Deadman Wonderland: One of many privately owned prisons that use its income to stimulate the American economy after the Second Great Depression in 2014. Prisoners are used as unpaid labor and entertainment for the tourists who arrive every day except Friday to ride the carnival rides build by the prisoners and to watch in the various Dog Races where Wonderland Credits can be won.

Wonderland Credits:The prison has its own economy made up of Wonderland Credits which can be used for a number of things, such as buying meals, Candy, or even Freedom. If a prisoner can produce enough Credits that are deemed by the Promoter to sufficiently repay the prisoner's debt to society, they are released.

Candy: Death Row prisoners are on a steady supply of poison, injected through the collars placed around their neck. The poison kills the prisoner in a span of three days unless the prisoner takes the antidote in the form of a candy. While the taste is extremely bitter, it prolongs judgment of the prisoner for another three days. The first dose can be found in the prisoner's issued bag and can be bought for 100,000 Credits.

His neck felt unnaturally bulky, the added three-or-so pounds was nothing to him, but it would be something he would need to get used to. It was hot; he was sweating under the sun with his jumpsuit half-open and tied around his waist. Blonde hair plastered to his forehead and a thin sheen of perspirations coating his upper lip and chest as he carried the metal bars over his shoulder. He had been out here all goddamn day, his back hurt, he felt hot, sticky with sweat. The guards watched him carefully, standing near each other with their guns slung over their shoulders as they whispered amongst themselves. Who the hell did they think they were? Looking and whispering at him as thought he was some creature, some monster on display. He tore his attention away from them, continuing on his way and finally depositing the heavy metal against the cluttered pile of other materials that would be used to make the new fucking ride. God, he hated hearing the rollercoaster in the distance, hated the cheers and calls of joy from the people who came to use them as entertainment. Such heartless fuckers, he wished they would just die!

Choking . . . blood . . . laughter . . .

"Al-fie . . ."

He gasped slightly, falling out of that constant nightmare that never left him. Mattie . . . was that really what happened? Then why would he know anything about it? He didn't kill his brother. He didn't kill anyone. He couldn't. His hand covered his eyes and he bent forward, his empty stomach heaving futilely while he stemmed the stinging of salty tears, gasping for breath. How could anyone curse him to this place when he did nothing wrong? In his anger and pain, he did not notice the guards hurriedly check their watches before slipping away into the main building.

Leaning the chrome bars against the rest of the materials needed for the new ride, Alfred leaned against the closest wall and wiped his brow, slipping his hand under the damp strands of hair, detaching them from his flushed skin. It was just about time to go and his body was sore from the labour; all he wanted to do was collapse in his bunk and sleep. Then again, sleep meant dreaming, and dreaming was something he didn't want to do. Every time he so much as blinked he would be met with images he never wanted to imagine that made his stomach heave for that slight second while his appetite would be disrupted for hours afterwards. He had been in this place for a solid three days; it was still going to take some getting used to. He had just been given his cell number after going through the last two days of tests and checkups and resting in temporary boarding until he was finally secured into the system. Seventeen and he was one of the youngest on record from what he had glimpsed. However, he was the only one in that age group who would die on that record. All the others were selfish, sly, conniving, even dangerous, but he was the only one who was shown no mercy.

Pulling out a candy wrapped in bright, colourful paper, he looked down at it contemplatively. The summer sun was beginning to set, the sky engulfed in orange flames from the dying light. Only a few more hours until he started feeling the effects of the poison running through his veins and once that occurred, he had only a handful of minutes until he would lay dead, serving his sentence in one go. He could shatter the candy to keep from temptation, let himself die and be with his mother and father . . . And Mattie. Most of all Mattie: his sweet, shy, stuttering, blushing, laughing, snarky, moody older brother Mattie. He collapsed to his knees as a sob ripped through him, tears welling within his eyes and overflowing for the first time since the affair. He slouched forward, shoulders quivering and one metallic-tasting hand clasped to his mouth to stifle any more sounds from escaping his bleeding heart. Digging into the side pocket of his uniform where the candy had been kept, he pulled out the narrow, rectangular pair of glasses, red blood staining the lenses. He could see himself in their reflection, the view bulging and distorted. He was innocent. How could he ever hurt the one he loved the most?

"Oi, you alright?" a voice above him asked rather harshly. A young man with auburn hair and hooded hazel eyes looked down at his pitiful form hunched over in the gravel. A merciful cool breeze brushed through the courtyard and ruffled their hair in a brief flurry, a long wild hair with a gentle curl stood out from the rest of the locks, parted on the left. He wore a bright green uniform, signifying a different Block, and making it much harder for the likes of him to escape than it would be for someone like Alfred. The odds were, however, that he would simply be released in a few years. He looked mean, but not . . . not like everyone else.

The American dropped his eyes and slowly raised to his feet, wiping away the stray tears on the back of his hands. He looked pale, his freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks, though usually hidden by his tanned skin. He held the glasses tight, wanting nothing more than the owner to materialize out of the dust. No, he wasn't alright, wasn't that obvious! Who the hell asks that? He looked and felt FAR from alright. He felt like shit, hated life and all the people around him, and everything else. "I'm fine."

The young man looked around, he was shorter than the blonde, but had a more mature face with most of the baby fat gone, though he seemed to frown and pout more often than smile. "Well then, the guards are leading us back. If you don't want to be locked in the work yard for the night, I suggest you come with us. Something happened and your guards were called to some scene or another. I'm Lovino Vargas, B-Block."

"Alfred Jones, D-Block," he spoke in somber tones, cleaning at the lenses as though an odd obsession had washed over him. He bowed his head to hide his red eyes, embarrassment washing over him, yet shame and guilt were hidden in his eyes.

Lovino looked at him oddly, almost with an upturned nose, as though he were thinking of something disdainfully, "Well, are you coming?"

Alfred looked up, he didn't know what he had been expecting of the older man, but nodded. The blood on the glasses lenses were faded, but it caused a sort of panic to well inside him. It was as though Matthew was fading from him. The candy in his pocket was suddenly recalled to mind Hesitantly, he slipped the candy from his pocket, his morbid thoughts threatening to return.

"You're the kid on the news, yeah? The one who killed his entire family?"

"No!" Alfred shouted, louder than he intended, "I couldn't hurt them! Never! I loved my family, and you better fucking remember that!" He gripped the Italian by the collar of his jumpsuit, easily pulling him off his feet with one hand.

Panic welled in the green-brown eyes as hands clasped his wrist to keep from choking in his grip, still, he kept that cheeky speech pattern which came from years of life-threatening experiences, "Th-then why do you keep looking at that candy with that look of giving up? If you're not guilty, fight it damnit! And put me down bastard, you're killing me here! Don't want to ruin your clean conscious."

Without much thought, Alfred's eyes widened and his hand slowly lowered the Italian man. He had a point, a very good point. The young man coughed and rubbed his neck where the fabric chaffed him, slight tremors running through his body. Alfred did not kill his family. He refused to believe any of that. There was no plausible way! Looking back to the candy, he pulled back the wrappings and popped the deep indigo candy into his mouth. The bitter taste made him gag, he almost spat it back out. Oh the horrors of living! Couldn't they have a poison cured by sweet nectar or something! No, only whatever the hell was in his thing, and god how it made his stomach heave.

"Well newbie, you coming or not?" Lovino asked irritably.

"I'm coming."