C41 was taught to fight and never trust anyone but a select few. But in order to leave prison, he might have to work with those who can break him.
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Inmate C41 is the youngest...
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***
A muzzle. They had to put a damn muzzle on me.
The shitty metal dug into the back of my head and into my face. I didn't get why this was even necessary. I had two guards who were at least double my size and weight, so I really didn't pose a threat. Not visibly anyways. And it wasn't like I was gonna go mental in the middle of an airport. Even despite me being feral and all.
People kept staring at me as they walked by. I would look at me too. The black one-piece with the white numbers, C41, on the chest was unmistakable. I was no longer a minor, but an adult.
It didn't matter I hadn't actually bitten anyone since I was like five years old. The muzzle had been a must. And so had the chains around my ankles and wrists. Surprisingly I hadn't gotten a collar too. What a treat.
I glanced up at the screens one of my guards had been eyeing for a while. It looked boring. Just a bunch of numbers and words I didn't understand. The numbers were easy, the words weren't.
The guard next to me cleared his throat, and I looked back down at my trainers. Had to keep my feral eyes off the normal people.
I was getting transferred from the youngster's facility in Ireland to the adult one in Scotland. Which also meant I got to leave prison for some hours.
And I got to look at people. I couldn't help but smile when a small boy grabbed a stuffed toy off the rack and put it in his pocket. His gaze landed on me, and he was quick to put the toy back again. He disappeared in a crowd of people almost stampeding through the halls.
Everyone kept looking at a little rectangle that I didn't understand, and their clothes were... Odd. Some wore completely black clothes and had piercings all over. Some were very colourful and even had very colourful hair.
I wondered what style I'd have if I wasn't in prison. I kind of liked the people who were extra. Who looked original. The piercings and tattoos. I mean, people had tattoos in prison and made them there too, but they looked nothing like the walking art some of these people were wearing.
A guy caught my eyes and held them for a long minute. He looked "normal". His clothes weren't anything to take note of, but the rest of him was. Olive skin, black waves of hair sculpted on top of his head, and dark blue eyes. He was massive, and he reminded me of one of my guards. That was until I realised he was one of the guards. Undercover. I should have known. I had seen him briefly at the prison. And then he kind of just disappeared. I should've known though, I wasn't only followed by the two guards beside me. Being as feral as I supposedly was meant there would, of course, be more than just the two. And this one had just caught me staring at something other than my shoes.
Shit. I wanted to kick myself in the head for being this stupid.
He stalked forward and stopped right in front of me. He bent over, forcing me to either lean back in my seat or stay very close to his face.
