[center][h2][color=cyan]Sander Lorraine[/color][/h2]
[img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img]
[/center]
Sander hated long trips. He always had. Sitting inside a moving metal box for hours on end was not his idea of fun, especially on his bad days. Fortunately, today wasn’t one of those. 

If anything, Sander was just a little bit indisposed. It was on purpose, after all. His record was relatively tamed when compared with many other Aberrations, but there were blemishes here and there. Just enough to put them on guard, so they made sure he was not at his full strength during transportation. His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he kept his head down, blue eyes staring intently at his bounded wrists. The craving buzzed unpleasantly in the back of his mind, but that was all, for now. He supposed the break gave him time to ponder about this new facility he was being transported to. From what he found on Death and Taxes, USARILN East seemed rather…daunting, being the institute with the highest body count in the business and all. He supposed he would see how the rumours held up for the coming days.

A ruckus outside caught his gaze, so Sander cranked his head up to look. These transparent trucks were convenient; he had always preferred the window seat. There seemed to be a fight, but he wasn’t sure between the Precursors and whom. They seemed like one of the Dreamcatchers’ creatures, though far more…awkward. However, he kept his speculation to himself. His escorts didn’t seem like the talkative types, after all, and Sander didn’t trust himself enough to start a conversation right now. The long trip was quite grating on his nerves. 

Before he knew it, the convoy was on the move again and soon enough, he found himself in USARILN East’s welcome chamber. He rolled his stiff shoulders for a few times, stretching his legs while he still could. Soon enough, their glorified head warden came in, waving her big stick with a smug smile. Well, technically she didn’t have any stick with her, but he knew enough of how these facilities worked to recognize a display of power. The dear Director was just introducing the top dog around here (her, of course, who else?) and asked them to play nice or get spank. Really, he had hoped they were more creative on the east side. 

It was all the same everywhere. They hid their fear behind the mask of power. They clung to it, obsessing over control and dominance, because it was all that they had left. It was disgustingly pitiful, but was he any different? As the Director hefted the gun, Sander lifted his gaze to look, his mind entertaining the thoughts of feeding the woman her own teeth. Then maybe her own tongue, too. 

Realizing where his train of thoughts was going, he stopped himself. His hands were curled into fists at his side, so he willed himself to relax. He was not so different. Control was all he had left. And it kept him alive. For now. He returned his gaze to Zhang, expression schooled into indifference and compliance. He had no need to consider her offer. He had made his choices years ago. Since he was still alive, well, Sander was not quite sure he had made the right one or not. 

“[color=cyan]I would prefer not to die today, if that’s possible.[/color]”-He spoke out loud, directed at no one in particular. It pleased him to know that his voice came out far calmer than he had hoped. Snarling was bad for first impressions, or so he was told.