Marvel 2000 Proudly Presents...

# 1 - "UNDER LOCK AND KEY"
Written by Anthony Crute

The Vault…

Doctor Leonard Samson walked down the well lit corridor. He was on the maximum security wing of The Vault. The brilliance from the lights from the powerful strip lights which were sunken into the ceiling above blinded Samson as the light bounced from the thin metallic surface which was layered over the floor and walls.

The Vault was the most high-tech prison institution in the world. Its inhabitants were not only the worst of the worst in American super crime, but also every super powered criminal who the courts deemed too dangerous to be housed in normal prison population. The Vault was designed and built by Dr. Henri Sorel of Project Pegasus. He used everything from concrete to adamantium to ensure the security of the prisoners inside.

One of the most famous well known facts about The Vault which has gone down in infamy is that the first prisoners of the penitentiary were none other than the Avengers themselves.

Doc Samson had been hired several months ago to act as the head of the team of psychologists who work there. He had met and counselled more super villains in the past few months than he had ever met previously. He was currently about to meet a very infamous member of its population in the interview room.

He had by his side the man in charge of the entire Vault and its running. James Rhodes was no stranger to the superhero community but like Samson himself had never really made it into the hearts and minds of the people (despite his time as Iron Man and being an Avenger) and found himself working behind the scenes in a more important capacity than many could understand. He was the one who kept these nefarious villains in their cells and off the streets.

“I really would appreciate a different room. This interview room isn’t going to work in the long run. It’s the same room they get interviewed in by lawyers and officers of the law…they don’t really help to promote an idea of safety, openness and positive regard. The two way glass also has too many problems to even begin to explain, just…” Samson was impassioned as he talked. He had complained to the other psychologists but they always told him the man he needed to talk to was Rhodes.

“I just can’t allow that. A relaxed atmosphere makes everyone relaxed. Not just the prisoners. There are men in here that could rip even you apart if you drop your guard too much. It’d be too dangerous for you, me, the guards and the public. I’m all for the treatment and rehabilitation where possible but you have to remember, we’re called The Vault for a reason.”

Jim Rhodes had changed a lot since last Samson had met him. Gone was the broad smiled and course laughter. It had been replaced by an air of confidence that is so rarely seen without a sense of cocky self-worth. Rhodes knew his job, knew what depended upon him doing it right and was damn well going to do it right.

Leonard rubbed his chin with his hand and then straightened his glasses. They sat on the bridge of his nose correctly now. His long green hair was tied back neatly to give a sense of neatness and professionalism. He wore a dark grey suit with a shirt and tie. It was all part of the impression he wanted to give to the prisoners who he would be treating. If a superhero was to confront them it would lead to an antagonizing situation, he came dressed for business. “Could we at least talk about the two way glass, it is actually illegal for you or anyone…”

“I’m well aware of the law, Doctor Samson. You have my word that no one and no recording device will ever be privy to your sessions without your direct permission. Two guards will be placed at all times on the door to the interview room and the viewing room.” Jim Rhodes stopped and held out his hand. He was a man of his word. Samson nodded and shook his hand. He noted the tightness of Rhodes’ grip; it was not unusual for others, generally men, to grip his hand with a little extra pressure.

The two continued to walk. They reached the door they were heading to in next to no time at all. Rhodes indicated to the door. “You’ll find everything you need set up inside. Once this interview is over tell the escorting guards that you are ready to see the next prisoner and they will bring him to you…except your last one. We have every level of security on him we can get but I’m not willing to let him come here and have sessions. You go to him.”

“Therapy in a cell is hardly conductive…”

“You go to him,” Rhodes repeated, his voice stressing that he wouldn’t budge. “You don’t even go in the cell.” he added.

Samson nodded. The last session of his visit was one he was strangely excited for. He was willing to jump through any hoops for a chance to get a glimpse into his mind and psychosis. Rhodes indicated for Samson to enter the room.

Samson turned to enter the room and then paused. He turned with a slight smile. “Must we go through this pantomime of the rules and debating over them every time?” he asked. Rhodes laughed gently, same old course laugh and walked away.

Samson was a liberal and a doctor. He believed the purpose of the prison was rehabilitation and help. His first concern was that of his patients though the safety of others for them had to be factored in to his evaluations. Rhodes was a military man, his view of the prison was punitive and to keep the people outside safe from those locked inside. It had led them to logger heads of opinions over the last few months.

Samson walked into the room. There was one table in the centre and one steel folding chair on either side. They were surrounded on all sides by concrete painted a slightly lighter shade of grey.

Samson took his seat, his back to the door. He knew he was in control of the situation inside the room and the patient would know it. They did not need him staring at them as they entered shackled like animals…even though some were most definitely animals.

Samson began to think. Whenever he visited The Vault he was always forced to cast his mind back to his earlier career. He reminded himself if not for perhaps a better upbringing and the right chances that he himself could have ended up like the men here.

His first brush with the super lifestyle would be the one which set the rest of his life in motion. He had studied the super hero and their psyche through case reports and studies which dated back to WWII. It had been this research which made him even think he had a chance of curing Robert Bruce Banner of the curse known as The Hulk.

He had succeeded. He managed to purge the Hulk from Banner’s body. He was also responsible for his rebirth. Leonard Samson had grown up overly intelligent and lacking in fortitude and musculature. This meant he had always read about heroes but never got a chance to be one. He had sat there the night he had cured the Hulk and looked at all the stored energy which had been siphoned from Banner and saw his chance.

He irradiated himself with the gamma rays…this had been the true turning point of his life. Years later he published a study which compared the psychodynamic factors of the human mind and the reaction with gamma radiation. In short, gamma rays seemed to supercharge the mental image that a person has of themselves…or their ideal self. Bruce Banner was given a form for the rage which had built up in him since youth. Jennifer Walters, sick of her mousy, quite, weak and over intellectual form was granted her fondest wish of being the bombshell Amazon known as She-Hulk. A below average janitor became the smartest man on earth. Betty Banner’s exposure led her hate for the Hulk to take form and transformed her into The Harpy. Emil’s body was twisted to the horrific physical form to match how he saw himself as The Abomination.

It had been in the defining moment when the irradiation had changed his body his life could have taken a tailspin. Who knew what it could have dragged from his unconscious or feelings of inadequacy, but instead it focused on his want to be a hero. He was granted the muscular form he wore to this day, modelled on the biblical hero Samson with the hair and power restraints to match…power related to hair length makes no logical sense unless it was psychologically based.

Over the next few weeks Leonard had pushed himself to be a hero, he fought crime and supervillains and wooed women…one notably, the woman known as Betty Ross. It had been this attention which had driven the fragile Bruce Banner to turn himself back into The Hulk. Samson had been so focused on his own needs and selfish desires he’d let a patient who needed his help go over the edge and it resulted in the breaking of a man…he promised never to do that again.

He became The Hulk’s personal psychologist…in all his forms. He was never afraid to get his hands dirty either and as such became one of the worlds most famous psychologists just behind Freud, Jung, Milgram, Skinner or Zimbardo…and sadly Frasier and Niles Crane.

The door opening behind him snapped Samson from his thoughts. He heard the cough of a guard to draw his attention. Samson turned and nodded to let them know he was aware of their presence. They ushered in the prisoner they escorted. “Unlock my patient please.”

The guards hesitated for a second before a click of a button unlocked the electronic restraints. “Please take a seat.”

The form of his patient wondered past him. He huffed and he puffed as he dropped his aging, orange, ensnared body down on the metal chair.

“Mister Toomes.” Samson smiled warmly and held out his hand to greet the man.

“My name is The Vulture!” he spat. His hand moved up quickly and wiped the little amount of spittle from his face. It was obvious he did not like to loose control in such a way. His accent and deportment even when shackled revealed that he thought highly of himself, thought himself to be a man to be respected. His hunched and huddled posture gave a very different opinion.

“You want to jump straight into the session then? I generally prefer a small chat first…” he looked up at the scowling wrinkled face of Adrian Toomes. “…no then? Ok.”

Vulture growled again. He turned his face away from Samson so he was staring at the wall to the side of him. “Shall we begin? You’ve been her for three months now after being transferred. You’re one of the few non-powered and the oldest inmates at the moment. How are you coping with that?”

Vulture continued to ignore Samson as he sat there. Samson was not doing his best to make Toomes relaxed. He had brought up his age, feeble body and the simple fact that he was a psychologist. Toomes didn’t go in for the touchy feely crap that was associated with the profession. He didn’t go in for the idea of men opening themselves to one another.

Samson sat waiting for a reply. “Mister Toomes…”

“Vulture,” squawked The Vulture, he still didn’t return Samson’s gaze. Samson quickly scribbled a few words on the pad in front of him. The Vulture’s eyes moved to the corner of his face as he tried to see what was written.

Samson let out a small sigh. “I’m here to help you. You’re a smart man so I trust you realise that. The equipment you built was nothing short of genius…especially when you originally built it. You then decided to use this amazing intellect to commit crimes and kill people…there must be something which caused you to do this rather than use your talents for the betterment of man or even to make a fortune honestly. I can’t rehabilitate you but I can set you on the right path, find what drove you in the first place.”

Vulture turned his head towards Samson slightly. It indicated he was listening.

Samson leaned down the side of the table and pulled a large book from his bag. It was bound in leather and a golden crest sat on the front. “I acquired this via warrant from the lockup where they’re storing your personal effects taken from your home. Do you recognise it?”

“It’s my high school year book,” nodded Toomes. He averted his gaze again.

“How do you feel about that?” Vulture shrugged. Samson nodded and opened the book. He flicked through a few pages seemingly just looking at the people on the pages. “Is that you?”

Vulture looked down at the picture of himself in high school. It was obviously him. He had barely changed in his entire life. The giant hook nose and the rough pointed teeth. His head sunk below his shoulders even when he was a teenager. The most striking thing about the teenager in the little black and white picture was his almost complete lack of hair. A few wild tufts decorated his scalp but they were wispy and looked like that of the old man. If possible despite his wrinkled exterior he looked younger now without them than he did when he was a teenager. He nodded.

“Looking through, there are comments.” He flicked back and forth to the front covers which had some scrawl on it. It wasn’t covered like most year books but there was writing in it. ‘Vulture, best of look for the future’ ‘Vully, wish I had gotten to know you better’ ‘V, best of luck’. There were more and each time the word Vulture had been crossed through, Samson guessed by Toomes. “Was Vulture your nickname in school?”

Toomes sat quietly not responding again. “Quite a coincidence, don’t you think, that you turned your high school nickname into a super villain name?”

“It wasn’t a nickname…just something people called me. A nickname is a sign of affection,” Toomes mumbled. His head was now turned and stared at the year book on the table.

“So despite the emotions which went with the name you chose to use it?” Samson paused. He was watching the Vulture closely. He saw the man twitch.

“I was born Adrian Toomes…I had no choice in the matter. I was Adrian as a child and then as I got older I was called The Vulture. I don’t see I had a choice in that either.”

“We always have a choice; there must have been a reason you styled yourself after a name you seem to have no liking for? You could have chosen anything and you went for Vulture.”

“It’s what I am, isn’t it? It’s what I look like and it’s what I was to become… scavenging off the death of others when I steal and kill?” The Vulture’s voice was raised.

“So you chose to name yourself that? You chose to focus your identity on that of an animal with one of the worst images in nature…the scum of the animal kingdom? Scavenging, bottom feeding and picking the bones clean?”

The Vulture scowled. “Before meeting you when I was looking through this I had an idea.” Samson slid the book across the table. “The Vulture, that’s what they called you. Lowly creature, looked down on, despised and ridiculed for the way it looks. You didn’t hold any love for the name but you accepted it.”

Toomes didn’t respond. Samson continued.

“You accepted it and internalised it…it destroyed your self image and self worth. It set you on your path, no pride in yourself at all so you dropped away from society and started being a criminal.”

Toomes still didn’t respond. His lips curled back to expose his teeth. “Then you struck upon the idea for your flying system. In the back of your mind your unconscious was at work. You for all intents and purposes were The Vulture, its how you thought of yourself. The Vulture has other connotations to it though. They are feared and respected, all things fall to them eventually. You used your tech and named yourself The Vulture so you could regain your pride, you could make those who ridiculed you afraid! All of this, the fear and respect would make you feel better about yourself.”

The Vultures’ mouth opened slowly. “I wish to go back to my cell.”

“Mister Toomes, I’m just trying…”

“I want to go back to my cell.” His face again turned to the wall. He had frozen up completely.

Samson nodded and pressed the button on the side of his desk to summon the guards into the room. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk.” Vulture scowled as he walked willingly into his shackles. “You can bring the next patient whenever, you’re ready.”

He shuffled from the room and the door closed.

Samson again sat alone. He clicked the top of his pen and began to scribble some notes. He recorded things which had stuck out in his mind about Vulture’s reactions and made notes about what he thinks he may look into more in their next session. He made a quick note that he thought he had hit the nail on the head. People always internalise the image others push onto us…it’s just a fact of life and so Vulture had begun to alter the image people put onto him so he could change the way he felt about himself.

He stopped for a second. If there was a character fault in the green-haired man it was how he over thought things. He ran over his various opinions in his mind and then put pen to paper again. It was a note for a report he had to turn in to The Vault and the legal representatives of the state and those of The Vulture.

‘I do not believe my findings indicate a reduction should be given in Adrian Toomes’ sentence. Despite the driving psychological force behind his actions the fact remains that he is cognitively sound in his judgements and has made the choice to commit these crimes of his own free will.’

Samson finished scribbling down the note. There was a knock on the door from outside. “Enter,” said Samson. He put the pen down on the pad and turned the page over.

The guards entered. A squeak of a wheel made Samson’s head turn. One guard was walking backwards carefully looking over his shoulder pulling the wheeled apparatus while the second guard pushed. Strapped up in the apparatus in a metallic straight jacket and ‘Hannibal Lecter’ mask was Samson’s next patient.

“What the hell is this?!” Samson raised his voice as the men wheeled the man bound in the device to a rest across the table from him.

The guards shot one another a look. “Prisoner ‘Slither’ was giving some trouble last night so he was strapped for his own and our safety.”

“He’s been like this all night?” Samson was not a fan of straight jackets and physical restraints. He was also not a fan of a chemical cosh but if given the choice a mild sedative was preferable to the straight jacket or strapping down.

“We tried to unlock him this morning but he struck out again and we had to…”

“Unlock him,” Samson said calmly. He could see why people untrained in psychology would take the safest option out and restrain him. It wouldn’t help the situation in the long run.

Samson, while at The Vault, was supposed to undertake a number of roles and results in his work. His work with The Vulture was to try and help him work through some things and assess his competency. The mutant known as ‘Slither’ was different.

Slither was born Aaron Salomon and like many mutants when his X-gene kicked in he took a completely new name. His was to coincide with his new scaly features and other snake-like appearance. At some point in his life had joined the second incarnation of The Brotherhood of mutants and was led by Magneto against Captain America several times. The group went through several incarnations as Mutant Force and The Resistants and continued to clash with Captain America, The Defenders and their last appearance on the scene, the New Warriors. Slither had also at one point been a member of the Serpent Society (or at least a splinter faction when Viper tried to take over the group).

It was since his last clash with the New Warriors that things had gotten steadily worse. He went from a small time crook with a political agenda to a serial killer. He to date had killed six people, ate three and a half of them and maimed numerous more with the intent to kill.

The guard walked behind Slither and reached out his hand. His fingers pressed the back of the man’s half hockey-like mask and the clasp unlocked with a ‘click’.

The face of Slither was suddenly inches away from Doc Samson’s. His neck had extended like a shot from a gun the second the tension had been released from his neck. His snake-like face had opened its mouth to the size of Samson’s head and he bared his fangs. His tongue darted in and out.

Samson’s hand gripped his neck. It was like holding a python. It was over a foot thick and Samson could feel the sliding muscles under his fingers as Slither tried to push forward more. The vice grip of the doctor stopped the muscles from moving correctly however, meaning he couldn’t strike.

The guards were covering Slither with their guns. “Slither,” said Samson. He was sure to call him by his chosen name. “If you’re quite done with this show I’d like to get back to the session. Can we do that?”

He stared at the vertical pupils of the snake man. He could see them staring at him from over the flat nose and the long fangs which were now dripping venom slowly. “Yessss,” he hissed. Samson waited until he felt the muscles in the snake’s neck retract slightly before he released the neck and watched as it slowly slid back onto the shoulders of Slither.

Samson nodded to the guard who stood behind Slither. The guard shot the other a look and shook his head before grabbing the top strap and pulling it clear of the metal bolt. Slither shifted his upper body forward.

Samson watched as the jacket began to be completely removed. The snake man sent a slither up and down his arms. They moved the way a snake’s body did. The guards quietly left while keeping their eyes fixed on the villain.

“I’m Doctor Leonard Samson.” Samson held his hand out to shake with Slither. The reptile eyes of Slither flicked to his hand and watched carefully. His tongue darted out of his mouth tasting the air; it was like he was expecting Samson to be playing a trick.

His tongue flicked out again. One last chance to recon what was going on before he committed to an act which could back fire upon him. He was like a cautious animal taking a slow step forward.

His arm slowly pressed on the table. Samson watched as his hand spread out further and wider than a normal human and his arm slithered across the table. His hand was poised, his fingers extended like the fangs of a snake ready to strike.

Slither’s fingers gently tickled across Samson’s hand. Samson was sure to keep his hand steady and still, not to redraw it or push it out anymore. Slither gently locked their palms together and the two shook.

A smile crossed Samson’s lips. He had read the case reports and videos on Slither compiled by the various sources of the FBI, SHIELD and the psychologists who had come across him in the years since his downward spiral had begun. He used to be a politically minded activist (activism to the extreme) and he had slid down to a point where he was relying more and more upon his instincts.

In preparation for the meeting Samson had made sure to reread some of his clinical neuro-psychology and look at some scans of the brain. He had compiled the information and had created his first hypothesis.

There are many ways to section up the brain, and one method is via evolutionary advancement. The ‘fish’ part of the brain is the earliest to evolve, it deals with the unconscious aspects of life such as breathing, the heart beating, and blinking. The ‘lizard’ portion of the brain (amygdalae) is the next part to evolve. It is this part which most animals rely on, instincts and emotions caused by the hormones and electrical impulses raging around the body. The ‘mammalian’ part of the brain is actually the human part, the cortex. The place where all higher order functions such as speech and thought take place.

Slither, while still accessing his mammalian brain, seemed to be relying more and more upon the reptile portion of his brain. It was this that had categorized people as lower on the food chain than him and had made him more animalistic in every portion of his life. It was something which he had seen in other animal/human hybrids via mutation or human alteration. It was something which in many cases could be overcome or at least lessened. If he could manage to do that it would make the entire system of dealing with Slither easier and better for both himself and the guards.

The spiral involved with Slither was very much linked to labelling theory. He had looked more animal-like and his neurology had changed a little, altering his behaviour. This led people to treat him like an animal and so he became more animalistic in line with their perceptions. It was a self fulfilling prophecy.

A handshake was a very human behaviour. The fact he had responded to the cue and then his speech as he answered the question indicated he still had access to the cortex of his brain. His mind had not been altered irreversibly.

“How are you finding things here? I find prisoner reports vary from ‘cushy’ to the hardest prison time they ever served.” Samson was sitting forward. His posture was open. Conversation was also a very human characteristic.

“I ssspend a lot of time ssstanding ssstill.” He hissed slightly once he had finished talking. A glance to the apparatus he had been transported in on let Samson know what he was talking about. “You are pssssychologissst?”

Samson nodded. “I’ll be talking to anyone who will listen about your mistreatment…and I’ll make those listen who don’t want to listen as well.”

“It’sss for their sssafety.” Slither nodded slowly. He stared down at his sharp clawed hands and flexed the strong muscle under his scaled.

“They think you’ll hurt them…do you think they’ll hurt them?”

Slither flicked his eyes from his hands and then to Samson. “I ate people. I wanted to chasssse them, I wanted to kill them…I wanted to eat them.”

“So you did.” Samson nodded in time with Slither whose hands were moving to his face. The enormity of what had happened and the things he had done seemed to wash over him. “You wanted to kill me earlier? You wanted to bite me?” Slither nodded. “But you didn’t.”

“You ssstopped me.” His neck extended for a second making him much taller before it dropped back to its normal height.

“Then I let you go. You could have struck out at me again at any point but you haven’t…have you stopped wanting to?”

“No.” Slither shook his head. “I want to bite you, kill you, eat you.”

“That’s your instinct. The little part of your brain right in the centre. It’s telling you I’m prey. You haven’t tried to once though. What’s stopping you?”

Slither shrugged gently. “It’s the human part of your brain. Your conscious mind, your self control.” Samson raised his eyebrows as if he was offering the answer to Slither and at the same time asking a question. “You’re not an animal, you’re human!”

Slither looked down at his scaled form again. “You’re homo superior…even better than human.” Samson didn’t believe for a second that a mutant was in any way superior to a normal human but for the purposes of building up his patient’s image of himself he was more than willing to say it. “If being better than human doesn’t come with more reason…more willpower or self control how can you say you’re superior at all?”

“Homo sssuperior?” questioned Slither. He said the words like they were familiar but long lost. “Mutant.” A smile spread across his scaled lips cracking some flaking scales. “I’m a mutant…The Brotherhood.”

“Does being part of the Brotherhood make you feel good?” Slither nodded to the question. His smile was stretched across his face further. “Why?” asked Samson.

Slither’s head tilted to the side. He seemed to be staring into the middle distance. “Change, we were trying to make a differencsssss. Free our brotherssss. Make a political ssstatement.”

“I have something for you, Aaron.” Samson was sure to call him by his given human name. He bent over slightly and reached into the small bag he had brought with him. He pulled out a thick red book. He slid it across the table.

Slither looked at the cover carefully and picked it up and began to read what it said on the back. “It’s a book by Charles Xavier, he wrote it years ago. It’s about humans and mutants living together in harmony. I understand that your old leader Magneto didn’t share this vision…I think however it’s up to every man to make up their own choice.”

Slither opened the book. His finger traced the title and the dedication on the inside page. ‘Moira’ he mouthed aloud.

“Can you do something for me?” Samson asked.

“Yess,” Slither replied. He didn’t look up from the book; he simply turned the page.

“I don’t get much chance to discuss theories with superior individuals so if I schedule another appointment for next week can you read through that and we can talk about it next time?”

Slither now looked up. “You want to talk to me…about my opinions?” Samson nodded. Slither smiled widely “Yesss,” he hissed.

“Would you like to go back to your cell to read the book?”

Slither nodded. He again didn’t look up. Samson hit his button and summoned the guards in. “If you would please guide Mr. Salomon back to his cell. Just the cuffs this time.”

The guards looked at one another. One guard moved towards Slither who glanced up and held his wrists out. Samson beckoned the second to him. He spoke in a hushed voice as Slither was guided to his feet. “If he proves to be any trouble over the next week, try and talk to him. Ask him nicely and operate the access to his book like a punishment and reward system…weighted towards reward.”

The guard swore mentally. He hated psychologists. “Bye, Mister Ssssamsssson,” Slither hissed as he was lead from the room. His head twisted and followed the book which was being held by the guard.

Samson began to write his notes again. He flicked through the folder on Slither and sighed. The scans of his brain showed a shrinking in the cortex over the months of the scans and an increase in the ‘reptile’ part of his brain. Whatever work he had done today and would continue to do would only be a stop-gap solution. It was this reduction and shrinking in cortex which had led to his current state where in many ways, especially his social skills, he was likened to that of a child.

He sat back and closed his eyes. His absentminded hands pushed his pens and notes together into one pile. He was preparing himself mentally. The guard would soon be back and would take him to his last primary visit of the day. It had been the one he was waiting for, it was the one he’d basically signed up for.

Doctor Leonard Samson, if anything, was an explorer. He liked to explore the psyche of others but most of all he liked to explore himself. He wanted to push himself to every limit he could find and then go a little further. It had been the reason he dosed himself with gamma rays (aside from the want to be a hero). He liked a challenge. It was important to him to think he could rise to any challenge. He was an intelligent man and skilled in both psychology and physics amongst other things but his next case promised to be one of his most challenging.

The patient had first came to light a little over ten years ago and since had carved himself a place in world history. It was a place swamped in blood, torture and death, but the fact was he would go down in history as the most prolific serial killer the world had ever seen. His current body count lay at 2,326.

There were no doubt more men on earth who are responsible for more deaths than he but none would fit the mould of a serial killer. He matched all three characteristics. One: three or more victims…check. Two: joy gained from the killings…check. Three: no overlying political, criminal or work-based rational for his killings, e.g. the mafia, a soldier, etc…check.

A gentle rap at the door made Samson open his eyes. He swept the notes into his bag and stood up. He opened the door to the guard who stood on the other side “He’s ready.” Samson nodded and began to follow the guard.

The two walked in relative silence through the prison. They walked along corridors and up stairs. They passed several check points manned by guards in which both their IDs were checked and they passed through manually locked gates.

It took around fifteen minutes to traverse the corridors and stairways of the prison until they reached his cell.

His cell consisted of a single bed, a toilet, a sink and a small plastic chair. A small stack of books in both English and a foreign language sat in the corner of the room. The cell was brilliantly lit. All around the outside of the cell were strip lights sunk into the ceiling. They were humming gently.

The truth was they were not lights but rather power dampeners which were linked to the manacle he was forced to wear on his wrist at all times. He was standing upright in the middle of his cell. It was disconcerting to see.

“Good afternoon, Mister Samson.” The prisoner smiled as he spoke. His voice was flat and had a thick European accent.

“Good Afternoon, Mister Killgrave.” Samson pulled up the chair the stationary guard outside the cell had been sitting on and turned it to face Killgrave in his cell. He waved the guards away. “I’m here today to talk…”

To Be Continued…