Welcome to Hell

His jaw tightened and his demeanor instantly became guarded. He'd done a lot of terrible things, but experimenting on humans, or aiding someone in it, much less children, was unthinkable, especially with his background.

"Ah," is all he says by way of reply.

Skull couldn't see the response, due to how he was currently standing, but it was easy for him to tell what it was. It was always something like that. In a place like this, it was easier to embrace his past than outright reject it - pity would get him nowhere. He needed to be feared, even if that wasn't his preferred way to go.

"What were the experiments for?" Carter asked after a pause of awkward silence from the two. Still, he hadn't moved from his position.

Raymond sits quietly in the corner, half listening and not really caring.

"I doubt you'll believe me, Todd," he said, looking over in the direction of the man's cell. "But what do I have to lose? Magic is real. You might know that. You might not. I don't really care. But the whole point of those experiments were to take the kids and inject them with a specific type of magic. Mainly my magic, since I'm more special than anyone will ever be."

"You're only as special as you prove yourself useful," Carter replied dully, though in truth, he was interested by what Skull had said. His description of the experiments, even if in vague, sounded all too familiar.

"Oh, but I'm very useful."

He looked around his cell for something he could hurt himself with, by they had wisely kept the sharp objects out of this one as well. He settled with slamming his foot into the ground at a horrible angle, so hard that it had been visibly injured. He hobbled over to the part of his cell that was closest to Todd's cell.

He held up his foot. It wasn't straight like it should have been; it was pointing in a completely different direction. "Just give it a minute or two, and you'll see what I'm talking about." Just as he promised, his foot began to return to its original position. "You see, Todd, I can't die. Stab me through the heart. Shoot me through the head with a bullet. Chop me up with a machete. No matter what you do, I'll just come back to life. That's why my magic is so special."

When he heard the graphic slam of Skull's foot against the wall, he finally looked up. He sat up, not inching closer to the bars, but looking intently through them at Skull's busted foot.

"So you're immortal."

"Basically, yes." He carefully put his foot back down on the ground. "Who knows? Maybe I'll kick the bucket if I get sick or just die of old age, but I should have died countless times already."

It was too similar to what Boomslang had done. Too similar to what they'd done to him because of his own, somewhat similar, regeneration. It wasn't infallible - his heart was his weak point - but aside from that he was nearly unkillable.

"As much as I'd love to chat about me more, I'm dying to know what got you lot here," he said, leaning back up against the bars between his and Kratzer's cell. "You must have done something bad to be thrown into this place."

"A variety of charges including murder, stealing, a few arson counts, resisting arrest, honestly I stopped keeping track after a couple decades," Kratzer drawls, sauntering towards Skull and leaning on the bars next to him.

Outwardly, Skull gave an impressed whistle. It was something he hadn't anticipated, and it was a reaction the other inmates probably expected from him. Inwardly, however, he was only just beginning to realize how much trouble he was in. How was he ever supposed to stay here with this group when there were people like Kratzer here?

"Oh, and war crimes, can't forget that," he says with a small smile, blue gaze dangerous.

"It looks like you've got quite a variety of skills," Skull said. The war crimes didn't really bother him all that much, mainly because he had never lived in an area where war was abundant.