Incarcerator

Chapter Two

Garren

People stare at them. They sit at the smudged steel table, trying to ignore the curious gazes of the others in the quiet, but packed shelter. The air goes from hot to cold, sweat and shiver still stuck to his skin. At least my fists have healed, he thinks, tensing his hand to test the pain - none. He scoops up another forkful of mashed potatoes and looks up at his friend.

He stares at him, slurping on a carton of orange juice. "Man, this reminds me of prison food, Gar," he remarks, setting his empty drink down. "Tastes like shit." He picks up his fork and stabs into the side of steamed vegetables.

The mashed potatoes are thick and hot in Garren's mouth. He swallows before speaking. "It's better than nothing," he retorts, his voice monotone. He studies the other tables in the large, wide gray room, homeless people gathered on each one. Even some children. "They don't have much to work with. It's all voluntary, too."

Jacin tips his dark eyes up to the ceiling, where one of the lights flicker. "I know, I know," he replies, forking a piece of dry, overcooked chicken into his mouth. "It'd be nice to have a hot, greasy ass burger, though. And some fries. Hmmm, some salty fries." He closes his eyes and smiles at the thought.

Garren scoffs in between his mouthful of mashed potatoes. "We'd need money for that," he says, the realisation dawning on him. We have no money, nothing. They were lucky enough to dig out some clothes from a charity dumpster, and buried their prison suits in the bottom of an actual dumpster.

Jacin opens his eyes again, looking around thoughtfully. "You right," he says, nodding. "But we can get some."

Garren's face twists into a frown. "How?" he prompts, his fork stabbed into the dry chicken.

His friend looks at him with a smug smile. "Easily, my man," he says, his voice cracking up an octave. He stretches back in the long, school cafeteria-like seat. "You think I don't have a plan? I mean, damn, did you not think about what you'd do if you got out?" he asks, leaning back towards Garren, staring at him intently.

He pauses, pondering this. Not that he needed to - the answer was obvious. "Of course I did," he mutters, looking down at his plate, moving around the strips of chicken. But I never wanted to get out, is what he doesn't answer. He did it for his friend, not for himself.

Jacin shakes his head, still smirking. "I got a plan, though," he continues, digging into his pile of mashed potatoes now. "And it's a good one. Not like that crazy ass shit you pulled back at the prison."

Garren grips his fork harder. His head lifts up to face his friend. "I don't think you should be saying that," he points out, his eyes swiftly but subtly scanning the other side of the room. Only, everyone is occupied with their plate of free food.

Jacin ignores him. These potatoes taste like chunky ass water, he thinks, shoving a forkful in his mouth anyway. "I mean, dude, I gotta be honest with you -" he begins, giving his accomplice a surprised smile. "I did not believe you when you said you had powers."

Could you say that any louder? Garren thinks, suppressing a sharp sigh. As well as the urge to swear. "Well, now you do," he says, his words weighed down with a heavy exhale that he didn't mean to let out. He picks at his plate, the hunger pangs in his stomach subsiding. All the adrenaline from before seems to be pushing everything else aside. Now he just feels... numb, empty. He thought getting out of prison would feel more freeing than this.

Jacin laughs loudly, his laugh something between a hehe and a cackle. "I know," he replies. "But goddamn you are strong. That's why my plan will be easy as shit."

Garren's ears perk up, although he's not quite sure he wants to hear it. "What is it?"

His friend leans forward, flicking his tongue over his dark purple lips. "We're gonna break into a house, and trust me, they're packed. Loaded. They got all the good stuff."