Michael waited until everyone was out in the yard before wandering out of his cell for their regualrly scheduled free time. What the Hell was he doing here? Maybe Devon had been right. This operation was so well put together - assuming that there even was an operation here - that he couldn't find any proof of foul play. The murders had stopped and no one was talking about them.

Sighing, Michael ran a hand through his hair. Maybe it was just the oppressive atmosphere. He longed to lose a game of chess to Kitt, to be ragged out by Devon, to be chastised by Bonnie. Funny how those things had become familiar and comforting. None of them were great emotion showers - quite the opposite; and in the years he'd been a part of FLAG he'd learned his friend's ways of showing how much they cared. He'd never realised just how tactile they'd become. Shaking hands with Devon, to Devon patting him on the shoulder to Bonnie hugging him every chance she got. Even Kitt enveloped him in his own way. Having paid attention to Michael's likes and dislikes, he knew exactly what temperature to maintain the interior of the car - how warm, or cold would suit each day, each mood. And he was missing that new aspect of his life greatly. He'd only been locked in this place for a few weeks, yet Michael found himself longing for the open road. He had, on a few occasions, bitched about the constant noise of Kitt's engine and turbine whine - those seemed peaceful in comparison. The guards turned a blind eye to after lights out conversation, as long as it was whispered. All those men murmuring most of the night was grating on his nerves. He felt like there was no solace, no moment of peace, like those voices were plotting against him. Combining that with the lack of action was bordering on neurosis.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Michael glanced back up to find the guard who had been escorting him strangely absent. His gut clenched. Spotting the open doorway to the exercise area, Michael made a bee-line for it.

Whispering footsteps behind him caused him to pause to look over his shoulder. Too late he realised his mistake. From the three accesses to outside, men were pouring inside the building cutting off his path.

Backing up slowly, Michael's mind raced. They were converging on him, and he had nowhere to go, no one to cover him. Dread turned to fear. They backed him inside, away from where the guards could help him, away from anyone who knew what he was doing here.

"Look, guys, can we talk about this?" The only response he got was a few sniggers and an evil sneer from the man he believed to be running this gig.

Bumping into the metal staircase railing stopped his retreat. There was nowhere left to go. Turning his head slightly, he caught the movement behind him. Seeing the doorway open to his left, he bolted, if he could get out in the open....

The sting on his back caused him to stumble. Trying to regain his equilibrium, another stinging blow sent him sprawling.

They caught up to him, one of the thugs grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head back. On his hands and knees, surrounded, the door a hundred yards away, he knew he was trapped. Looking around, feeling the stickiness running over his shoulder blade, he waited, trying to gauge them. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Almost giggling, a sound that seemed completely wrong for the big guy approaching him, the light from the overhead florescent glinted off the piece of metal in his hand. He ran the vicious looking weapon down the side of Michael's face. It was ragged and sharp enough to cut the skin without any force.

"Now, now, you don't wanna go messing up that pretty face." The metal was replaced by hand, caressing. Michael's stomach churned. They closed in on him, someone stood on his legs, trying not to show the pain, he waited, gasping for air as more pressure was placed on the back of his calves.

"Oh look, a tough guy." The remark was met by laughter as a shoe connected with his ribs. The guy holding his hair didn't let go as his hands and knees came off the floor from the blow. His knees hit the ground hard, jarring him.

He felt a hand on the back of his thigh, moving slowly up his leg. Shuddering, the guy holding his hair yanked his head back again in an attempt to hold him in place.

"Don't damage him too much," the voice came from over his back, he could feel how close the other had moved. "Not until we're done with him." The hands had continued their travels, up his thigh, over his ass to his waist, as the hands moved around to the front, moving to undo his jeans, Michael felt the fear change to revulsion. To rage.

Kicking out behind, he felt his heel connect with something hard. The one who was touching him fell back.

'Gotta Get Out Of Here!' was the only thing he could hear.

No longer feeling pain, he sat up, elbowing the one who thought he had him in submission in the gut. The sound of air rushing out of him was mildly satisfying.

He heard the snap and his brain registered the whip as what had sent him sprawling before. Adrenaline coursing through him, he barely felt the two blows that landed on his back. He reached out,trying to grab the whip as two more inmates converged on him, hitting him, kicking him, he felt the jagged piece of metal gouge his outstretched arm. Spinning, throwing a punch at the same time, he nailed the wielder in the face, cartilage breaking under his fist.

The whip continued to land on him, time and again as he was distracted with the others closer to him. Every time he turned there was someone in his face or at his back. The lash continued to hit him, breaking skin, occasionally hitting one of the other inmates sending them scurrying away.

Flipping another over his shoulder, his mind still screaming at him to get out of there, he turned to face the man with the whip. It cracked in front of his face, but he was too far gone to notice. Panicking, the other man sent the whip flying directly at Michael's face. Grabbing the lash, feeling it bite into his right hand as he wrapped the leather around his fist, he pulled for all he was worth. His assailment let go of the hilt. Catching the end as it skittered passed him, Michael reversed the situation, sending the lash at the other man. It wrapped around his neck as Michael hauled back on the hilt. There was no mistaking the sound as the man's head jerked backwards, his full out escape halted in an instant.

Michael watched in horror as the body fell to the ground. Hearing something behind him, he spun, catching the railing beside him to keep from losing his balance. The last men remaining backed away from him, eyes wide with shock and respect.

They hadn't been gentle with him. The guards had finally been alerted and came rushing, fully armed into the common area. The others, happily passed the blame onto him. Still in shock, adrenaline flowing through his veins he'd fought the guards. They retaliated with force, nearly knocking him senseless.

He woke inside the solitary cell, still bleeding, shivering in his torn clothes. If the inmates had wanted to scare him, they had succeeded. Bigtime.

Moving was extremely painful, the whip had torn through his shirt, through his skin leaving welts and bloody smears on the wall behind him. His legs hurt, his hands hurt, and in the small amount of light he had, he could see where the lash had sliced his palm. Shifting caused the pain to become nearly unbearable. They had not treated his wounds. From what he could remember after receiving the butt of a gun to his temple, two guards had grabbed him under his arms and dragged him here.

Reaching for the dog tags around his neck, his shaking hands needing a few tries before he could lift them off his clammy skin. It then took another few tries before his hands would close around the small device planted inside, activating it.

"Kitt..??" His voice was gruff, sounding odd to his own ears, his head pounding with it.

"Michael?!" The quiet call was enough to set his soul at ease. "Michael where are you?"

"I'm in solitary, Pal, and I need help." He tried to swallow, the motion burning his throat.

"How long have you been there?" Even though Kitt kept his voice down, the genuine concern was evident.

Taking a shaky breath, he looked around him. "I have no idea. What time is it?"

"Shortly after three o'clock in the morning." It had been just after one in the afternoon when he'd been forced back inside the building.

"God, Kitt, get me out of here, please." Trying to find a comfortable position on the concrete floor was impossible.

"I'm on my way. Keep talking so I can triangulate your location."

"They worked me over pretty bad." Giving up on finding comfort, he sought to remain conscious, to be able to get to Kitt when he arrived.

"How badly?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I've been out for hours."

"I don't understand. Devon left direct orders to be notified if you were injured."

"It happened inside, out of the Warden's view, then they dragged me down here."

"With no medical attention?"

"Kitt, I did something...."

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it once you're out of there." The trust, the fiercely protective tone stung. How would Kitt handle knowing? Would he be able to forgive him, be able to work with him? Would Devon understand? Or had he just ended his career in a move driven by fear.