I jerked awake when we hit the ground. Birdie's arm slapped over my body, pinning my arms down. I took a deep breath. Nightmare again. Hyperventilating, but trying so hard to breath normally is hard when people are staring at you as they pass you. My heart pounded in my ears.

"Breathe," Birdie murmured. I clenched my shaking fists and tried to calm down. Anxiety attack in front of everybody. Just shoot me in the head Birdie. Put me out of my misery. "In... Out... Follow me. In... Out... Look at me."

I followed his instructions and looked at him. He was breathing with me. Why didn't he just drug me?

I could feel my heart rate go down. He removed his arm and shook his head. I looked up. The Mountain was standing behind my seat with a syringe in his hand. They had been so close.

Birdie pulled me out of my seat after all the passengers had left the plane. My legs felt a bit wobbly, but he kept his hand wrapped around my arm, as we walked through the airport. I was done looking at people and kept my attention on my feet. We climbed into a minibus, and away we went.

The scenery was striking.

We stopped after a couple of hours in front of a massive gate, surrounded by walls. Big cement walls. The gate opened slowly, revealing a grim building inside. Grey, big, and to be honest quite scary looking. On either side of the road up to the prison, fences were erected with barbed wire on top.

We stopped in front of another gate. This one was a fence gate. Birdie jumped out and motioned me to follow him. I jumped down on the pavement and squinted in the bright sunlight. He pushed me forward.

Inmates in the yard stopped to have a look at the newcomer. I must have looked terrifying with the muzzle on. At least I was making an impression from the beginning. Leave me alone, or I'll bite your heads off.

I kept looking straight, remembering C59's words: never show any fear. So I straightened my back and tried to walk as casually I could with the chains around my ankles. Which wasn't easy, since I could only take short steps.

Strip searches, introductions and a shower later and I was sitting in my new cell. It was small. Too small. And I was alone. No cell-mate. They must know of my... Er... Nightly activities.

I had no personal artefacts, so the shelf on the wall is empty. I'd find something, I guess. It was small, with a bed and a toilet. A small window under the roof. That was a treat! I'd know when it's night by actual sunlight now, and not my activities or the horrible white light in the ceiling.

The door opened, and I guessed it was time to meet the rest of my new prison family.

At least we didn't wear jumpsuits here. Grey sweats, white t-shirts and a dark grey jumper if it was cold. It wasn't very soft or anything, but it was so much better than having to wear those annoying one-piece jumpsuits. It always made us look like something from a bad prison film.

I went out into the hall and looked around. My cell was in the middle of the large room. A skylight brightened the middle of the very grey and bland room. We had some benches and tables in the middle, but that was about it. The other prisoners didn't look particularly interested in me, which suited me perfectly.

I leaned up against the wall next to my cell and tried to look like I didn't give a shit. And then I saw him. He was still extremely broad and looked very intimidating. His skin was even darker than mine, and he was bald for some reason. His yellow eyes almost lit up his entire face, making him look even scarier. He stalked over towards me and introduced his fist to my jaw. I fell down on one knee and got back on my feet. He grabbed my chin and moved my head, so he could see the damage he had done.

"You've gone soft," he said, letting go of my chin. His eyes wandered down my body and back up to my face again. "And skinny."

Three guys appeared behind him, making sure the guards weren't watching, or anybody was interfering.

"And you've lost your hair," I retorted. One of the guys turned around and was ready to have a go at me, but C59 just raised his hand, stopping his friend. He looked angrily at me for a second, and then he burst out laughing. He put his arm around my shoulders and led me over to one of the tables. The people sitting at it immediately dispersed, letting us have it.

"I heard they brought you in with a muzzle. You made quite the impression. I knew it could only be you when I heard a skinny kid came walking in, muzzled like a dog but proud like a lion."

I snorted and shrugged.

"You've grown quite a bit though, Cub. I never thought you would ever grow."

"I was eleven when you saw me the last time," I reminded him.

"You were that old? And here I thought you were seven the entire time."

"Psh." We were sitting on the table, with our feet resting on the bench. He ran his hand over his bald head and shook it.

"I'm glad you made it this far, Cub," he said quietly, so only I could hear. "We need someone like you right now."

"Someone like me?" I asked with a certain hesitation. Every time he said, he needed someone like me, he would get me to crawl through the air vent and raid the kitchen. He would have done it himself, but he was way too big to fit into the narrow spaces.

"Resourceful and not completely fucking stupid. You don't know the level of idiocy I have to deal with here. Who knew felons turned out to be completely slow too?" He looked blandly at me, and I tried not to laugh. We had always complained about the other inmates being idiots. Mainly because whenever we broke the rules, they would make sure we got caught somehow.

"I can't read though," I mumbled. I guess I was completely fucking stupid too.

"The fuck do I need you to read for? Nobody ever got anything out of reading a book, C41."

Even I knew that wasn't true, but I knew better than to say anything right now.

"Anyways, with you here, we're about twelve C's." C's meaning cats. "Which makes us a bigger group than the mutts. In our block anyways." He could see my confusion and pressed on. "It's not like Ireland, mate. We don't mix here. And we use actual names here too. No stupid numbers. But we're a team."

That was completely stupid. In many of our great heists, we needed the help of birds and dogs. Why exclude brilliant work power? And why use names? We were to forget we had ever been anything but felons, and letting go of your name was part of that process. Right?

"You are on my team, right?"

"Where else should I be?" I hurried to say. I was not in a position to think about morals and the downsides of racism right now.

"That's right. There are other inmates here from Ireland though. Remember B34? He's here and on our side. Never bad to have a bird in your cage. We have an alliance with the birds, so I guess we have an entire birdhouse."

So, I guess we mix a bit anyways.

"We're sitting on the drugs. So, all numbers and shit. I know how you like that."

I did. Numbers were easy, words were hard. I didn't answer, he knew me well enough to know that.

"Inmate C41!" someone yelled out through the room.

I turned and saw Birdie by the barred door and groaned.

"Go when mummy calls," C59 said and shoved me off the table.

I buried my hands in my pockets and swaggered over to the door. Birdie opened the door and pulled me over the threshold. He kept a firm grip on my arm as we made our way to a small room down a cold and grey corridor. It was completely bare, except for a table and two chairs. He pushed me down in one chair and sat down across from me.

I hadn't noticed until now, he had a folder in his hand. He put it down on the table and opened it. Turned one or two pages. He finally looked up at me and cocked his head to the side.

"I am your supervisor, while you're here," he said as if I would ever leave this place. I didn't know what to answer, so I kept looking down at the metal table. "All inmates under twenty-five get one. I'll talk to you once or twice a week, making sure you're not messing up your rehabilitation." He sounded American. Not many Americans came this way. Odd. "Says here, you've been in prison since you were... Five?"

Was I supposed to answer that? Because I didn't.

"Also says here your mental health has been going down throughout the years. Anxiety, insomnia, night terrors, shifting disorder..."

I leaned back in the chair and looked around the room, completely avoiding looking at him.

"I guess that is to be expected when you lock up kids," he muttered. I snapped my eyes to him. That was not an allowed opinion. We were feral, kids or not we should be removed from society and rehabilitated.

"Got your attention there, didn't I?" he said and looked down at my file again. "How much do you remember of your time outside?"

I snorted and went back to looking at this weird hole in the wall. Wonder what made that. Probably an angry dog.

"Do you remember biting Ashley Hale?"

Actually no, I don't remember ever doing that, but what does it matter? I did it, and now I'm here. I finally got tired of him asking stupid questions and met his gaze.

"What does any of it matter?" I asked. "I am not getting out anyways."

"What makes you think you're not getting out?" He slightly frowned and looked at me interested. I couldn't remember the last time anybody had looked at me like that.

"I'm feral."

"Are you?"

Wasn't I? That was all I had ever gotten told since I got imprisoned. I was feral, dangerous, irrational, stupid, skinny, small, stupid, dangerous, stupid. Feral.

"Yes," I replied, figuring this was a test. I knew better than to try and reason with them. I was nothing like the wild animals they showed on TV. I didn't think so personally, but who gives a shit about a feral kid's opinion?

"You truly believe that?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about the night terrors and the shifting disorder. I hear, it's so severe you can't share a cell with anybody."

And that was when I was done answering his questions. He tried some more questions about my nightly activities, but I didn't say anything. It was easier to just play stupid and mute than to actually try and explain. To anybody. That had been my game back in Ireland, and I didn't consider changing it to be a good idea. Even C59 had told me to shut up about it, back when we were kids. But we weren't kids anymore, and I was still not getting any sleep. It had started a few weeks after I was imprisoned. Wasn't pretty then, nor now.

"I see you have connected with the other inmates." He nodded towards the bruise spreading on my jaw. I rubbed it and looked away.

"Yeah..."

"Care to explain?"

"It's not a problem."

"I wasn't asking if it was."

I sighed. He was not backing down. "He's a friend."

"Ireland?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. He knew this was my first transfer. Where the hell else would I get friends from? I didn't know why I needed to answer, so I didn't.

"I've read you had a few relations during your time there, but you're showing signs of antisocial behaviour. The fact that you already have followed up on old relation is a good sign." The corner of his mouth tipped a bit upward.

Yeah, great. I've already been pulled into a drug-ring, but I should probably not tell him that. "Listen... I know the situation may seem dark, but we are trying to prep you to go back into society."

Whatever.

"So I'll see you in a few days. I think I might up our meetings to three times a week, while you adjust. If you have any problems, I hope you know you can talk to me. About anything."

Again I didn't say anything. Birdie nodded and ended our meeting.