Tsvetan stumbled along behind Alin through the twisting corridors of the prison. Every scrap of graffiti scrawled in the grimy walls seemed threatening, every movement inside the cells put Tsvetan on edge. The entire block looked the same to Tsvetan, so he stuck close to the other man and tried to memorise every ugly tag and number on the heavy cell doors.

"This is Block B, where you will probably live out the rest of your life in misery," Alin said, gesturing around. "Now, we should probably get a move on; recreation time ends at 9."

Tsvetan remembered to nod this time. It was probably going to take a while to get used to this kind of life, so he wanted to make an effort to remember all the rules, so he hopefully wouldn't have to face the consequences. However, based on what he had already seen, the greatest dangers lay within the minds of his inmates. Alin's snide little comments weren't particularly encouraging either.

"So we tend to keep ourselves pretty busy around here," Alin continued, "we have education classes that you can take, as well as recreational ones. Maybe you can take an English speaking class while you're here?"

Tsvetan started, taken aback. "How did you know about my English?"

In the dim light of the artificial lighting, Tsvetan could see Alin's smug smile spread across his face. "Well, the accent gave it away a little, for one thing. Also your confusion about nodding… You're from Bulgaria, am I right?"

"D-Da!"

Alin sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "You're a long way from home aren't you? Mind you, so am I…"

Tsvetan glanced sideways at him, taking in the shaggy dark blond hair, pearl earring, slight build and sad red eyes, fixed on the floor. Despite the fact that he had apparently fitted in nicely among his other inmates, Alin clearly didn't belong inside these reinforced walls. He had the kind of fierce spirit which needed to be free, to be unrestrained. And yet, here he was, serving time in such a removed country for the most trivial of things.

"-So we're allowed personal things in our cells, like books or even a canary…" Alin was still talking, refusing to meet Tsvetan's eyes. The man was clearly holding his contempt back, staying true to the promise he made to Tsvetan.

"I like canaries…" Tsvetan mused; he smiled slightly, unaware that Alin had heard him. He used to have one when he was younger, a small, cheerful bird that he sometimes let out to fly around his dim bedroom. Sometimes he would lie back on his bed and watch as the bird stared out of the windows, eager to be free. He never realised that he would feel the exact same way in a few years' time.

"You can ask for one, then. Just make sure that I don't have to look after it once you physically can't."

"O-Okay…"

They continued to walk in silence, each left alone with their own thoughts. With every step, Tsvetan felt the walls of the prison press down on him, effectively crushing his spirit. The stench of unwashed bodies and cigarette smoke was suffocating, and every bit of offensive graffiti seemed to be directed at him. They walked past several patrolling guards; Alin nodded in a friendly fashion at them while Tsvetan kept his head down and avoided their eyes.

"Evening!" Alin called to a particularly tough looking guard, muscle bound and covered in scars. He acknowledged him soundlessly and waved him onwards.

As soon as they were out of sight, Tsvetan rounded on Alin. "What was that about!? Are you trying to get me noticed? I would rather not have any more people trying to beat me up again, thank you very much!"

"I was just saying hello!" Alin protested, pushing Tsvetan away from him, harsh enough to make the other stumble slightly. "Lutz is a nice guy; he got me and the others out of a few scraps before now."

Tsvetan still didn't quite believe it, and Alin noticed. "Look, it's a good idea to befriend the guards while you are in here, because one day, they might be all that stands between you and a violent death at the hands of your inmates."

And with those words lingering in Tsvetan's brain, Alin strode on ahead without a backwards glance.

"Alin seems to be quite taken with the new bloke."

Tino looked up from his wood carving at the sound of Arthur's casual comment, carefully dusting the shavings off his project. "Hmm? It didn't look like that to me."

"Well, that's what the cards are saying, at least." Arthur scattered his battered playing cards over their small table, yawning. "It's strange, though. Everything I consult seems to point towards those two."

"You do realise you can't tell the future for shit, right?"

"Fuck off!" Arthur lazily raised two fingers at his delicate friend, stretching out on his chair. "What are you making anyway?"

Tino hastily slid his wood carving out of sight, pouting slightly. "Don't look! It's private!"

"Yeah, whatever…" Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to his cards.

"Hey, Arthur, Tino!"

The two prisoners looked up to see Alin waving at them from the other side from the recreation room before bounding forward. "Well, speak of the devil," Arthur muttered.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Alin asked, not waiting for a reply before sitting down on the only remaining chair at their table. In the background, Arthur could see an awkward figure lurking by the doorway, clearly too scared to approach.

Tino seemed to have noticed as well, because he scowled dangerously. "Alin, what is he doing here?"

"I'm showing him around. I might as well, the little fucker will probably be dead within a week," Alin said in a nonchalant manner, inspecting his finger nails.

"You're purposely scaring him, aren't you?" A sickly sweet smile spread across Tino's face at the realisation.

"Maybe," Alin shrugged innocently, flashing a small, knowing smile back at Tino. "He deserves it, anyway."

"Oh, do I now?"

The three friends turned around to see Tsvetan standing above them, arms crossed and face furious. They'd not noticed him sneaking up on them.

"Oh no boy, you're in for it now…" Arthur whispered to himself, watching Tino carefully. This was going to be very interesting…

"I didn't do anything wrong, why won't you listen to me?" Tsvetan spat, feeling well and truly fed up. He didn't care about the consequences of his words any longer, he just wanted out.

"You killed that child!" Tino countered.

"I did not! In fact, I've probably caused the least amount of grief towards children out of everyone here!"

The room grew suddenly silent, the atmosphere steadily changing, becoming heavy and foreboding.

"And what," asked Tino softly, "do you mean by that?" He leaned forward, playing with the small, foldable knife he'd used on his wood carving. His hands shook as he resisted the urge to use it.

Tsvetan folded his arms protectively in front of his chest and met Tino's gaze head on. "Well, you have two kids, don't you? Whatever must they think of their daddy, leaving them traumatised while he rots in prison? How much of their lives have you missed so far?"

The silence that followed was crushing. Arthur gave a snort, but quickly turned it into a cough, covering his mouth with a hand.

The first punch hit Tsvetan like an iron skillet, shattering his nose with one blow. Tsvetan went down like a ton of bricks, cradling his face and groaning, surrounded by a mess of shouts and pain, mixing together until he couldn't tell which was which anymore.

However, the next blow failed to fall, as did the almost certain stabbing. Instead, the shouting grew louder and there was another sound of a fist hitting flesh. Tsvetan opened his eyes in surprise to see Alin and Tino standing almost nose to nose, shock and blood all over Tino's face and a large bruise on his cheek. The knife lay on the floor now, where Arthur picked it up for safekeeping. Alin was breathing hard, refusing to meet Tino's eyes.

"If you kill him, you really won't get to see your kids again," Alin said firmly, making his way over to Tsvetan. Tsvetan felt the man's long fingers loop under his armpits and raise him up none-too gently. "Is that really what you want?"

Tino didn't answer him as far as Tsvetan could tell, but he felt Alin's hands tense up momentarily before roughly letting him go. Disorientated, Tsvetan swayed on two feet, pained and confused. Why did Alin do that? Punching Tino probably meant certain death. Was Alin so completely assured in his friendship with the man that he thought he could get off lightly? Or were things really about to kick off now?

"Hey, you," said a gruff English accent in his ear, "get back to your cell. We don't want any more trouble here, thank you very much."

One small push on his shoulder blades later, and Tsvetan was stumbling back the way he came, down the corridors and into his cell, where he hunched protectively in a ball at the end of his bed. He wiped his nose, but it stung to touch, along with his previous injuries.

What had just happened? He thought feverishly, not noticing Alin slipping back silently into the room, also holding his hands over his face; what had he done?

Here we go, chapter four! Please tell us what you think.