//You're Gonna Go Far, Kid\\ {Matta}

For someone who hates conflict, I've sure been getting my fill of it lately. I've tried my damndest to be polite and submissive through this whole mess, but it seems that Peacekeepers find breathing the wrong way offensive and attempted courtesy is apparently unforgivable sarcasm. The guy that's currently shoving me none-too-gently down a dank gray hallway sucker punched me a few minutes ago for asking about Trogon, so I guess it's in my best interest to just keep my mouth shut until I get out of here.

Speaking of Trogon, she hasn't left the forefront of my mind ever since a whole battalion of Peacekeepers showed up to yank us out of the community home. I knew what was going on the second they mentioned something about public brawling, but the confusion and hurt in her eyes was almost unbearable as they dragged her away from my grasp and out of the dining room. They even transported us separately, so I haven't seen her at all since the incident at the group home, which was over a day ago. I've damn near worried myself to death biting back a million questions that I know won't be answered. Where is she? Is she holding up all right? Which Alter's out right now? If it's Alina she'll be fine, but oh God, if Trigger starts running her mouth...

Some part of me just knows that Trogon won't be herself throughout this mess. It's traumatic for me and I'm one of the most laid-back people I know, so I can't even imagine the emotional stress this will put on her, especially since she has no idea what she did wrong in order to get arrested. I'm sure the Alters are feeling out of their element as well, not used to Trogon's punishment as a result of their actions. I can only hope for her sake that she end up not having a cellmate. Shit, if it's a guy and Morrigan decides to come out and play... Shit.

I really wish that we had been transported together so I could've found some way to get Alina out and running things. She may just be a little girl, but she's the most level-headed of the four of Trogon's other personalities, and I know I'd trust her to take care of things in my absence. Instead I'm left fumbling through the darkness of my mind with infinite worries to shoulder, none of them concerning my own well-being.

Not far behind Trogon on my list of things to fret over is Jessa. What is she doing without me? How are they going to tell her about this? What if she goes comatose again and I'm not there to snap her out of it? While Lydia was always completely in touch with Jessa, understanding her as if the two of them shared a mind, I'm the only one now who can even half-translate what goes on in my best friend's head. She hasn't been the same since she came back from Six clutching a paper that said something about atypical autism and mumbling fragmentedly about her new friend Neve, and I've been worried ever since. She's trapped in her own mind and I'm one of the few people out there who can coax her out of her cage. What will happen if she stays in her self-induced darkness for too long? I can't even bring myself to think of the possibilities.

"In you go, kid." Mr. Steroid-Biceps shoves me roughly into a damp, tiny room and slams the door shut behind him. Judging by the cold and the darkness, I'm in the very bowels of the detention center. I can't really see much in the half-fight from a flickering bulb in the ceiling, but there seems to be a couple of shelves (beds?) attached to the wall as well as a sink and some sort of funky-looking bowl (toilet?). I shudder from both the cold and the slight disgust at the image of what the next indefinite amount of time is going t be like, sinking down onto one of the metal planks and testing it out. Yeah, this thing was definitely not made for someone my height. A good foot of my legs hang over the edge if I fully stretch out to all six feet five inches of my height, and if I curl up my knees stick out over the edge. Grumbling incoherently I move down to the floor, leaning against frigid cinderblocks and trying not to think of Trogon or Jessa but thinking of nothing else.

It's a bit of a surprise when the door slams open.