The Exalted Guard

Two Years Later

Mike takes his first step out of the prison in two years. He looks up at the sky with his new "proper" clothes on. The pressed, blue button up shirt and brown pants with matching belt felt stifling in the summer sun. He ran a hand through his much shorter black hair, letting the sweat slick it back slightly. His beard had been shaved, leaving his chin completely exposed to the elements. In his other hand he held the straps of a green bag with what little belongings he got once he was out. Some cash, a t-shirt, sweatpants, and worn tennis shoes.

His body was much different than it was when he first entered the facility. His pale skin was tanned by his activities. His muscles were much more defined and could be seen through the tight shirt on his body. They were mainly concentrated on his upper arms and legs, making him look slightly uneven. He cracked his neck while looking down both sides of the road, his ears open for any coming traffic. He sighs and glances at the guard to his left. The prison guard was the picture of what someone of his position should be. He stood tall, both hands behind his back and hat sat straight on his head. He kept one eye on Mike and other on the road heading towards the prison.

Mike scratched his neck thinking back on his "relationships" with the guards in the joint. They weren't very good ones, mainly due him always getting put in solitary for "causing trouble".

What they called trouble, he called defending himself. But give certain guys a fancy shirt and tell 'em they're in charge, and they think they can do whatever they want to you. Out of all the guards he had dealt with while doing time, only two hadn't gone made with power. Those two were cool and would be the only ones who spoke up for Mike when he was being punished. Made conditions in there a bit more bearable.

The former nightguard arches his back while yawning to keep his body moving. He's noticed his body has had much more energy ever since he was in the prison. Couldn't exactly let his guard down at any moment. Just about everyday had him on edge and waiting for the next attack. Not something that's going to go away overnight.

Just as Mike stopped stretching, the faint sound of a car's engine reaches his ears. The guard's head swivels towards the east to stare down the road. Mike does the same, watching as a silverfish car rolled to a stop right in front of them. Like clockwork, the guard stepped in front of Mike and bent down to investigate the car's driver side window. Before he could say anything, the window rolled down and revealed a young face with a blonde beard and mustache combo.

The guard coughed into his hand before speaking, "Name and proof of identity, please."

The young man handed the guard a license while speaking a much deeper, yet still slightly girlish voice, "Jeremy Fitzgerald."

Mike lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but he refrained from dashing forward to take a closer look at his bud. Wouldn't want the Boy in Blue here to get the wrong idea and come up with a reason for him to stay longer.

The guard made a show of inspecting the card, constantly looking between it and Jeremy. The man's blonde hair had lengthened and now reached the base of his neck. He rolled his eyes as the guard finally gave him his license back.

The man turned towards Mike and beckoned him over with a scowl on his face. Mike walked forward as the guard began to speak, "Everything seems to be in order. Remember, you're on parole, not off the chain. Speak with your officer and make sure you don't step out of line. Cause if you do...," he jerks a thumb in the direction of the prison to punctuate his statement.

Mike rolls his eyes while nodding along with whatever the man says. He walks around the front of the car and gets into the passenger side. The second he closes his door, Jeremy hits the gas and takes off down the road.