AN: Here we go, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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"To your feet, inmates!"

The officer's voice bellowed out and echoed around the cement space. Daryl had the immediate mental reaction of a child and had to fight the urge to growl, roll over, and ignore the command. That wouldn't work here and he knew it. Even half asleep, he knew it. He wrestled himself out of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, and stood somewhat at attention beside his cot. Around him, everyone else did the same—and some of them didn't sleep even as well-dressed as he did.

"Too damn early," he muttered. He heard T-Dog snort. He was the only one close enough to have heard the words.

"Too damn early for somebody stays out half the damn night," T-Dog responded, his voice equally as low. "If you were digging under some damn fence with a spoon and we're about to all get busted for it—I'm gonna be first in line to kick your ass."

Daryl snickered at the words, but his stomach dropped. What if he and Carol had been caught? What if she thought the location was secure and it wasn't? What if they hadn't busted them last night because they wanted everyone to pay for the breach of security?

Daryl had already decided—and he'd had time to do it while wandering back in the dark—that he didn't care if he got busted. He didn't care if he got flagged and landed himself back in their hell-hole, but he didn't want her going back there. He especially didn't want her going back there for him.

But worse than the fear of punishment was the fear of being found out and being stripped of the place. Daryl hadn't made it back to his bunk before he was daydreaming of the next time they might escape in the middle of the night to take advantage of the seclusion of the closet. At this point, the dirty closet held a place in his mind where he might imagine it to be an island oasis. The best thing that had happened to him in as long as he could remember had happened in that dirty ass closet—and he didn't want to lose it.

He hadn't wanted to let go of Carol. She'd led him back to the bathroom, just as she'd promised, and he'd grabbed her before she could slip away and fade into the shadows to slip back to her bunk. He'd pulled her into the shower with him. He'd kissed her. And she'd stared at him, big eyed, and she'd waited. She returned his kisses, but she'd done so quickly and tentatively. She'd been always aware that they might be watched. She'd been always aware that they might be caught. The magic had been broken.

And Daryl had finally let her go even if it was the last thing he'd wanted to do. He could still feel her body against his—his mind holding tightly to the sense memory.

Worse than any physical punishment they could give him, at this point, would be the punishment of knowing that it would never happen again. They'd never sneak away again together because their hideaway was gone. He'd never hold her again.

But he wouldn't let on to that right now. Not to T-Dog. At least, certainly not with the guards in the room. If they hadn't discovered it, there was no way he was going to give them anything to work with.

"Look at you..." the officer sneered as he walked around, weaving in and out between the rows of cots. He barked a few quick and loud commands that people stop talking lest they be punished, and then he continued with his strange morning "inspection". "Look at you. Animals. All of you. You smell like ass. You look like we just dragged your sorry ass hides out of the woods yesterday. You're a disgrace even to the other beasts in this place. The reason we have fleas is you sorry assholes."

At the suggestion of fleas, which Daryl knew most of them had to some degree or another, Daryl moved to scratch an itch that surged up. He jerked his hand back when the officer commanded that they remain still. He hadn't given them permission to move.

"When you hear your number—if you hear your number? You step forward. To the door. Accept your new uniforms from Officer Shales. You do not put these new uniforms on your nasty, filthy bodies. You go, as you are, into the hallway and you form a straight line," he said. He stopped and drew a line in the air with his finger. "That's what the hell a line is, mutts. You wait there. Your hair will be cut and you'll be issued a razor and your very own, personal bar of soap. You will shower and you will wash your nasty ass cracks. You will shave and you will discard your razors with the officer on duty. Then you will dress in your new uniforms and you will wait until you are told where the hell you can go and what the hell you can do. If your number isn't called, you can file out in the other direction. Officer Washington will take you to breakfast."

Daryl looked at T-Dog and furrowed his brow. He didn't know if such things as this were common or not in Region Thirty Three. A simple moment of glancing in the direction of his friend told him that, if they were, they were something that happened prior to T-Dog's arrival. In fact, glancing around the bunk, Daryl could say that anyone looked particularly comfortable with what was happening.

His stomach churned. He didn't know whether to hope that his number was called or hope that it wasn't. But he wasn't given very long to worry about it.

"6245."

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"I want breakfast," Michonne protested loudly.

Carol laughed to herself and covered her mouth with her hand quickly. The sound of her laughter, though, didn't make a dent in the din that filled the shower room.

"You'll eat when you're told to eat, LC456F," Officer Lennels insisted.

The woman was doing her best to keep her patience with them all. It was clear that she thought it was too early to be up and about. It was still dark outside, from what Carol could tell, and already she'd had a haircut—and she was about thirtieth in line. Now they were all being forced to take turns in the cold water of the showers and wash thoroughly and shave—something that had brought about a lot of grumbling. After all, if nobody was touching it, why did it have to be hairless?

"LC457F," Andrea said around a mouthful of toothpaste. "I'm LC456F." She lowered her voice then and made eye contact with Carol. "God—don't they know anything around here? How many of Michonne's flags have I done time for?"

"LC456F, you're headed for a flag all your own," Officer Lennels warned. Andrea laughed to herself at the warning, but she didn't speak again. At least, not at the moment.

"But we're getting breakfast before we leave?" Michonne asked.

"Where are we going?" Lisette asked.

"Hell," Andrea responded, immediately putting her hand over her mouth when she got a warning look from the officer who was now trying not to laugh. Some of them, after all, had a harder time than other officers when it came to pretending that they couldn't connect at all with the inmates they took charge over.

"In a handbasket," Carol said, taking her chances. She was rewarded with a stifled bit of laughter from the officer instead of with a flag. She'd known it was a fifty-fifty chance either way.

"Finish up, inmates," Officer Lennels said. "Get dried and dressed. Time's ticking."

"What about breakfast?" Michonne insisted again. "I'm serious—if I don't eat something? I'll throw up on your nice clean uniform."

"And don't nobody want that," another woman said from the row of sinks opposite where Carol was finishing with brushing her teeth.

"I've not been briefed about your meals," Officer Lennels said. "You'll be fed, but when and where isn't for me to know. You've got three minutes. Another group has to move in."

Realizing that Officer Lennels was serious, and not wanting to push one of the few kind officers to losing her temper, Carol whistled to give her own informal command that play time was over. She took the lead herself, walking over to get one of the barely-larger-than-washrags towels they were offered and dried off before starting back, naked, to put on the new uniform that she'd been issued.

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Daryl stepped back a half a step to absorb the impact of the paper bag being slammed into his chest. His hands reached to take it so that it wouldn't fall to the floor. He made no move to open it and examine its contents. It might contain a bomb, but he wouldn't know unless they told him. Everyone around him, too, stood at attention other than the movements they made to take possession of the bag that was thrust at them.

"These are your rations for the day," the officer bellowed. "You will be issued nothing more until dinner. You will eat only when you are given recess to do so. You will remain quiet, focused, and attentive."

He broke off and stopped, for a moment, his forward progress with the small cart that he was pushing—it had once been a mail cart—that was loaded down with the paper bags.

"I know you animals can't handle that, but you'd be smart to the best damn job at it you can. Every flag you get today counts against your ass double and you'll work full sets off consecutively."

Two strikes, you're dead—or you'll wish you were.

Daryl made a mental note to be particularly careful today. It was clear that the officers weren't playing. Whatever was going on was serious. A slip up today—over something as stupid as sneezing when you didn't have permission—could land you with some serious brain injury or, at the very least, a nice situation of internal injury like Andrea's last taming had brought on. Today was not a day to piss people off in Region Thirty Three.

"You will keep your ignorant ass mouths closed," the officer continued shouting when the squeaking of his cart started up again. "You will not speak unless you are spoken to and you will not ask questions unless you are given permission. When we pass through that door, you will remain in a straight line and you will look straight ahead. You will be the best damn behaved bunch of animals since Barnum and Bailey's last closed their doors."

Someone cleared his throat—though Daryl didn't know who it was and didn't lean forward to search them out—and then they dared to speak. After all, they weren't through the doors yet.

"Before we go—do we get to know where we're going?" The brave inmate asked.

"You're going right where the front of the line leads you, inmate," the officer responded. "Unless you get your ass sent to corrections for insolence first. Shut your mouth. And that's a final order."

Daryl tightened his fist around the top of the bag of food that he held and he sucked in a breath. He didn't know where he was going, and he should be worried about that. He knew he should be. But, and he was hoping that he wasn't condemning them both to some kind of yet-to-be-imagined hell, he could only hope that wherever it was, their groups would merge again and Carol would be coming with him.