The Thread: Orange is the New X

July 21, 2015:

Scott Summers rots in a high tech Federal Prison.

Location Unknown

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: Country Heroes by Hank Williams III


Fade In…

The Thread: Orange is the New X

Five days ago, Scott Summers was remanded to a place he could only guess to be some sort of Federal detention facility.

His new prison was a glass cube, but the glass was only a facade; the slightest of red tint was a color he'd become intimately familiar with. It was the color of ruby quartz, and he guessed it to be at least twelve inches thick. A bit of overkill, of course; not that he could blame them, but the three millimeter span of his ruby quartz glasses always did the trick.

Five days in solitude, however, is a very long time.

Being imprisoned was not terribly concerning for him. He'd been granted ample time to prepare for such an outcome. Being held in solitude was also not surprising, especially given the particulars of his association to a woman branded terrorist.

What concerned him most was the cube itself. Finely constructed, not the sort of thing that is built in a matter of hours. A perfect cube, with no blemishes; partitions developed around the small sliding airlock and tray through which food and drink was passed to him; a triple-s-shaped pipe of ruby quartz through which the byproduct of the cell's plastic commode were sent down into the floor below.

The thought had crossed his mind; it's ironic, watching your own sh** get flushed.

No, this was not the sort of prison that was simply cooked up on the fly. They had prepared for this, and by his estimation, construction of the cube would have at least required two full days of work, even by the best of workers.

Sweat dribbled down upon the translucent, pink floor with every thrust of his arms. Counting the individual push-ups was one of the many things keeping his head screwed on straight. Following the pushups, it would have been ten minutes of stretching, followed by a rapid period of jogging-in-place to maintain his calisthenics and blood flow. He refused to rot in this place, no matter how long they decided to keep him. There had been no contact with legal representation; no contact with those charging him; only the periodic visitation of prison guards delivering food and light reading, including five of the major newspaper pressings, at his request.

More disturbing than this, however, was the silence within his mind. He'd expected the silence from his daughter, at least for a while, but at the dawn of the fifth day, Scott Summers became concerned.

Concerned that Rachel was not simply refusing to communicate with him… but that she couldn't.

"Ninety-six."

For a moment, Scott looked down at the orange and white upon his arms, then tilted his head downward to read the numbers on his prison jumpsuit.

152993-115

This was going to last much more than five days.

"Ninety-seven…

"Ninety-eight…

"Ninety-nine…

"…One-hundred."

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