In Handcuffs... Behind Bars [O]

[Eric Cutter]

The buzzer to open the door sounded in the lobby and the doors slid open, revealing the people standing behind it. Two of them were guards, burly men with huge muscles, permanent hatred expressions and tough looking guns on their hips. The man before them was suited in an orange jump suit, hand cuffs digging into his wrists and ankle cuffs clanging across the tiled floors. He stood slack and bored, as though he had done this many times with his head slightly held to the side and a smirk on his face. The fax machines early that morning had given him a name, Eric Cutter, and labeled him as a high risk criminal. On five pages after his detailed pages, explained, in detail, every crime he had ever committed in ten point font; gang involvement, illegal gambling, grand theft auto, street racing, and even murder. Many, it was the reputation he had given himself on the streets. His only enemies were the cops and men of law. Even now, as the doors to the lobby opened, guards poured in to guard each door with trained attack dogs practically biting at the muzzles that held them.

With a stick, he was urged forward, his ankle cuffs clanging across the floor as he was pushed towards the front desk to be checked in. The guard rapped on the window. "Cutter, Eric to be admitted, ma'am." he grunted, glaring down at Eric as he smirked at the woman behind the bullet proof glass.

[Zodiac]

“9-1-1, 9-1-1, Santa Clause is dead. Zodo took a 4-by-4 and whacked him in the head—Oooh! Barbie doll, Barbie doll tried to save his life, but Zodio from Mexico stabbed her with a knife.”

These jovial words echoed throughout the corridors of the west sector as an equally jovial convict scampered from hall to hall aimlessly. The clanking sound of handcuffs followed each quick step he took and served as a sort of background music to his carolling. The convict’s guard, of course, was close behind, only muttering an occasional, “Slow down,” or “Shut up,” as well as other grumblings of general disapproval, to which the criminal seemed to reluctantly comply to. You see, this criminal here—Zodo was his name—was just released from his cell on the third floor, and he had spent the last few weeks either in a dingy barred room, or in solitary—neither of which being particularly pleasant for him. But as seen (and heard) with his singing, he was clearly enjoying his newly acquired freedom, and although it irked him to be so obedient, he wouldn’t spoil it for himself by defying his superiors.

On his little stroll, Zodo found himself in the lobby, where his nightmare had all began. Now normally he would not linger in such a place that held such memories, but the crowd had drawn him nearer. People of all sorts seemed to gather around—guards, mostly, and other prison staff. Still, his curiosity reeled him in, like flies to honey, and sadly enough, it had excited him to see the faces of unfamiliar people. He wondered briefly if they had caught ear of his earlier singing, an his mouth twitched upward in amusement at the thought.

Smirk on his face, Zodo meandered over to the crowd, his eyes roving through them until he saw the fellow handcuffee. ‘Fresh meat,’ he thought with the same smirk, wondering if others had thought the same of him when he had first been admitted not so long ago. Quickly dismissing the notion, Zodo stood outside the gathering and leaned casually against a wall, which, mind you, with his hands restrained behind his back, was easier said than done. But there he was, engaging in one of his favourite pastimes—eavesdropping.

"Cutter, Eric to be admitted, ma'am," one of the staff muttered, and for the first time Zodo minded enough to take in the fellow convict’s overall appearance. He was dark-haired, light-eyed, and seemed to have about the same interest in the entire situation as one would while watching paint dry. Well, why doesn’t Zodo liven things up a bit for him? “Eric Cutter, huh?” he announced, shifting from the wall to face the ‘fresh meat’. Zodo assumed, with the excess security around, that this fellow criminal was ranked as High Risk as well, which most likely meant that he also had a history of murder. Considering that, Zodo was brought to this question: “Is the last name some sort o’ funny coincidence or what?”

Hm, yes… Zodo, always great with first impressions.