CHAPTER 8 

There I was, lost in contemplation of my fate. This was no ordinary fear; it was a terror that clung to my very soul. 

The rough tools I had been handed had started to turn my once soft palms red. I was seated in a small cubicle, and the dreadful realization of my actions began to sink in. 

I'm going to die here, I thought, lifting my head from the cradle of regret it had sunk into. It was a harsh reality I had to confront, but I found solace in a single thought: She's safe now. 

A familiar figure approached me, snapping me out of my musings. It was the same old-timer from the showers. I recognized his face, but his intentions were still a puzzle to me. 

“Aren’t you going to help your friend?” He asked. 

“You must have me confused with someone else; I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded, my annoyance seeping through. 

“Yes, you do! The guy... what's his name?” A voice interrupted from my left. 

“Nick,” the old man supplied. 

“Yeah, Nick! He pulled you out of that mess in the showers, remember? You should probably thank him for that,” the new voice continued, attempting to mask his jest with laughter. 

Turning to face this second intruder, I assessed him. His brown skin, curly hair, and striking blue eyes spoke of a mixed-race heritage. 

Looking at both men, I swiveled back to my work, ensuring my expression displayed my irritation. “This is none of my business,” I said curtly. “And frankly, it shouldn't be yours either.” 

The older man chuckled, drawing closer. “Listen, kid,” he began, “You may not realize it yet, but sooner or later, you’re going to need an ally if you want to survive in here. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, only in here it's fight or die. And from what I've seen, Nick is someone you'd want on your side.” 

"I've committed a crime, yes. But as I recall, rape is also a crime—one of the worst. Why not report the perpetrator? Have them executed?" I challenged, already frustrated by their audacity. 

They stared at each other before bursting into laughter. "Seriously, have you considered stand-up comedy?" The man called Duran snorted. 

The older man, still chuckling, turned back to me. “Kid, what did you do to land yourself in here? Rob a store? Cheat on a test?” 

I could sense their mockery, and it stoked the fire of my anger. “I murdered my stepfather with a baseball bat,” I retorted, quieting their laughter. 

With their humor extinguished, they stared at me, questioning my sincerity. When I remained steadfast, I dismissed them. “I've heard enough. Why don't you two leave me be? I don't owe Nick anything.” 

The old man gave me a pitiful look. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“It’s Alex,” I replied curtly, my patience worn thin. 

The older man made sure the coast was clear before joining me at my station. "Alex, you're in prison. You're here because you committed a crime. In here, commit another crime, and you're executed. Small brawls and petty offenses count as strikes." 

I jumped up from my chair, realizing the implications. "They're going to kill him!" 

"We don't know that for sure," Duran quickly retorted. 

"But it's a strong possibility!" I persisted, before slumping back down. "Why are you telling me this? It's not like I can do anything about it." 

"That’s not entirely true," Duran replied. He explained the unspoken rule of the prison: never snitch, or you risk getting murdered. 

“And you want me to snitch, for him? I don’t even know him!" I exclaimed. 

The old man made a cautious scan of the room, then said, “Because… I’m not the one that needs his protection!” 

His words left me speechless, my gaze shifting across the room to meet the glaring eyes of the other inmates. 

Duran, cold and serious, approached me, “So… what’s it going to be?”