Summary: When Squall is brought to prison for a crime he didn't commit, the life he once knew vanishes before his eyes. He finds himself having to adjust to a life in D-District, where the inmates are cruel and the guards crueler. But there are friends to be made, even in here, and no situation is ever as hopeless as it seems. An FFVIII fic Shawshank Redemption style.

CHAPTER ONE: RESERVATION

I once heard tale that you never truly know a man until you've seen him in prison, but I've found that it's yourself you learn more about than anyone else. I've been in here for over 30 years now...30 long years...trust me, I know what I'm talking about. At least I know, if nothing else, more about myself than I ever thought possible when I was on the outside, probably more than any other man in this whole damn world.

Of course, it could just be the fact that I never really got the chance to get to know myself before I came here; I was only 21 at the time. But from what I've seen, prison changes you no matter how old you are when you're locked away. Maybe it's all that time alone, with nothing to entertain you but your own thoughts and nothing to do but think of the life that you could have had, had things been different. But whatever it is that changes you, the change usually isn't for the better.

Prison seems to bring out the worst in people. And it's not just the fact that the worst people are already here to begin with. It's something about the place itself; it has the ability to drive a sane man crazy, to make people do things that they normally never would. I truly believe that if a perfectly innocent man were to be placed within these walls, within a year or two, maybe less, you wouldn't be able to pick him out from the rest of us for all the money in the world.

And I'm sure that innocent people have been condemned to waste away in here, for a crime they didn't commit, their lives taken away within in the blink of an eye while they futilely attempt to convince the system that's supposed to protect them from the criminals from locking them away with the very dregs of society they abhor. But that's a rare occurrence; in all my 30 something years here at D-District, I've only encountered such a person once.

His name was Squall, Squall Leonhart, and he was only 17-years-old when I first met him. You couldn't tell just by looking or talking to him that he was innocent; in here everyone is, or at least claims to be. In fact, he hardly talked whatsoever, and for the first month he barely said two words put together.

He was a shy boy, quiet, reserved, but he had this silent strength to him that made the others stay away—at least for a while—despite his rather unimpressive 5'8" height. And, although it must have been devastating to be so young and already have your whole life ripped away from under your very nose before even getting the chance to really experience it, he never cried or even uttered a sound of complaint in the twelve years that I knew him.

I think it was that, more than anything, that made the rest of the inmates stay away. If the boy could handle this situation as well as he did as young as he was, then there wasn't much that he couldn't take. He wouldn't be as much fun for them that way; they liked it when the boys cried and begged for mercy.

But I can't imagine Squall begging for anything, even to save his own hide. Of course, I didn't always think that; in fact, when I first saw him, I bet two packs of Marlboros that he would be the first of the fresh fish in his group to crack.

When the new shipment arrived, driven up in that stark white bus that we all know better than we'd like to, I picked him out of the crowd because of the way he kept his head hung low, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. The betting wasn't anything unusual; it was as much a tradition in D-District as lights-out at 10; but Squall certainly was.

Although he had an air of sadness and distress about him as he was led in, his fist night in prison, he didn't make a peep. Not one. Instead it was some fat bastard that ended up crying for his momma, claiming he didn't deserve to be in here.

That was his one way ticket out. Almasy, the biggest, baddest guard ever known to D-District, came in that night and beat the hell out of the poor, pathetic piece of lard. It wasn't until morning that we found out he had died; we didn't even know his name.

And yet it didn't bother me as much as you'd think it would. I guess that's just what this place does to you; it takes away your ability to feel. 'Cause if you don't learn to control your emotions real quick, then you don't last too long in here.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Note: Okay, I know that I have like over 10 other fics that I should be working on, but a sudden inspiration to write an FFVIII prison fic suddenly hit me after watching Shawshank Redemption for about the fiftieth time the other day. I love that movie so much and the thought of mixing it and the FFVIII characters was just too much to resist. I hope you like what I've written so far; I know it's kind of short, but I'll try to make the remaining chapters longer. Just curious, can anyone guess whose point of view the chapter was supposed to be from? Kudos to anyone who does. Don't worry, it'll be revealed in the next chapter whether or not anyone is able to guess it. I'll try to update as soon as I can, but with school starting up pretty soon here, I don't know how soon that'll be.