Johnny lent against the cold and irritatingly grey wall of the cell, sliding down to sit on the floor, his knees raised to his chest. He closed his eyes for a long, long time. This was fantastic. More people should pair blinding hangovers with being in Guantanamo Bay's bureaucratic sibling, it did wonders for your concept of self-worth. He could tell that nobody was particularly in a talking mood, and that was fine. Anything he thought to say he was always aware could and would be used as evidence in a court of law; if they even managed to reach a court. He thought of something slightly unsettling; there was an Englishman in the room, if he could recognise the accent correctly. Am.. am I even in America anymore? he thought to himself. For somebody who'd always been so critical of the US system, this prospect terrified him.
A few terrifying hours later..
Johnny had managed, in total, to get around five minutes of actual sleep. Every time he nearly nodded off his head hit the concrete wall he was supporting himself on and he was flung back into situational awareness. He scanned the other occupants of the room; whilst it would be incredibly stupid for the murderer to strike now, a murderer who's been caught must inevitably always be slightly stupid. His stomach growled; he hadn't eaten anything for what felt like two eternities. I really hope Mike's okay, he was in that hotel with me..
He dismissed the thought, the worst thing that could've happened is Mike joining them in the cell, so clearly he had managed to weasel out of the situation somehow. Fucking Mike.
Mr. Funny Business (or the lack-there-of) began to move him and his compadres, including the poor sap in the cell next to their's. Johnny kept looking for a way to escape, but there was no clear opening yet. When he found one, he'd be outta there. Boom. He didn't need a credit card, he could live in the woods and eat berries, all of that crap. He could tell despite the fact his future was uncertain none of the potential paths resulted in a fair trial. The guard behind him occasionally shoved Johnny forward when he delayed, thinking determinedly about a particular door they passed by, looking longingly down a corridor.
He noticed a couple of others doing the same thing; hell, maybe they could escape together. Maybe swing by a burger joint, bond over a latte. They reached the 'waiting room' and were given their guidelines for correct waiting etiquette. It involved no business, particularly of the funny variety. Johnny couldn't help but start laughing, a classic situation where he was amused by just how miserable the situation was. It was like a self-directed sense of schaudenfreude. "Y'know, you guys haven't offered me any right to an attorney yet, I haven't so much as seen a phone, I'm hungry, my leg hurts and I'm pretty emotionally distressed" He exhaled, leaning back with his hands in his pockets. "Sorry, just planning a future lawsuit, carry on"
The guard closest to him swung his arm, connecting with Johnny's stomach before Johnny could even react. "There's your attorney, asshole. Mr. Mike Fist, Esquire" Johnny wheezed on the floor as the men walked into the interrogation room, pushing the emaciated cell-neighbour in front of them.
He regained his breath after a few minutes, still laughing. The punch was just the cherry on the cake. "So, we're all going to die, right?" He muttered, staring the door guard in the eyes. "We've been here for too long.. This isn't normal, is it, pig?" His mind was buzzing with all his friends who'd been mistreated by the law, the batterings, the murders, the unjust imprisonments. Society was built to suppress people like him and he knew it. It was just his luck that this would happen after he started to straighten up, fly right. He might as well have continued his downward spiral, this very much felt like the bottom, now.
One jolt. Bzzzzzzzht. "Are you kidding me!?" Johnny shouted as he heard the scream, standing. "Sit back down, you little idiot!" The guard barked, pulling out his baton.
Two. Bzzzzzzzzzzht. Johnny began to laugh, "This is a joke, it has to be! TELL ME THIS IS A JOKE, YOU'RE KILLING HIM, AREN'T YOU!?" Johnny took a step forward, pointing at the guard. "SIT. DOWN!" The guard commanded again.
Lights out. Johnny started laughing hysterically as the sound of commotion echoed around him. He couldn't stop, his lungs hurt, his stomach hurt. His mind hurt. He remembered where the door was, it would be so simple. He rose to his feet somewhat silently as the rest scuffled in the dark, he side-stepped and a second later heard a guard hit the wall where he'd been standing, crying out in pain. "Get off me, asshole!" Johnny shouted falsely, crouching so his voice would come from the floor. He felt someone barrel into him, but he rolled out of the way before they were on top of him. He kept crying out in pain, occasionally breaking out into hysterics again. Slowly, slowly, he moved towards the door.
"Someone call the cops!" He couldn't help himself, the laughter beginning again. He moved more, slowly and carefully, changing his angle but staying in the same direction towards the door. He was totally silent now. He grabbed the door handle, luck being on his side and his memory serving him better than it ever had before. He instantly swung open the door and began sprinting, turning right down the sterile corridors, and he tried to not let anything stop him.