Jump The Gun

Chapter 1

"People pontificate suicide is a cowards act. Couldn't be further from the truth."

________________________________________________________________________

"Move your ass kid!" Dean heard one old cop yell at the bus in front of his truck. He felt bad for any possible young ass-busted kids in there.

"They must feel like hell," he said to his guard. The guard looked up at him coldly, staring at the ground afterwards again. Dean couldn't find much shy guards around. He liked them. "They're probably thinking of how they could've acted so that they wouldn't have been caught."

The guard remained silent. Dean chuckled "Don't worry pal, I won't try to escape or anything. Everyone knows I'm the good guy" he hesitated for a moment, correcting himself "well, the good bad guy of course."

Dean looked around the truck. Something seemed different in this truck, something that made it special. It was pretty humid in there. "Can you open that window above your head? I feel like I'm in a frying pan."

The guard sat still. Dean looked at him frustrated, wanting to yell at him until he turns into a disgusting probably-green liquid, but he preferred staying out of trouble.

Truck's door opened, revealing a cop standing in the way, pointing a gun at him. A thin tall young man, wearing black scary suit was standing behind the cop.

"This is excessively friendly" Dean says sarcastically getting off the car. "Can I go back now? I liked my old prison!"

"It wasn't a prison Mr. Winchester." The man in suit says bitterly. "It was an asylum."

The cop pushed Dean towards a small door by the fence. Dean could feel the gun's pressure against his back. He was sure that this was not the way they acted with every prisoner, maybe only the most dangerous like him. But of course, he wasn't as dangerous as they thought. The scary man walked by Dean all along, probably to reassure him that they are at a safe place. How stupid.

"You didn't have to remind me," Dean said smirking without taking off his look from the handcuffs. These were more luxurious and secure than the ones they used in the madhouse. "I'm not crazy!"

"You don't get a say in that. Your crime is obvious."

"It was deliberately." Dean whispered to him nodding. He liked to see his exact reaction but he needed to stop walking in that case and that was impossible. He could guess that this soulless man would show no reaction to any kind of action.

They stood in front of a door. Dean looked around in the hallways. They were dark and dirty, as if they were keeping prisoners with death penalty in an empty trash bin. Maybe it wasn't really empty, they were the garbage in it.

The man in the suit walked away from the same way that they came down there. The cop led him into his cell. There was a simple white bed by the wall and a toilet beside it. They had probably tried to make it look like his last cell in Oklahoma's Prison for the Criminally Insane, simple, and empty.

Dean turned around and looked at the cop. "Open my hands" he said.

As the handcuffs were removed, he started massaging his arms. "Feels good" he said.

The cop stared at him, putting the key into his pocket. "Here are the rules," he said "lights go off at 10 p.m., you better sleep then. Any voice made after that, can have punishments. You do not chat with your guard, you don't get a say in your food. You can use the shower every weekend. Every two days, you will be taken to the yard to get some air. You behave or you will get punished. Any effort for escaping can get you dead. Do we understand each other?"