Author's Note: This chapter was 100 percent rewritten.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephanie Meyer.

Washington State Penitentiary

Present Time

EPOV

There was hardly a soul on the yard this late in December and that was the way I liked it. Winter was in full swing and the beauty of it surrounded me with a layer of snow coating everything it could land on. For a few minutes I was able to forget where I was and bask in the sharp freshness of the cold air. Before I let my thoughts waver to a certain girl back home, movement on the outskirts of my line of sight brought me to my senses. A moment of peace was obviously far too much to ask for.

Two men aside from myself took a chance against frostbite and lingered around the tables across from the basketball court, smoking cigarettes and talking loudly about their balls freezing and falling off. I kept my distance and got back to work on the letter I was writing.

After five years in one place I learned what I needed to know to survive inside of this cage. Amiss the chaos and unpredictability that courses throughout the body of a prison, there is still a system that is set in place. There is a split second when Pandora's Box is opened and all hell breaks loose, but it rights itself just as quickly as it took to emerge. That was my thought process as the two men flicked their cigarette butts and walked away from the tables.

The taller man of the two had shifty eyes and his hands stuffed into the pockets of the molded jackets provided by the prison. His dark brown hair was in a crew cut that contrasted against his honey colored eyes that almost seemed to glow in the cloud filtered sunlight. Emmett McCarthy stands at 6'4" and looks like he can put a man in a choke hold with one arm while winning an arm wrestling contest with the other. Locked up for some graffiti and refusing to sell out some of his friends, Emmett never gave me a reason to dislike him. His buddy on the other hand, I could not say the same for. Royce King was in prison for selling ecstasy to kids in high school and let's just say it wasn't the pure MDMA he was claiming it was. There was a handful of girls he kept close to him and seeing as how they weren't old enough to drive, that didn't go over too well with authorities either. Twenty-eight years old and feeling up on underage girls made the man a perverted fuck and you could see the darkness radiating from his black eyes.

Without looking up from the notebook in my hands, I already knew Officer John Banner was taking a walk on the other side of the building for his hourly cigarette fix away from the cameras. The man had more write ups than some of the prisoners for smoking outside of his scheduled breaks. If you ever got close enough to him you could hear him muttering something along the lines of, "Damn, prisoners, have more freedom than I do. Can't even smoke a fucking cigarette whenever the hell I feel like it."

A sigh escaped past my lips and I looked down at the sheet of paper in my lap to realize I'd only written one sentence. I sensed the two men closing in on me and closed the notebook while sliding the pencil up the sleeve of my jacket. They'd already seen I was writing, but I was counting on them not being smart enough to ask me for it before they started their little intimidation routine. It was like clockwork. Royce King couldn't sit still long enough before he was in someone's face begging for a fight. The interesting part was that he always made himself look like a victim and escaped being sent to solitary. Pathetic piece of-

"Dude, we should just..." Emmett was whispering under his breath and I heard the tail end of his suggestion to walk away before Royce cut him off with a wave of his hand. There was a split second where Emmett seemed ready to deck Royce himself but opted for shaking his head and nodding once at me. I ignored him and kept my eyes on the other one.

Royce had his head tilted to one side, a disgusting smile was curled on his lips, and before I had a chance to blink, my rolled up notebook was in his small hands. "What do we got here, bitch number six? Writing a letter home to mommy?" The taunting in his voice was enough to set me on edge, yet I was the epitome of calm. There was only the one page with writing on it and the opening sentence was addressed to Esme, my mother for all intents and purposes. Although, Royce didn't know that.

Inmate number 3666 is the name I've known for the past five years and six months. Home is C Block, cell number six. There is no one here I called friend and it was a rare occasion when I spoke to another person. Only a handful of officers knew my name and that was as far as it went. A few of the inmates have taken to calling me Triple Six or simply Six, in relation to the number stamped across the back of my jumpsuit. Which didn't happen until after I gained some respect from holding my own in a riot that broke out in the first three months of my sentence. Of course, there's been a handful of times I've had to reintroduce myself throughout the years, but I didn't mind a good fight here or there.

There was a moment of silence as Royce waited for my reaction. When there was none, a scowl very slowly replaced the twisted smile on his face. He seemed to be searching my eyes for something while he ripped a page out of the composition. It was like he was child begging for attention and I was the adult too preoccupied to pay him any mind.

Keep your mouth shut. Don't say a word. My own brain was threatening me to keep myself in check as my gaze remained steady, locked on Royce as he destroyed my book page by page. It had taken me weeks to get ahold of a new one and it would take just as long to get another. I wondered about how to get Royce to fuck off before he got to the last page, but I didn't get very far before Emmett took a step forward and snatched the notebook out of his hands. He shoved it into my chest and grabbed Royce's arm, dragging him by his elbow towards the double doors that led back inside.

That was when I noticed Officer Banner walking back from the corner he disappeared around and I looked back down at my hands holding the composition to my chest. Before I had a second to contemplate King's death, I heard Officer Banner's voice shout, "Get back inside before you freeze your ass off, Cullen!"

I muttered to myself about what a ballsy old man he was. Luckily enough, McCarthy and King were already gone as a I made it back in time for the alarm to go off signaling it was time for dinner. It was Meatloaf Monday. Yummy.

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The next morning I found myself woken up by a loud banging on the metal bars of my cell. With bloodshot and wild green eyes I sat up in my bunk to glare at an officer I didn't recognize using his baton as an impromptu alarm. His name tag read T. Crowley and I instantly didn't agree with him or the shit eating grin on his face. Right away I could tell he was new, eager to prove himself and eager to taste the power that comes with the freshly pressed uniform he was wearing. Before I was able to tell him where he could shove that stick, he spoke.

"Get the fuck up, inmate. Warden wants to see you." I figured he was talking to me since I was the only person in the entire C Block without a cellmate. He shoved the baton back into its holster and retrieved his handcuffs in a movement that seemed forced with practice instead of with ease from experience. Definitely new. Rather than being too much of an ass, he gave me a minute to relieve myself from morning bodily functions and shove my feet into the only pair of boots I owned. I let him know I was ready when I shoved my hands through the small hole in the bars so that he could slap the cuffs on my wrists before he unlocked the door.

"Let's go," he motioned in the direction of the Warden's office as the door clanged open and I hoped it showed in my eyes that he shouldn't touch me or he'd regret not getting a job as a dentist or something in a place far, far away. Most of the guards already knew not to get too close. After I took down ten men during the infamous riot and sent three to the hospital, officers and inmates alike kept their distance from me. They even tried to lock me up in solitary and throw away the key until my lawyer persuaded the warden it was all in self defense. I tried to hide the smirk on my face when the warden's jaw dropped after my lawyer mentioned in passing about a possible lawsuit for not having better control of the prison.

A few early risers muttered amongst themselves as they watched me walk from the confines of their cells. As Crowley and I passed the last cell before reaching the long walkway up to the warden's office, a French man named Laurent blew a kiss at me with his face pressed up against the bars. I would have to remember to talk to him about that later. Now we all know by talk I meant to get him better acquainted with my fist and possibly force him to kiss a couple of toilets in the bathroom since he liked to pucker up so much. Depending on how it went with the man upstairs. You never know, I could walk out of there in a good mood.

Crowley was a few paces behind me and he spontaneously used his baton to bang on the bars close enough to Laurent's face that it made him jump back in surprise. I barked out a laugh at Laurent's expense and shook my head as I kept walking forward before Crowley dared to use that baton on me. It wouldn't end well for either of us.

The walkway to the office was almost a half mile long and the white walls, bright fluorescent lights, and gray cement floors made it seem even longer. We passed a couple of doors on either side of us but nothing else. With each step I took I measured the distance and concluded it was 2,305 feet, just under a half mile. There was nothing my eyes missed. Being observant and taking mental notes are key traits of mine that have come in handy in the past. There was only one point in time where they've failed me, but I didn't want to get into such a hostile train of thought just before talking to the warden.

Officer Crowley paged the other side of the black iron gate to let us through and when the annoying buzzer went off, he motioned for me to walk ahead of him. The air was instantly tense as we waited for the second buzzer to release us from the small waiting area. I could tell Crowley wanted to say something to me but something on my face must have warned him against it. There wasn't much time for chatting in any case, as not even a minute later, the second sound rang through the loudspeaker, clearing us from the small room. Two guards were on the other side of the door, standing shoulder to shoulder, to ensure everything went smoothly. They each took a step aside, letting us through, when I came face-to-face with a reception area. Complete with the sliding glass window and uncomfortable, cracked leather seats.

"Take a seat, kid," Crowley motioned to the empty seats and walked over to the small window to knock on the glass. He exchanged some pleasantries with the woman whose name I didn't know but she seemed cute. After a few minutes, he finally decided to let her know that he was escorting me to Volturi's office and she typed something into a keyboard. Crowley opened the door two yards to the right from the secretary's window as yet again, another buzzer went off.

"Have fun," he said through his increasingly annoying grin.

Author's Note: Updates will be far between. Bella or Edward POV next?