Footsteps of the patrolling guard woke Tony before the siren. He lay silently under his blanket, gazing round the cell. Nothing stirred in the dimness. Slowly he rolled onto his stomach, laying his head on a hand. He wandered dully what time it could be. It was easy to lose track of the passage of time locked inside a cell without a window. He supposed it hardly mattered – he would be able to remember a little of his home before the siren would intrude, pulling him back into his nightmare. He pressed his eyes shut, picturing them round the breakfast table.

"Marco, don't even think of putting sugar into your milk! Rita, you'll eat that. Tony, where are you? Hurry up, we'll be late. Janey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Jane sniffed louder, insisting she wasn't going to school that morning. Their mother sighed, ordering her to behave and eat her breakfast. Tony watched her turn her plate of cereal upside down, spilling the whole lot on the table. 'Wow, she might even get a smack this time. It's flowing onto Papa's trousers,' he observed, highly amused.

Mr. Almeida leapt to his feet, bringing a cloth from the sink. "What's wrong, princess?" he asked kindly.

"I wanna go to the zoo!"

"Can't we do that on Saturday? I got to finish this plan by tomorrow; I'm kinda running behind as it is?"

"No no no. I wanna go now. You always said there's too many people on the weekend! I wanna go today!" Her sobs increased.

Tony settled more cheerfully in his chair. No teacher would demand his unfinished homework that day, he could tell from his father's face. He was going to give in to his eldest daughter, just as he always did. He rolled his eyes at her, delighted to hear her sobs turn into screams.

"Alright honey, we'll go."

A sob escaped from his throat before he was aware of it. He swallowed hard, groaning inwardly as he heard Sanchez stir.

'You ok, amigo?'

'Yeah,' he replied, a lot harsher than he intended. He heard Sanchez turn over and sighed. 'Sorry. I was thinking of home.'

'Why don't you tell me about it?' Sanchez whispered back. 'I never met anyone like you. Were your parents cops?'

Tony choked back a laugh. 'Hell no. They weren't too fond of 'cops', to tell you the truth. My father was the recipient of too many speeding tickets for that. No, my mom is a nurse. She loves kids; she works on the children's oncology ward. She just sits with the really sick ones and tells them stories. She worked at night, when my father was home with us.'

'What does he do?' Sanchez persisted.

Tony rolled onto his back, rested his head on his hands and gazed at the grey ceiling. 'He's an architect. He designs office blocks mainly. When mom went back to work he would work from home in the mornings and keep an eye on the really little ones, so she could get some sleep. He just managed to concentrate on his designs and fetch things for the babies at the same time. He never lost his tempter, never got mad at us, never yelled, except once…'

'How many of you were there?' Sanchez asked softly.

'Nine. One of my sisters died at birth and my brother…' He paused, swallowing hard. 'There's nine,' he repeated firmly, falling silent.

A guard walked outside, glancing inside, satisfied to see two sleeping prisoners. The silence stretched after his footsteps died away. 'My dad pissed off when I was six,' Sanchez said softly. 'Don't know where he went, but it must've been better than home, coz we never heard from him again. Mom worked real hard to pay the rent; she raised me and three sisters.'

'I'm sorry,' Tony said softly, unable to imagine his father leaving.

'Don't be. I had many friends, Rodriguez and the others. I started earning cash keeping an eye out for expensive cars when I was ten. By the time I was fifteen I stole my first one. Guess I'll get back to it, next year.'

'What the hell do you mean,' snapped Tony. 'You're not considering going back to that, are you? They'll watch you real close; they'll arrest you again, for a lot longer this time. You can't wanna come back here!'

Sanchez shrugged. 'What else am I gonna do outside? I got to live from something. Can you see me mopping the floor in some shopping mall?'

'No,' Tony said, sorry for his friend. 'What about a family? You got anyone waiting for you?'

'I had a wife and a daughter, but she moved in with someone else two years after I got send down. Don't know what she's doing now.'

'So why don't you write her a letter?' Tony asked. 'Hell, Sanchez, she's probably dumped the guy ages ago, she'll be waiting for you now.'

Sanchez laughed aloud. 'I wouldn't know what to write.'

'I'll help you,' Tony promised. 'At least give it a go. You never finished school, did you?'

'Are you kidding? I dropped out in the eighth grade,' Sanchez admitted.

'So take this chance and finish school while you're here. It'll keep you occupied, and it'll help you when you get out.'

He heard Sanchez snort indignantly. 'What the for? You think anyone's gonna hire an ex-con?'

The siren wailed loudly, echoing through the block. Tony climbed down, pulling on his jumpsuit and shoes. 'I'll think of something. Wait a minute,' he exclaimed, sitting on the chair with a shoe in his hand. 'I got it. You know lots about cars, right? You'll work with them!'

Sanchez laughed aloud. 'Amigo, you're nuts. You don't seriously imagine I'd get a job selling them, or anything?'

Tony shook his head. 'No. You can earn lots more by starting your own business. You know how many people buy used cars, and wanna know if they're ok or not? Advertise in the paper that you're an ex car thief and will check it out for them for fifty dollars.'

He turned to stare at his cell mate, noting Sanchez regarding him unblinking. 'I'm listening,' he said intrigued. 'You think people will want me to check it out?'

'Sure,' Tony agreed. 'Which mechanic would give an honest opinion, and even if they would, you know more. You need to know how much it's worth and whether it would go, coz if you get it wrong, you end up in here.'

'Amigo, you're something else! But I couldn't write an ad…'

Tony pulled his other shoe on. 'I'll write it for you. It's got to be amusing. I'll do it as soon as they'll give us some paper.' He fell silent, gazing at the bars. You've sunk to the bottom, Almeida! Waiting for someone to be kind enough to give you some paper! He wandered over to the bars, placing his face against them. His eyes roamed over the opposite tier, watching a few prisoners began their day. Bright orange caught his eyes wherever he looked. He raised a hand to rub them, yawning.

A loud commotion distracted him from his mental calculation of how many prisoners could occupy D Block. The Aryan brothers were busy insulting a pair of rough prisoners in the cell to their right. Tony wandered why they got no answer. Footsteps sounded down the tier and a guard slammed his night stick against his cell. 'Convict, step away from the bars! Read the rules, convicts shall remain at least one foot from the bars whenever a corrections officer is approaching. If I have to remind you of that a second time, you'll get a D-report!' He waited till Tony took two steps back before continuing on to the next cell, yelling about disturbances and threatening D-reports. He turned and left, and Tony slammed his fist into the wall, wincing. Fighting rage, he paced the cell while Sanchez sat on the lower bunk, watching him. After a while Sanchez rose and moved to the chair. Tony pressed his face against the bars, chewing his lips.

The cell seemed to shrink, trapping him. He placed his hands on the bars, willing them to be unlocked. Pressing his eyes shut he wished himself away.

"Tony, oh my God, there you are!" His mother swept him into her arms, crying. "We looked everywhere! How did you get lost?"

He shook his head. "I just stopped to look at those dinosaurs." He had been really impressed with them in the window of the toy shop, pausing to admire them for an instant before he noticed he was alone, on a busy street surrounded by strangers. Despite racing in the direction his family had taken he was unable to catch sight of any of them. He had waited for a while but no one had returned for him. He had decided it would be best to find his way back to where the car had been parked. Fortunately he had an excellent sense of direction and a good memory and had found the car park and located their car, settling in its shade to await his family.

"So Tony, how did you like your first time alone in Mexico City?" teased his grandfather, hugging him tightly when his mother finally relinquished him. "Your parents were hysterical. I told you he'd be fine, Rita," he said, smiling gently at Tony's mother. "Now we just got to find your father!"

The cell shrank another couple of feet. Tony stumbled back to his corner, leaning against the wall with folded arms.

"Papa, my hand hurts." He held out a bleeding hand to his father, who leapt up from his drawing board.

"Oh God, Tony, let's wash that. What did you do?"

"I fell off the gate," he admitted quietly, perfectly aware he had been told countless times to quit swinging on it. "The top fell off."

Mr. Almeida sighed heavily. "I wish your mom would be here, she's better at this than me. Oh, you've got a large splinter in there, quite deep. You might need to see a doctor."

Tony's face paled. "No. Papa, please take it out, I'll be ok."

"Sweetie, its real deep. You'll have to be brave." He went to fetch a needle and tweezers, settling Tony on his lap. "Ready?"

"Yeah," he answered, terrified. He pressed his eyes shut, feeling the needle scraping away the surrounding skin, bearing it as long as he could.

"Wait a sec," his father said, giving him a short respite. "This part will hurt a bit. Open your mouth." He did as he was told, feeling a piece of chocolate. "You'll get the rest when this is out. You ready?"

The cell shrank again, all three walls pressing against him, crushing the life from him, the bars preventing his escape. He sank onto the ground, resting his head on his lap, unable to rise.

'Convicts stand your gates,' ordered a voice. Tony found himself hauled to his feet by Sanchez, and dragged to the door. All of a sudden the doors slid open and all the prisoners stepped outside, lining up silently. Rooted to the spot, he felt Sanchez pull him outside and push him into the queue, giving him a final shake. 'Alright, row six,' called a guard and the row began moving along the catwalk, down the stairs and across the floor. Tony followed the man in front of him, his legs moving automatically, his brain struggling with his panic. They entered the dining room and and lined up at the counter, taking a tray and moving to a table. He took one automatically and paused, searching the crowded area.

'Amigo, near the back, there's two seats,' Sanchez told him, leading the way. They settled, Tony sitting near the edge, aware his friend was giving him another minute to pull himself together. He sipped a cup of tea slowly, wishing it were coffee before starting his inevitable bowl of porridge. Something about the bowl before him was different to the bowls he'd received in the first prison. He blinked, examining it. Of course, it was twice the size. Pulling his nose slightly, he peered into it, dismayed to find there was twice the amount inside too. Where was his toast? His eyes searched his tray, finding nothing besides half an orange. No one seated at the table had any toast either, as far as he could tell. Reluctantly he dipped his spoon into his porridge, swallowing with a grimace. Once he finished half he put his spoon on the tray, gazing around.

'Hey dude,' a black man seated at the table opposite him exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. Tony gazed at him puzzled. The man pointed a finger at him. 'You're not leaving that, are you? Block supervisor sees anything left on that plate, you'll get chained to your bed for twenty four hours.'

Tony stared at him in dismay. 'Are you serious?' he asked, wishing there was a bin nearby he could tip his food into.

'Sure I'm sure. Why would I be telling you lies, man? Mr. Lee's a real religious guy, he says God provides and we scum shouldn't waste that. He don't abide waste. That's Mr. Lee now, he's come to give you new guys your welcome speech and your paperwork.' He fell silent, together with the entire dining hall.

'Alright, convicts, you've got yard time, with the exception of the group who arrived yesterday. You may return your trays and leave the area.' Everyone replaced their trays at the counter, and Tony watched the majority of the men leave the room, returning to the main floor. 'Yesterday's arrivals, come sit at this table over here.' They obeyed, Tony and Sanchez forming a barrier between some bikers and the Aryan Brothers. The Mexican gangsters sat opposite, passing disgusted looks all around the table. Tony rubbed his face, remembering meetings at CTU or Division where they'd sat round tables, swallowing a sigh.

'Let me begin by introducing myself. I'm Block Supervisor Lee, and I'll be responsible for you in day to day matters. I can have you shackled to your bed for twenty four hours in a row; I can send you to A-seg. I get to sign every D-report you'll get, and if you behave, I'll get to hand out a few privileges.' He glanced at a list of notes. 'Convict Almeida, stand up.'

Tony stood up hesitantly, wandering what was coming. 'Look out of that window. Do you see a roof behind that fence?'

'Yes sir,' Tony replied, mystified.

'That's H Block. Only a few get to go there, and none leave, except in a box, if you get what I mean. Set any part of your foot outside D Block except under escort, you'll find yourself there. Our chair hasn't worked for years, so we just hang em. Sit down.'

Face burning with humiliation, Tony sat back on his chair, noting the interest of the entire group. 'What are you guys staring at? You can join him, if you wish. Now I've got a couple of forms for you to fill out, do so neatly in block letters. Your number's near the top, next to your name, memorize it.'

The supervisor left while they all filled out basic biographical details, including charge and length of sentence. Tony swallowed, noting his neighbor write 'murder first degree' on his form. He gripped his pen tightly, unable to answer the next question, continuing the remainder of the form instead.

'Convict Almeida, you left your 'charge' blank,' snapped the supervisor, returning half an hour later. 'Fill it out immediately. You've got a minute to finish.' He gave Tony a hard look, remaining while he wrote TREASON on the form. 'That's better.' He took the form while Tony wiped the sweat from his forehead.

'Now you scum are extremely fortunate we have an educational program in this prison. Those of you who failed to complete high school will do so, that's everyone here. You, Almeida, have an impressive education, you may choose a course. I want something filled out on this form in the next ten minutes.'

Tony twirled his pen around, wandering what to pick. Entire afternoons incarcerated in his tiny cell with Sanchez would indeed be livened up if he had something other than reading to occupy himself with. If only he could choose several subjects, he thought regretfully, finding it hard to select one. His first choice would naturally be computing, but he was aware part of his sentence stipulated that he would never be permitted access to another one. After a few minutes silent deliberation he wrote ARABIC on the form, to Sanchez's amazement.

'Why, amigo?' he questioned, as they handed in their forms and left the room.

'It would help with my work. I'm gonna find everyone responsible for killing my brother, I'm gonna hunt them down, and I'm gonna make sure they pay for it,' he hissed. Sanchez nodded soberly.