far out, man
OOC: Please read.
The recording has been tampered with, and in some parts, destroyed. The audio cuts in and out at certain parts, and goes dark for several minutes at some points.
"PRISONER 4897-"The audio cuts out at the obvious mention of the name, and the lips of the guard are blacked out, akin to that of a cursing person on holovision. Roland ceases his pullups in the yard, and puts up his hands. He knows what it means. It could either mean discipline, transfer, or evaluations or something medical. He felt fine and had no pre-existing conditions, so it had to be one of the others. None of which, he was particularly excited about. Desolation row. Such a terrible prison, but he enjoyed watching the podracing and even making a little money off the betting. Though he did have to snap someone's neck when they didn't enjoy having to pay him up. Roland had gained a reputation for ruthlessness and the effectiveness of that ruthlessness that he employed. When he assaulted or even killed another inmate, he didn't drag out his time, he did it in such a manner that was brutal and effective, which kept him safe from snitches and other assorted people trying to harm him.
Three guards, two on his flank and one at his back, shackled him up and started to lead him out of the exercise area. Groups of prisoners in this magnitude were not given ultimate freedom when it came to physical exercise, so he was only with a small group of other prisoners. Effective for control and assimilation, due to the fact that it made escape and assault otherwise impossible save for eating and other smaller rooms of the prison. It was not heavily guarded as you might think, due to the fact that the transports most likely all had individual codes and ID scanners and the whole nine yards, so getting off an asteroid would require someone to care about you. And since you were here, nobody cared about you. He also wondered if the prison had the ability to depressurize certain parts of it. Another control method. All the while Roland was being led to another section of the prison, one he hadn't been to before.
He was led to an office, and interestingly enough, was released of his shackles and restraints and told to go inside. He thought of assaulting the guards and making an attempt for escape, but he thought against it and instead entered the room. He found himself enveloped in a mess of colors he wasn't used to, and found it sort of daunting. A hand behind a desk, manicured to perfection, gestured him to a shrink...seat. Great. Evaluations. But he wasn't being asked to run twenty miles or fight three men at once, this was different and from a different person. Or it couldn't be. The voice at the chair, whose tall back did not allow him to get a good look at whomever it was, most likely feminine. Or at least, he hoped. Feminine men tended to put off Roland and annoy him.
He sat down in the seat, his prison uniform making him feel even more alienated. The voice asked him his name and prisoner number, and he gave the voice it. The voice was quiet, and he waited for the voice to finally reveal itself. He blinked a few times, leaning forward in the seat, even though it was designed to be laid down on.
@[member="Circe Savan"]
Please join if your character is apart of the evaluation or has been in the specific prison, thank you.
The recording has been tampered with, and in some parts, destroyed. The audio cuts in and out at certain parts, and goes dark for several minutes at some points.
"PRISONER 4897-"The audio cuts out at the obvious mention of the name, and the lips of the guard are blacked out, akin to that of a cursing person on holovision. Roland ceases his pullups in the yard, and puts up his hands. He knows what it means. It could either mean discipline, transfer, or evaluations or something medical. He felt fine and had no pre-existing conditions, so it had to be one of the others. None of which, he was particularly excited about. Desolation row. Such a terrible prison, but he enjoyed watching the podracing and even making a little money off the betting. Though he did have to snap someone's neck when they didn't enjoy having to pay him up. Roland had gained a reputation for ruthlessness and the effectiveness of that ruthlessness that he employed. When he assaulted or even killed another inmate, he didn't drag out his time, he did it in such a manner that was brutal and effective, which kept him safe from snitches and other assorted people trying to harm him.
Three guards, two on his flank and one at his back, shackled him up and started to lead him out of the exercise area. Groups of prisoners in this magnitude were not given ultimate freedom when it came to physical exercise, so he was only with a small group of other prisoners. Effective for control and assimilation, due to the fact that it made escape and assault otherwise impossible save for eating and other smaller rooms of the prison. It was not heavily guarded as you might think, due to the fact that the transports most likely all had individual codes and ID scanners and the whole nine yards, so getting off an asteroid would require someone to care about you. And since you were here, nobody cared about you. He also wondered if the prison had the ability to depressurize certain parts of it. Another control method. All the while Roland was being led to another section of the prison, one he hadn't been to before.
He was led to an office, and interestingly enough, was released of his shackles and restraints and told to go inside. He thought of assaulting the guards and making an attempt for escape, but he thought against it and instead entered the room. He found himself enveloped in a mess of colors he wasn't used to, and found it sort of daunting. A hand behind a desk, manicured to perfection, gestured him to a shrink...seat. Great. Evaluations. But he wasn't being asked to run twenty miles or fight three men at once, this was different and from a different person. Or it couldn't be. The voice at the chair, whose tall back did not allow him to get a good look at whomever it was, most likely feminine. Or at least, he hoped. Feminine men tended to put off Roland and annoy him.
He sat down in the seat, his prison uniform making him feel even more alienated. The voice asked him his name and prisoner number, and he gave the voice it. The voice was quiet, and he waited for the voice to finally reveal itself. He blinked a few times, leaning forward in the seat, even though it was designed to be laid down on.
@[member="Circe Savan"]
