The men in black carried the prone body of Tiff Southern down the narrow staircase. Her long brown hair stroked the grimy stairwell and her head lolled back, exposing the two wicked scorch marks that had bore into her skin when the taser fired her into a state of unconsciousness.
Oscar Proust stood in his cell with his hands tied behind his back and he watched in silence as Tiff's body was deposited on the hard, wet, cold floor. He did nothing except gaze at her with interest for a few minutes then continued studying the overcast, grey sky.
Several hours before, Tiff had been sitting in front of a vanity mirror peering at her round face and eating a large chocolate bar. School was sucky these days and she knew it wouldn't get better in a hurry, so she resorted to eating with abandon. Next to her was a disturbingly neat pile of homework, completed and in the correct order. The rest of her room, done up in moody grey was void of mess and featureless. The only colours that popped out in the sombre surroundings were a bright pink smartphone and a customised record player.
The rain outside rolled in like smoke and obscured the sky and caused the world to have a drippy feel. Cold crept into her bones but Tiff sat there staring at herself as she chewed with vigour and concentration. It was a task that had to be completed. Tiff ate out of necessity. She was hungry.
Lulu, her friend, was acting badly towards her and it had all begun after a series of strange events. A boy called Roland had decided that bullying Tiff was a good idea. She in turn, decided to punch him, which both surprised him and repulsed her. She was Tiff, she wasn't supposed to be punching things.
Roland fell back into the road and there was a sickening crunch as bone and metal contacted, compacted and splintered. Tiff heard the screams of the people as a distant sound.
Then, as she sat at the dressing table, the door knocked and her world whirled like the wind and changed instantly.