<div class="floatleft">(http://img818.imageshack.us/img818/2395/samatclashofthetitanslo.jpg)</div><br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 16pt;">Sam Washington</span><br/><strong>Age:</strong>28<br/><strong>Crime:</strong>Beat his senior officer to death with a heavy duty stapler from the L.A.P.D.'s copy room while singing the national anthem.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Prison Cell<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Group 1<br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/>Sam's mood wasn't taking a turn for the best that night. Usually he was a good boy, a honest to god boy scout many have called him, both friend and foe alike, but this day was bringing out the worst in him. The bleeding had stopped, but now the itching and a fear that the wound might reopen should he move around too much were rattling his nerves. The comments from the taunting cop from earlier and the wild stories of the would be boy detective in the cell across from theirs weren't helping either. To top it all of was the impending sense of doom the possible death sentence hanging over his head provided.<br/><br/>The police officer which had dragged the young woman from their cell earlier returned, bringing with him more taunts. One of them was directed at Sam, who narrowed his blue eyes at the man.<strong>"I didn't know the line between cops and crooks had become so blurry,"</strong>he responded with disdain. Sam should have known better than to let a creep like that get a rise out of him, but right now he's patience had been stretched too thin to care. Turning away slowly, he decided to simply ignore the guard. He was not in the mood to deal with this sort of nonsense. He wanted to lay down and sleep a bit, but the healing wound kept him awake. Hopefully it wouldn't get infected.<br/><br/>Two new prisoners joined them in holding cells; a boy and a girl. Sam guessed they were about his age, maybe a little younger. Both didn't seem to happy about their incarceration<del>   </del>but then again, who in their right mind would?<br/><br/>Shuffling over to one of the concrete walls, the ex-cop slowly sank down to the ground, closing his eyes as he rested his back against the cold, dead gray mass. Altough he wasn't able to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, it was probably best to stack up as many of those short sessions as he could. No doubt he'd need what strength he had later, for the interrogations. That certainly wasn't a headache he was looking forward to. The New York police department really seemed to be out for their blood after what happened at the library. Didn't matter wether or not the one actually responsible for the fire and the subsequent explosion was among them; they wanted someone to take the fall for it, fast. It was a cheap tactic favored by the corrupt and the lazy.