The metallic clanging sound of a nightstick beating upon the door of the solitary confinement cell compassionately known as 'The Hole' to the inmates of the Alderney State correctional facility was the first thing John heard that day, being awoken by none other than Officer Graeme. A disgusting example of the corruption in law enforcement, the patriotic American whom was in his late twenties and sported a thick, black-haired crew cut atop his youthful face. His baby blue eyes were quickly visible through The Hole's peephole as it slid open in order to allow the officer to see the inmate currently confined within. His eyes being met by the aged bluey-brown ones belonging to potentially one of the most dangerous and unstable criminals within the facility. His medium length dark brown hair was swept back, and held in place by the heaps of sweat generated from the Englishman's wrinkled forehead, with a deep sigh the man rolled over into a seated position as Officer Graeme opened the door to the cell.

"Oh what, is it time for our monthly picnic Officer?" Smith asked sarcastically from behind the most arrogant and cocky smile that had ever been seen on a human being. His accent being a blend of both Cockney and Estuary English accents and speaking patterns, as he chuckled lightly Graeme sighed deeply and began to speak. "Hardly. Today's the day your limey ass gets out of the hole, or did shit-for-brains forget?" He mocked, but struggling not to bear his teeth at Smith in disgust as the two men exchanged their conversation of concealed mutual hatred. But in an instant the officer's baton was raised up to the British Bulldog's teeth. 

"I'm gonna escort you straight to the yard, you will have thirty minutes. After that you [i]will[/i] report to Dr.Ramsay for your next psychological evaluation. Any more funny business like that stunt during the cons versus guards baseball game and I'll smash these fucking teeth of yours from your mouth. Are we clear?"

"Absolutely crystal mate, c'mon then, let's get cracking. Need to work on my tan you see." Smith joked as he stood up, being motioned to move forward by Graeme. But as he did so, the Englishman felt an incredibly sharp pain in his side as the bastard slammed his nightstick into his ribs. With a hefty groan and the severe buckling of his body to the right, John growled a little and continued to walk. Being prodded in the back of the head by Graeme's baton with every step of the journey from the solitary cells to the dirt-yard.

When the two men arrived, the young Texan gave John a shove forward and told him to 'get lost'. To which Smith quickly retorted by asking Graeme if he had a cigarette he could spare, stangely enough though, the Officer obliged for once and tossed the inmate a half empty pack of Redwoods. A lighter within the card packet. In a signal of thanks John gave a two fingered salute to the Officer and planted one of the classic American cigarettes inbetween his pursed lips, a large cloud of thick smoke bursting from his mouth moments later when the cigarette was lit. A small fireball engulfing the tip.

"Started to forget what you bastards taste like in there." He muttered to himself as he began to almost patrol around the yard, eventually finding himself by the courts within which many of the facility's African-American residents would spend their yard time playing basketball and discussing their lives on the outside. But there was a certain someone that 'Smithy' was waiting for.