting his head high, Leonard makes his way over to that spot. It's right next to the garbage can, where most of the uneaten food hasn't even made it into the trash can. Heathens. Glad that he grabbed napkins from the untouched pile in line, he sets down his plate and wipes the table down, til he's satisfied it's clean.

He does the same with the bench before sitting down. With a plastic fork and knife, he starts to eat his meal, trying his best not to think about what it's made of. He's skipped more meals back home than he cares to admit, due to his father's negligence, but by some grace, he still has standards.

"Hey, princess!" he hears someone holler. He chooses to ignore it, figuring they could be talking to anyone. He brings a chunk of brown maybe-meat to his mouth, his tongue recoiling from the foul taste. Like dog food.

The voice rings out again, "Would your majesty like it if someone chewed your food for you too!" The group of neanderthals laugh along with him. He peeks over to see the man faced towards him, sitting on the table top. They seem to find cleanliness to be humorous.

Leonard just shakes his head and ignores them. He knows that's the best way to deal with his father, and these criminals seem to have a lot in common with the man who raised him. Unlike his father though, they don't like that very much, and become visibly angry at his lack of reaction.

Not used to being ignored, the head of the group comes over, dragging his pose' with him. "Hey, princess. I was talking to you!" He grabs Leonard by the collar of his jumpsuit , pulling him back from his seat. He lands with a hard thunk, his head hitting the ground with food and utensils flying beside him. Caught off guard, the wind was knocked from his young lungs, making his chest feel heavy and tight.

On the ground, struggling to breath, he squirms around on his back like a crab. His brings his hands to his chest and neck, as he feels a panic attack coming on. His pale face is probably red as crustacean as he tries to slowly push air into his lungs.

He uses his usual technique for times like these, and just when he starts to get some stability in his breathing, Leonard sees the mans fist flying towards his face. He closes his eyes as the other guys laugh at the display. Embracing for impact, he's surprised when it never comes. Waiting a few moments, the laughter has died, and all he can hear are grunts of pain.

Opening his eyes slowly, one at a time, the sight shocks him. There's a boy, probably not much older than him, who has the guy that just stood over him pinned to the ground in a choke hold. His face is as vibrant as Leonard's was just moments before. Two of the other cronies are on the ground squinting their eyes, which are running with tears like a waterfall, and respectively holding their throats. The other three were smart enough, and un-loyal, deciding to have backed away, not wanting to fight. Looking at the Goliath before him, he doesn't quite blame them, either.

Letting go of the guy who was just hanging in a tight fist, by his throat, Leonard's savior whispers something harshly to the man then stands, while the guy quickly and unceremoniously scrambles away.

The guy who saved him, walks over to Leonard, looking down at the younger boy. Reaching down with the hand -which just took out three guys single handed- he speaks with a gruff voice, that sends chills down Leonard's back. "The name's Mick. Mick Rory."