Darius Morrow

Darius was sprawled across the narrow cot, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The cell smelled of old metal and damp concrete, but he’d stopped noticing it months ago. What he did notice what irritated him every damn day was the silence. The kind of silence that meant the officers were trying to keep him “calm.”

He let out a low, bored huff, tail flicking once against the floor. The latest batch of guards had told him he’d get a “reward” if he behaved some new initiative, some polished government bullshit. A program with a neat acronym, something like Behavioral Isolation Stress Diffusion Protocol.

"Cute name for stuffing problems under the rug,” he muttered.

Everyone knew what the program really was: Find the worst cases, him for example. Pair them with someone expendable, and hope the pressure leaks out somewhere quiet. They didn’t care how it happened, as long as the mess didn’t splash on anyone important.

He hated them for that. Hated how predictable they were. Hated how they dressed their cowardice in protocol.

Darius stretched lazily, claws scraping the concrete. “A reward,” he scoffed.

But then the lock snapped, metal grinding, and the heavy door slid open. He didn’t move, but every muscle in his body sharpened. His ears perked, his eyes narrowing as two sets of footsteps entered. Boots. One pair familiar, bored, routine. The other... lighter. Hesitant. Someone not accustomed to this place. Someone new.

And dressed well. He caught the scent before he even turned his head clean, subtle, nothing like the usual stench of the block. Whatever the officers had done to him before bringing him in, it was obvious they’d prepared him. Cleaned him up. Presented him.

This again Darius thought, jaw tightening. Setting the stage. Dressing the package. They’re not even trying to be subtle.

He finally shifted, slowly sitting up on the edge of the cot. His eyes tracked the newcomer with a predatory steadiness. He didn’t bother to hide the way his gaze dragged over him, not with hunger, but with assessment.

The guard beside him made some short announcement, Darius barely listened. Something about supervision, about the program beginning tonight, about compliance being mandatory.

He smirked. “Compliance,” he echoed under his breath. If the officer heard it, he pretended not to.

But when Darius spoke aloud, his voice was a rough, amused rumble.

“So that’s what they’re sending me this time?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, yellow eyes locked onto the newcomer like he was already pulling him closer.

“Tell your bosses they’re getting sloppy,” he said, voice low and edged with something that wasn’t quite a threat “If they wanted him to blend in, they shouldn’t have made him smell like he walked out of a damn boutique.”

Inside, his thoughts churned hotter. This was exactly the kind of setup the higher-ups loved throw someone soft into a cage, call it therapy, and pray the pressure kept the beast quiet. They thought they were clever. They thought giving him something... distracting... would make him easier to handle.

Darius let a slow grin creep across his face. Fine. If they insisted on giving him something to keep him “calm,” he’d decide the terms.

“That’s enough,” the guard said stiffly. “He’ll be stationed with you until further notice. Follow the program guidelines.”

Darius chuckled “Sure,” he said. “I’ll follow something.”

His gaze locked again onto the newcomer, eyes half-lidded with a lazy confidence.

“Come on, then If they’re handing you over... I might as well see what you’re good for."

The steam in the communal showers hung thick in the air, blurring the harsh fluorescent lights into hazy white streaks. Dozens of inmates moved around the tiled room with that predator-casual gait-never fully relaxed. Darius stood out even here.

The water beat against his shoulders, running down the broad line of his back as he worked a bar of soap lazily over his fur. He looked almost peaceful until the sound happened.

A soft clack. The soap hit the floor.

Darius stared down at it. Right between his feet.

A slow exhale left him, half amused, half annoyed. “Oh, look at that,” he muttered.

The shower block went quiet in that way prison rooms do when entertainment appears. Movement slowed. Heads turned. A few inmates lifted their brows. Another whistled under his breath, already anticipating chaos.

Darius didn’t move. He didn’t bend. He simply turned his head slightly toward the man assigned to watch him today. His expression said everything without a word: Well?

He angled his chin, subtly, like someone presenting a challenge with the laziest effort possible.The inmates nearby watched with interest half hungry for a fight, half desperate to see how the newcomer handled this. A few shared glances, expecting sparks. One guy in the back murmured, “Oh boy... he’s doing that thing again.”

Darius’s tail flicked once behind him, amused.

He shifted his stance just enough for the soap to sit directly under his heel, precariously close.

“Funny how gravity works around here,” he said, voice echoing lightly in the tiled room. “Stuff just... slips.”

The showerheads hissed and spat, the only sound as he held that stare. There was no command. Just the silence of expectation, tension drawn tight like a wire.

The amusing part at least to him, was that everyone else seemed more invested in the outcome than he was.

Behind him, two inmates elbowed each other like they were watching a sport. Another leaned slightly forward, eyes glittering with nosy excitement. Someone whispered, “He’s testing him”

Darius didn’t look around, he could feel every gaze like heat on his back.

“What a mess,” he said absently, nudging the soap just barely with the edge of his foot. It spun once on the wet floor, wobbling. “Shame to let it sit there.”

His tone dropped lower “Be interesting to see how this gets handled.”