Intro

While most little girls wanted to be princesses, damsels in distress, or models, I dreamt about working in a prison. Odd, I know, but hey, it sounded like fun, and for the most part, it's pretty exciting. That is, until the Warden at Clear Trail penitentiary decided my talents were best used over at Fox River.

Did I forget to mention that Clear Trail is a facility that houses both men and women, while Fox River only has men? That means working nine hours a day in constant danger, not that Clear Trail is any easier, but at Fox River, I'll be the only female guard working there.

Did I forget to mention that too? Must be fear messing with my mind. Being a guard doesn't make you inhuman, you know.

Chapter One: Integrating a Female into the Mix

My heart did back flips, somersaults, cartwheels, and a whole gymnastic routine in my chest as I entered the gate on my first day at Fox River. I managed to keep a blank face, thankfully, and a cool, detached demeanor as I walked to the Warden's office, hopefully projecting confidence and strength. I hummed the song Three Libras by A Perfect Circle under my breath, but it kept trailing off into Weak and Powerless (another APC song), and that was definitely not how I wanted to feel right now.

I knocked softly on the Warden's door, and entered, putting on a professional smile as I shook his large hand. He explained the schedule to me, and handed me the uniform I was supposed to wear (a dark blue button up shirt and matching pants), then gave me my name tag that read K. Stokstad. K. stood for Kane, which was my middle name, my first being Jaclyn, but I only ever went by Kane these days.

I nodded thanks to him. "I have a separate place set aside for you to change, just go down the hall, and take the last door on the right." He added as he shook my hand again.

"Thank you, Warden, I'll change immediately and get to work." I left, followed the instructions, and found a long, sort of narrow room with three lockers, the second bearing my last name on it. I changed as fast as I could, and then smoothed my blue-black pixie hair back into place. My bangs stopped midway down my forehead, so they weren't going to be in my face, and the rest I could spike, or just leave it plain like I had it now. Anyway, it wouldn't distract me in case of an emergency, and it was short enough that prisoner would have a hard time yanking my hair to disarm me.

I checked the mirror that hung on the wall and watched my storm-cloud gray eyes stare into the glass. "You can do this." I murmured, nodded an affirmative, then shoved my clothes into the locker and left, ready and nervous to start working.

Yard time had just started, and I strode outside, hat firmly in place, and assessed the situation. Just like Clear Trail, the inmates separated into ethic groups; the weightlifting area belonging to the African-Americans, the bleachers belonging to the most likely racist Caucasians, the Latinos in one corner, and the Italians at a table playing a card game of some sort. My eyes roamed over the yard, and stopped on one person; a tall, well-built man standing near the fence, talking to someone, probably a death row guy, and those two, plus the Latino standing next to them stared at me, all of their expressions conveying at least one part shock.

The one in the middle, the man I first noticed, had closed shaved hair, a dark brownish color, very attractive features, and eyes that seemed to pierce me with their intensity. He muttered somthing to his Latino friend, who nodded and said something back, what it was, I didn't want to know. I tore my eyes away from those three, and found myself staring at the bleachers, where the first man's opposite sat.

This guy was closer, so I could see him more clearly, but that didn't make him one bit less frightening. He had sharp, strangely enticing looks, and mussed up brown hair that matched the goatee he had. His eyes were a deep, dark brown that met mine as I studied him. A smile twitched across his face, and he stood, swatting away a shorter man that had a grip on his pocket.

The five members of his entourage followed him as he walked, well more like strutted over to where I stood. I put a hand on my baton (basically the equivalent of a nightstick), and raised my eyebrow in a silent question as he looked me up and down slowly.

"Well, now look what we have here." His voice drawled in a southern accent that turned his voice to honey, sweet and golden. "We don't get many ladies around these parts anymore." Everyone in hearing distance, basiclly the hundred or so people near us since this guy's voice projected quite well, turned around and watched.

"I don't blame them." I retorted. The guy had something flash through his eyes before he regained his composure.

"A little girl like you could get hurt very easily here, you know." His voice hummed with the almost threat. "Sure wouldn't want something like that to happen to a lovely young thing like yourself." I stepped closer to him, ready to draw my baton. We were the exact height, surprisingly, so I guessed him to be about 5'10 or so, maybe 5'11. We matched eyes and stared each other down.

"I guess that means no midnight cell visits. Your loss." I fired back, and saw the small look of surprise on his face before it turned into a chuckle.

"Better watch that mouth of yours, little girl. I might just take you up on that, although you won't like it as much as I will." He grinned, this time showing his teeth in a creepy sort of leer.

"What's your name, convict?" I asked, a hard edge coming into my voice.

""Did that strike a nerve, pretty?" He laughed, darker than before, and met my eyes once more, but this time, I balanced on the edge of either falling into their moodiness, or bashing his face in.

From across the yard, I heard someone, a guard, yell, "Alright ladies, line up, and go back to your cells! Come on, move it!"

The southern man turned his back to me, and sauntered away, but not before firing a last comment over his shoulder. "That uniform fits you perfectly, but I can't even begin to imagine what you'll look like out of it, pretty. We'll have to find out real soon, won't we?"

I stood there looking after him for awhile, and I'm fairly sure I left score marks on my baton, I gripped it so hard. Rage, fear, and disgust can form a deadly cocktail of emotions, sometimes.

XXXXTIME SKIPXXXX

A few I hours later, I was walking on the second tier of cells, calling out names and doing the after-dinner cell check, when a soft voice caught my attention.

"Don't let T-Bag bother you." I looked up to find the tall, intense-eyed man looking at me with a small smile on his face. This close, I could see the color of his eyes, which turned out to be a clear, washed out blue.

My mouth quirked in an almost smile. "His name is T-Bag?" I felt laughter erupting in my head, and it leaked into my voice slightly. The man in front of me nodded, his teeth showing as he smiled wider, and his smile turned out to be contagious. Soon, I was grinning ear to ear. It fell off my face though, when I noticed the southern man, apparently named T-Bag, was watching us, one arm reaching out through the bars, and resting on one of the horizontal pieces of steel, while the other was shoved deep into his pocket.

"Name?" I asked, running my pen down the roll call.

"Scofield, Michael." he responded instantly, and I checked him and his cellmate, the Latino from earlier named Fernando Sucre, off my list, and moved on, but not before I heard Scofield say, quietly, "Watch out for yourself, and don't get backed into a corner."

"I never will be."

Oh, how wrong I was.