[right][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1131065754469539920/1132451102516850708/Vorpal.gif[/img][/right][hr][color=gray][indent]Fritz watched the others he'd arrived with trickle out, while he remained against the wall, the heavy paw of one of the larger-set guards resting on his shoulder; empty of malice, but full of firm authority. Rowell, for his part, nodded to the guard and made a small gesture with his hand toward a different exit, before turning on his heel and leaving the hall himself. Rowell was headed to his office; Fritz, as he soon found out - guided firmly but not roughly by the same heavy-set guard with the same spade-like mitt on his shoulder - to a secure, holding-cell type area. The place looked like a waiting room, benches flanking the doors at either end, while the walls were lined with cubicles. The front wall to each cell was some kind of sliding-door arrangement, well-polished glass and digital touch-pads to the side; within they were clearly sized for one person each, with a single cot, a secured-to-the-floor chair, a desk that jutted out from the wall like a chunky shelf, and a nondescript toilet, tastefully hidden behind a screen into its own kind of personal stall. These were clearly processing cells from Alcatraz' younger days, just modernized and, from the look of them, either sparsely-used, or frequently-cleaned. 

The guard swiped a pass over the pad next to one of the cells, and the glass front slid across with a soft hiss. Fritz got a short-lived glimpse at someone standing, watching, in the neighboring cell, before the guard politely gestured forward, encouraging Fritz to step inside in a way that Fritz thought underplayed the choices that were [i]actually[/i] available to him at this juncture. Fritz walked in and turned around, the glass wall already sliding shut - clicking when it was finished - as the guard pocketed his pass and stepped out of the far end of the room into some kind of checking-office, with a window that looked into the waiting room. Fritz peered at the best angle he could find through the glass front of his cell, watching the guard as he sat and thumbed through a magazine.

Fritz sat down on the edge of the cot. Despite experiencing actual regret (though no remorse - he felt the distinction significant) for his behaviour, he still scanned everything in his environment for access or defense. They'd clearly thought ahead; on the opposite wall he could see small sheafs of paper on the desks in each cell, along with a pencil. No such stationary existed in his. He sighed, and tipped himself backwards, resolving to stare at the ceiling until such a time the guard returned and ferried him on to wherever he was supposed to be next. 

A light knock came from the wall next to his head.
[color=000000][b]"New here, kid?"[/b][/color] Came a voice, drifting through the front of the cell. Fritz got up, leaning on the wall at the front of his cell - angled out-of-view of the guard's windows - and listening carefully.
[color=000000][b]"I saw the ferry come in across the bay. Not even half an hour yet and you're in holding."[/b][/color]
Fritz didn't say anything. Whoever it was probably wouldn't respond well to him pointing out that [i]they[/i] were in holding too.
[color=000000][b]"Thinking 'well you're in here too'?"[/b][/color]" His neighbor continued. [color=000000][b]"Understand something. Theft. Assault. Criminal elements. AEGIS have their ideas about punishment for wrong-doing.  I have mine. We don't see eye-to-eye."[/b][/color]
Fritz rolled his eyes. 
[color=000000][b]"You causing trouble already?"[/b][/color]
Fritz sighed. 
[color=6A5ACD]"I pulled a feather out of some bird."[/color] He paused. [color=6A5ACD]"Girl."[/color] He corrected, pausing again. [color=6A5ACD]"Bird-girl."[/color] That would have to do.
[color=000000][b]"Charming. Word of advice. Out there - keep your hands to yourself. You'll have enough enemies in this place. Don't make me one of them."[/b][/color]

Fritz opened his mouth to reply, but heard the door at the end of the hall open, and the weighty footfall of the guard returning. Fritz stepped away from the wall, back toward the middle of the cell. The guard appeared and waved his pass over the touch-pad again, the glass wall sliding open once more.
"Director Rowell will see you now. Come with me."
And go with him Fritz did, stealing another glance at his neighbor as they passed by; tall. Well-built. Crossed arms rippling with well-maintained muscle. His dark eyes stared out from beneath a dark brow, not a shred of emotion across his face. 
[i][color=6A5ACD]Grand,[/color][/i] Fritz thought. [i][color=6A5ACD]The street-justice assholes are in [b]here[/b], as well.[/color][/i]

[hr]
Fritz sat in an opulent but uncomfortable chair - some combination of rich, dark wood and quality leather that looked expensive and tasteful but felt like all hell to actually [i]sit[/i] in - in front of Director Rowell's desk. The guard who remained his erstwhile escort stood quietly at the back of the room, and Fritz could feel his eyes boring through the back of his skull; he fidgeted, unable to comfortably relax his arms where his wrists remained zip-tied. His eyes darted around the office, that instinctual lizard in the back of his mind still writhing, anxious and unnerved to be without a weapon. Fritz imagined it would be some time before the survival instinct settled and his hands stopped twitching. 

Director Rowell stared at him from across the desk, taking a quiet moment to absorb the full scrawny figure of Frederick 'Fritz' Jackson. He was a sore sight, as painful as it was to admit; the child, still a minor at only 17, had not fared well on his self-imposed exile to the streets. Rowell suffered to think what Fritz may have experienced that the streets seemed the better option to him. He gestured to the zip-ties with one hand while beckoning the guard with the other.
[color=white]"Can we remove those, please? I think Mr. Jackson here will behave from now on."[/color]
The guard hesitated, but at the arching of Rowell's eyebrow moved forwards, carefully snipping off the zip-tie and allowing Fritz to rub his chafed wrists and stretch his arms. He felt his shoulders click as he rolled the joints carefully.
[color=white]"Thank you. Far more civilized, eh Frederick?"[/color] Rowell said, delivering a warm smile as he did so.
[color=6A5ACD]"Fritz."[/color] Fritz corrected, and Rowell simply nodded in return.

[color=white]"Noted.  'Fritz' it is."[/color]

There was a pause; neither the man nor the boy spoke. Instead, each got the distinct impression that the other was eyeing them up.

[color=white]"What I said earlier.  Does any of it need repeating?  Do you require further context?  This place is your last chance.  I understand your own unique... 'need' for a weapon, as an extension of yourself.  But unfortunately, a trust issue has formed here.  Given enough time to accrue goodwill, and social capital, you'll actually be [b]given[/b] weapons as part of your own training process - and in the interest of understanding your own powers.  But at the moment, such a thing is impossible."[/color]

[color=white]"Without demonstrating a suitable level of rehabilitation on your part, you can't be trusted with the things which come later in the process.  It's that simple.  Without the existence of this program - of AEGIS - you would be in a cell.  As you've seen, even within this program we have our own cells, which would be more than suitable for any... hiccups... in your own personal growth.  But if we feel progress is impossible, it's still entirely possible to have you 'failed' - at which point, your sentence would be altered through your own actions, and you'd serve out your due term apportioned to you by the full extent of the law. Which, I can assure you, would be less empathetic than we here have been."[/color]

You could almost hear the cartoon-like 'gulp' that ran across Fritz' mind. He had little desire to let the courts decide his fate; despite his years on the streets he was well aware - perhaps even more finely-attuned to - the growing sentiment the public held against Metahumans. There was little doubt a derelict like him would make the perfect example in the eyes of politicians for their new 'hard on metas' stance that would surely win them enough votes for their preferred seats. 

[color=white]"At this point the question is, how big a leap of faith are you willing to take on other people, when it comes to your last chance?  Because you're looking at being thrown in a deep dark hole, and never seeing the light of day again."[/color]

Rowell stared across his desk at Fritz' furrowed expression, his own face betraying no hint of emotion. He was a stone wall, in this moment a disciplinarian through-and-through. Fritz nodded.

[color=6A5ACD]"[i]People[/i], not so much. But I'll toe the AEGIS line."[/color] Fritz looked back at the guard who was watching him with a raised eyebrow from beside the door, and then turned to meet Rowell's gaze. [color=6A5ACD]"I don't [i]want[/i] to hurt people. I just don't want to [i]be[/i] hurt."[/color] 

Rowell raised an eyebrow in an expression that might have resembled compassionate amusement, had Fritz the capacity to recognize compassion. 
[color=white]"Well, that's a good start. Just make sure you hold up your end of that bargain."[/color]
Rowell held a hand up and beckoned the guard forward with two fingers. 
[color=white]"Jones here will escort you directly to the residential wing. You'll be on curfew tonight. Time to ruminate over your purpose in being here. And a chance for your peers to forget about this afternoon's...festivities."[/color]
Jones put that meaty paw back on Fritz' shoulder, and he looked up at the gargantuan man. Jones looked back down. Fritz got up, and left Rowell at his desk, watching the two of them leave over castled fingers.
[/indent][/color]