Frost & Flames | Soulmate AU 2 |

Two

It quickly becomes clear that we aren't going to D.C. The agents marched me onto their jet and strapped me into a seat more than what much have been hours ago, and the flight to D.C. isn't nearly as long. It's making me very uneasy, though I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. Everything about this entire situation is incredibly fishy, so of course these guys aren't following protocol.

One of them eventually unbuckles me and jerks me to my feet.

"We're here, sunshine," he sneers. The group is walking me down the ramp of the plane before I can ask where exactly "here" is.

Apparently, "here" means The Vault. The Vault, as in the League run prison that everyone knows no one ever comes back from. The one I sent my mother to just over a year ago. What great news.

The agents hand me off to one of the prison guards as soon as they can. The guard doesn't look any nicer, so this probably won't be much of an improvement.

"Welcome to The Vault," the guard greets, his nearly black eyes hard and cold. "Your home for the rest of your life."

I swallow thickly as he unlocks my cuffs and tosses them into a bin off to the side. He click a bracelet around my left wrist shortly after that looks exactly like the cuffs. I try to conjure up some spontaneous snow, but it doesn't work, so I guess this bracelet is basically a version of the cuffs that allows for the freedom of movement. It makes sense. They can't have a bunch of enhanced inmates running amuck with all their powers loose.

The guard leads me to a giant open shower room white towels. He gestures to stand in front of him, so I do.

"Strip," he orders. Right. That's a part of going to prison. Strip search, new clothes, and all that.

I take off my clothes as fast as my brain will allow myself, which is obviously not fast enough for the guard, because he starts huffing in annoyance. Once I'm standing there entirely naked, he steps forward and flicks on the shower head above me. Cold water sprays down and I hold back the gasp that wants to jump out of my mouth. He lets it run for a few moments, telling me to turn completely in a circle so I'm thoroughly drenched. He turns the water off and steps over to a table by the door with a set of what must be their standard issue clothes: a nasty looking beige color.

"Put these on," he barks, thrusting a set at me. My hands are shaking from the cold as I do so, pulling the shirt over my head and the white underwear and pants up my legs. The clothes are too big on me, but he doesn't seem to care so I'm not inclined to, either. I don't want to piss this guy off any more than my mere existence already has.

We make another stop at a large desk with regular looking receptionist people. One mean looking old land hands the guard a laminated card, which turns out to be my inmate ID card. I clip it to the pocket on my shirt. At least the printed my last named as "Ford" and not "Blackwell." Maybe it'll take a little longer for news to spread to my mother that I'm here because of it.

"You're going to have a cellmate. Everyone gets one hours of rec time in the courtyard and one hours of leisure time a day. Your cell will be otherwise locked at all times. Meals are served in your cell. Shower time is an hour a week every Friday night," the guard informs me as we continue walking. He holds his ID card up to a reader at every heavy door we come across.

We stop walking at a large door with the words "Block E" painted in white across the metal. I guess this is my block. I can only hope that my mother isn't in the same block.

True to his word, all the cells we walk past have their doors tightly shut. Some faces pop into the tiny little window as we pass, curious glances following as we go. The guard signals to someone and a cell door on the second level rolls open. He basically shoves me inside, handing me the sac of essentials he had grabbed at the beginning of our journey. The cell door rolls shut and locks once he's back out on the catwalk.