The Assylum was the last place she wanted to be. However, it was nessisary, as she needed to pick up her list of 'targets'. Of course, she wouldn't turn them in if they were not a harm to other Mutants... But those that sympathised with those coniving humans would certainly feel her wrath. Wrapped in a shall of pure white, and dressed in loose jeans and a blue blouse, Luna looked almost exactly the same as when she was held here against her will, boots making a clack clack on the tile floor. Around her neck was a pass, one that enabled her access to most parts of the huge building as a Xenotype.
Oh, how she hated that name. Dogs of the government, was all they were. However, she would wear that collar if it ment exacting her own personal brand of revenge on those that wronged her. Brushing the cool metal of the silver mask that hung from a beltloop on her pants, she strode into the area where the Mutants were kept. She still had time, she could come here... Plus, her CO incouraged her frequently to 'convince' more prisoners to turn Xenotype. In a low, melodious voice, she repeated the lines to a poem her father had taught her. "He plucks the threads that make us dance, finger and toe..."
((This a decent intro?))