Tony survived the longest five days of his life due only to the harsh training he had received as a Marine. He shivered through all of them non stop, pressing his lips tight together to prevent his teeth chattering. Every few minutes he changed his position, attempting to keep a little warmth in his extremities. Several times an hour he exercised as vigorously as his ribs allowed him, desperately hoping to feel less cold. Memories and daydreams were suppressed as they arrived. If he lost total concentration the cold would kill him. He forced himself to keep alert, the shivering helping. During the struggle he unknowingly practiced his impassive mask, refusing to allow himself to cry. Energy had to be saved for staying alive – he had none left for other pursuits.

On the second day of his incarceration underground the sliver of light appeared under his door. He watched it, not daring to hope for release. He had no idea how long he had been there, but it couldn't have been five days. Something was pushed through his door, a tray. Tony grabbed the plastic mug of tea and drank rapidly, reveling in the warmth. There was also a lukewarm bowl of porridge and a couple of slices of bread. He ate the porridge before it could grow cold and placed his tray back through the slot, laying the bread in a corner. Despite the porridge he still felt ravenous, yet he forced himself to keep something for later. When would he be fed again?

He prayed frequently for help, asking to be allowed to survive the punishment so he could explain his decision to end it all to his parents. He owed them that much. Tony begged forgiveness for his decision to die, begging God to understand he could not live incarcerated for the rest of his life.

By the time he was next given food he had lost any glimmer of hope that someone would intervene and end his punishment. Completely dead inside, he stared at the tray, wandering whether he dreamed its presence. Finally he allowed himself to move towards it, grabbing the mug with shaking hands.

Easy, Almeida. You don't want to spill it. Drink it slowly, not so fast. You need it to warm you. You won't get another for ages.

He laid the cup back reluctantly, and ate his porridge, wandering dully why it was always lukewarm. It would have been useful if only it were hot. Once again he laid the bread aside for later. After he placed his tray back in the slot, it was removed. He expected to hear footsteps heading away, but instead he heard the slot opening again. Two bottles of water were pushed inside. Tony grabbed them, having felt terribly thirsty for the previous two days, and laid them beside the bread.

I'm so tired. I can't do this anymore.

The last day dragged out. He fought a constant battle with exhaustion, forcing his weary body to exercise, to change position every couple of minutes. It no longer made a difference whether he warmed his hands or his feet; they failed to register the cold. After forcing himself to move he sank down on his knees and fell on the floor, unable to rise. He knew he had to move, he just couldn't find the strength to do so.

'On your feet, Almeida. Did you hear me? On the double.' I can't do it. 'On your feet, private! What do you think this is, a retirement village? You've got KP for the rest of the month! Move it. Right now!'

Tony stirred and pushed himself up, huddling in the corner. His fingers found the remaining bottle of water and he managed to control their trembling enough to unscrew the lid. Ice cold water poured down his throat. He coughed a little out, wiping the liquid off his chin.

When the door opened admitting filtered light from the corridor he was forced to cover his eyes. He remained leaning against the wall, unable to believe he was being removed. 'Convict, step out! Face the wall and place your hands behind your back.' He slowly removed his arm from his eyes, squinting against the unaccustomed light. 'Convict, I won't tell you again. Place your hands behind your back and step outside.'

Am I dreaming? Are they really here? Can I go?

Slowly he pushed himself from the wall, stumbling out, placing his hands behind his back. Outside the light hurt his eyes, he squeezed them shut, feeling cuffs placed on his wrists. 'Move, convict.' He allowed his eyes to open a crack and followed the guard in front of him along the corridor, where he was ordered to halt before the cupboard. His clothes were handed back. A guard helped him to dress as they left his cuffs on. His wrists were unlocked as his shirt was thrown on him, immediately being locked again. 'Move it, convict' he was ordered, and he resumed his walk along the corridor. Once they reached the stairs it became obvious that he could not manage to climb them by himself. His legs were cramped as hard as solid rock, unable to bend. After cursing him they dragged him upstairs, pushing him hard against the steel door that led to the courtyard.

Tony felt relieved he was not being taken back to the warden. Once he was pushed through both steel doors his eyes closed in the bright sunshine. He felt his arms being grabbed again and was dragged across the courtyard, through the double steel doors and into the block of cells. Conversation ceased at his arrival, everyone moving to their bars to watch him. He attempted to shake the guards' hands off his arms, but they seemed determined to humiliate him in front of the inmates, dragging him along the floor until they paused in front of a cell.

Tony blinked in confusion as the door was unlocked and he was pushed through. Where was he? Why was he being locked in there? This wasn't his cell.

He forced his mouth open, made himself speak. 'This isn't my cell. I was upstairs.'

'Not anymore you're not, convict. You've been moved. Face the wall.' Not knowing what to do, he faced the wall and had the cuffs removed, hearing the guards leave the cell.

Oh God, the photo! It's still upstairs, hidden in the vinyl.

Completely drained, he stumbled over to his bed and sank down. The pounding in his head was taken up by the banging in the cell block, every prisoner hitting his bars, yelling. He heard the words 'Federal Agent' a few times, followed by strings of swear words. His eyes closed and he lost consciousness.

Tony managed to eat a little dinner that evening, chewing slowly to allow his stomach time to accept the food. He lay back on his bed, longing for lights out so he could crawl beneath the blanket. He slept all night, waking with difficulty the next morning to eat breakfast – returning to lie on his bed to rest again.

Exercise period passed without a single prisoner being allowed outside. Davis appeared at 10:00 and informed the entire block they still had a week and a day to go without outdoor privileges, thanks to Convict Almeida. Once he left the howls began, cursing Tony.

The next eight days passed the same way. Tony ate all his food, feeling his strength returning day by day. He resumed his exercises, remaining huddled in his corner the rest of the time, gazing at the bars. No one could get a reaction from him, no matter what insult they screamed across the block.

I must find out who's got my old cell. I need that photo back.

He was greatly relieved when the eight days were up and the prisoners were lined up to go outside. Finally he would have a quiet couple of hours without the incessant swearing. He watched them leave from the corner. During those two hours of peace he allowed himself to daydream, imagining himself at home, or at the beach, or at some other pleasant place with his family.

By the third week he began to envy them, longing to feel the sun on his face again. Another week and he would be allowed outside too, and he could find the man who had his photo, and somehow get it back.

Judging by the hostility shown him, he prepared to defend himself as he was finally permitted to join the queue for his first walk outdoors in a month. His fears proved groundless. Extra guards were positioned in the courtyard, and nobody approached him, in fact every prisoner turned away from him as he passed, mumbling curses. Tony walked over to the opposite wall where he had stood on the only previous occasion he had been outside, feeling completely alone, his face blank.

'A Federal Agent! How could you do such a job, amigo?' remarked the car thief, pausing to regard him with scorn. Stony faced, Tony gazed past him. 'Ok, don't talk. We're not going to bother you again!' He turned to go.

Tony turned his head. 'Wait! Thanks for your help, in the fight.'

The thief grinned at him. 'That was fun, amigo, finally we all lived again. Anyway, we couldn't allow them to beat you up. We would lose all our respect, you see!'

Tony nodded, trying to understand. 'Can I ask you something, before you never speak to me again?'

The thief turned, intrigued. 'Si.'

'I need to find the man who got my old cell. I can't see anything of the top row from where I am now.'

The thief nodded, interested. 'Why, amigo? You want to kill him for taking your view?'

Tony shook his head. 'No, of course not! I left something there, and I need to ask for it.'

The thief stared at him in the greatest astonishment, beckoning the rest of his gang over. 'Listen, boys! The Fed was dumb enough to leave something in his old cell, and he thinks he'll just get it back if he asks nicely!'

The entire gang laughed merrily, shaking their heads. Tony waited patiently until they settled down. 'It has no value,' he said, softly.

'Amigo, everything has value, here.'

'It's only a photo.'

They stared at him fascinated. 'You haven't been here a year yet. You're not allowed photos!'

'I got it in,' Tony told them. 'Just tell me who's got the cell, I'll ask for it today.'

Again they laughed at him. 'Amigo,' remarked the man with the tattoo of the hawk, 'he won't just hand it over to you. It has value, if you want it. You'll have to give him something, in exchange.'

'I haven't got anything' Tony said sadly, amazed by the sentence. For the first time in his life he truly owned nothing. 'Just point him out to me and I'll try to do something.'

They pointed to a man covered in tattoos, one of the group of smokers. Tony sighed, unsure how to approach such a person. 'That's Dogface. He wouldn't give his own mother a glass of water. Good luck, amigo.'

Mom, look at me. My eyes still hurt in the sunlight. Everybody hates me as I represent the police to them. I'm on my way to talk to a criminal named Dogface, to ask for a photo I smuggled in here, which he is unlikely to give back to me. If he doesn't, I'm fully prepared to deal with him, and if I do that, I won't be allowed outside in this dusty courtyard for weeks again. Oh, and if the guards find the photo, well… I don't even want to think what will happen to me then.

Dogface smoked his cigarette, discussing motorbikes with a group of men covered, as far as Tony could make out, in tattoos. The conversation consisted of which engine had the greatest strength, which ones could outrun the police. He waited, wishing to talk privately with the man, rapidly tiring of their talk. From the corner of his eye he saw the Latin Americans throwing a ball to each other, watching him. In the far corner the basketball game continued as though it were but an interruption of the game just before the fight, last month.

Dogface swore at the group, who all cursed him, yelling that Harleys were far superior to any other bike on the planet. Stamping his cigarette out on the ground, he swore again and wandered off. Tony felt relieved. He had been afraid he wouldn't get a chance to catch the man alone. Keeping his distance, he followed him across the courtyard, close to the basketball game. Dogface lit another cigarette, cursing the players, who ignored him.

Tony took a final look around; making sure no one watched them, before stepping over to Dogface. The man glared threateningly at him. 'What do you want, fed? You going to beg for your cell back? Hell, an ape like you doesn't deserve a view. Piss off!'

'I will, in a minute,' Tony said, mildly. 'First you're gonna listen to me.'

'I don't listen to no one, fed! Get out of my sun, and piss off, before I break your neck!'

'I'll break yours, in a minute,' Tony replied, irritated. 'Trust me, I've killed more people in the army than you did, at home, and not all of them with weapons!'

Dogface gazed at him seriously for the first time. 'What do you want?' he asked, sullenly. 'I don't know nothing.'

Looks obvious to me.

'I left something in my old cell. You're gonna give it back to me tomorrow,' Tony said, in as threatening a voice as he muster. 'Otherwise, I'm gonna strangle you slowly, the way they taught in the army. It's been a couple of years since I last tried that.' He hoped the threat would frighten the hooligan.

Dogface gazed at him uneasily. 'You're talking shit, fed. The army don't strangle no one.'

'You sure about that?' Tony gave him a cold look, devoid of feeling.

Dogface spat on the ground. 'What did you leave? I didn't see nothing.'

Tony glanced around out of the corner of his eye, noting the guards talking in the corners, and the rest of the prisoners wandering around. No one seemed close enough to overhear him. 'I left a photo in the left hand corner, just beside the bed. The vinyl is cracked there, pull it up carefully. It's a small photo, just the same size as a passport picture. Bring it to me tomorrow.'

Dogface blew a ring of smoke into his face, smirking. 'A photo. You're not allowed photos till you been here a year. And you're so dumb, fed; it's obvious you ain't been here more than a few weeks.'

Tony folded his arms, noticing the guards glancing his way. 'Tomorrow' he said, firmly.

'Not so fast, fed. I'm taking it the picture ain't of the Virgin Mary.'

'What?' Tony exclaimed.

'It's of someone who means somethin' to you, and it'll cost you. You got smokes or money?'

He shook his head. 'I won't tell you again, Dogface. If you don't bring me the picture tomorrow, I'll kill you right here. I got nothing to lose.'

'You that keen on a pretty photo, you'll trade for it,' Dogface insisted, 'or I'll call the guards now and you'll never see it again. Now you ain't got shit, that's obvious, so – you'll have to do something for me instead.'

'No, I don't. I'll tell you one last time, that picture isn't here tomorrow, you're dead.'

Dogface blew another ring of smoke into his face. 'I wander who the picture is about' he said slowly, drawing on his cigarette. Tony noticed a guard heading purposefully towards them. 'Could it be a lady? A wife, maybe, or a girlfriend? I think Summers might recognize it. He wanted to visit your wife.'

Tony's fists clenched. He held them behind his back with difficulty. The guard appeared, demanding to know what was going on.

'Nothing, nothing, sir, we're just discussing the weather,' Dogface said. 'Been a lot of sun recently, and no rain.'

'I'm keeping my eye on you two,' the guard said. 'Cause any trouble at all, Almeida, you're back in the punishment cell.' He walked away.

Why threaten me and not him? Which of us looks the troublesome type?

'Ok fed, do we have a deal, or do I hand over your photo to Summers? He'd like it even more than those guards would. Hell, he might want to stick it on his wall.' He turned round, waving at Summers.

'Wait,' Tony heard himself say. 'What do you want me to do?'

Dogface turned back to him, drawing again on his cigarette. 'Well, ape, I'm down for shower block cleaning this week. Do I look like a cleaner to you?'

No, you don't look like you done an honest day's work in your life. And I doubt whether you bothered to clean out your own house, either.

'First of all, I'm NOT an ape. Call me that again, you'll find your head turned 180 degrees, that's backwards, you high school dropout. And no, I don't think you got enough brains to clean out a shower block!'

They glared at each other, moments away from throwing a few punches. The guard returned, pausing before them. 'Convict Almeida. I've had enough of your attitude. Go stand next to the wall by the door. If you can't quit causing trouble, you won't get to walk around!'

Tony took a deep breath, following the guard over to the door unwillingly, aware nothing had been resolved. The guard pointed to a spot on the wall a couple of feet away. 'Stand right over there. I see you move, you're not coming back out here for a long time.'

Dammit. I just needed another minute!

Half an hour later Dogface wandered past him. 'You thought about it, fed? Will you take over my cleaning roster?'

'Yeah,' Tony replied. 'When will you bring me my photo?'

'I'll bring it tomorrow, if you do the cleaning this evening. I'll tell Jones' he pointed to the guard who had placed Tony by the wall, 'that you're doing it this week. He won't care. Good luck, fed.' He laughed aloud as he walked back into the crowd. Tony gazed after him puzzled, narrowing his eyes slightly.