Prometheus hated prisons.
He’d never wondered why. The reasons seemed so obvious to him: nobody liked prisons. They were terrible places, filled with the worst society had to offer: the wretched, the wicked, the refuse.
He’d felt sympathy for criminals before, no doubt. He understood that so many things could make a person do terrible things.
But once they landed in prison? He figured they were gone. Worthless. Condemned
Walking down the hall of The County Metahuman Detention Center, he wondered at the word: condemned.
Katie’s dead, he thought. At the same time, he knew he didn’t want to let go.
He knew he couldn’t let go.
Detention Center. The words rattled around in his mind. No hope in those words. It wasn’t a Correctional Facility or a Rehabilitation Center.
Detention Center. The only thing these meta-proof walls did was keep the bad guys inside.
Prometheus didn’t want to believe the people he’d jailed could’ve had a better life. As he often told himself, they lost the potential the moment they posed a threat to the rest of society.
But what about the crazy ones? The brainwashed? The ones that society abused first?
He walked up to the metal seat, which sat tucked under a metal counter, which was connected to a wall composed mainly of a long, Meta-Proof glass window.
Behind the window, on an identical chair, sat Randy. Or rather, Katie. Prometheus wouldn’t have gone there just for Randy.
Sitting down, Prometheus wondered why he wouldn’t have come just for a guy he’d put in prison. He wondered why he was so desperate to leave the criminals behind, once they’d gotten into prison.
Picking up the phone, Prometheus found it difficult to swallow. Eventually he did. “Katie?”
“Yeah, Prometheus. It’s me.”