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psl: supermax
The lights in the cell block had a bad habit of flickering. There was no electrical reason for it; the prison had a dedicated power station that could power an entire city, or multiple small towns. They needed a lot of power to keep the containment grids in each cell running, to prevent the prisoners from escaping or from fucking with the guards.
Rumor had it that the lights were programmed to flicker as a form of psychological manipulation. Keep everyone on the back foot, make sure nobody felt truly at ease here. Why would they need to be at ease? They were in prison, and unlike normal prisons, everyone here was here for good reason. Freaks. Monsters. Paranatural beings who couldn't help but cause trouble for everyone.
From the outside, it just looked like a building. A plain, old, uninteresting building with no markings on the outside and a barbed wire fence around it. It was one of few structures on a little island off the coast of Washington, always obscured from view by a dense fog. There was an old radio tower on the island too, and a dock. Prisoners would arrive at the dock, be escorted into the building, and ride an elevator down to the prison proper underground.
Rumor had it that the lights were programmed to flicker as a form of psychological manipulation. Keep everyone on the back foot, make sure nobody felt truly at ease here. Why would they need to be at ease? They were in prison, and unlike normal prisons, everyone here was here for good reason. Freaks. Monsters. Paranatural beings who couldn't help but cause trouble for everyone.
From the outside, it just looked like a building. A plain, old, uninteresting building with no markings on the outside and a barbed wire fence around it. It was one of few structures on a little island off the coast of Washington, always obscured from view by a dense fog. There was an old radio tower on the island too, and a dock. Prisoners would arrive at the dock, be escorted into the building, and ride an elevator down to the prison proper underground.
no subject
"I can make people do what I want," he said sulkily. Present company excluded, obviously.
no subject
The Skull's eyes rolled to one side, pointing towards the door to the cell. Footsteps in the corridor outside. A slight scuffing of a boot on the metal walkway, the jingling of keys.
Three rapid booming knocks sounded from the other side of the door before a hatch at ankle level slid open to admit a serving tray.
"Dinner time," The guard said, and muttered some kind of insult at the same moment he slammed the hatch shut. The food on the tray looked...mostly edible.
"OOOH, LOOKS WORSE THAN USUAL."