{Warning: Mentions rape (none happens), murder, offensive language, etc.}

Gilbert Beilschmidt, cell mumber 342. Arrested for strangling a defenseless Hungarian lass to death in a triggered mental state. He claimed to not of had the murder premeditated, but the Hungarian and him had been feuding for a year after the girl went and cheated on him with some Austrian that the self proclaimed Prussian had never had a chance to personally and formally meet. Maybe Gilbert had just had enough of her ways, her scandelous, lying, betraying ways. He had to live with her, after all, not having anywhere else to stay since his brother really had more important people and things to attend to, so he was out of the question. Gilbert didn't want to bother his friends with himself, so he just had to stay where he had moved into, his ex-girlfriend's apartment, where they had originally planned to spend most of their lives together, even as a married couple. But, o, she had to go and ruin that, didn't she? Ruin it, and with that, get her life ended before most of it began. So maybe it was first degree murder, maybe it was second. Gilbert didn't care; either way, he went to jail. He never thought he'd be in jail. His brother and friend's didn't guess so either, and it was a huge shock to his brother. That business man Ludwig just left his brother to rot away, where he didn't belong, for the rest of his life. He didn't have any way to get out, he was stuck in jail forever. A life sentence.

And Gilbert had planned to go places like America, Japan, China, etcetera, and do so many things...he hadn't begun his part of the journey. Gilbert prayed his brother and friends would, although they only spent theirs wasting away in a cubicle. But, they had so many more possibilities. Gilbert's only one was to die. How he wished it would happen soon. Sitting up on the top bunk in a dusty jail cell, eating disgusting substances that he guessed he could call 'food', and even having to defend himself from a few predators; sex offenders and men who were just bored and...needy. Gilbert, for the first time in his life, wanted to die. Really wanted. What was there to live for? Maybe a few visits from his friends once in a while, but what else was there? Well, he could live out the rest of his life until he died, but there was nothing in that for him. He'd get touched and beat and ruined and corrupted before he'd die of some disease or maybe even old age. Again, Gilbert had already given up.

But, he had no way to kill himself. No where to jump from, nothing to hurt himself with. With guards watching them 24/7, somehow, some of the prisoners managed to commit suicide, but Gilbert never found out how. He secluded himself from people, so he never asked. Gilbert, however, had once heard a man around his age begging for fellow inmates to kill him, and, they did, right in front of Gilbert's eyes. So now, he was too scared to even ask of that. He couldn't ask anyone to kill him for him, he was too much of a coward to do it himself and too much of a weakling to ask them to, because if you asked them to kill you, man, there is no going back. The offering of murder was too tempting for the inmates, and like wild animals, and animals they truly were, the monstrous murderers beat the living hell out of that man, and killed him, just for the heck of it. Not because they felt pity. It was because they were hungry. Hungry for the smell of blood of their victims. It was absolutely horrid and gruesome and sickening. Gilbert hated it. He couldn't stand much longer of it.

Only if he could go back home...maybe it wasn't much of a home, but at least he wasn't being preyed on, at least he was eating real food, at least he had his own, warm bed...if only he could fall asleep and wake up at home. God, he'd give everything to take everything back. His hands...around that girl's thin neck...the look in her eyes as she...died...

Around one o'clock in the morning, the Prussian stumbled into the dimly lighted apartment. He closed and locked the door behind himself, his free hand moving up his face to run through his shaggy, chopped white bangs, his light pink eyes closing. Gilbert felt so fatigued having accidentally stayed out longer than he had expected. He went to a bar with his best friends, Antonio and Francis, since Ludwig refused to join them for he was busy working with Feliciano at the office with work that apparently could not be late. Antonio and Francis convinced Gilbert to drink with them, and after a few beers, he didn't expect to be woozy, but, he ended up being so. Gilbert hoped that his ex-girlfriend and roommate, Elizabeta, was asleep, so that she wouldn't get mad that he went out and drank late into the super early morning; that he went against her rules once again. Elizabeta didn't like drunks, and to be honest, they worried Gilbert a bit as well, but having been one for quite some time recently and being from Germany got him used to it. Come on, Germany was known for bier, even his little brother used to drink, but he did get over it because it 'wasn't healthy'. Bullshit, Gilbert thought.

Gilbert turned around and was about to creep off to bed, to not awake Elizabeta whose self set bedtime was near eleven o'clock, but unfortunately, he found that she was not even asleep yet, and no where near it. With alert eyes watching over him, the Hungarian sat ominously on the kitchen counter. He froze when they both caught each others' eyes, but she moved swiftly to hop off of the counter, make her way over to him and say, "You're drunk."

"...no, I'm not. There was a delay on the subway."

Elizabeta was in no way convinced. Although the Prussian stood straight instead of slouching over, and managed his best to speak without slurring, he knew that Elizabeta knew he was lying to her. Instead of asking maybe what the delay was or just telling him to get to bed or something, she quickly gripped his shirt collar and shoved him against the door, yanked him downwards, and kissed him on the lips, only for a few seconds. If Gilbert didn't know that she could taste the alcohol on his lips and smell it on his breath, he would've very much enjoyed this.

The kiss only lasted a few more seconds, and then Elizabeta pulled away. "...liar. Why were you drinking when I told you not to?"

"Oh, come on, babe, it was only a few drinks wit' my boys..." Gilbert rolled his eyes as he mumbled, walking away from her and into the living room. The albino began to remove his coat and place it on the back of the sofa, then starting to roll up his sleeves and take off his shoes. This argument was only beginning, so next, the stubborn woman pursued him with her delicate arms crossed, annoying him by the expression that made her look so much more angrier than she really should've been. Maybe she was frustrated, or upset, Gilbert couldn't waste his precious time to figure it out himself.

"I'm not your babe!" She yelled, stopping behind him. Gilbert refused to turn and look at her, and remained staring at the beige wall in front of him. "Gilbert, you know how I don't like drunks, I'm scared of them, and-"

"Scared? Of a drunk? Why is that, then, girl?"

"I have a name, and I'm just afraid of what men like you can do."

"O...men like me? Do tell me what men like me can possibly do." Gilbert snared.

Elizabeta paused. "They aren't in full control of their actions. Y-you could hurt someone, or yourself, or me...you could...rape me, and I'm just scared of that."

Now that was a good one. Now that made Gilbert chuckle, and turn to her, his face contorted into many varying emotions. "Pssh, sweetie, who would want to do that to you? Not me, that is. Trust me, you're not worth the prison sentence for sex offense. Not one bit."

Elizabeta looked oddly insulted at this. She was so easily offended that it drove Gilbert crazy, wishing he could cut out his tongue to not make her get like that about everything he said. "So I'm not worth it?"

"No. Why, you want to go get raped or something? That's just sick." He snarled, placing one of his hands into his pocket and leaning against the couch. Elizabeta looked even more hurt, like Gilbert would honestly think she was a kinky slut. Hey, maybe she was, but Gilbert did not want to know that whatsoever.

"I would never! Stop being such a drunk, though, that's what you should do!"

"Know what you should do, Elizabeta?" Gilbert edged closer, peering down at her menacingly. Elizabeta noticeably tensed her muscles up and shut her mouth for once. Gilbert could appear frightening at times, and although he knew it made the Hungarian uncomfortable and even less trusting of him, it was sort of funny watching her get defensive, well, until she slapped the cocky look out of his face. At least she didn't do it at the moment, and let Gilbert speak rightfully for once. "...You should take your motherly demands and stick them up your ass. Because I'm tired of hearing them."

"Ex-excuse me?" Elizabeta squeaked, clenching her small fists, as if she could do something with them. Yeah, she could sure pack a punch, but she would be too afraid to throw any jabs at Gilbert, still antsy and wary on what he would do. He was so much stronger no matter how wimpy he could be. Elizabeta didn't even know if Gilbert would hit a girl or not. "I'll have you know, this is my apartment, and if you aren't going to abide to my rules, then you need to get the hell out of here!"

"Shut up, bitch, I'm tired of being treated like a kid."

"What did you call me?"

Gilbert scoffed. "Need a hearing aid, grandma? I called you a filthy, stinking bitch."

With that, Elizabeta's eyes seemed to catch fire, and she backed away from Gilbert, who stayed exactly where he was. He found this amusing, but, also...he felt a little bad to see the girl he was once in love with freak out like she did. Elizabeta hit the wall behind her, her eyes fogging up. Gilbert tilted his head, but soon had to dodge a glass vase that the Hungarian had yanked from the table beside her, flowers and all still in it. It zipped past him and collided with the wall, shattering loudly into hundreds or shards, and that made Gilbert angry. He snapped as well, moving towards Elizabeta, who moved away from the wall now. Without thinking, Gilbert clutched onto her arms, and shoved her towards the couch, where she toppled over, backwards into the coffee table. She hit her head on the side, but was still awake. Elizabeta yelped out as Gilbert began to move closer again, and she tried to stand up, only falling over the coffee table once more, her arm wiping off the glass porcelain tea set that sat upon it, that too smashing on the floor.

Without thinking, Gilbert bent over Elizabeta and held her down, watching her squirm from under him. As he watched the fear in her wide, emerald eyes, he moved his hands from her shoulder up, and they met with her neck, and like a tight necklace, they clenched around it. She gagged, and struggled to fight back against Gilbert, kicking him and slapping out wildly into the air. Her face began to redden, and then, darken into a shade of blue. Her hands met with his as she trued to pull them off, gagging and wheezing, and begging without speaking. Anything to stop this, anything she tried. Gilbert pressed her down against the coffee table and listened to her begin to quiet her rugged, panicked breaths, drowned out by her lack of oxygen. Soon enough, as the last of Elizabeta's life burned out, Gilbert was filled with insane, delusional, utter joy and excitement, and he let go of her neck, his red handprints stained behind.

And he looked over her lifeless body before the real feelings and truth sank in.

"...I just...killed..." He began to get the same wheezing as he began to have something that felt like a panic attack, and boy, was it the worst he had ever had. He couldn't form sentences, he couldn't even think for his head ached as he drained away the murderous thoughts from his mind, replaced by fear and confusion, all bound up to become one; chaos.

She was dead. Elizabeta was dead, and Gilbert killed her. She was gone.

Since Gilbert had no other choice, and frankly he preferred to not make matters worse, Gilbert called the police station to turn himself in. He could of hid Elizabeta's body and went into hiding somewhere, but he was too much of a scaredy cat to do something like that. He knew hiding with his brother would be of of the question, since Ludwig wouldn't want to be involved with a murder since he was more of the moral type, so Gilbert could only depend on his friends. Even if one of his friends helped him hide, they could get caught and both of them would go to jail, and Gilbert didn't want anyone to go through that because of him. He didn't want anything else on his slate, no one else to be involved instead of him.

So Gilbert waited until the unit arrived to come get him, and as he did, he questioned if he should try to kill himself. After holding a few pill bottles in his hands and dropping them, not able to open the or anything, decided against that resolve. He was already a coward, but he didn't want anyone else to know it. Besides, the morgue already had one body to claim, he didn't want to have them get his either. Not yet, anyways, although he knew it was going to happen anyways. He'd be given a grave maybe earlier than expected. And that wasn't anything to look forward to.

Also, as he waited, he called Antonio and Francis. He told them all that happened, and that he was so sorry. They were good friends with Elizabeta, too, and they didn't ever expect anything like this to happen, and definitely not from Gilbert's own hands. Even though the two were shocked and hardly proud that the Prussian had turned himself in, they forgave him and promised to tell everyone the horrible, terrible news as soon as they could. Gilbert was in the middle of trying to call Ludwig, needing to hear his voice no matter how loud and angry it would be, when there was knocking at the door. Gilbert dropped the phone, trusted his friends to tell Ludwig, and wobbled to the door. In no less than a minute, he was handcuffed, and ordered to be taken down to the precinct whilst the detectives and police carried on with their investigation.

Of course, there had been a struggle between the murderer and victim, Gilbert knew that well enough, first-handedly. He was pulled into questioning about the events, gave his statement, and the actions that had occurred that early morning that it still was proved to be true, although the fighting words had not been cleared, and there was no way to prove them anyhow. The detectives inquired the feud between the two, and Gilbert testified to that, yes, they did, once, hate each other, but he had no where to go. They were mending their relationship when it went awry when he had went out drinking, and Elizabeta got angry, and he threw out insults at her, not expecting her to snap, or he himself to snap, not like he did, anyways. The police believed he was dead drunk, but he could recall the events so easily, remember as much as the details as the detectives themselves knew, so that was proved wrong. He was barely drunk at the time. It was a blind rage situation. Gilbert knew that, too. Why would he ever want to kill Elizabeta? Why would he do it if he didn't ever plan or think about it? There was no answer to these questions, so Gilbert didn't have a motive.

After all, Gilbert turned out to have committed second degree murder.

As anyone would, he was given the right to testify to the court, so the court could decide his prison sentence. He told every single thing that he did for the detectives, truthfully. He wouldn't lie, making anything worse, and he had no reason to lie. His friends shown up, giving their own testimony, as to what they were doing before the time of murder, and to Gilbert's surprise, Ludwig showed as well, but had no testimony to give, only sit in the audience. Gilbert felt like his brother's cold blue eyes bore into his back the whole time with a gaze of disappointment, but when Gilbert received his sentence, he didn't know what Ludwig's expression was. He didn't know what Antonio or Francis's expression was, and much less his own. He felt like he was stabbed in the heart when he was given his sentence, all his dreams shattered, all his plans, like he and Ludwig going on vacations together, and Gilbert writing his own books, and whatnot, burning up in flames so high he didn't know what to think.

Life in prison...

This wasn't the life for him. He didn't deserve it. He didn't. Gilbert didn't mean to kill Elizabeta, but it happened. He just wished so very much that he could change everything, take back what was said, take back what was done, so he'd still be able to be on the outside world, with all of his friends. But now, he was locked up in a cell, a cramp dusty one. He received rare visits from anyone, usually Antonio or Francis, Feliciano or Alfred, but almost never from his brother. Some days, Gilbert felt so alone. He was.

Once, Gilbert shared a cell with another man, shorter and tinier than himself. The mans name was Harris, and he was sure a talker. He was nice, actually, and Gilbert and he actually befriended one another. Harris stayed out of fights like Gilbert did, and usually stayed around Gilbert as if he was seeking protection, and he wasn't to get any with the Prussian, but Gilbert said nothing to him about not being strong. Gilbert's over confident ego poked out like a sore thumb, so he was usually left alone as if he would actually do something. He could never bring himself to hurt anyone again, never more to place his hands around anyone's neck. But, Harris was just as scared as Gilbert was. Harris had short, black hair, and a stubby chin, and for a prisoner, he was rather smooth and clean, only because he had just been arrested. Harris had only threatened a cop, out of rage for some reason Gilbert was afraid to ask about. Harris, although he knew what Gilbert was in for, wasn't afraid of him. Gilbert was glad he had finally gotten a friend.

But then, only weeks later, Harris was mauled to death by murderous, hungry inmates who had been preying on people that day.

Gilbert secluded himself more efficiently, to the point no one even saw him. He watched as daily, people died of sickness, or age, or fights, or anything, just waiting his own life out. Gilbert sat in his cell on the top of the bunk bed, and for a long while he was the lone cellmate. Gilbert was scared to get a new cellmate, worried it would be some rapist or pedophile, or murderer, anything horrible. So he was alone, and for him, it felt more of a better thing. He didn't speak to anyone anyways. So he was okay.

One day, he was visited by Ludwig. It was, again, a sudden appearance, so it wasn't abnormal until Ludwig announced he was paying for him to be placed into a better cell. Gilbert asked about his generosity when Ludwig simply replied that, Gilbert, his big brother, needed to stay in a better place, and that he, Ludwig, loved and cared about him. And that was about it. Gilbert was gracious and glad to get out of that cell, and when he was placed in his new one, it was certainly better than the last. It had a better bunk bed, cleaner floors and walls, and a spare room for the bathroom, instead of just having it right up on him. Gilbert was also the only one sharing the room, at the time, that is.

A few better slept nights later, Gilbert was in the cell when he heard the doors opened. Gilbert knew it wasn't lunch yet, and that it wasn't time to roam in the main interaction area, or go outside or anything. Gilbert turned around to see if he had a visitor, or maybe he had somewhere to go and had lost track of time, when someone was put into the cell with him. He was told a few things by the guard, the cell was relocked, and then both of them were left alone.

About the same time that Gilbert noticed the other, the other noticed him, and for a while, they locked eyes, not moving. Gilbert finally managed to look away, nodding to the other man that stood tall and skinny, continuing to stare at him, all the while wondering just who the fair skinned, violet eyed man might be.