<div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/63/Radbrad5.jpg)</div>Brad watched as the various students in the room decided to abandon their seriously weak idea of playing cards for endless boring discussions of how to talk without their captors watching. Brad could only roll his eyes at that; such a nerdy mentality, hide away, curled up like scared little mouses… err…mice? Rats, at the dark corners under the tables, doing all they can not to be seen. Brad had no respect to that kind of thinking, never back down, never fucking surrender- that's one of the very few lessons he learned from his deadbeat of a father, that and how to drink an entire bottle of cheap scotch without running to the toilet like a squirmy little bitch. However, when Dyllan started acting all antsy about taking his shirt off, Brad actually found that even more offensive, and he walked right up to the two, "For god sake, grow some balls, will ya?" he snapped at the little nerd while quickly pulling his sleeveless jersey over his head, revealing his long and muscular body, with his chiseled and broad pecks, which were slightly hairy, followed by his perfectly tanned abs and the golden line leading down into his jeans. "There you go, make your little rabbit hole, why doncha." Brad told Max as he put his letterman jacket on, keeping it unzipped to cope with the heat.<br/><br/>The jock then went there to sit on the teacher's desk, where they assembled the food and water bottles, trying to follow the exchange of ideas, just to make sure not one of those sneaky weasels dared giving him the short end of the stick. However, Brad being Brad, he started getting bored about two minutes into the conversation, so he turned to look at the spread on the table. Fucking microwave hamburgers. He knew them all too well, wrapped in those thin plastic wrappers, eye soring with those radioactive bright blue and powder-juice orange colors, and that motherfucking hamburger cartoon with arms and legs, it was wearing a chef's hat, and holding a fork in one hand- a knife in the other; the hamburger mutant was descripted in mid jump, joyful as a teenager that just got laid. '<em><strong>Weee! Look at fucking little me! I'm about to stick a knife and a fork into my fucking flesh and eat myself alive!</strong></em>' Brad used to eat a lot of those when he was younger, almost every other day. Whenever he got back home from school and couldn't find his mother or any of her boiling pots over the stove, he would run up to the kitchen and open the dirty refrigerator door to find one of those little fuckers already defrosted and ready for microwaving. Seeing that shitty little lunch sitting there on the cold white grille, meant two things to the five, seven, ten, twelve and fourteen years old boy: 1. He is going to cook his own lunch and basically take care of himself for the rest of the day. 2. His mother was in her bedroom, not to be disturbed. Brad vividly remembered how that fucking cartoon used to taunt him in his dream- '<em><strong>Weeeee! Eat me, suck me, you little shit! Your mummy is crying there, bleeding like a sack of meat!</strong></em>' "Spineless little cunt!" Brad picked up the package nearest to him and threw it violently at the blackboard, the plastic ripped open, and the crumbling cold piece of meat escaped the buns to fall right to the dirty floor, folding to the point of breaking, two unappetizing pieces of gray meat, casually 'sitting' against the base of the wall, slowly sliding down to lie fully on the floor.<br/><br/>As he started to see red again, Brad started to panic. He had to do something quick, he just had to get it out somehow, maybe if he picked a nerd to punch, like one of these rubber balls they give away at those anger management seminars. Looking back to the group of misfits, Brad unintentionally tuned back in to the conversation, just as Dyllan started explaining why they couldn't short out those electric bars. Brad didn't hear that, though, much like any other physics class he has ever taken, the words simply bounced on his thick skull, worthlessly thrown into the unending void. He did, however, had a chance to understand three words: Water, Fry and Components. '<em><strong>Would you look at that</strong></em>,' He thought to himself, '<em><strong>Lousy Lynda actually thought of something useful!</strong></em>' But then, to Brad's complete surprise, they just kept on talking! They were coming up with new ideas of how to hide from that asshole behind the cameras, moving tables to create their wimpy little fort. "Seriously? You're not even gonna give this actually useful plan a go? What's next? Finding ways to make them kill you painlessly? Do I really have to be the only one around here with actual hairs on his sack?" He growled and jumped off the table, grabbing one of Raye's water bottles and walking cockily to the window, keeping a safe distance, giving Max a snarly look. "See, this is the difference between me and you. Nerds think, but real men do." With that charming slogan in mind, Brad opened the bottle and waved it in an aggressive arc towards the broken window, giving the bars a good spray, wasting half a bottle in one splash.