Fate is a cruel mistress....Yet is it cruel if it's justified?
"It doesn't matter, I deserve it all and more." These strange yet utterly convinced words of Silas Mikhailov as the grown male treads the overgrown roads of District one. He had no particular destination in mind, and with the indefinite time and immeasurable difficulty of this mission-rushing things will no doubt only lead to one's untimely demise. And Silas has no intention of dying so quickly, no, such mercy wasn't allowed for someone like him.....Or any of the other convicts for that matter, hence why he prevents them from dying under his watch....If said male happens to be in the same vicinity anyways, otherwise there's no need to bother as doing more than that would be far too much for one old man. 'Everyone opted to go solo, their deaths should have a variety as least...'.
Silas doesn't even bother including that one boring fool who went along with that Dion brat, anyone with some level of a functioning brain can see that particular convict is unstable. He has no respect for people who aren't even in touch with their own wants and needs.
And Silas is all about being truly connected with one's desires. After all, it's why he even accepted this impossible mission in the first place.
See, Silas Mikhailov lived life on the edge, spending majority of his time in the military group of District 6 doing work that not even seasoned veterans would willingly do. The high of performing such filthy tasks was indescribable. Each mission had its own degrees of satisfaction....until it didn't. He'd done it all, and after serving in the army for a good two decades the grown man had well-grown tired of the mundanity of the military. All of his joys was always at the whims of his superiors, for the sake of a better District 6.
The realization that his fate and joy all happens in a controlled environment, and since then Silas had never been the same. He then thinks of the ways he can cause....nothing short of anarchy to the world. And what better way to do so than to dabble with District 1? All he needed was a plan....to land himself in prison. So when Silas commits the murder of his superiors-he never liked them anyways as all they did was stroke each others fragile egos with not an ounce of toughness in them-in a meeting, the man knew he had everyone's eyes on him.
Iron Maiden Penitentiary wouldn't waste this chance to use a formidable individual to venture D-1 without having to sacrifice any trustworthy soldiers. D-6 has all excuses of ridding Silas before he can spout any damning information to the other districts.
"A win-win situation for everyone, my last act of...kindness." The man says as he enters the closest suburban area. The house he chose for a temporary base was a simple one, though it had relatively most of its furniture intact and the windows, just right. Heading upstairs, he enters the cleanest-looking room and dropped his bag on the floor. His gaze flickers to the broken shards of the mirror on the wardrobe.
What gazed back at him were fierce ebony eyes, though there was no hiding the observing ravenous glint in them. He unzips his inmate uniform, sliding off the top half to reveal healthy bronze skin and a sturdy and muscled figure that proved as a testament to years of serving in the military. Scars littered across his broad and muscular body, though that didn't erase his right arm and leg from being sleeved. Silas removed a fitted shirt from the backpack and casually puts it on, running a calloused hand through his hair, the silver locks staying slicked back with bits of untamable ones falling forward.
"In the meantime, I can relax for a bit and enjoy my fellow convicts' shenanigans. And then keep a casual search for the precious core..." The silver haired male pulls out a vial from his pocket, grinning as the object twisted and was crushed by an unseen force. "Seriously, why collect only a small sample as souvenir...."
Silas desired the unique high he knew only District 1 can provide.
"When I can just bring the source outside?"
Nothing, and no one, will stop him from tasting that ecstasy.
.
.
.
...Though he could really use some cigarettes to keep him high for the time-being.
"Fuck's sake."