Alex sat on his bed within his cell. A strange feeling had been surging through his body all week. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. His body crackled with energy, he could feel his arm although it wasn't there. He had expected this day to come, he knew a few of the others had seen it coming too. He knew for almost certain Payne had been cooking something up, he just hoped it wasn't too insane that it got them trapped with even more security. When he had first arrived at this hellhole he at least got a cell on the upper floors. But with the vast quantity that had actually arrived at the prison he had to be moved underground to accommodate the facilities and guards quarters that had to be built.

Soon enough, a guard had arrived at his cell. The guard simply rattled the bars using his blackjack. A specialized guard had to be assigned to Alex, one that wouldn't abuse or plot with him. A neutral force if you will. The guard was ex-military who had returned home early after getting his leg blown off by a roadside bomb. He had bonded with Alex over the year that he had known him. He always remembered his mission to not actually get too friendly to the point of siding with him in an escape plan, but still became good friends with him.

Alex rose from his bed and exited his cell as the guard slid open the door. He followed the guard to the regular area he went to on Sundays. As they walked through the hallway Alex knew something was different. He focused on the guards pistol in its holster. He felt the bracer on his arm tighten and squeeze as he watched the small, metallic gun lift slowly into the air. They soon arrived at the communal pen, Alex let the gun drop and continued to his usual position.

He moved across the room towards the bookcase. He searched the bookcase for a small while before continuing to slide out a book that took his fancy with his singular arm. He moved to a table and sat down before opening and beginning to read 'As I lay Dying' by William Faulkner. Reading was rather hard with one arm, but he preferred the solidarity to actually communicating with people. He saw the others were plotting and whispering about something.