Heavy steps dragged across the grey, lifeless floor of Atwood Mutant Penitentiary as Ian followed after a man, dressed in a blue uniform, a controller for the collar around Ian's neck, ready to use in a split second. Another man, dressed just like the other one, walked behind him, pushing him forward whenever Ian as much as slowed down only slightly.

Ian remembered the day like it was yesterday, the day his life went from fucking shitty to absolute hell. It had just been another boring day, rotting away behind the cash register of the gas station when three guys entered, Ian had looked up from his phone to greet the customers when the entire color drained from his face, eyes shooting up wide and an insurmountable panic and anxiousness spreading within him. Mutant hunters. How they figured out what he was made no sense, but he knew that the next moments were a blur as Ian fell into a fit of rage. But yet, he was caught.

Mutants were always caught. Most just go insane due to it, start doing criminal acts knowing that one slip up would cause either death or life in prison.

Finally, after what felt like the longest and most shameful walk of his life, the guards stopped in front of a cell. Its metal door was already dented in, shapes of fists visible, the room, behind the door with its small window with bars was shrouded in darkness, almost nothing discernible to Ian’s eyes, used to the clinical lighting, illuminating the ugly hallway. Unceremoniously one guard opened the door with his keys, and before Ian could react any further, the lock clanked into place behind him, trapping him inside the room hulled in darkness with his cellmate. As his eyes got used to the dark, he spotted the form lounging on one of the bunk beds.

He fidgeted with his thumbs, pulling at a string that had come loose from the fabric of his clothing. “Um...”, Ian trailed off, his eyes not daring to meet those of his cellmate, not dumb enough to do that. "I-I'm Ian." He practically whimpered.