[b]Capital Base, Liberty[/b]

In cell number 332 in Block A, in the Reeducation Facility housed deep in the bellow-ground belly of the Homeland Protection building, Elliot Barnett was vomiting. His gangly adolescent form was kneeling on the floor facing the back wall, bent over the hole  that served as the drain for both excrement and shower water. He was sweaty, and shaky, and all-around having what had to rank as one of the top three absolute shittiest days of his short life. 

Yesterday, when he had woken up alone and in a cell, was probably also up there. Getting black-bagged by some mercs was the real winner, though, likely because his last memory of the whole ordeal was someone holding a gun against his mother's temple. Wherever the hell she was, now. 

He rested his forehead against the back wall, wishing that the room would stop spinning. Someone had told him that it was to be expected when first starting the gift-null serum, and that it would get better with time. Or that he would become more used to it. 

Elliot did not want to become used to any of this. He retched again, loud hacking yelps echoing down the hall as he tried his damnedest to hold down the water he had sipped just a few minutes before, and failed every lurch of the way. Just yesterday, he had managed to stop impulsively calling "Mom!" when he felt like he was about to choke. 

Now he just yelled, [color=#8dc1ab]"FUCK!"[/color] 

Because being sixteen and in prison and unable to stop puking into a literal shithole on the floor, that about summed it up.