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[hr][colour=Firebrick]"None of you seem to understand. I'm not locked in here with you."[/colour]
[colour=Firebrick][right]"You're locked in here with me."[/right][/colour][hr]

The man in the lab coat pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a quick sigh of annoyance.

"That was everything?" Professor Connors asked, handing the Guard back the incident report.

"Yes." The Guard responded curtly. "He said to any inmates still in the area while we were dragging him off. Wasn't yellin' it or anythin' but..."

It was a very clear threat.

The incident in question had happened in the early afternoon. John Doe, AKA "Charon", had attacked and killed another inmate. A man with superhuman reflexes known as "Ronin". It was a... Controversial incident, to say the least. To the other staff at Thornwood it was quite cut and dry and something clearly needed to be done to pacify John Doe, but to the guards it was a different matter. Ronin, though more used to a sword, had managed to carve a shiv unseen by cameras out of the end of his toothbrush. During his recess period, Ronin had taken Guard Adams hostage, threatening to cut his throat out if he was not given release. The chaos of all this had caused Charon's own guard at the time to take his eye off him for one mere second. Then, all of a sudden, the man with superhuman reflexes had a scythe made of Charon's right arm, disembowel him. 

It was, directly anyway, the only time the staff at Thornwood had known of an inmate helping staff in such a manner. Of course, everyone else in the Asylum was trying to keep their inmates alive for a very specific purpose, so the incident was quite a serious matter. The guards however, some more than others, were much more sympathetic. A few had even stated to Connors that the incident not be filed down as cause for discipline since Adams would undoubtedly be dead rather than just on leave. Needless to say, Research staff weren't exactly happy at the situation. It had led to some, trying, attempts.

"Sir, why don't we try the implant?" A younger researcher walked up to Connors as the guard left his sight.

"We'd tried that several times." Connors stated through gritted teeth. They really were scraping the bottom of the barrel. "Meier, Brennan, half the population in here... It never took. Useless."

Connors was about to brush past him but the researcher stood his ground, on his pad he flipped to some images constructed of Charon's physiology. The, almost parasitic, substance that dwelled on him, granting him his immortality and abilities.

"The implant may not function on the human body itself as a host. But we ran some tests. It may just interface with the, uhm... "Gunk" on our subject." The research team had long since stopped trying to come up with a scientific name for what the hell was actually wrong with Charon.

Connors narrowed his eyes and read the test reports. With a grunt he peered over at his assistant.

"Can't hurt." He muttered.

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Charon stood stone faced in his cell. Two large cement like blocks over his hands and up to his arms. Speakers surrounding the top corners of his abode, ready to blast in high ultrasonic sound if he ever turned violent. Similar high tech looking cuffs, placed around his ankles and keeping them close together at all times. All of it like window dressing.

The real precaution was the implant. Everyone knew it.

When it had first been planted, weeks and weeks of tests were conducted to make sure the damn thing actually took. Aside from a couple of points where Charon stubbornly resisted the needle like insertion into his brain from the implant. Almost straggling some of the inmates used in the testing. Other than that, it was considered a success. It was even announced through the facility's P.A. Presumably a sort of "The immortal ink man will no longer try to kill you on sight. Please return to your daily lives." That wasn't entirely accurate however. The implant could be turned off and everyone knew it. That was the real reason he was let out into the general population.

Not for socialization. Not for rehabilitation. But as a reminder. That, at any moment and without warning, staff could let him off the leash. Then the guards would be the least of the inmates problems.

Charon stood against the wall as the guards began to search him for any concealed weaponry. Like he needed it. Satisfied, they turned him around and begun leading him out towards the cafeteria. He didn't really need to eat as they'd discovered during testing. But, again, a valuable deterrent to stick out there during the most crowded time of the day.

Due to his restraints, Charon couldn't actually carry a tray. So, somewhat embarrassingly, one of the guards had to do so for him.

They placed him down at the end of one of the lunch tables and laid his feast of grey formless slop in front of him. He didn't pay his meal much mind as he scanned the rest of the table. A punkish woman, an icy gentleman, a little girl. He didn't even bother to hide his obvious sizing up of them. 

Slowly, mechanically, he then turned his face back ahead. Staring off into some far away world only he inhabits as his spoon picked and moved around fruitlessly in the gruel. 

[i][colour=Firebrick]'I'm not locked in here with you...'[/colour][/i]