"Steven? What's your favorite type of music?"

"I... I really don't know, Miss Nancy. Rock, I guess? I never thought about it."

Mal leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair, rested his chin in his hands, and scowled at the wall to his side. Out of all the stupid things they put the prisoners through here, this had to have been one of the dumbest. All of the prisoners were sorted into different groups, and every week, a group would be called in for what they called collective therapy. While there, a counselor would attempt to engage them in conversation and inspire conversation amongst the group. Today's topic opened with the counselor, a blonde woman who called herself Miss Nancy, asking everyone what kind of music they liked. The reigning thought process seemed to be that if the leaders here treated the kids as misguided children, not as irredeemable criminals, there would be a better chance of rehabilitation once they left the facility.

Mal didn't intend to leave the facility, and he could think of few possible topics more inconsequential than this, so the whole affair was completely lost on him. Normally he'd put Mike out to deal with this crap, but Mike had been rather irritating with his protests recently, so he was on full lock down at the moment. Mal would bring him back out in case of an emergency he didn't want to deal with, but this wasn't an emergency. This was just annoying. Besides, Mike actually seemed to enjoy this sort of thing, and like hell was Mal going to reward him for anything right now. The sooner he could get out of here and go take out some aggression on a few punching bags – whether that meant the sandbags in the gym, or some fresh meat who hadn't heard of his reputation yet – the better.

"How about you, Connor?"

"I like really heavy metal! The stuff that blisters your ears, man! With lyrics about demons and murder and shit! If you aren't deaf by the time you're done listening, there's no point to it!" Connor stood up and shredded on an air guitar to make his point, inspiring laughter from a few of the other boys.

Mal's only outward reaction was to roll his eyes. You're an idiot.

"Michael, you're next. What's your favorite kind of music?"

Mal remained silent, focused intently on the wall as if it held something of great importance.

"Michael?" she repeated. "Michael? Can you hear me?"

"Mike's sleeping," Mal replied without turning to face the counselor. "I don't know what he likes."

A few boys laughed nervously at this response, as if they were unsure whether or not he was joking.

"Very funny, Michael," Miss Nancy replied, the grin on her face apparent in her voice even without Mal looking at her. "But you're awake and here. We can all see that!"

"Michael isn't my name," Mal snapped, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "Stop calling me that."

"Oh... well..." The counselor began flipping through the paperwork on her clipboard. "The paperwork here says your name is Michael Zangari..."

"My name is Mal."

The nervous laughter from the other boys became somewhat louder and finally drew Mal to look at the crowd, the glaring scowl still plastered on his face.

"What's so funny? Is there something funny about my name?"

Connor spoke up while the others laughed. "Dude, none of us have special prison nicknames. You sound so pretentious with a dumb name like Mal. I know a name like Mike isn't tough, but-"

"Who said it's a nickname?" Mal asked. "My name is Mal. Call me by my damn name. Mike Zangari is someone else, and he's sleeping."

"You don't have to make up a new identity to sound tough-"

"I'm not making anything up!" Mal snapped. With a heavy exhale from his nose, he slammed his hands down onto the chair's arm rests and pushed himself up from his seat. Amidst the quiet muttering of the other boys, he stepped toward the door.

"Please stay here, Mal," Miss Nancy said. "We're not done for the day."

"You think I want to sit here and be called a liar all day?!"

"Of course not, you're right," she replied. "Boys, please stop laughing. If he wants to be called Mal, then that's his right."

"This is stup-" Connor started, but Mal growling at him gave him the idea to fall into a swift silence. As all the chatter died down, Mal returned to his seat, his face still sour.

"So, Mal," Miss Nancy said. "What is your favorite type of music? It's okay, you can talk about yours and not Mike's."

"I don't listen to music." Mal had returned his gaze to the wall to the side of the room, and his voice had gone back to its earlier dispassion.

"Surely you listen to something?" Miss Nancy asked. "Isn't there a song you like? Anything at all?"

"No."

"Who the hell doesn't listen to music?" one boy asked. "I always knew that guy was weird."

"That's not very nice," Miss Nancy said. "Perhaps it'd be a good idea for you to find music you like, then? Having a safe hobby would be a good way to distract you from whatever actions got you arrested."

"No thanks. I don't want to be distracted from burning things."

"Now, Mal..." Miss Nancy rose from her seat and walked to the back of the room, where an antiquated radio sat upon a shelf. The device was old enough to include a tape deck, but didn't have an option for CD's. Despite its age, the red light on the front indicated that it still functioned. "Does anyone here listen to orchestral music?" Her question was met with dead silence. "Well, that's still good! It'll be nice to introduce you to a new type of music! This song..."

Mal ignored the history lesson in favor of wondering when on Earth he'd get out of here. Normally he only slept once a week or so, when the body finally gave up on being awake, but this session was so boring that it tempted him to nod off in his chair. After what felt like an eternity of the counselor prattling on about nothing important, she pressed a button on the radio and returned to her seat. The sound of strings echoed through the room, and Mal closed his eyes, intent on distracting himself from this waste of his time.

He brought himself to his own personal space, the area of the mind that the others weren't allowed to touch. A tall mountain rose from the ground in the middle of his space, surrounded by a large empty expanse occasionally dotted with smaller rocks. It wasn't much, but it was his. He'd been meaning to remodel this place, but between getting his reputation across outside and keeping the others quiet inside, he hadn't had much time. In his mind, he leaned against his mountain and tried to relax. Unfortunately, staying conscious enough to keep control of the body meant that those strings flowed through his ears even here, constantly repeating the same short melody, over and over again. Resigned to the fact that he couldn't escape them, Mal allowed those sounds to do whatever they wanted. A song couldn't last that long anyway, right?

Musical notes swirled around him as that melody repeated itself. Something burned inside his muscles as the notes wrapped themselves around his arms. Was this... strength? Mal shifted his attention to the music in an attempt to figure out what was going on. It wasn't the same melody, he realized; it did shift subtly for each go around. The notes slowly increased in their pitch, and with every increase, this energy they'd placed in his muscles pulsed and swelled. Something had to be done. He had to get this energy out.

He stood up straight and marched forward as the music continued, now fully focused on the energy. If he unleashed this, he'd be able to accomplish anything, wouldn't he? Obtain anything he wanted, defeat anyone with ease... the music continued increasing its tempo, adding another instrument, fueling Mal's fire further.

What did the counselor say this song was called? Something about a mountain king? Yes, this was certainly fit for a king. He'd march throughout his own realm as this tune heralded his approach, warning all those who dare to interfere with his desires that they'd better think twice!

Fire burst through the floor's cracks all around them, radiating him with its intoxicating warmth, as the song grew to its full potential. A cape upon his shoulders, a crown upon his head, he'd be the true mountain king, in control of all his surroundings! He had the power, he had the control, all would obey or perish!

The song crashed to an end with a final stroke of the strings, and the world around him snapped back into reality. Every pair of eyes focused on him as he stood in the middle of the room, his fists clenched at his sides.

"You... really seemed to enjoy that song, Mal," Miss Nancy said, somewhat unsettled, but immediately regained her cheery tone. "That's good! Like I said, it's good to have safe outlets!"

"...hmph." Mal opened his hands and let the tension in his muscles drain, coming out more like a deflating balloon than the beautiful explosion he'd anticipated.

"You actually like that shit?!" Connor said with a laughter. "That stuff's, like, two million years old! What kind of kid listens to old people music like that?"

Mal approached Connor's seat and glared down at him. "Would you mind repeating that?"

"I was just saying I can't believe some kid actually listens to old music like-"

Connor didn't have a chance to finish his thought before Mal grabbed his neck and pulled him to his feet, a cold frown settled upon Mal's mouth.

"You'd be better off not mocking people for what they like, Connor," Mal said lightly as he squeezed his throat. "It's very rude."

"Mal, that is enough!" Miss Nancy scolded as she grabbed Mal's shirt collar and yanked him back. Mal threw Connor back down into his chair and glared back at the counselor, ignoring the other boy's yelp of pain as he hit the metal and his gasps to retrieve his stolen breaths.

"Don't touch me!" Mal snapped as he yanked Miss Nancy's hand off his shirt. "I'm done for today. Gonna go roam the halls or something. Thanks for the song, I guess."

"Get back here!" Miss Nancy called after him, but he ignored her as he walked out the door, whistling his new tune until he was out of their hearing range.