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Chapter 2

Prisoner two-zero-zero-one

......

"As long as you're here, you are no Declan Oliver, you would be referred as Prisoner two-zero-zero-one. Do you understand?" I ignored the question, continuing my descent to a place I would then start to call home for the time being. Getting deep in thoughts, the officer stopped abruptly, making my forehead connect to his rough and musky smelling uniform. "Are you listening to me kid? When I ask you something, you answer, got it?" Pitch raised, he asked without turning his back.

"Yes," I squeaked. My voice sounded afraid but it was good to let him think that I was weak, defenseless. A lost little kid in the middle of a chaotic place.

"What?" he said, emphasizing the single word he uttered. As if he was a god commanding a mundane; a thing of no value.

"Yes sir!" I toughened my tone letting myself fall for his demand though I was itching to make a hit on his face. He wouldn't dare shout at me again once I let him taste my fist.

"Good. Rule breakers are punished here. Break a single rule and you'll end up in solitary. This is no playground kid and with a face like yours, you gotta be extra careful." I swallowed a lump in my throat, one that was not really there but one that would not go away either. It was too damn stubborn.

"In," said the officer, as he led me inside a cell already occupied by two men; both faced down in their designated beds. I entered without questions, taking in the pungent stinking smell of the occupants. "The first day doesn't cause trouble. Got it?" he warned once more looking at me with disgust.

"Yes sir." The officer left with the ding of the closing metals, leaving me with my then newfound family of co-criminals.

I sat on my bed; the unoccupied one, next to two pairs of spare jumpsuits. The cell was an ordinary-looking one, two beds-- a single and a double-deck on the other side-- toilet on the corner and the common metal railings that separated us from the others.

I sighed, dread clawing at the pit of my stomach like a monster was just been born inside me. I should be afraid and maybe I was, I had a hard time distinguishing what emotions ran down my insides. It was like a movie in repeat before my very own eyes. I closed them, trying not to cringe with the upcoming flashes.

But memories are all peculiar; some of them are happy ones, those that we try hard to hold on to, making it last until the dawn of earth, then there are some that we try our best to forget, breaking us into unimaginable pieces, these are the scary ones; ones that we should be aware.

"Boo!" I opened my eyes to a guy about twice my age; face scruffy with untamed hair but a bald head. He was making a swerving motion like that of snakes, clearly taunting his prey. I fisted both hands, keeping them at bay. "Cat got your tongue kid?" I continued staring, a smile curved up on my lips. A hard skull then banged my head and I fell on my back to the hard bed. I groaned in pain, fuck.

"What do you want?" I asked in anger, my hands were still restrained at my side. My right foot was then dragged, my whole body slumped on the cold floor. The guy pinned me down, arm on my neck. My breathing was being cut out by pressure.

"In this cell, I'm going to be your fucking boss. Got it? You do as I say when I say it. What you here for?" He breathed directly in my face; foul air entered my nose but I did not falter instead I laughed; a hard aching tummy laugh.

The man fisted my shirt, lifted my body to a sitting position, and gave me a solid punch to the nose. Blood dripped from my nose; iron taste filled my mouth.

"Stop it, man. Anytime soon the pigs would be rounding up, stop it before you attract attention." The other guy in the cell spoke up. With much reluctance, the bald guy released me with the last push.

Breathing heavily, I spat blood on the floor, washing off my mouth 

with the taste that came with it. I stood up, my head turned to the direction of my rescuer, to the upper bunk of the bed. He was much older, nearing his sixties with gray hair, a stony body, and a remarkable scar on his left brow. He looked frail and old but I knew well that hidden behind that was a brain of a great killer. I sat back in my bed in time with the rounding up of an officer. I looked at my attacker who was slouching on his bed, giving me the devil's eye. He could have killed me with the look but then, I have seen worse.

"I've killed about two hundred people. The bombing," I said, my voice sounded remorseless. Why should I be?

The old man sighed, "I really believe, all kids shouldn't be allowed with computers. It only ends up bad. Didn't your parents teach you not to play with explosives? Stupid kids." He then jumped down his bed, giving our other cellmate a good slap on the back.

"Stop it old man, how many times did I told you not to do that?" yonder the younger man, yanking away the older one's hand. Funny, they looked like a weird father and son duo.

"What's your name son?" The old man addressed me.

"Declan Oliver. Call me Deck," I said.

"I'm Old Joe and this grumpy one is Russel," I repeated the names then nodded, dismissing them. I lay down on the bed and started to drift off. Sleep should be good to calm my nerves but a loud wailing sound cut me off from a dream sleep.

Things were just about to get fucking real.

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