Continued On E6



Scene Title Continued On E6
Synopsis It's not the whole story.
Date January 4, 2020

PISEC: Cafeteria

Reading is one of Odessa Price's great privileges at PISEC. That and watching the occasional news broadcast to keep her fingers on the pulse of the outside world. It helps her establish a sense of time, keeps the days from all bleeding one into the next without definition. The newspaper spread out in front of her on the cafeteria table is more than a week old, and folded together out of order, but it's something. It goes well with her coffee and danish.

If she had it her way, she'd be reading the Siren. However, it's the Times that's preferred in these walls, and she isn't in much of a position to argue for her favorite rag. She just has to settle for the kookiest articles being cut out and provided to her by her brother on his regular visits.

Carefully, she tears at one of the pages, pulling it free at the fold before folding that page over and pressing a hard crease into the newsprint, which she then uses as a guide to make another tear. She found this particular reprint of 'Peanuts' to be particularly amusing, so she'll tape it up to the wall of her room alongside other clippings of Garfield, Cathy, and Wizard of Id.

When the piece tears free finally, she's left with a strip-shaped hole where the front page headline peeks through. Through half-lidded eyes, Odessa glances apathetically at the recent news-of-the-world, bringing her coffee to her lips for a sip.

Liberty Island Terrorist Attack

The mug clatters to the table, spilling the dregs of her morning beverage over the table. She shoves the paper out of the way and presses napkins and her sleeve to the pooling liquid to keep it from soaking into and saturating the paper before she has a chance to read it.

“No,” she whispers, desperate. The pages are peeled back so she can properly read the headline and the accompanying article, which is continued on page E6. Frantically, she flips through the out-of-order newspaper until she finds the correct page and continues the story. She's looking for records of escapees.



By this point, many of the heads gathered for breakfast have lifted and swiveled in her direction. Even Pete Varlane is looking at her crazed expression with a healthy dose of wariness. Odessa looks up with wide eyes when she realizes she's being watched. There's uncertainty in the air. Tension hangs thick between all gathered, prisoner and guard alike.

“Where is he?!” Odessa demands, shoving to her feet suddenly and with such force that the chair she was seated in goes skittering back several feet before it finally topples over onto the floor.

Deciding that's quite enough, one of the guards begins to make his approach, one hand on his belt while another reaches for her radio.

Odessa lets loose a primal scream and smashes the mug on the table, holding the shattered bit of porcelain out in front of her like a weapon. Chances are good there's only going to be environmentally unfriendly Styrofoam available moving forward. Other inmates are slowly rising from their seats and making their way towards the exits. They know the drill by now. Lockdown is about to be called into effect.

“Call Director Waite,” the second guard says into her radio. “We've got a situation. Price is—”

“Where is James Woods?!”

“Easy,” the first guard suggests, a hand held out in front of him to placate even while his other hand works free the strap that holds his weapon in place. He's frustrated. Afraid of what she might do in this state. Furious that he has to deal with her bullshit.

“Somebody knows something!” Odessa cries out, pushing forward that mangled bit of ceramic. It'd be comical if not for the fact that everyone involved knows she can do damage with her improvised weapon. “I need to know if he was accounted for! I need to know he's alive!” It's that steady current of anger that isn't her own that keeps her from crying from her fear.

Klaxons blare and the lighting shifts from cold fluorescent white to danger red. She doesn't even know from which direction the Banshee manifested from. Someone behind her? Odessa collapses to the ground, finger still hooked through the loop of the mug as she presses her hands to her ears to unsuccessfully block out the sound.

The prick of the needle in her arm means the painful thrumming in her head is about to end. And it does, as her hands are wrenched away from where her fingers had been tangled in her hair, her fingers pried open to relieve her of her weapon before her arms are pulled behind her back, wrists bound together there.

Now, she cries.

“No, no, please…” The sedative works quickly, especially with how fast her blood is pumping through her veins. “Plea…se…”

Odessa's world goes dark.

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