Less Than Survive || BMC Prison AU

2 | Cafetorium

The food was shit.

Jeremy knew that was the point, but still.

At least it was food.

His lunch consisted of some stale crackers, a mushy red-delicious apple (which was a serious misnomer if you asked him), some questionable looking beans, watery mashed potatoes, and a carton of milk nearing its expiration date.

It really could have been worse, he reminded himself, poking around at the soggy patch of mashed potatoes, it could be the 'unidentifiable mush' or 'mystery meat' that people always ascribed prison food to in books.
The cafeteria was full and buzzing with activity, but all of his fellow prisoners had ignored him thus far. None of the other people sitting nearby had even given him a glance as far as he could tell, though he knew they were all likely eyeing him appraisingly when wasn't looking, trying to judge his worth. He was fresh meat.

...Unlike his meal.

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Jeremy picked at his food, eating everything he deemed moderately edible, and then grabbed his tray to return it to the kitchen and throw out his leftovers.

He dumped the excess food into the trash can with the other waste, which had mixed together in the trash bag and congealed into a crusty, curdled amalgamation of who knows what. He wrinkled his nose and crossed the room to the counter to return his tray, doing his best to avoid any eye contact at all with the other inmates, when—

Someone very small collided with him. The tray crashed out of his hands and to the floor (thank goodness he had already disposed of his food,) and the tiny person nearly knocked him to the ground.

"Sorry," he muttered, though it had very much not been his fault, and tried to keep walking. A hand seized his arm with a vice-like grip.

"Watch where you're going, Tall-Ass!"

Jeremy looked down, dismayed, and made eye contact with the short, stocky individual glaring up at him. He was dressed in orange prison garb, the same as all the other inmates, but the sleeves of his shirt had been torn off, putting his shoulders and short, albeit muscular arms on full display. Burn scars snaked up his arms and neck, shining strangely in the glare of the ceiling lights, and a streak of dyed carnelian-red blazed a track through his unruly hair.

"I didn't—"

The short inmate grabbed Jeremy by the scruff of his jumpsuit, cutting him off. He had to stand on tiptoes to do it, but he still managed to present quite the intimidating sight to Jeremy, as this was exactly the kind of confrontation he had hoped to avoid.

"Hey, buddy—you really need to learn how it works around here," he growled up at Jeremy. "This whole place," he gestured vaguely at his surroundings, "Runs on hierarchy. And you're at the bottom of the food chain. You can't just go blundering around like you own the place. Trod on the toes of the wrong person—" he grinned menacingly, "and you'll end up 6 feet under the prison cemetery, got that?"

At this point, they had attracted a small amount of attention, though less than Jeremy would have expected. It was a prison, after all; this couldn't have been an uncommon occurrence. A few inmates were watching with mild interest, and some of them grinned appreciatively at the sight of a newbie being put in his place.

Jeremy knew he should have just yielded. That would have been the smart choice. But he was impulsive, and he had a live audience, waiting to see what he would do. If he gave in now, he'd be safe, but he'd also permanently secure his place as the lowest member of the pack; and from what he'd seen so far, he knew that wouldn't lead to him being treated well. This was all about hierarchy, the fiery little inmate had said. If he wanted hierarchy, Jeremy would give him hierarchy.

"...No."

The effect of that quiet word was as intense as if Jeremy had yelled it. The inmates sitting within earshot immediately hushed, and refocused on him with renewed interest.

Jeremy's accoster had looked away in the time he had spent hesitating. Now, his head turned slowly to face Jeremy, and his eyes narrowed, the way an apex predator locks sight onto its prey. This was a very, very, very bad idea.

He reduced the distance between their faces, until they were nearly nose to nose, tightening his grip on Jeremy's shirt collar.

"You wanna say that again?"

Jeremy was too far in to back out now. He steeled himself.

"...No. Actually, I don't care how it works here, but you aren't going to treat me like shit and expect respect. I bumped into you, and I apologized. That should be enough."

He tried to keep his voice as steady as he could, but it shook slightly. Jeremy was rapidly realizing that he had just made a very big mistake. His adversary growled under his breath, but his eyes widened slightly, in what might have been grudging respect. Or maybe just surprise that Jeremy was actually this stupid.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a tall, dark haired girl eyeing him coolly. She had a superior, almost queen-like bearing, her head held high. Two shorter figures flanked her, one with a long, yellow cardigan draped over her jumpsuit, and the other with a dark pink sweatshirt tied around her waist, both of them stationed beside her like bodyguards. She and Jeremy made eye contact, and she raised an inquisitive eyebrow. He wondered for a moment why they had been permitted to keep some of their street clothes.

And then he was punched in the stomach.

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A/N || What is this, a cliffhanger?? ;0 Some familiar faces will be introduced in the next chapter~