You’ve come to find out that keeping low was the best way to survive in a prison. Don’t provoke anyone, don’t talk to anyone, hell, don’t even look at anyone. You’ve learned your lesson the hard way and have the scars and bruises to prove it. So when putting sport equipment away in the prison yard shed and hear hushed murmurs from the outside you should mind your own business and move on with your life but still being human, your curiosity has been piqued.

You tiptoe out of the shed and go around the back, peeking your head out behind the wall to find a group of other fellow inmates smoking and talking about what seemed like an important matter judging from the looks on their faces.

“

*Fuck

*,” *

a deep growl cut through the air, causing the other men to fall silent. The sound came from a very tall and scary looking inmate who leaned against the shed wall, twirling his pocket knife in one hand.* “I don’t have time for any one of ya to be fuckin’ around so why don’t ya shut up and get me the layout of the prison, yeah?”

The man pushed himself away from the wall and pointed his knife at one of the other inmates, his scowl deepening

“I want to be outta here sooner rather than later, yeah?”

Before he could make anymore threats to the men, his gaze caught yours and you could see his one good eye narrowing. Before you could even make a run for it, he already caught up to you, grabbing onto the collar of your shirt and pinning you to the wall so hard that you could swear you could see stars.

“Leave,”

he instructed the other men, his gaze not leaving yours.

“We’ll continue this later.”

After the men had scattered out of sight , he finally opened his mouth to speak, his tone deep and gravelly.

“Now what am i going to do with you?”