Inmates

"Here, this is the cell you are transferred to," the guard said as we stood in front of the bars, offering a better view than the lower floors. 

The cell was relatively big, with dim lighting and a distinct smell of stale air. The contrast between the upper and lower floors was evident even here.

Upon entering the cell, the guard locked the bars behind me, and I immediately felt the weight of the gazes fixed upon me. It wasn't just me sharing the cell; there were eight or nine others, all inmates like myself.

As I glanced around, I could sense a mix of reactions from the other inmates. Some flinched upon seeing me, not because of my appearance, but due to the distinctive jail attire I was wearing. 

The purple uniform signified the lower floors, while the orange uniform represented the upper floors. The different shades of purple indicated the varying levels of danger and charges each prisoner held. The deeper the shade, the lower the floor and the more serious the charges.

Step by step, I made my way further into the cell, searching for a corner where I could sit comfortably. 

The atmosphere on the upper floor felt noticeably warmer compared to the lower levels. 

The cell buzzed with murmured conversations, occasional sounds of frustration or anger, and an underlying tension that hung in the air.

Among the occupants of the cell, I noticed a man with a scar stretching from below his right eye all the way to his neck. 

A single glance told me he posed a significant threat. 

He was dressed in a darker shade of purple, signifying he was from an even lower floor, possibly the fourth lower floor.

"Brother Kaelin," the wiry inmate called out, his voice oozing with feigned friendliness as he sauntered towards Kaelin—the scarred man.

His dull, brown eyes flickered with a mischievous glint, revealing the ulterior motive behind his approach. His thin, greasy hair clung to his scalp, accentuating his receding hairline, while the scruffy beard failed to conceal the jagged scars crisscrossing his cheeks.

His lips curled into a sly smile, revealing a set of uneven, yellowed teeth.

Kaelin's scarred face contorted into a scowl, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the wiry inmate's approach. 

He let out a low, throaty growl, his voice filled with irritation and a hint of warning.

"I didn't ask for anything. Get lost."

The wiry inmate's grin momentarily faltered, but he swiftly regained his composure, his tone dripping with false humility. 

"Well, well, Brother Kaelin. No need to get all riled up. It was an honest mistake, I didn't mean to impose on you or anything."

Kaelin remained stoic, his eyes locked on the wiry inmate. With measured words, he responded to the inmate's attempt at false humility.

"If you have understood, then get lost."

The inmate nodded, a smile of understanding hanging on his face. He showcased his yellowed teeth and, with an exaggerated gesture, he turned to another inmate, his voice raised for all to hear. 

"Hey, you! Move along! Can't you see that Brother Kaelin needs his space?" His restless eyes flickered back at Kaelin, a mix of fear and admiration evident within, as if seeking approval.

Kaelin's scarred brow furrowed, his gaze hardening as he observed the wiry inmate's performance. He saw through the facade, recognizing the hunger for power and favor that lay beneath the calculated charm.

With a dismissive snort, Kaelin turned away, his attention focused on the gloomy inmate in the corner, knowing that it was the silent ones who often held the most dangerous secrets.

As I followed his gaze, my attention was drawn to another inmate from the lower floors, much like myself. He had a mop of curly hair resembling noodles, deep dark circles under his eyes, and a distinctive mole at the end of his left eye. Huddled in a corner with a blanket similar to mine, his disposition seemed gloomy, mirroring the somber atmosphere of our confined space. The shade of purple in his attire matched mine, indicating that he, too, belonged to the lower third floor.

After a while, I located a spot that suited me and sat down. However, I positioned myself strategically, ensuring that my back faced the other inmates, shielding not only my expression but also my actions from their prying eyes. 

The thin blanket wrapped around me acted as an additional barrier, obscuring their view further. 

While their gazes occasionally fixated on me, their curiosity or confusion about my back-facing posture didn't bother me. 

I had more pressing matters to attend to, and maintaining my privacy and discretion was of utmost importance.

Despite the muffled conversations and occasional trash talk from the wiry inmate, as well as the grievances aired by a small group discussing injustice, I remained indifferent. 

Rather than wasting my time on them, I chose to focus on practicing and enhancing my Comprehension of the aspects by refining my control over them.

With that in mind, I placed the small plastic cup on the ground, something that I brought with me from the lower floors.

It proved to be a wise decision, saving me the wait for today's meal distribution to acquire accompanying water; as there was none in the cell—the water was only available at designated times.

And like I said; I don't have the luxury to wait.

Every waking moment was valuable, as no one knew when the catastrophe would strike. I could only strive to improve myself as much to stay afloat.

* * *

[System Alert]: Congratulations! Your Fortitude has increased by 1.

As I continued practicing, a notification flashed before me, indicating that my Fortitude had increased. It made sense, considering the repeated attempts to manipulate the water droplet and the mental effort required to control liquids. Such persistence naturally led to an increase in my Fortitude.

This was why I chose to practice with liquids, as they presented more significant challenges and demanded heightened concentration and mental fortitude for Basic Manipulation.

However, apart from this prompt, the practice session proceeded without further interruptions.

"Should I now focus on practicing the other Aspect?" I murmured to myself, pondering the forthcoming ordeal. 

Despite my exhaustion, I felt compelled to continue.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, a guard slid a tray of meals through the food slot. The metal tray scraped against the edges as it came to a stop, interrupting my train of thought.

"Let's eat first."

Pushing myself up from the floor, I approached the tray of food, noticing that multiple trays were being distributed to all the inmates in the cell. Each tray contained the same meager portion of bland-looking porridge and a slice of stale bread. The guard had ensured that everyone received their share.