𝒜𝐹𝒯𝐸𝑅 𝒴𝒪𝒰

Chapter 8

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The room was at the end of the hallway, small and dull. A sluggish light flooded the visible darkness, prospering the creeping night, with dump silence outside.

George was leaning against the freezing concrete wall while drawing something in his notepad. The other kid–his newly settled roommate secretly tipped his head and watched from the corner of his eye.

It was an odd-looking creature; like an octopus, but gigantic and elrich. The sketch was peculiar—cryptic in fact. It wasn't normal, not even the style, outlined with strange numbers and symbols. It Took him five minutes before, finally noticing the coded patterns. And by sometime, he didn't bother to hide the curiosity. His eyes were straight on the sketch.

George paused, eventually settling his eyes on him, with a raised brow.

"Is that Cuthulu?"

The prince snorted. "After ten hours you guessed a punk cartoon?"

"Punk Cartoon? Really? Your mind won't be able to comprehend him. He's a God!"

George scowled and looked back on his pad, completely ignoring him.

Silence lingered again.

The kid was glad that they somehow were having a conversion. In the afternoon, he'd been thrust up here with him and they locked the door on his face. The doors of this building were of metal–just like the cellars. They'd keep the dangerous kids in these compartments, and the ones who broke the rules were punished by getting locked up with them. He'd been new to the academy, and they'd say the boy who lived on the last floor was an animal.

It made him skeptical to approach him.

But he had slowly started adjusting with it.

"Alright!" He was still not comfortable, as George's eyes snapped to him again. "But what is then? A secret message?"

His lips curled, as he spoke with his thick European accent "Fret not. I have none to send messages."

"Then?"

The prince irrationally glared at him once before shaking head. "How did you land here?"

"Tried to beat the supervisor."

George titled head in surprise, as an amused smile occupied his face. "Oh, wow Alicia. That's so manly of you."

Trent shook his head–he already knew that 'this specimen' called everyone as their female versions. It was completely futile to argue.

"Before that?"

Trent shrugged. No way he'd tell how he got caught. It made George silently go back to sketching again.

"Alright!" Trent glared, "My mother was helping the police—I mean I can't say if it was intentional or not. My parents were dead by the time I got bailed out."

George stilled, finally putting down the notebook and completely shifting his attention to him. "The police killed your parents?"

"No, I used—"

"The police killed your parents."

It was then Trent realized he wasn't asking. It was a statement.

"What're you saying? I worked for a drug dealer. The police put my mother on the phone, and when I got him they captured me. It was the bloody dealer who got her killed to shut me."

"You got sent to the rehabilitation." Again, it wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"What are doing here then?"