Tyler Perez’s eyes were a million miles away, yet he somehow kept them level with his playing cards. A pair of his thin fingers slowly flipped a small red chip head over heels, and his thick lips spread into a frown that looked like someone had taken the fat side of a scarlet marker and smeared it all over the bottom half of his face. As we slowly played out a hand of poker, I could feel the gaze of multiple prison cameras eyeballing our every move, willing to act at the slightest sign of a misdemeanor.
Or maybe it was just the presence of a prison guard, seated not ten yards away. Either scenario, I worried more about the metal-clad guard, and his relaxed composure; his feet were propped up against a stone bench. His tainted visor hid his pupils, but it failed to cover his mouth, split into a sadistic smile like it had been there since birth. He looked positively demented, and I attempted to picture the rest of his complexion. Bloodshot eyes, sharp, upturned nose. He caught me staring at him, and I quickly averted my gaze, cursing myself under my breath. To my right at the table, my brother Velocity raised an eyebrow of concern, but I quickly shrugged off his attention. I shouldn’t have been focused on the guard anyway, the plan was happening today, and I had to be as alert as humanly possible. What worried me, however, was that out of the periphery of my eyesight, the guard hadn’t looked away yet.
Not now. I couldn’t speak directly to Tyler though, that would have made it too obvious that we were up to no good. I could only watched as Tyler raised his cards closer to his face, then accidentally dropped them… exactly as planned. The paper projectiles soared aimlessly toward the floor, attracting little attention from the other inmates, but the guard looked unconvinced. Tyler quickly stood up and slid next to the cards, discreetly pulling a thin, sharpened piece of pale chalk from a fold of his orange jumpsuit, and proceeded to scribble down a few words on the reverse of both of the cards. His gangly face looked conflicted, as if he were just now deciding what to write down. The guard stood up and stretched gingerly, striding closer and unbuckling a heavy metal baton from his hip. He held it in an experienced grip, swinging it around through the air several times. I got off the bench, setting down my cards and getting ready to intervene if there was trouble. Tyler hid the chalk in the folds of his jumpsuit, but failed to get rid of the cards in time, as the guard reached out for his shoulder.
Just then, an alarm bell sounded. Riot bell.. Most likely in Institute Sector Six, that’s supposedly where the worst criminals are housed. The guard looked around, unsure of himself. Tyler, who had now regrouped himself and hid the cards, stood up next to him. Tyler was easily taller than the guard, but obviously younger, as he was only eighteen while the guard was sporting a full grown beard and what could only be described as a beer gut. The guard gave Tyler a look of warning, and dashed off in the direction of Sector Six. Tyler turned around, his face giddy despite nearly escaping detection. If he had been caught, he might have been whipped, or worse, moved to a different sector. He reached into the sleeve of his jumpsuit, pulling out a pair of slightly bent playing cards. Inconspicuously, he slipped them both toward us, then started jogging toward his cell. The guards would be here any minute now for lockdown procedures.
I started running toward my own cell, feet pounding against the concrete floor. Before I left, I glanced back to find Velocity, but he had disappeared among the crowd. I crossed the room, passing by the unoccupied cells on the sides of the space. All the prisoners had choked up both staircases, reducing our pace down to a walk as we ascended floors. As we approached the fifth floor, the amount of people climbing lessened, and I moved among people, fighting to get to my cell as quickly as possible. Anyone not in their cell five minutes after a riot bell would be placed in solitary. As a result, the lower level was chaos. A second, less crucial bell rung, and figures in black uniforms burst into the room, grabbing stragglers and forcing them to their knees. Seventh floor. I exited the stairwell, dashing toward my cell. A stray guard was along the balcony, and he spotted me, shouting to other officers. My cell rested between us, and at the last moment I put on a final burst of speed, executing a baseball player slide to slip into my cell seconds before the black-clothed figure reached me.
“Stop cutting it close, Larkin. You know I’ll give you slack, but the boys behind me won’t.” The officer’s eyes were covered by his metallic mask, but his grim mouth, so unlike the other guards, gave him away.
