Prisoner 0853 now knew more than ever how truly bitter and ironic fate could be. Caged and collared, he had been reduced to the likeness of a household pet. A familiar urge churned within him. He wanted to grasp the cold metal of the bars as he eyed them. He wanted to scream; to rip them from the wall in an unchecked primal fury, or to feel the familiar sensation of the ground rising up at him as his body contracted, leaving him to ample room to amble carelessly between their gaps. He remained still, however. Hope had been lost long ago. The futility of these longings was known all too well. Green fingertips anxiously found their way to the metallic collar wrapped tightly around his neck. He loathed this sadistic device most of all. It made him a true captive; trapping him within his own form.
Dim light seeped in from the large hallway outside, scarcely illuminating the cell. It was difficult to determine what time of day it was, for windowless concrete walls had damned the warm rays of sunlight. His chamber was apart from the rest of the prison, leaving an enduring silence to fill the air. At first it was overpowering, though he had grown accustomed to it.
Listlessly he climbed on to the firm cot in the corner of the room and lowered his head. Sleep was his only solace. He allowed his thoughts to wander as he lay, hoping for rest. Soon his tired eyelids submitted.
--
He awoke to the intruding sound of footsteps on the tiled floor of the hallway. They grew nearer with each passing resonance. It confused him; the day's meals had already been granted. A bit intrigued, he sat up. Two forms came into view as they approached the gate of the cell. The first was an armed guards typical of the prison. Numb eyes flashed with a hint recognition as they gazed upon the second figure.
Coming to a stop in before the gate, the tall heavily built man turned to the guard next to him and nodded quickly. Returning the gesture, the guard turned and walked back towards the end of the corridor. Once the two were alone, he stepped forward as if ready to speak, though remained silent as he surveyed the cell and the man inside it. After a last fleeting moment, he broke the years of quiescence between the two with a single, simply stated word. "Gar."
Garfield stood up, his emerald eyes still locked on the visitor and responded in an equally simple tone. "Vic."
Victor's gaze softened as the forgotten sound of Gar's voice brought forth a rush of buried memories. "It's been a while."
A faint smile grew across Gar's face, though devoid of the overwhelming youthful warmth it had once held. "I almost didn't recognize you," he replied, the traces of apprehension in his voice evanescing.
"Things change," said Victor as he ran his thumb over the large grey ring adorning a finger on his left hand. "People change," he continued reflectively.
"Not all things. You still smell like motor oil." Gar answered humorously, walking closer to the bars.
Vic smiled at the remark. "And you haven't gotten any funnier."
The two men laughed together as old friends rather than adversaries, transiently forgetting that anything had come between them.