The transition from freedom to imprisonment in the form of prison suit wasn't drastic.

It was a simple change of clothes.

But it was a significant change.

Everyone knew it.

The orange jumpsuit had his name written on it. It was even simple to take off. One zipper compared to the two sets of zippers located on the back of the neck for the Jupiter 2 civilian outfits. There were red bands wrapped around his wrists in his skin from the prison transport leading him to the prison that he would spend the rest of his natural life in. It didn't terrify him but the shackles felt heavy against his wrists and ankles during the long ride where parts of his body that shouldn't ache start to ache. It was a long ride going over speed bumps to get there. The ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs dug into his skin rather uncomfortably during the long ride to the military prison set in Arizona.

His eyes had been fixated on the window during the ride that represented freedom. He was never going to have that again, Smith was sure of it. Truth be told, he was relieved to be given a punishment for his part in the loss. A very harsh but justified one. He was given a single cell with a bed then the door was closed on him. The Robinsons couldn't come to his rescue then return to the Jupiter 2 where they had a bellyful of laughter at Smith thinking that they were dead and that he was really on Earth. He was emotionally drained. Unable to feel anything as he sat on the well made bed. He moved himself on to his side placing his head against the prepared pillow and fell to sleep snoring away. His eyes fluttered opened to the dark room hearing his cell door open.

A security officer came in so he placed his back against the warm blanket.

"You asked for a copy," came a stray voice from beside him. "Finding your cell wasn't easy. In fact, this kept getting lost from hand to hand."

Smith felt lethargic and ready to fall apart staring at the gray cieling.

"What copy?" Smith asked.

The name tag to the officer read 'Lieutenant Davis'.

"That thing," Davis said.

"I don't recall asking for this thing," Smith said.

"You kept asking for it during your trial," Davis said.

"No, I didn't," Smith said.

"Well, Officer Hanstine Kirk says you did," the officer placed the small package on the counter across from Smith. "It's been thoroughly checked and repackaged," he faced the doctor. "Nothing dangerous like a sapient B-9 toy, a miniature llama that can talk, a magical gauntlet, a lyre, a flower that copies everything---"

"Sir, please," Smith said, holding his hand up. "I have been ridiculed enough in the last few days regarding the threats I brought to the Robinsons."

"Is it true, though?" Davis asked.

"You do realize. . ." Smith said, his voice shaking as he swept his legs over the edge then placed his hands on his knees as the security officer stepped back. His voice was full of anger and hurt from the last few days. "That you're talking to 'insane delusional' man." he looked toward his hands. "As they. . . bluntly. . . put it at my trial."

"But you're not in a insane asylum," Davis said. "Your act didn't fool the judge."

"It didn't," His blue eyes stared back at the young man. "What makes you think . . that I will tell you the truth?"

"I don't know who to believe," Davis said. "I am still on the fence."

"Stay that way," Smith said. "Go on, Lieutenant," he waved his hand. "Don't want to get drawn into my imaginary alien threat of the week." he finished in a mocking tone to himself then baa-wed at the idea.

Davis walked out of the room then closed the door to the cell. At first, it seemed that Smith was completely alone in the dark room with a hung head lowered down toward his lap that had hands laid in it. The camera gazed up from the scarred, defeated hands to observe a colorful translucent figure lingering in the left corner of the room contrasting against the darkness. The figure was muscular and young with visible presence of severe burns. Don's figure was situated on the corner of the room sitting in a chair slumped with his arms folded once Davis had walked out.

"She may not believe you're insane but I do," Don's familiar voice came from across.

"Major," Smith said, feeling his throat go dry. "How many times must I remind you to stop playing with that announcement."

"The psychologist said you were insane," Don said.

"Just a very inaccurate observation of my mental health," Smith said. "My defense was very weak trying to keep me out of here," he grimaced. "Intentionally."

"And you are here rather than a place that will do better at handling you," Don said.

"Handling me better, indeed," Smith said, gazing up toward the severely burned young man walking past him.

"I don't know how long this is going to last being here," Don said. "would you like to have a drink? Oh!" he snapped his fingers coming to a stop. "I nearly forgot," he stood sideways toward Smith. "You can never do that with me, again."

Smith closed his eyes, painfully, then opened them raising his head up.

"I wish I could," Smith spoke up. "I wish I could. . ." he lowered his gaze toward the floor. "every day."

Don turned away from Smith then walked through the door.

"Well I've heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the lord. . ." Smith began to sang, softy, yet quietly and broken. "But you really don't care for music, do you?" as the camera backtracked into the dark. "Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift." the unmistakable sound of his heart falling down the chamber where it was contained could be heard as his voice grew small and smaller until it sounded that he had lost his heart. "The baffled king composing hallelujah. . . Hallelujah."

Until it was replaced by faint whispering that turned into snores in the darkness.