<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/>Oh God... Seriously?<br/><br/><strong>"Look, <em>kid</em>,"</strong>Sam began as he pushed himself away from the glass wall, turning to face the young would-be detective. Lightly he folded his toned arms over his chest, attempting to ignore the damn stinging he was feeling emitting from the flesh wound on his thigh. It was still hurting like a bitch. Because of that he wasn't really in the mood to let this young man's behavior slide.<strong>"It's not a good idea to talk so bluntly about someone who's wearing an orange jumpsuit like mine and is within hearing range. If they're not cuffed or has a set of cold steel bars separating you from them, well... Let's just say, were I a lesser sort of man, like the ones I used to put away, you'd already be spitting out your own teeth. That's not a threat; that's just how things work with criminals and psychopaths. But then again, I doubt you'd be having such a big lip if you were in this cell and not in that one."</strong><br/><br/>Moving along the plastic wall, he stopped when he stood pretty much opposite of William, peering down at the young man with his blue eyes from across the hallway that separated the cells. Normally Sam was more relaxed and friendly towards most others, but the combination of constant pain and thoughts of the chair weren't really too good for his mood. Continuing, he said,<strong>"And right now, you're as much a suspect as the rest of us when it comes to lighting the fire. You claim you were just committing a minor offence, but maybe you're just talking out of your ass. Pointing fingers at just about everyone else is a common tactic to try and make yourself look less suspicious. So, who knows, maybe you're the one who started all of this."</strong><br/><br/>A silence fell. Sam glared down at the young man for a long moment before shrugging lightly and walking back to the his previous spot along the transparent wall of their small prison cell, peering aimlessly down the hallway on other side, trying to see what the guard on duty looked like, though he had no idea why he was bothering with that. It was becoming eerily tempting to bash his head against the smooth surface of the wall to distract himself from the pain, but he knew fighting pain with more pain wasn't the best first aid. Noting the faint reflections of the other occupants of the cell, he added as a final note, as an attempt to make sure the others weren't taking the "little detective's" words too seriously,<strong>"Oh, and you shouldn't believe everything you hear. 'Some place where they cut you up when you're still alive?' This isn't a cheap horror flick or a world war two Nazi concentration camp, <em>kid</em>."</strong>