Eyes without any pity gazed into his own, narrowing as recognition dawned. The vice like grip on his arm intensified. Tony stood rooted to the spot. His nightmare of the previous two months had eventuated! He stood before a man who had killed hundreds in a shopping centre fire, who had been apprehended by him. Tony remembered arriving at the scene, attempting to force open locked emergency exits before noticing they were all locked from the outside, shooting through them to allow as many people to escape as could still move. The stench of charred bodies made him retch as he forced his way inside to help find those who could still be saved. He had made it his personal task to find the man responsible, to prevent him from planning another such crime. Long after Michelle was in bed he would slip outside to the living room, forcing information from his computer, piecing random bits together, tracking the monster. Three weeks after the fire Tony went with a SWAT team, against Chappelle's orders, naturally, to apprehend the man in a motel. He had carried out the interrogation himself, calling Richards for help when Summers proved uncooperative. 'I'll kill you, Almeida. You're a dead man,' Summers had told him in parting. He had ignored it, having heard it dozens of times before.

'Federal Agent Almeida.' Summers words were soft, hissed around. Several prisoners moved closer, sensing some conflict, longing to see a little violence. 'Federal Agent Almeida.' Summers repeated, giving him a shove. 'Worse than a bloody cop. He's the guy who spies on you, tracks you from one end of the country to the next, who plants shit on you, gets you send here. Who are you spying on now? Me?' He shook Tony violently.

Tony forced his hand off his arm, taking a step backwards.

'Leave him Summers, he's got all day and a night.' Tony looked startled to see the Spanish American gang had also arrived, standing around with folded arms, looking as though they were discussing something as innocent as a football game.

'Here for life,' cried Summers. 'Without parole, too! Don't tell me Federal Agent Almeida managed to piss someone off! What did you do, fail to apprehend someone like me?' He shook his head slowly. 'No, they'd fire you for that, they wouldn't send you down. Could we have a dirty agent working for the government?' He laughed aloud. 'Remember what I said I'd do to you, Federal Agent? I said I'd kill you!'

Tony shook his head. 'Forget it, Summers. We're both here now.'

I'm in as deep shit as you are. Deeper, in fact. Your lawyer pleaded so successfully you had the jury in tears. Hell, you were nearly acquitted. You were found guilty of manslaughter only, not first degree murder. You ended up with ten years. I got life!

'"Forget it!" You're nuts. I've dreamed about taking you apart, piece by piece. You and, your wife. I remember her too.' He pointed a finger in Tony's face. 'When I get outta here, I'll find her. I'll kill her, slowly, but before I do that I'll…'

Tony felt a terrible rage mixed with fear boil inside him. 'Son of a bitch! Don't you DARE mention my wife. Go anywhere near her, my friends will blow your brains out.'

Summers spat on the ground. 'Doesn't seem as though you got too many friends left, Federal Agent. I think I'll go visit your wife.' He smiled provocatively at Tony.

No one present noticed Tony's fist lash out, they just saw it connect with Summers' stomach, knocking him flat on the ground. One of Summers' group shoved Tony into the wall, bruising his face. He spun around, seeing Summers rising, preparing to defend himself against a crowd. He placed his back to the wall, kicking at Summers, sending him sprawling. The entire group fell onto him, dragging him to the ground. Tony fought back furiously, too angry to notice any pain from the blows raining down on him. His head was forced to the ground, slammed into the hard concrete repeatedly by Summers. 'I'll visit your wife, Federal Agent Almeida, and when I do I'll…' Tony swung out of Summers' friends' grip and kicked two of them, grabbing Summers again. Incensed, he punched the man in the face, watching blood squirt from his mouth. All nine men in the group fell onto him, pulling him from Summers, forcing him back to the ground, kicking and punching him repeatedly. 'Bloody spic,' one yelled, kicking him in the face. Suddenly the fight intensified. Several of his attackers were hauled from on top of him, allowing him to sit up. He wiped blood from his face and stared around, amazed to see the car thieves fighting Summers' friends. Summers yelled something about spics he couldn't quite make out over the roaring in his ears, which earned him a kick from a car thief. Unfortunately the car thief answered his insult, something about gringos, which Tony again couldn't hear. The group that he passed smoking yelled in rage and moved into the fight, attempting to get to him. Between all the feet Tony noticed the entire yard was empty with the exception of the basketball players, who continued their game. Everyone was here now, beating the life out of each other. Tony received a tremendous kick to his ribs, drawing a scream from him which went unheard in the noise. Summers and two friends held him down while his head was again slammed into the concrete. Someone kicked him in the same spot in the ribs, and the world went fuzzy.

Shots ringing in the air broke up the fight seconds later. All the prisoners threw themselves on the ground, hands on their heads, lying flat and motionless. Another shot was fired above them. Silence descended. Even the basketball players lay flat, the ball abandoned. Tony blinked, trying to clear his vision, unable to focus on anything through the blurry swirls of color floating around him. Was he the only one not lying flat on his stomach? He attempted to move, but found himself unable to roll around.

'Convict Almeida, on your feet,' ordered Davis' voice, harsh in the utter silence. Tony blinked again, managing to clear his vision. Davis tapped his night stick against the ground impatiently. 'On the double,' he said.

Tony pressed one wrist against the ground, attempting to comply. He was able to raise his head and shoulders before sinking back, too dizzy to move any further. Knives sliced through his side with every breath he took. There were several broken ribs, he recognized the pain.

Davis raised his night stick, bringing it down from a great height onto his thigh. Pain from the solid rubber stick exploded along it, forcing him to bite his lips hard to keep silent. The stick was raised again. Before he could attempt to rise it was brought back down on his thigh, hitting the exact same spot as before. He was unable to hold the scream inside.

Davis appeared satisfied. 'When I say "on your feet" I mean it, Almeida. I'll tell you one last time, on your feet.'

Better get up. He'll beat me unconscious right here soon. I won't scream again –everyone's watching.

Once again he forced his wrist to the ground, placing his weight onto it. Calling for his last ounce of inner strength he forced his head and back up, rolling over onto his knees. Drawing another deep breath and immediately wishing he hadn't, he rose to his feet, swaying. A guard placed him in handcuffs.

'Move, Convict Almeida,' Davis ordered, and he stumbled behind two guards, seeing the other prisoners lying flat. Just before he reached the steel doors he head Davis speaking to them, removing all yard time for the next fortnight, reducing rations, canceling visits, and he was still in full swing as the second steel door opened to allow him inside.

They're taking me back to my cell. Oh God, I don't think I can make it up all those stairs.

Fortunately they marched past the stairs and along the entire floor, out through the second set of steel doors, into another courtyard and along to the administration wing. Tony's heart rate increased. He had a horrible feeling he was being taken to the warden. They turned down a corridor before they could reach the staircase, and entered another corridor through the regulation double set of steel doors. Tony was ordered to face the wall, whilst one of his guards opened a door and spoke to someone inside. 'Move it, convict' he said, and Tony stumbled inside an examining room.

A middle aged doctor in a while coat rose hurriedly, telling the guard to remove the prisoner's cuffs. The guard didn't like the request but complied, warning Tony the slightest movement would get them replaced. Tony had no intention of making the slightest movement; he allowed the doctor to help him onto the examining table and closed his eyes, trying to dispel the dizziness.

The doctor fetched some warm water and cleaned the blood from his face, shining his torch into Tony's eyes. 'I'm going to have to undress you, to examine you,' he told Tony. 'Bear with me.' He removed Tony's top and examined the bruises forming near his ribs, running his hands over them. 'I'll need an X Ray of those ribs,' he said, helping Tony off the table and into the next room. Tony waited quietly on the bed back in the examining room while the pictures were developed.

'You've got three broken ribs, but no internal injuries. I guess you could say you're lucky,' the doctor told him. 'However you've also got a concussion, so I'm admitting you to the infirmary. I'll go find you a bed.'

'I'm supposed to take him to the warden,' protested the guard.

'I'll take it up with Warden Brownlow,' replied the doctor. 'This prisoner has been admitted to hospital and he's staying for the next 24 hours at least.'

The guard looked unimpressed, cuffing both Tony's feet to the bed, frowning at him.

'There's no need to shackle him to that bed, he's not going anywhere,' the doctor remarked, watching the guard.

This guy is so nice he must be new here.

'You can go,' the doctor told the guard, dismissing him. Tony grinned faintly, seeing the outraged expression the guard threw the doctor before he left. 'Now, that was quite a beating you took, Almeida. As you're the one heading to the warden I'll assume they're going to blame you for the incident. Get some rest today –it's necessary anyway for the concussion. I'll give you something to help you sleep.'

Tony spent the following two days in the infirmary. He was grateful for the second day, aware he was being kept there to rest only by the kindness of the doctor. The place was quiet; he seemed the only one held there overnight. The doctor appeared to examine him on the second day in the afternoon, staying to talk for a few minutes.

'Almeida, I'm going to have to clear you for release tomorrow,' he began, sounding regretful. 'I've listed your broken ribs, but there's little else I can do for you.' He sighed. 'I've requested an examination of your ribs in five days. I doubt they'll allow anyone near you before then.' He shook his head sympathetically.

'Five days,' repeated Tony, gazing at the ceiling. 'I'll be fine; I've been locked up for longer than that before.'

'I wish I could reduce that for you on medical grounds, but I can't. Funny, I left Africa as my efforts were almost totally in vain, and then I find myself unable to help my patients here as well.'

'Africa,' Tony said softly, enjoying the conversation, aware he would not get another chance to speak to any educated person for ages. 'I served in Somalia, years ago. No UN doctor could have made any difference.'

'I saw that after 20 years, for myself. Did you serve anywhere else?' The doctor sat in a chair beside the bed.

'Yeah, in Kuwait during the Gulf War, and later we were stationed in Saudi Arabia. We attempted to keep some of the more militant Yemenis out of the kingdom, but it was almost impossible patrolling such a vast desert.' He closed his eyes, remembering the sandstorms.

'You don't belong here, Almeida,' the doctor told him, quietly.

Tony sighed deeply. 'Yes I do. I'm worse than any of the others here. I let everyone down who was counting on me. We had a situation that could have gone disastrously, if others hadn't intervened.'

'How many times did you fail?'

'Just that once.' He turned away. 'They should have fried me. I guess they thought it worse to let me live.'

The doctor got up, peering at him. 'Now, Almeida, I know you're at the beginning of your sentence, and it's tough, but don't do anything you'll regret. Ok?' He waited until he had eye contact with Tony, who nodded.

I won't do anything I'll regret. Living like this is unbearable. I can't do it.

'There's always hope. You know the saying "where there's life there's hope?"'.

Not for me there isn't. 'Yeah, I heard it.'

A guard appeared the next day to escort Tony to the warden's office. He placed his hands behind his back feeling the familiar cuffs round his wrists. Two guards led him out of the medical section and upstairs to the warden's office. He was ordered to face the wall while his guards settled in the easy chairs. He was kept waiting for half an hour, face against the wall, while the warden's door remained shut.

I guess he's REALLY pissed off today. Oh well, there's nowhere else I'm expected to be at the moment. Or ever again.

Eventually the warden opened the door and told the guards to bring him in. 'Convict Almeida,' he began, sitting at his desk while Tony stood in the centre of the room, eyes on the floor. 'You've been here a total of 14 hours when you managed to create the biggest disturbance this prison has seen for the past 25 years! Have you got anything to say for yourself before I deal with you?'

'Sir,' Tony began, already knowing his efforts were futile, 'it didn't exactly happen that way. I ran into someone I sent down and he threatened me, which I ignored, after which he threatened my wife and….'

'Convict Almeida, I am sick of reading your file about your saving your wife. The entire justice department is sick of hearing about your wife. I suggest you don't mention her again. You created a disturbance and you'll pay for it! You deserve a spell in the SHU, but unfortunately the law stipulates new prisoners are not permitted to be sent there for the first two months of their sentence. Luckily I have another spot to send new troublemakers. You've got five days in the hole.'

That's ok, I already know that. I could use the time to try to plan my release. You don't scare me!

'Your outdoor privileges have been cancelled for the next month, and you will not be permitted to receive any visitors for the following six months. If I have to speak to you again you will see nobody for a year. Do you understand me?'

Six months! I can't wait that long. I'm NOT staying here for six months!

'Six months is a long time, sir,' Tony protested mildly. 'My parents will be distressed. They haven't done anything wrong. My wife…'

'Then you should consider them before you try anything else. Take him to the hole.'

Tony bit his lip to keep back his retort and turned to face his guards, following them outside the office and down the stairs. They led him along a corridor back towards the cloakroom, opening a door he hadn't noticed before. Lights came on, revealing a concrete stairwell. A guard led the way, the second one brought up the rear. Sandwiched between them Tony felt his way down each step carefully, unable to help himself with his cuffed hands. The stairs twisted around, heading deep into the ground. There seemed no end to them.

Warden Brownlow's private nuclear shelter. Many more steps; he'd survive a direct hit!

The place was obviously designed to instill fear into the heart of the prisoner led that way. Even Tony experienced mild unease as the stairs continued to wind down and around. How much deeper were they going? He had his answer a few minutes later, arriving abruptly at an ice cold corridor built entirely of concrete. Lights were built high into the ceiling. The place smelled musty and damp. He shivered in the chill.

'Convict, stop.' Tony paused at a table and chairs, beside a cupboard. A guard moved over to him, pushing him against the wall and removing his cuffs. 'Face the wall. Strip!'

Surely they're not going to remove my clothes in this cold?

Slowly he removed his shirt and laid it on the nearby chair, hoping to hear the order to halt. 'Convict, move it,' snapped the guard. He removed his trousers next, pulling them off reluctantly, and laid them over his shirt. His eyes sought the guard's. 'Socks too, convict,' ordered the man mercilessly. Tony shook his head in disgust, sitting in the chair to remove both of them, laying them on to his pile of clothes. 'You may keep your underwear,' the guard informed him. 'Let's go, convict.'

Tony was led to the end of the corridor, where they stopped at a steel door. An access card open it and he noticed a few black metal doors set into the concrete. The guard opened the nearest one. 'Get inside and face the wall.' Tony took a step inside and paused, unable to move further for lack of room. The place was tiny. It was completely empty, containing a small hole in the center of the floor that was to serve as his toilet. Where was he to sleep? A third guard appeared, throwing a rolled up rubber mat inside.

God it's freezing in here.

He stood against the wall, hearing them leave the cell, hearing them slam the solid door closed. He found himself in total darkness, far darker than the darkest night he'd ever been out in. A sliver of light shone under the door. He found himself moving towards it, hoping it would be left. He had to orient himself somehow. Minutes later the light went off.

Focus Almeida, focus. So you're in a tiny dark room underground, there's nothing scary about that. So you can't see anything –that's ok, there's nothing TO see. So you can't hear anything –well, you wanted peace and quiet to think. You've got it! If only it weren't so terribly cold.

He leaned against a wall, arms crossed attempting to keep himself warm. His feet began to hurt. Tony leaned down and felt them, not surprised to feel them both ice cold. He felt along the floor for the mat and unrolled it. He sat down, placing his hands on it and laying his feet on top of them, attempting to warm them a little. Within minutes his hands ached from the cold. He stood up again, rubbing them together. Now his whole body was cold, he felt himself shivering. His feet hurt all over again. Tony knelt down, cursing his sore ribs that caused pain while he exercised, attempting to pump the blood through faster. He had been here no more than half an hour and he already felt frozen through. How would he survive five days?