Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything. My trainer used to say that all the time. Usually didn't matter which one it was; he'd always quote Muhammad Ali to everyone who'd listen and everyone who wouldn't. A man who views the world the same at fifty as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of his life; that was a favourite of his. But if I'm going to tell you the rest of this story we need to get one thing straight. For me, Richard Hilton is the meaning of friendship. He's the man I'll remember on my deathbed, the man who I trust more than anyone I've ever met. But at this point in the story, I don't know him. So of course I was wary. But he had an easygoing manner about him that made him hard to dislike, even though he was in jail. He had his flaws, but don't we all? Don't we all.

'We're all equal here son, ain't no use in calling me sir.' He smiled at me, a smile that suggested world-weariness but he was too proud to let it show blatantly.

'Sorry…' I caught myself about to say sir but bit my tongue.

'Don't go saying sorry, you haven't done anything wrong,' He stopped shoveling and looked at me again, wiping his forehead with his arm. 'What you in here for?' he asked.

I turned back to working, muttering:

'I don't wanna talk about it.' There was silence until the man replied about a minute later.

'That's okay, if you don't want to talk about it you don't want to talk about it.' Around ten minutes passed, as I shoveled, already tired from the work. I asked Richard Hilton a question that had been at the back of my mind ever since I started working.

'Hey,' I said to get his attention. He turned to me. 'What's stopping someone taking a pickaxe and killing someone down here?'

He sniffed and nodded his head towards the rock opposite.

'Cameras,' I squinted and could just make out a man-made object nestled in between the natural rock. 'They've got men watching us. There's nothing stopping someone at first. I've seen it happen.' He wrinkled his nose. 'It was…pretty gruesome. But there are guards outside, you've got nowhere to run to. They come in as soon as someone tells them to. Even if you did run and managed to get away, where would you go? Isn't anything outside but predators, poison and forest. Escaping would be impossible, don't even think about it.' he smiled, pointing at me. I gave back a humorless smile. I returned to work, a headache starting to make itself apparent. I hadn't eaten ever since they gave us a meal before we boarded the Valkyrie. I felt a little sick, sweating all over. I stopped shoveling and caught my breath.

'What's your name?' the man asked me.

'Dwight J Dolton.'

'Nice to meet you, Dwight. What's the J stand for?'

'James.'

'I'm Richard Hilton.'

'Nice to meet you. What shall I call you?'

'Just stick to Hilton. Everyone else does.'

A deep horn startled me, the horn to signal the end of a day of mining. I walked back to the entrance where the newcomers were being given their own cards. I went over, received mine and was once again herded into the transport vans. I held onto my card for grim life. If that morning I were prepared to eat the food they served, now I would readily eat whatever they slapped in front of me.

Getting the food was as simple as it looked. I just slipped in the card, the triangular plastic 'meal' came out, I spooned it into a bowl. I spotted Hilton and a few other people I didn't know at the end of a table. I decided to sit with them, seeing as though I didn't know anyone else. I sat down as Hilton gestured for a man to budge up. I sat down, the hall a sea of orange.

'Hey Dwight.' Hilton said. I mumbled a hello, feeling a little uncomfortable. He proceeded to introduce the people on the table.

Thomas Ryan was a nervous, pale twenty-something who kept biting his nails. He offered a shaky hello and shook my hand. His arms seemed so thin, reminding me that they were ready to throw just about anyone in here. This guy was too young to be in here. So was I. We all were. This particular man had been in for six years already.

Evan McCarthey was a bigger man than Thomas, a taller man than I. He looked around forty. Hilton explained to me that he was mute.

'Either mute or he's never said a goddamned word to us.' Hilton laughed. Evan smiled and nodded hello to me, shaking my hand. He'd been in jail for twelve.

The last person they introduced to me was an older man, sixty-five he told me. But he hadn't been in as long as Evan, as he arrived along with Thomas. His grip was strong as he shook my hand, our skin the same colour. He was the only guy who told me what he was in for:

'For killing a burglar. Turns out you're not supposed to shoot 'em in the street.' As he smiled dimples appeared in his cheeks. His name was Al Jones

As for the food, well the less there is said about the food the better. I ate it anyway. That first day I didn't even notice what it tasted like. Later I would notice that it didn't taste of anything else I'd ever had. Al described it as everything a growing boy needs to be big and strong.

After the introduction, two guards told a man to stand up and come with them. They led him off down the hallway I went through to mine. When I asked the others where they were taking him, they didn't say anything. Thomas chirped in, his face fearful.

'We don't know. Sometimes this happens, always at mealtimes. Two guards call a guy to come with them. It's always the same guards- the small one and the one with the moustache. It's never the same guy.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that some of them- they don't come back. I had a friend, he never did anything wrong. Wouldn't hurt a fly. These guards take him away. Next time I see him, he's in a wheelchair, and this place isn't so wheelchair friendly.'

'Is he still here?' I asked. Evan shook his head.

'Some guys stabbed him in the toilets, with the blade from a razor. Bastards.'

'They've been doing it more recently.' Al added. 'Thomas thinks they're dying.'

Thomas nodded, some of his nervousness gone now he was talking about something he believed.

'What else are they doing? Building up a goddamn army? I don't think so.'

'Why would they just kill someone like that?' Hilton was the one that spoke next, scratching his head.

'Power. Fun. Maybe no reason. There's some bad characters here on Pandora.'

I decided to change the subject.

'You ever seen a Na'vi?' Al and Hilton laughed.

'No Na'vi come near this place.' Al said. 'Almost forgot they were here. I never seen one.'

'Me neither.'

'Nor me.'

Evan put his hand up.

'You have?' I asked.

He nodded.

'How? Where?' I asked, my eagerness making me forget he was mute. I slapped myself on the head. I was about to ask the others, but felt that I should ask Evan to be polite. He was a person like all the rest of us. 'Can you write it down?'

He looked around him as if to say: Where would I do that? I smiled.

As the others talked, I found my mind floating towards the photo. My photo. I couldn't help but thinking that a part of me had disappeared along with that photo. The others must have noticed my discomfort, as Hilton asked.

'What's up Dwight?' he asked me.

'What? Uh, nothing.' I said, startled as I was pulled from my trance.

'C'mon, you can tell us.'

'It's just…they took something of mine in inspection. Something personal… a photo.

'A photo?' Al said.

'Yeah. It's just… I feel like I'm not all here, without that photo.'

'Want it back?'

'What?'

'Do you want your photo back?'

'Sure.'

'Well alright then.'

The conversation had left me startled. Little did I know that that simple exchange would set the course for the rest of my stay there at the Pandoran Prison. Some things would be great. Some would be bad. Very bad.