I follow Mace—who's following Lieutenant Bridges—as my blood absolutely boils.
Stepping through the door and into the concrete hall beyond, there are two guards waiting. They have become faceless to me already; just uniformed nobodies who couldn't give a shit if I died right now. It's maybe been two hours tops since I got here. Two hours since I was forced into these cheap orange clothes and shackled in the Warden's office. Already I've grown cold and numb with a fear for my safety I've never been confronted with before.
Lieutenant Bridges hurries off down the hall in the direction we came, but the two guards tasked with Mace and I turn the opposite way and escort us along to Third Block.
My new home.
Full of criminals so bad that even a guy like Mace finds their presence offensive.
But—no rapists? Bridges said something like that... didn't he? I try and dig through my foggy brain to recall exactly what was said in that room not even a few minutes ago, but every step I take towards my destiny makes me more fearful... more confused...
"It'll be alright, kid," Mace reassures as we round a corner with the guards.
I turn to him as if he's speaking a foreign language, realizing I've been ripping at my bottom lip with my teeth.
"It will?" I ask, trying to hide the tightness in my voice. Mace is built like a unit, and has a fucking scar running down the right side of his face I'm just noticing, but he's got an undeniable aura that makes me want to trust him.
"There are worse units than Third Block," he says. "We have a lot of good-behavior privileges that they'll think twice about losing." A small flower of hope begins to blossom in the pit of my stomach; before I can get too attached to it, it curls up and dies as Mace's tone changes from comforting to serious. "But there's only so much we can do... there are a few rotten fucking eggs in Third and ultimately, you're the only one you should count on for covering your ass."
My shackles echo down the large hallway, almost like their clinking is the song of my demise. I hate the way I still have them on when someone like Mace isn't even cuffed...
He's definitely a murderer.
But I feel like asking what he's in for on the first day is bad prison manners or something. I swallow my curiosity about Mace down with a tight gulp, and just silently accept my fate.
Soon, the four of us stop in front of a massive set of steel doors that I can only assume is the entrance to Third Block. There are guards in rooms on either side of the entrance, consulting monitors and looking at documents. I'm not even aware that I'm fucking shaking until the clinking of my shackles annoys Mace enough that he hisses at me to stay still.
This is going to be my life now. Everyone from the Warden down telling me what to do and when to do it. Even Mace.
But I'm not allowed to wallow for too long. After our escorts confirm some information with the guards at the entrance, the steel doors start to slide open and we follow through.
Third Block is pretty much what I expected, minus the dramatic amount of rust and leaky ceilings I envisioned. We enter a large room. A wide-open space where a dozen heavy metal tables and chairs are bolted to the concrete floor. A stone staircase at the back leads up to a second level mezzanine that overlooks this main floor. It's a narrow catwalk that runs the perimeter of the block and lining the walls upstairs are individual cells that are either shut—steel doors with only a small, window-like opening visible—or open. And the ones that are open? Bars line the cell, offering no right to privacy.
I shudder as I take in my surroundings, glancing from the tables and chairs to a plexiglass window at the back of the room with workout equipment visible through it; a locked room that promises a physical release I'm sure few have access to.
"This is Commons," Mace introduces. "We get four hours of free time every other day here. At least, those of us on good behavior. Those guys up there?" he jerks an unkempt, bearded chin up to the second floor where I've already clocked the cells with the steel doors. "You probably won't see them for another few months."
We're led forwards and I follow Mace up the stairs to the mezzanine floor. As we walk by the barred cells, I can't help glancing in.
All kinds of men stare at me as I pass their cells. Large... small... one is missing an eye... but I can't stare too long at any of them because I'm herded towards the last cell and practically thrown in by the impatient guards.
The small space has enough room for a steel bunk bed, a toilet, and a small sink. Even though I didn't expect any luxuries, I'm confronted with this reality as my shackles are finally removed.
I blink and turn on the spot just in time to watch the guards lock the cell behind me, and my heart starts pounding wildly in my throat.
I wrap my fingers around the iron bars of my cage and watch the guards depart until I can no longer see them from this angle.
That's when I notice him.
In the cell across from me.
He's large enough to cast a shadow on Mace and his entire upper body is covered in black tattoos.
That's about all I can see before Mace pulls me back from the bars and flips our neighbor the finger.
"Don't even look at that guy," he snaps, ushering me to the bunk and gesturing that the top is mine.
I don't ask him why. I am well aware the mission here is to keep me from being raped or murdered. Instead I ask, "Who's that?"
"That thing is Ox."