"Fuck this!"

Out of all ten of the prisoners, Fuuta certainly stood out from the rest. Whether he was the most outspoken one of the lot that wasn't cowering like the rest of them for innocence or that he was an absolutely terrible liar. At least it was complex to understand the others real thought. He was... easier.

Despite everything, he yelled and yelled. He thrashed as he was taken into the interrogation room, he yelled as he was sat down and even talked to. His binds would rattle from the squirming, he wouldn't sit still. And at the mere idea of you approaching, his arms moved out, like trying to make himself look bigger as one would near a bear.

"Bad mood? Whose fault do you think that is? You fucking brat!"

And he loved running his mouth. His voice trembled, with what first sounded like growls, but you were beginning to be convinced were trembles... Shivers. You could try to warn him that such language wouldn't get him a good verdict when you chose between INNOCENT and GUILTY, but he didn't seem to care.

"Don't fuck with me! You dragged me over to this place and now you're acting all stuck-up!"

And there it was, clear as day, almost amusing. He was shaking like a fawn. Big talk, it seemed. Like a declawed cat. No matter the shouting and thrashing, he was shivering with fear and refused to acknowledge. Oh, the poor boy, man technically, he was scared out of his mind... He didn't like this whole prison thing at all! His whole thing was justice. It made him feel worse.

—His purpose, gone. Now he was the bastard. It made his fingers tremble more. His breaths were shaky too, and he sounded like he was about to run away and hide. A shame he couldn't.

"I'm gonna get you, I'm so gonna get you!"

He then stood up and pushed his chair, the clatter almost scary if he wasn't the one that flinched because of it. He wouldn't back down, huh? Even if he really, really wanted to...