Hit or miss, fuck a fight
It's time to live your life
Go ahead, I know I'm right
I'm gonna lay it on the line
Put yourself in my shoes
Would you stand up for your rights
Line 'em up and knock 'em down
I'm not running scared tonight

I have found these walls before
And I'm not scared anymore
There's a time to lead and to follow
Because I won't take this anymore (these walls)
I found these walls before (these walls)
There's a time to lead and to follow (these walls)

I see the walls closing in
And I feel like I'm in danger
My enemy is not alone
In the mirror, there's a stranger
As I tried to break out
My panic led to fear
Hopeless, I am alone
I'm afraid the end is near

The truth doesn't always have to hurt.

Stop looking
Stop seeing NOW
Right Now

The truth doesn't always have to hurt.

Papa Roach –"Stop Looking"

--

He watched as the trail of water slid down the side of the small metal pipe. It collected at the very edge, swelling as it formed a droplet. It finally shook and fell to the stone floor, making a tiny noise.

"Twenty-three."

Julian Marquez's gruff voice filled his own ears, echoing through the tiny expanse of cell he'd called home for the past year and a half. He ran his hand through his shoulder length, black hair. Its length was only matched by the length of his beard. Julian had never looked so torn apart, inside and out, but he had no one to impress here. In fact he had no one at all. The only thing not dirty about his appearance was his cerulean blue eyes shining through the mass of black hair and olive complexion, greatly paled due to lack of sunlight.

For the first few months Julian had entertained a fleeting hope that his solitary confinement would be temporary. After that hope left he prayed constantly. He couldn't begin to count the rosary's he'd recited, (on his fingers, he wasn't allowed an actual rosary), dedicated to his release from solitary. This was pure hell. Throughout his life Julian had always felt he was a loner. But with absolutely no human contact, aside from confession and communion once a month, he was going crazy. Another drop fell.

"Twenty-four."

Julian stood quickly and began pacing, which wasn't an easy task. It was his routine. Pretty soon he'd begin to think about his lost son. Sometimes he'd play out scenarios in his head. He'd pretend that Dorian wasn't dead, and that he himself wasn't in jail. Jail was time to think about your crimes, to come to grips with them. But the thing that plagued Julian the most wasn't a crime of his. In fact if he hadn't done the right thing maybe, just maybe he could have saved Dorian from his fate. His son died for no reason other than revenge from one of Julian's enemies. He'd never even got to meet Dorian, for all Dorian knew in his life, he didn't have a father. But the pain was still there. It never ended.

Suddenly his cell door opened. Julian squinted against the florescent light, not sure how to react. A guard stood before him with a set of cuffs. He spoke.

"Marquez, assume the position."

Confused, Julian did as he was told, he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to leave his cell. Everything looked new to Julian. He took his time, taking in his surroundings. The guard pushed him in the back.

"Hurry it up, we ain't got all night,"

Julian didn't struggle, he just did as he was told. Too much was going on too quickly. Soon he was entering a visitor's room where a man sat alone at the table. Julian recognized him as his father. That's when he stopped being complacent. He shook his head as he stepped back.

"No fucking way."

Julian's father was the reason he was in solitary. He had come to visit him, telling him of Dorian's existence and death within two minutes of one another. Also blaming Julian for the tragedy, causing him to go into a rage. Julian turned to leave as he repeated.

"No way in hell I'm talking to him."

The guard answered him with a shove and spoke without feeling.

"You ain't got no choice."

The door was shut behind him. His father motioned for him to sit. Julian reluctantly did. As he stepped further into the room he noticed another man who was his height, build and had his hair and beard grown to match Julian's. Julian was the first to speak.

"What the hell is this all about?"

"I need you son."

"So I'm your son now?"

"You've always been my son."

"I wasn't when you blamed me for Dorian's murder."

"Dorian's death hurt me as much as it hurt you."

"Emotionally or politically?"

"I was upset, irrational, looking to strike out at anything I could. Besides, that has nothing to do with why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?"

"To get you out of prison. No son of mine is going to rot here."

Julian's heart stopped for a moment. Freedom echoed through his mind as images of his tiny cell began to fade. He spoke, his voice trembling.

"Pa, don't fuck with me."

"I'm not. I said I need you."

"So, there's a catch."

"Yes."

There was always a catch with his father. No matter how hard he pretended to care, Julian knew he didn't. But that wasn't what Julian was thinking about. Freedom, getting out of this hell no matter what it takes was now key. His father continued.

"There is some serious bullshit going on right now and I'm running out of people to trust."

"So you're saying that you can get me out if I become active in the Latin Kings again?"

Julian was breathing heavily, awaiting an answer.

"Yes."

Julian thought for a moment. In solitary he'd had a lot of time to think. That's all there was to do. During that time, mostly in the past few months, he'd come to the conclusion that God had abandoned him. That no matter how hard he prayed God just wasn't listening anymore. In his mind he'd paid his debt for the lives he'd taken with his son's death. He spoke, urgency in this voice.

"How the hell are you going to pull this off?"

His father stood up and un-cuffed Julian with a key pulled from his pocket. He then patted him on the back as he spoke.

"Julian, this is Carl. Remember how I told you I was having a hard time trusting my employees? Well Carl here is learning first hand what happens to traitors. Now trade him clothes."

Julian did as his father said, ignoring the voice in the back of his head. He chased the thoughts of how wrong this was with thoughts of outside, of never seeing that cell again.

Soon Julian and Carl had totally switched clothes and Julian assumed identities, and Julian's father was cuffing him. The guard came back and shook his father's hand. Only someone who was expecting it would have seen the money exchanged. Soon Carl was gone and Julian was as close to freedom as he'd been in nearly seven years. He followed his father out of the prison, outside. It was the middle of the night and the sky was littered with stars. He hadn't seen stars in years. The stars had been the last thing he looked at as a free man and now they were the first thing he looked at as a free man. Julian was suddenly scared, questioning his father.

"Pa, isn't he going to say something, you know, about not being me?"

"I don't think Carl will be talking Julian."

"Why not?"

"Because I cut his tongue out."

--

His own groan filled his ears before the buzz of the alarm did. Scott Wagner rolled over and hit the off button of the small device by his bed. The harsh red numbers blinked 3:30 A.M. at him. He mumbled to himself as her rubbed his bright blue eyes.

"Too early."

Wagner slid from his bed and into a pair of his military issue sweat pants. He and his shop had a three mile run at 6:00 this morning. It was going to happen once a week now, orders of the General. He looked into the mirror as he brushed his teeth, glad he had recently cut his blonde hair short, there was no upkeep that way. Wagner spit and stretched then headed towards his desk. The desk was covered with books and papers, strewn all about. Somehow in the darkness, Wagner knew exactly what book he needed and picked it out from the mess. He flipped on the desk lamp and began reading.

"…mental disorders are seen as caused by the combination and interaction of biological, psychological, and sociocultural factors, each of which contributes in varying degrees to particular problems in particular people. In the case of children and adolescents, their mental development is still incomplete and often their capacity to cope with stress is limited which leaves them open to special types of disorders that can carry on into adulthood…"

Wagner took notes and highlighted meticulously for two hours. This degree was the most important thing to him right now in his life. And no one but him knew about it. He was too afraid to tell Guile, his surrogate father, that his work in the Air Force had become tedious. And Cammy was so caught up in Shadowlaw still, which would be expected being she was a member of Delta Red which concentrated on stopping terrorist groups, that he feared she'd be angry at his decision to quit the Air Force. He was so afraid of the people he cared about most's disapproval that he'd remained in service while he worked on his classes. Thus the reason he was getting up so early to study. The Air Force was great for the young boy who deeply respected and loved the only father figure who'd cared about him. Wagner had wanted to be just like Guile, hoping that would make Guile respect him. But he had realized that he needed to be happy with himself. He'd seen people in his life suffer and he felt this would help just as much as being active in the military. There was a bang on his door and the voice of his friend Jake could be heard through it.

"Come on Wagner! The early bird gets the worm!"

Wagner shut his book titled, 'The Psychology and Counseling of Children and Adolescents' and quickly slipped on a t-shirt. He smiled and mumbled

"Don't I know it?"

--

Scott Kurt Wagner is the creation of Jami (dammit) a fellow writer. Thank you Jami, for allowing me to use him in this and all of my stories.