ℑнє Ρяodιgαℓ Søη

“But that’s why he needs you, right?

From what she could remember, Regan had been a troublemaker. It stemmed from the times where her fellow classmates would pick on her and sometimes grow violent towards her. Finally she decided to fight back. It wasn’t until that fateful day that her abilities first made their appearance, inflicting horrible pain upon a boy who continuously bullied her. She had hear him so bad, his mind couldn’t endure it and he fell unconscious, slipping into a coma. 

Ever since then it seemed Regan was a magnet for trouble. She had a wrap sheet, nothing more serious than assault but it still remained. Cops were always more than willing to arrest her considering she’s a mutant. Most of the times she was let off with probation, a warning, etc. The courts, despite their own biased opinions, had to remain fair and impartial. They wouldn’t convict her (or rather couldn’t) because those involved in the case almost always had something against her because she’s a mutant. 

Now, had been one of the many times she sat in a jail call due to her troublesome ways. The charges: Trespassing, theft, and resisting arrest. The arresting officers took special pleasure in taking her in. She had fresh bruising on her face and a busted lip. Regan did in fact try to run but she was not stupid enough to try and swing at a cop. The last charge was bogus but it was the heaviest one on her. So, here she sat in a cold, dull jail cell, waiting. 

He’d just stood and watched as his pockets were emptied before him - house keys, a frustrating lack of a wallet, some nondescript bottle of some blatantly non-prescribed something he’d forgotten he’d had. Fantastic. Fucking fantastic - that’d be another wad of paperwork to fill out for another fine. And it’d been six and a half hours since the last dose (benzos generally stayed in your system for 11 hours, he recalled to himself after he'd managed to collect his thoughts), so they’d probably pick up on that, as well. God.

Lady Luck really was a bitch, he reasoned. But at least he hadn’t made a chore of it - and regardless, it’d only take a call to Felicia to post bail, and he’d be out within the hour. Surely (that was how it worked…right?) That was, if she’d bothered to pick up the goddamned phone.

It was only when the cells came into view that irritation turned to mild panic. It was stupid, it was irrational, and yet recollections of straitjacket restraints, dark, empty rooms and fighting the institute staff in a vain attempt to resist the pills being shoved down his throat had returned to the forefront of his mind, all the same.