Lucas, or Sissy as he preferred to be called, sat with his legs curled underneath him on his bed. His hands were positioned as if he was holding a guitar, even though there was nothing there. His eyes were shut in a way that, to the cameras, appeared peaceful. Actually, he was clenching them shut. His head... it felt like it was going to explode. He was sweating like he had just run a marathon in a million degrees and he could swear that he was breathing embers. He was certain that he was heating his little room up quite a lot, but he knew not what to do. He wanted so bad to tell one of the MSP enforcers, those dudes with the masks that came around once in a while, about his powers slowly returning. What if they did return to their full extend? Last time, he had burnt down his home.

He released a shuttering, shallow breath. He was sure that they could see the embers in his breath if he heaved a sigh. If he did tell one of the masked dudes about his powers, what about the other people? There were others in confinement as well and not all of them were as pleased to be there as he was. Many would want their powers back. What if he ruined that, by telling?

He wiped his brow with his sleeve in a calm, casual way.

Jesus Christ on toast, he was so hot. He wanted to think about something else, but he was afraid of letting himself go and just enjoying the music of his mind. The dancing flames would come back and if he felt this bad already, the flames would be far from small by now.

Just as he thought that maybe a nap would be good, he heard footsteps outside of his door. Dear God, no, not today. If they were to take him out of his cell and into contact with other people... he dared not think of what might happen.

Sure enough, the door opened and one of the masked men gave a little speech of how he was chosen to go excersise. Well, whoop-dee-doo. He had been there twice before. He had eaten some shit, played some solitaire, talked to some dudes and went back to his cell. It was not all that exciting.

“I'm not feeling so well, can't I just go next week?” was his meek reply. He did not move to get up, but he knew the masked man had nothing against moving him against his will.

The masked man seemed to think it over for a moment, or perhaps he was just shocked that he would even bother to ask, because the answer was a curt and firm, “No.”

He was brought down the hallways and he thanked every deity possible for the armor-like suits that the MSPE wore. Had it not been for the layers, the guard would have certainly felt the heat that was emitting from the young redhead.
He was pushed inside and the door was shut behind him.

He was not the first one in the common room, he was somewhat pleased and somewhat worried to know. He just hoped, and without really taking notice of it, prayed that they would not get near him and notice his, well, rather immense fever.

Instead of going to where most of the others seemed to be talking amonst each other, he went to the corner furthest way from them. He was dripping sweat, he was sure of it. He grabbed a guitar, sat down in the corner, no chair or pillow, just plain on the floor, leaned against the wall, placed the guitar in his lap and started playing. Soft, relaxing notes spawned from the intruments and he found himself feeling a little bit better, even if it was only his nerves. He hummed along; a few mumbled words of text squeezed in between the joyful sound of relaxation.