Sanchez turned him away from the guards at the gate and stood directly in front of him, shielding him from the guards in the tower. He pushed something small into Tony's hand. 'I got them for you yesterday, amigo. Your photo and the wire.'

Tony nodded, placing them carefully into his pocket. 'Thanks,' he said, too drained to say more.

'The first visit kills,' the gang leader told him. 'You want to walk round alone, fed? We'll watch your back.'

Tony stared at him gratefully. 'Si,' he said, leaning against the wall by himself while they took a few steps away from him. The sun shone on his face, warm but not hot. He closed his eyes, resting. He had spent the night daydreaming of his return home, knowing perfectly well it would never occur in real life. He had settled into his old bedroom, vowing to stay home with them the rest of his life.

'Federal Agent Almeida, I've come to say goodbye,' a voice told him. Tony glanced up seeing Summers, noting he had come alone.

'What?' he asked.

Summers actually smiled! 'This place is not for me, Almeida! Its for real scum like them,' he waved his hand at the group of car thieves. 'People like you. My lawyer won my appeal. I've had my sentence reduced a little.' He leaned closer to Tony. 'I've got three years left, in a medium security place, not such an uncomfortable building as this one. I'll get to enjoy my own TV, and have visits every week. I'll miss you, but I won't forget about you. What do you think of my good fortune, Almeida?'

Tony shook his head in disgust. 'Shit always floats to the surface, Summers,' he said, against his better judgment.

Summers shrugged. 'I wouldn't know. I'll be paying a visit to a real gorgeous lady in a couple of years, Almeida. Hell, it could be sooner with good behavior.'

Before Tony could formulate a reply he was surrounded by the gang of thieves. 'Get lost, Summers,' their leader said, grabbing Tony firmly by the arm. 'Go light a fire!' He held onto Tony until Summers disappeared into the crowd. 'Amigo, stop straining. You're pulling my arm from its socket. Relax.'

Tony shook his hand off his arm angrily. 'Let me go, Rodriguez! What the hell do you mean telling him "go light a fire?". You ever smelt burning flesh? You ever smelt a hundred burned corpses? You ever saw people running with their skin burning behind them? You haven't so shut the hell up.' He walked away from them, head down, mulling over Summers' words.

How the hell could anyone consider Summers ok to return to society? The man's not nuts, like his lawyer said, he's sane. He's just evil, real evil. There's a difference! He's gonna do it again. He's gonna light fires until it finally becomes clear to some dim witted judge that he's never gonna reform!

He gets to go, while I get to waste the rest of my life here. How fair is that?

He wandered through the dusty yard, attempting to work off his anger. The basketball accidentally hit him on the shoulder. He slammed it into the ground with full force, watching it bounce up. He watched it land again, ashamed. Slowly he picked it up, throwing it through the ring.

Rodriguez was chatting with the rest of the group when he returned. Tony sighed and walked up to them. 'Sorry I yelled at you.' Rodriguez shrugged. 'Thanks for holding onto me; I would've beaten the crap out of him.'

'Which he would've deserved, amigo, but not from you. Not today,' Rodriguez said. 'You got to stay calm, or you'll never get out of here.'

"Focus Almeida". Tony closed his eyes, remembering Sergeant Jenkins scolding him. It had been the first week on the rifle range, and he had already proved astonishingly accurate. He had knelt on the ground, finger on the trigger, awaiting the order to fire, when he had been distracted by a whole flock of birds circling a distant tree. His target had popped up, lingered a moment and then disappeared and he had only fired at the last instant, missing it. "Almeida, life is full of distractions. You got to focus on your own tasks. Now let's try that again."

He nodded his head. 'I know.' He glanced at the blue sky picturing himself on his beach. He would take any insult this week, he would deal with it. He was leaving! Slowly he leaned back against the wall, running his eyes round the yard. Crowds of prisoners wandered around dressed in the uniform he had grown to hate, some aimlessly, some talking animatedly. His eyes rested on the guards patrolling the yard, ever on the look out for trouble. It was a wander they hadn't interrupted his conversation with Summers. He studied them carefully searching for any weakness. They would most likely be among the group he would escape from. Tall and well built, aggressive and brutalized by their work conditions, he couldn't find a hint of weakness in any of them. Ah well, he would have to hope they would follow their protocol to the letter when he made his attempt. His eyes rested on a skeleton of a prisoner approaching a guard, asking something, and the guard angrily waving him away. The man stumbled over to the wall and sank down.

'What's with him?' Tony asked, nodding his head towards him.

'Ah, he's back from the SHU. He's not so well, he keeps asking for his medicine, but they're not feeling too generous today. There's not enough to go round, amigo. Some get treated, others don't.'

'He looks pretty bad to me,' Tony said, frowning. 'Shouldn't the doctor get to see him?'

'Amigo, they only take you to the doctor if you're bleeding, or unconscious. He doesn't qualify!'

Tony shook his head, sickened yet again by the reality he encountered daily. 'It's not right!' he argued. 'Guards aren't qualified to make that kind of call. They're paid to watch us, that's all. Since when do they get to decide…?'

'Amigo, forget about it. It's not your problem,' Sanchez told him. 'Turn the other way and don't look at him if it bothers you. He's a dead man anyway, he's got cancer.'

Tony pressed his eyes shut, remembering visiting his sister for two years while she underwent cancer treatment. Never in his life until now had he been to such a depressing place as the cancer hospital. 'He could be treated. It works sometimes, you know.'

Once again they laughed at him, but without excluding him from among themselves. 'Amigo, who's gonna waste money on a con? If you get sick here, you die. Might as well walk in front of a bullet, it's quicker that way. They'll probably give him some morphine at the end.' Rodriguez took his arm firmly. 'Don't even think of following that guard, Almeida! Davis made the call, not him.'

GOD I HATE THIS PLACE! I HATE IT. I HATE IT. I don't even know who's worse, the prisoners or the guards!

One of the group returned with a ball. 'Let's play football, amigo,' Rodriguez said, giving him a meaningful look. 'You get to choose your position today. You could use some exercise!' They moved to a relatively empty corner of the yard and began to play. Tony forced himself to concentrate on the game. He really wasn't terribly good at football, but then nothing made any difference here except killing time, and the game certainly helped with that. Eventually the ball flew further out and an argument erupted over whether it was still in or not. Tony went to get the ball, listening exasperated to the continuing argument.

'Listen, guys. "It's in, it's out" who the hell cares! It's not a bloody football field, is it? Let's just play, ok!'

The group, who had seemed as though about to come to blows moments before stared at him amazed. 'Amigo, you got to learn to relax!' Sanchez said. 'Ok, it was out! Let's say its one nil.'

'Fine' Tony agreed. 'Whatever! Let's just play.' He kicked the ball into the middle of the group, watching it gliding through the sky.

At that height it could fly right over the wall.

The returning ball slammed into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. He lay there dazed for a moment, attempting to get his breath back. Shakily he sat up. They surrounded him. 'Amigo, are you ok? Why weren't you watching the ball?'

'He's dreaming again!'

'I'm fine,' he answered shortly, standing up. 'It's still one nil.' Once again he kicked the ball back into the middle of the game. He kept an eye on the game and kept his other on the rest of the prisoners in the yard. Few of them paid him any attention. The group of smokers puffed away, the motorcyclists discussed bikes, their string of oaths floating over to him occasionally. They kicked the ball back and forth, running for it, bumping into each other, everyone of them certain to have been disqualified in an official match. Someone kicked the ball hard and it sailed past Tony, and flew into the middle of the smoking group. Dogface picked it up crossly, swearing. Tony rushed after it.

'You wanna give me the ball?'

'Maybe I don't,' Dogface replied. 'Seems like I wanna play football now, ape!'

'No you don't, you moron,' Tony told him, removing the ball from his hands forcefully, watching the guards from a corner of his eyes. They were a little too close for comfort. He threw the ball right over the basketball players and watched Sanchez kick it. The guards continued towards them. One pair wandered over to them, stopping the game.

'Come here, you bandits!' Slowly they walked over to the guards, standing in a row. 'You too, Almeida. Are you deaf? When I say "bandits" that includes you as well!'

Tony gazed at him speechless with rage. Sanchez laid a warning hand on his arm.

'This game is taking up too much of the yard. You bandits can use that space next to the basketball court, and no more. Is that clear?' He glared at the entire group.

'Yes sir,' they answered, the guard checking to make certain they had all spoken. He frowned at Tony.

'I didn't hear you, Convict Almeida!'

Tony lifted his head, pressing his lips tightly together. 'Yeah,' he answered.

'I'm watching you, Convict. You better learn to come when you're called real soon.' He turned and joined his partner.

Tony picked up the ball. 'Right, let's play!' He aimed, and kicked it as hard as he could, watching it rising in an arc and landing on top of the guard who had insulted him, knocking him on the head. Sanchez gasped, someone else closed his eyes. Both guards turned back to them. 'Sorry,' he said, attempting to look apologetic. 'You wanna throw it back!' He felt Sanchez's hand in his pocket, removing both the wire and the photo seconds before the guards stood in front of him.

'Hands behind your back, Almeida!'

'Why, it was an accident?' he protested, placing his hands behind his back. The cuffs were tightened round his wrists and he was given a push towards the door.

'Right,' the guard agreed, pushing him all the way back. 'And I've just lost the key to these cuffs! Face the wall.'

Why aren't you taking me back to my cell? Hang on Almeida, they will leave you outside for the rest of this yard time facing the wall because there are too few of them to find six to take you back inside. They are not allowed to take you anywhere with less guards. There's NO WAY you'll get a chance of being taken somewhere with only four guards – so prepare yourself for escaping from six!

He received two blows on his shoulders with a night stick and was warned against moving. He gritted his teeth, feeling the sting in his shoulders but not anywhere near as acutely as he would have five months ago. The guard moved away, chatting to the rest of the guards, almost certainly keeping an eye on him for the slightest movement. Tony examined the brick directly in front of him in detail. It was grimy, each miniscule crack covered in a thin cobweb, holding the broken brick dust together. He blinked, clearing his eyes. It hurt staring at something an inch from his face – he shifted his gaze downwards instead.

His shoes were in a remarkably poor condition, grimy and splitting apart at the heel. They really wouldn't last much longer, certainly not if he had to run or cross rough terrain. Any attempt at running in them would give him blisters even before it would fall apart. He would need to get a new pair somehow.

Would the guards tell Davis about this incident? He found himself hoping they wouldn't, that keeping him cuffed for next few hours would satisfy them. Right now he really wasn't in the mood to tolerate being insulted by anyone else. His eyes grew tired of examining his shoes; he raised them again, noting how they struggled focusing on the brick. He closed them instead, enjoying the feel of the sun on his head and hands, regretting his outburst. If only he had ignored the insult like the rest of the group he would still be playing football with them, he would get to look up and see the sky.

Serves you right, Almeida. They all warned you.

'Alright, over there. Right up by that wall. Make a movement, you'll feel my stick.'

Tony moved his eyes to the side to see who had been stood less than two feet from him. He groaned aloud. Of all the people he disliked here, Dogface had to be close to the top of the list. The guard moved away, and Dogface spoke without turning.

'Agent Almeida! That was real cool, the way you hit that guard. We all told him so too. Now he's REAL pissed off!'

Oh dammit, Dogface. He won't let it go anymore for sure. 'What the hell business was that of yours?' he asked, furiously.

Dogface moved his head slightly and actually grinned at him. 'Everything here is my business, see! And pissing off guards is cool. I might play a little football too when they let you out next. I could bang you on the head real hard, ape.'

Tony chewed his lip, feeling himself getting annoyed yet again. He ordered himself to relax, to stay focused, but he found it hard to take his own advice. He forced himself to breath in and out slowly.

'Too bad you didn't go listen when the guards called you bandits over,' Dogface continued in a low voice. 'You gotta go, when you're called.'

'They're not bandits, anymore than you are,' Tony hissed.

'They look it to me! The "Bad and the Ugly", all together. 'You're "the Bad" and they're "the Ugly"- all of them.'

'What?' Tony managed to say softly enough to remain unheard by the guards.

'Didn't you see the movie? Any of you could be the bad or ugly. That's coz you're all bad and ugly, see!'

'If anyone could act a part in that movie, it's you,' Tony said, enraged. He turned his head to face Dogface, forgetting all about the guards. 'Do you see anyone else with half as many tattoos? You think they look good? Your outward appearance describes you perfectly; a low life cut throat a few dozen IQ points below normal!'

Dogface roared with laughter, unable to comprehend the final part of the argument. 'You sound like my TV,' he said, pleased. 'Hell, it was shit boring before you came, ape!'

'Call me that again, you'll get to drink from the toilet,' Tony snapped, taking a step towards him.

Dogface shook his head sadly, as two guards grabbed Tony's arms and slammed his face into the wall.

'Face the wall, convict. This is the second time I've had to speak to you. You've lost your yard time for the entire week! One more sound from you – you're going to see the block supervisor.' Giving Tony a final shake, the guard left him. Tony noticed a thin trail of blood running down his face and dripping onto his shirt. Unable to use his hands, he was forced to watch it, hating the sticky feeling on his cheek.

I'll be silent, I'll be silent. I won't do anything to get these bastards to take me to Davis.

The siren wailed half an hour later. Everyone lined up and began moving through the steel doors, row by row. 'You going to go back to your cell, amigo?' Sanchez asked. He nodded.

'Yeah, but I get to wear these bracelets a while longer.'

'Amigo, you're real cool. Don't move.' He felt something slipped back inside his pocket. 'I don't think I'll be seeing you outside for a while.'

Tony shook his head regretfully. 'Not for a week, the guard said. Sanchez,' he said, as the man turned to join his row. 'Wait. I never said thanks for all your help.' They gazed at each other.

'Good luck, amigo,' Sanchez said finally. Tony nodded.

He was ordered to move when everyone else had been led inside, being marched along to his cell and inside still wearing his cuffs. 'You behave real well the rest of this day I might look for the key,' the guard told him, glaring at him.

Tony settled on his bed with a sigh. It would be another long day, he could tell. He was severely limited with his hands behind his back. The simplest tasks proved challenging. He turned the tap on standing backwards, then attempted to kneel close to it to wash a little of the mess from his face. Lunch and dinner were a nightmare, with him forced to eat at the slot, taking care not to knock the whole tray to the ground. First he tried taking pieces with his fingers but found it impossible to put them anywhere near his mouth. He was forced to lean into his plate and eat like an animal, red with humiliation.

His cuffs were removed just before lights out.