All I remember is waking up to the guard pulling me off the bus. I must have blacked out. I asked the guard, “Where am I going? Can I make a phone call? Can I call my mom?” He just looked at me and said, “I’m your mother now.” I was so confused.

The guard shoved me into the building and told me to strip down. “No,” I said.

The guards started to laugh. The one who had called himself my “mother” walked over to me. I can still see his name tag now—Baster. As he neared, he yelled to the other guards, “We’ve got a tough guy here, I see. We like tough guys, right, boys?”

He grabbed me and threw me into a room.

He punches, kicked, hit me with his baton, and tasered me. While the other guards looked on and egged him on, finally, another guard came running in, demanding that he stop and pulling him off me. Baster was furious with him. He asked, 'What's your name, rookie?' The guard replied, 'Stevenson.' Baster snapped, 'I was teaching this tough guy a lesson.' Stevenson responded, 'I think he learned it.' Baster muttered, 'Whatever, just finish processing him.' Stevenson said, 'He needs to go to the infirmary.' 'After you process him in,' Baster replied, then walked away. Stevenson helped me up. I could barely stand on my own; my whole body hurt. He finished processing me in, fingerprinted me, took pictures of my face, and helped me strip down. I told him, 'Thank you for helping me.' He said, 'No problem, kid. Just keep your head down, and no one will bother you.'

After I was processed, Stevenson took me to the infirmary. Turns out, Baster had broken two of my ribs. My whole body ached. The nurse wrapped my torso, handed me some ice packs, and told me I could go.

Stevenson walked me to my room. When we got there, he gave me a set of sheets and a toothbrush, then left. I stepped inside and made up the bed. After that, I went to the sink to wash my hands. That’s when I noticed my reflection. My face was swollen, my lip was busted, and I had a bump on my forehead.

“Damn, what happened to you?” a guy asked, leaning against my doorway.

“The guard, Baster, wanted to teach me a lesson,” I replied.

He stepped inside. “I’m Ron. I’m your roommate. And just so you know, Baster’s no one to mess with—he’s the top guard around here.”

I nodded. “I’m James.”

Ron gave me a once-over and motioned toward the bed. “Sit down and relax. Lunch will be soon.”