The Childrens Rebellion

Fight me, bitch

For such a powerful species, Tommy Innes sure felt powerless in such a situation.

The orange jumpsuits that made up Tommy's fellow prisoners' uniforms did no justice to the pitiful scene, though it did solidify his contempt for the other inmates. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot against the metal floor, blonde hair falling across his face—much to his general annoyance.

"Come on, kid, hand over the fucking food," the leader said—how fucking cliche. He was a Phantom—that meant that he had a shock collar strapped around his neck so he couldn't return to his Phantom state, though the pastiness that marked him of his birth species made Tommy think of a boiled egg.

God, he hadn't had a good boiled egg in years.

"No thanks," Tommy drawled, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at his plate. It was made entirely of greenery and a few fruit pieces— the Avians' dish—his race, long gone. His hands were white where he clutched it because his food wasn't about to be stolen, not now, not after so long.

"Listen, kid—" Tommy flushed at the statement, anger filling him. Sure, he was the youngest one at the high-security space station of a prison, but he wasn't a kid.

He hadn't been a kid for a long time. Not ever since his father whispered words in his ear that needed to be memorized, not since his father had died in a space explosion that had sent Tommy's escape pod floating in space until the Arachnids had picked him up with their beady red eyes and chirped at him with their annoying teeth. He, being ten at the time—nearly seven years ago—hadn't spoken anything, and had played dumb. He hadn't been a kid since the fields of golden grass turned brown; since the feelings of hunger, since the executions that made him curl into a ball at night and cry.

Tommy was an Avian, but to the rest of the prisoners, he was Human. To his knowledge, he was one of the last living Avians in the galaxy. His father had been a ship captain—he'd just been transporting Piglin and Hoglin citizens to their home planet when they had been attacked from nowhere.

It had made no sense to ten-year-old Tommy at the time.

Of course, he knew better now. He'd gotten the gist of what his family actually did for a living. He knew why the Avians were nearly extinct. He knew to keep his secrets hidden.

Still.

He wasn't a kid.

"No," he said again.

"I don't know if you've noticed, kid," the Phantom snapped, and Tommy was growing quite exhausted of his repetitiveness. "But there are four of us and one of you."

"So get some more guys, and we'll make it even," he said with a slight smirk.

He almost sighed when the first punch came swinging at his face. Almost. These guys were too predictable - stupid thugs of some caravan some specie had decided to start after their supply ships' continuous attack.

He ducked the first punch and charged the Phantom, kneeing him directly in the gut with a flash of victory. The man dropped—and Tommy considered a fleeting feeling of triumph until a fist smashed into his cheek.

Whoops. He'd forgotten about the other individuals.

Oh, well.

His lip was split, blood running down his face as he turned to face the Enderian, a smirk growing wider even as the pain from moving his mouth deepened. Unfortunately, the Enderian stood a good five feet away—his fists raised, and Tommy felt a sting of annoyance that he would have to grow closer.

Stupid Enderians. This guy could fucking teleport—a rare ability among his species. Tommy had only known one other person that could do it. And this pathetic person was using it on him. In a prison.