day 1 - 3 ; every damn day when the beat goes bang
It's not really a shock, the reason why he's here. He's set fire to buildings before. The fucked up thing is that he can't tell what buildings were the victim of his hypothetical crime. Maybe they were space hospitals. Maybe they were space houses full of fucking space zombies.
It doesn't matter much, in the end. When he's not restricted to Cell 4, he's in the mess hall, generally good at keeping his head down. You will, however, probably see him surreptitiously sizing up the prison guards or regarding the hovering cameras with a critical eye. The layers of accumulated intergalactic grime have long since worn away the Kyln's silvery finish, but there's still plenty of shit one could conceivably use, if they had to.
Approaching day three, you'll probably catch Tim following one of the guards from a distance, waiting for the right moment to get the jump on them and relieve them of their shock baton for his own purposes.
day 3 ; every damn day that i feel like this
[The radioactive, fume-blasted wasteland of Sierra Madre is a far cry from Alabama's sun-scorched urban decay, but it's a closer step to it than a deadlocked prison in the middle of space, and Tim has decided that's good enough for him. In fact, he's decided that he's fine with hunkering down and waiting this particular event out. He doesn't need to go roaming into a chemical waste and chance getting a lungful of lethal gases that will calcify his lungs and leave him with his skin cracked open, bleeding black into the dust devils.]
[The problem is when a Hologram decides that it thinks he's a threat to a disused casino whose owners are presumably long dead but didn't have the decency to switch off the security while they were away.]
[At least he's not unarmed. He managed to get ahold of one of those shock batons during the exodus from the Kyln, and it blitzes to life with a surge of sparking energy as he squares up across the Hologram. It wavers, pixels guttering from placid blue to caution amber, and then to warning red. Its head starts to heat up, its clear, armored, refracted-light face going from pale red to something molten.]
[Tim dives out of the way from the beam of blistering orange energy before jabbing at the thing's legs with his baton, eliciting an arc of hissing sparks.]
wildcard ; every damn day that i lost my way
[Want a closed prompt? Want to do something else? Let me know or hit me over at arrpee!]
tim wright | ota | i'll match your formatting
It doesn't matter much, in the end. When he's not restricted to Cell 4, he's in the mess hall, generally good at keeping his head down. You will, however, probably see him surreptitiously sizing up the prison guards or regarding the hovering cameras with a critical eye. The layers of accumulated intergalactic grime have long since worn away the Kyln's silvery finish, but there's still plenty of shit one could conceivably use, if they had to.
Approaching day three, you'll probably catch Tim following one of the guards from a distance, waiting for the right moment to get the jump on them and relieve them of their shock baton for his own purposes.
[The radioactive, fume-blasted wasteland of Sierra Madre is a far cry from Alabama's sun-scorched urban decay, but it's a closer step to it than a deadlocked prison in the middle of space, and Tim has decided that's good enough for him. In fact, he's decided that he's fine with hunkering down and waiting this particular event out. He doesn't need to go roaming into a chemical waste and chance getting a lungful of lethal gases that will calcify his lungs and leave him with his skin cracked open, bleeding black into the dust devils.]
[The problem is when a Hologram decides that it thinks he's a threat to a disused casino whose owners are presumably long dead but didn't have the decency to switch off the security while they were away.]
[At least he's not unarmed. He managed to get ahold of one of those shock batons during the exodus from the Kyln, and it blitzes to life with a surge of sparking energy as he squares up across the Hologram. It wavers, pixels guttering from placid blue to caution amber, and then to warning red. Its head starts to heat up, its clear, armored, refracted-light face going from pale red to something molten.]
[Tim dives out of the way from the beam of blistering orange energy before jabbing at the thing's legs with his baton, eliciting an arc of hissing sparks.]
[Want a closed prompt? Want to do something else? Let me know or hit me over at