Less Than Survive || BMC Prison AU

3 | Confrontation

Jeremy doubled over in pain and staggered back against the cafeteria wall. If anyone in the room hadn't been paying attention before, they were now.

His attacker advanced on him and took another swing, but Jeremy managed to stumble out of the way, just in time.

The prisoners standing nearby gave them a wide berth, staying clear of the fight, but watching eagerly. There was nothing like a good brawl to rile up a group of convicts.

Jeremy was no dandelion, but neither was he a professional wrestler. He was exhausted and his combatant was definitely much stronger than him. Jeremy did his best to block the blows, and he managed to deliver a few of his own, but his efforts proved futile. He was knocked to the floor, arms raised to shield his head, and in a last ditch attempt to defend himself, Jeremy kicked out as hard as he could with his lanky legs.

It was enough. Jeremy's attacker staggered backwards, and Jeremy straightened and clambered to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth. He probably would have enough time to run, or maybe he could use his tray, still lying on the floor, as a weapon, or maybe—

"Desist, both of you!"

Jeremy and his assailant both turned, simultaneously, to find two guards shoving through the herd of spectators who had gathered in a semi-circle around the fight.

The first guard, the one who had shouted, stood just over five feet tall, shoulder length, black hair pulled up into a messy bun which was now coming loose, though she didn't seem to notice or care. She turned to shoo some inmates away, and Jeremy caught sight of the name "CANIGULA" monogrammed onto the back of her uniform. The other guard, taller than Jeremy and much taller than his compatriot, waded through the small crowd like he was treading neck-deep into a pool. The back of his vest read "DILLINGER," in gold, blocky text.

Officer Canigula marched straight up to Jeremy and his adversary, and addressed the latter, hands on her hips. "Rich, I should've known it was you—stop beating up the new guy. Pick on someone your own size."

He glared. "Yeah, Canigula? And how do you plan on making me?"

In answer, she calmly reached for the taser hanging at her belt, but her colleague stopped her. He placed a hand on Rich's scarred arm, and gave him a significant look. Rich hesitated, and then spat on the floor at Officer Canigula's feet, but his gaze softened and he turned away.

"Warden, both of you," Canigula ordered. Rich huffed loudly, like an angry house cat, but at a glance from Dillinger, he shoved past Jeremy and out of the cafeteria. The former followed with a long suffering sigh.

"You're alright?" Officer Canigula inquired, helping Jeremy to his feet. "Yeah, fine," he said quietly, wiping the blood from his split lip and bleeding nose. "Good. I'll escort you to the warden then," she said, not unkindly.

ᗧ • • •

The warden's office was smaller than Jeremy had expected. It reminded him of the reception area of a doctor's office, or maybe a large cubicle. Then again, he really didn't know what he had been expecting. The warden, Mr. Reyes, was equally anticlimactic. Jeremy had anticipated a tall, dark, stony figure, with a perfectly pressed uniform and shiny gold badge, who would calmly reprimand them for inmate fighting and assign them punishments.

Instead, when Officer Canigula and Jeremy arrived, it was to find a paunchy, balding, middle aged man, who looked like he was in his late forties, dressed in a pink bathrobe and slippers, in the middle of yelling his head off. A half-eaten hot pocket lay discarded on his desk, and for some reason, he sort of reminded Jeremy of his dad.

Rich, who was lounging in a chair, feet propped up on the desk, just picked at his teeth, looking bored.

"—RICH GORANSKI, WE DO THIS NEARLY EVERYDAY. I can't deal with you CONSTANTLY causing a ruckus. It's a NIGHTMARE. I just want to sit here and eat my hot pockets, but noooooo, you have to go and just RUIN it for me, and gET YOUR BUNIONS OFF OF MY WORK SURFACE, YOU HEATHEN—"

"He does this a lot, just humor him," Canigula whispered to Jeremy.

"The things I deal with," he grumbled, before slumping dramatically back into his swivel chair, which creaked in protest.

Canigula interjected before he could get going again. "Sir, I brought the other one." She pointedly booted Jeremy towards the desk, who stumbled into the chair next to Rich.

"And you," Officer Reyes said, turning his attention—and his swivel chair—to face to Jeremy. "Here for one day, ONE day, and you're already causing trouble. I'll be keeping an eye on you, boy."

Jeremy grimaced, apologetically. His face was still bleeding.

The warden sighed theatrically. "I suppose I'll have to come up with punishments for you—though clearly they haven't had of much effect on Mr. Goranski here," he said, glaring pointedly at Rich. "I've already changed your assignment to working in the boiler room the last time you nearly set the cafeteria on fire haven't I? In that case, I suppose I'll just have to suspend your pay for the next few weeks." He sighed again.

Rich shrugged, unconcerned.

"As for you," Reyes said, turning to Jeremy, "Oh—Christine—what's the disciplinary code for new inmates, again?"

"Well, he hasn't made any other transgressions, and he doesn't have a work assignment yet so you can't just demote him, so I'd recommend that you just give him a short labor assignment and suspend his wage, since it's his first offense."

"Yes, yes, very good—Mr. Heere, ah, here, can have three days of work in the laundry department without pay, and then we'll give him a proper assignment. He yawned.

"If that's it, then I better get back to—ah, what I was working on." He waved a dismissive hand. "That will be all."

Jeremy, Rich, and the two guards filed out of the room, and left Officer Reyes to finish eating his hot pocket.

ᗧ • • •

A/N || With how many times I've had to google stuff about prisons already so far, I'm probably on some government watchlist or something. Aaaanyways, everyone's favorite antisocial headphones kid will be arriving shortly~