Twelve hours of free time can take a serious toll on your mental health if you don't have anything to do, or anyone to talk to. I've been friendless for only half a day and I'm already having an existential crisis. I didn't want to go to the gym, the cafeteria was mostly taken up by the larger cliques, and I'd already gone to the laundry room twice. The four grey walls of my cell were slowly suffocating me, so pointless wandering was the only option. There were still four grey walls – but at least they were spaced further apart.

The whole penitentiary is in the shape of a sort of misshapen pentagon. The three wings of cells are all about the same length; but the auditorium slash cafeteria and kitchen wing is twice the length of a cell wing, and the gym with laundry wing is the shortest. I haven't seen the thing from up above, but the building was at least two stories tall, and there was definitely an unreachable third story over the gym wing. The second floors were all reachable, except for the blacked-out windowed one in the cafeteria. The shortest wing contained the gym on the lower floor and the laundry room on the second; and both floors in the cell wings contained our negative five star sleeping accommodations. In the middle of it all lay the courtyard – which was closed off because of the snow. I was looking forward to spring; both the penitentiary and my previous job as night manager limited my view of that wonderful yellow orb in the sky. I was gonna look right at it.

This place was a technophobes worst nightmare though; literally every few feet there was a keypad or scanner, camera, monitor, or a tricked out guard with cool goggles that did lord-knows-what. I had an insatiable itch to fiddle with them all. It took some serious self-control to squish that impulse; I had to settle with staring at them longingly while plodding down the hall. Torres never liked doing this with me – she hated pointless wandering. It was sort of relaxing though, and a hell of a lot less inane than running in place on a treadmill. That's what I told myself, anyways.

I'd passed the same guard three times now already; this time his head followed me until I turned a corner, instead of the usual blank stare off into space. It was a really weird day today. Maybe it was because I was so used to hanging around Torres that being without her was throwing everything off. It was more of the atmosphere though – everyone just seemed a bit… quieter. The guards all looked lethargic (or as much as you could behind goggles). You'd think he'd of asked me what I was doing, and if I was up to something. I was only partially up to something – but it was getting me nowhere.

Several turns and a trip up a stairwell later brought me back to the laundry level again. There wasn't much to do except pretend to check if my uniform was dry and reset the timer. SHEILD didn't mess with our dirty laundry; we had to do it ourselves. Of course, there were those who were either too lazy or thought themselves above doing the laundry. These guys were the leaders of the bigger cliques; they just had some lowly member-peasant do it for them - sort of like an admittance fee. I was glad I wasn't in a group for that reason alone, because there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I would be anything other than a lowly member-peasant. The last thing I needed in this place was to draw attention to myself by being some super-popular gang leader overlord… thing. Also I'd probably just butt heads with everyone; I have a bit of an ego – it's the reason why I felt flattered for seven years while SHIELD vainly searched for me.
Well. Not vainly. I am, unfortunately, still here.

"Hey!"
I jerked up from watching my clothes tumble to see a guard advancing on another inmate across the room. Well, I guess not all the guards are half-asleep.
"Wha-what?" The inmate stammered and spun around, raising his hands meekly.
"Turn, hands behind your head." The guard growled and roughly cuffed the poor guy before jerking him in the direction of one of the locked doors.
That kid wasn't doing shit! I had the urge to run up and knock the guard over, or scream and shout or something. Despite my brave internalizations though; I found myself backing quietly out of the laundry room and tearing down the hall.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

It wasn't just the laundry room kid; it was like somebody flipped a switch and turned all the guards rabid in a span of just fifteen seconds. From the quick trip from the laundry room and down the stairs, I saw five other inmates get cuffed and dragged off – all of them kicking and screaming. I'd kept my head down and trotted along faster, hoping that they didn't see me. What the hell is going on?

I came up to one of the cafeteria entrances – hoping to take the scaffolding shortcut to the second floor cells – and stopped dead. It was pandemonium. There were so many moving bodies thrashing around it was hard to tell who was a guard and who was an inmate. It looked like one of those nature documentaries where a fox or something tries to jump a single goose, but ends up terrifying the whole flock into flight. Except they were inmates... and guards. And no one was flying they were just flailing and falling. Above the din it was possible to make out snippets of what was being bellowed – 'on your knees', 'above your head', 'move'. I found myself backing away from yet another arrest scene and running away.

Holy shit holy shit holy shi- My cell wing was opposite the cafeteria. There were three metal catwalks that each led from the cafeteria, over the courtyard, and into one of the wings; and they were only supposed to be used by the guards. It was around the second week when SHIELD started letting us use them because they realized that the after-dinner traffic was a safety concern. Three hundred people walking down two halls was apparently too much for the wall guards to handle, so they opened the catwalks to help ease the load. I was now forced to go the long way around – past the wall guards and down three more halls.

I wasn't entirely sure what good all this sneaking around of mine would do – it looked like they were going for everyone. Maybe I could… slip through. Like last time, just… goose chases. There wasn't anywhere to hide though. The bathroom? No that was way too obvious. I peeked around the corner to check for guards – there were none. Makes sense, I thought as I looked down to check if my laces were still tied, they've probably moved in on the cafeteria groups. I was just about to turn the corner and run down the corridor, but ducked back as a guard suddenly appeared and attempted to drag someone with him through a door further down the hall. I watched them struggle for a moment before he took off a glove and punched in the code. Well shit. That thing probably checked the fingerprints as well as the code – not that I saw the numbers from my hiding spot around the corner. But mama had always said that the best place to hide was under people's noses.

Mama never said that. She's a wonderful law abiding lady. Torres is so fucking lucky she's sick. I watched the agent suddenly let go of the inmate, and then used their falling momentum to shoulder them through the door. The latch clicked back into place, and I quickly darted down the hall. Cell, cell, cell, just get to the cell. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there, but the majority of all my escape plans had been created while on the lam - and they've all worked out well so far. I'd say I work well under pressure; but one of these days I'm going to die of a heart attack.

The next hall was also blissfully guard free, but as I reached the end where it met the beginning of the cell wings, I could hear voices. Guard voices. I pressed myself close to the wall and strained to hear what they were saying – they were close but not enough for me to make out any syllables. A quick glance back in the direction that I'd come confirmed that I was still alone – but when I turned back to the guards, they had stopped talking.

My heart slammed against my chest, and for a brief moment I feared I wouldn't hear them sneak up on me because my heart was so damn loud. I risked a peek around the corner.
There was only one guard with his back turned to me – the one he had been talking to was walking away. The guard shifted his gun, and twisted as though about to resume walking. I ducked back and panicked again from my spot. I wouldn't make it down the hall to round the corner in time – he'd see me. Staying here wasn't much use; he was definitely coming this way. His footfalls were hard and heavy – like he had steel toed boots on. He probably did; but Mama always said to go down swinging when you can't win.

Mama never said that either. She was a wonderfully mild-mannered woman. But this guard had something that might come in handy if I ever made an escape attempt; I might as well make the best of the situation.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

"I'm doing a clean swe- ergh!" The agent jerked back at the sight of me pressed up against the wall. I probably should have rethought my positioning – I looked like I was planning on jumping out at him. Still, all I needed was for him to give chase. I made it halfway down the hall before I felt his weight collide with my back, and we fell to the floor.

To give him credit, he was kind enough to roll as we tumbled so that he didn't fall with his full weight upon me. With all his gear, he easily weighed more than two hundred pounds. I had nothing on that. Still – he landed in a great position with his chest just above my hand. I pretended that my groping his torso had to do with me trying to push off his weight in an attempt at scrabbling to get up. Instead I came away with the prize I'd been searching for – his tiny concealed radio. SHIELD had developed them years prior and disguised them as shirt pocket buttons.
Ask me how I know.
Ask me.

I'll tell you; it's because I stole their files once. At that point in time it'd been a huge development, so that file had been considered 'top secret' and was one of the few that I skimmed over. Tell me I'm clever. Please? Please?

I let it slip into my shirt cuff, and was a good little inmate as he rolled me over onto my stomach to tug my arms behind my back and handcuff me.
"That hurts!" I snarled as he jerked a bit too forcefully.
I got another tug in response, and I took back the credit I gave him earlier for not smushing me. No kudos for you, asswipe.
He remained unchivalrous, and hefted me upright. It was embarrassing how my feet left the ground for a moment, but a second later they were on the floor again and being shepherded to the nearest door.

I had to find a new place to hide the radio though – if someone tried to call him now it'd make a sound in my sleeve. On top of that, it was only a matter of a few minutes before he realized it was gone. There had to be an off button on it or something… that only fixed the first problem though. He jerked me to a standstill and punched in the code to the door. It was a relatively simple thing, they probably change it daily. Still, I memorized it. One seven seven three, one seven seven three, one- we were in another hallway. This one ran parallel to the other we'd just come from. He led me over to an elevator and called for it using another keypad.

This isn't good. The bottom of my stomach made a flip flop sensation as the door silently slid open and we stepped inside. This isn't good. His grip stayed tight upon my arm as he leaned over to once again punch in his code and pick a floor.
LL. There's a basement... this really isn't good.

The ride lasted a year. Literally a year. Ten years. How deep is this shaft? Thirty years. Forty years and a bajillion miles. The elevator shuddered slightly, and then continued on at a slightly slower pace. If we go down any further, we'll end up in hell.
Finally it decelerated and stopped. We waited, staring at the doors. My guard seemed unaffected by it, but I wasn't entirely used to my elevators stalling. I was seriously considering hyperventilating when they hissed open and I was greeted with the sight of the whitest looking waiting room ever. It actually hurt to look at it.

"Move." He bumped me forward.
I walked forward tentatively, and actually jumped at the sound of the elevator doors sliding closed. The guard disappeared from sight – gone on to some other floor.
Is this a… cell?
Everything was painfully white – the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and the lightbulbs that were a thousand times too bright for the room. The only break of color in the monochrome chamber was the silver of the elevator behind me, the silver of the door-handle across the room, and the black of the round plastic clock on the wall on the left. Well shit. There wasn't anywhere to sit either… besides the floor. I hoped I wouldn't be here long; of all the times in the world, this was the one where I really needed the bathroom.

'They're all in…'
Huh?
The sound was coming from my sleeve. Apparently the switch I pushed wasn't the on/off button – it was the volume. Shhh, shh! I panicked again and twisted my cuffs, trying to find the stupid button in my sleeve.
'Standby.'
No, no, no, don't standby – just shut up!
'…Start… three…'
I froze and waited a few seconds. Okay, okay, *phew*, they aren't counting down. I glanced up to the clock on the wall; it was two ten. Maybe they said start at three? Now I'd pushed the volume all the way down by accident – that wasn't helpful. Still, I wasn't about to twist my wrists off trying to get to it again.

I glanced back to the elevator. Just what the fuck is going on? There wasn't much to do except wait until three though. I walked over to the one unblemished white wall and settled with my back to it, intent on waiting this whole thing out. Glaring at the clock did not make it go faster though. I shifted my arms to a more comfortable position and leaned my head back. This is fine. It's cool. I got a little radio… that's a plus. And… no injuries. That's good too.
I need the bathroom.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Three o'clock came and went – I only realized it when I woke up at eight. Seven year habits die hard I guess – but my bladder was killing me.
"Holy fucking shit!" I shouted at the ceiling, and rolled over onto my back. The cuffs dug into my skin, but at least the pressure was off my stomach. I'm going to die here. Holy shit my parents are gonna be so mad. Funerals are so expensive. I'm so fucked man. I'm doomed. DOOMED.

I growled and ground my spine into the cuffs to distract me from my gut. This is the worst. The pain was helping marginally, but I needed to get up. Again I rolled over, this time into a hunched bow to push myself upright. I couldn't help the whimper-groan that I made; but I was too furious to even care at this point. Three, huh? I snorted and shuffled over to the elevator.

"Let me out you shits!" I shouted at it. It remained fantastically impassive.
I walked across the room to the other door and kicked at it. This is bullshit. I turned around and grabbed the handle with my cuffed hands, but the knob wouldn't twist. I wasn't sure if it wouldn't turn because I didn't have a good grip or because it was locked. Most likely it was the latter.

"Fucking…" I hissed, "…open." with a particularly well placed torque, the thing clicked and slowly swung inwards into another bright white room. I stood stock still on the threshold and took in the only two pieces of furniture – a large silver table and an intercom on the far wall.
"Congratulations and welcome, inmate twelve…" The automated voice greeted, "to the first elimination round."