It certainly wasn't the sentence he'd been hoping for. As surprising as it might have been (or not, to those who had actually been present at the trial), he had been hoping for execution. It wasn't so much that he wanted to die, simply that he didn't want to live. Did that even make sense? Probably not, but little did these days.
He still wanted to kill, to murder, to plot out interesting little puzzles with the lives of random (or not-so-random) people. The only difference was, he had control now. Had it for a while now. Unfortunately, being able to contain this bloodlust wasn't enough to avoid the arrest for previous damage done, the trial, and now the inevitable punishment. Even playing it innocent, like his 'old' self at the trial, had done little to lighten things.
He was alive, but caged. Unable to put this control to any use. Solitary confinement was just that: solitary. The only company he kept was the occasional rat, and the unresponsive keeper who came by every so often to make sure he wasn't dead.
At first he kept his mind occupied with plots of escape. How to get past the guards, kill them. He grew increasingly agitated, irritable.
And then suddenly, it was if his bloodlust had become... abruptly and mysteriously sated.
His violent thoughts began to wane, then vanished completely. He had no desire to escape, to seek vengeance -- well-planned and controlled or not. How inconvenient, considering all the chaos that ensued shortly after these thoughts subsided would have made a perfect distraction and cover for escape.
Although he was always alone, he could still hear things. The echoed voices of patrolling guards on the level above, barely audible to his well-trained earns. It was during the quiet times, when the conversations weren't corrupted by the screams or howling of other prisoners, that he learned that all hell was breaking loose in the compound. Prisoners dying, and then guards. He wanted to think they deserved it, to be delighted by their plight, but couldn't find the energy. The noises of other inmates and even guards eventually stalled, and became all but non-existent, save for what patrols and check-ins were absolutely mandatory and impossible to avoid.
Whatever was going on, it was keeping everyone on their toes...
Folsom Prison Blues. ...oh, Wait...
