After he heard the clearing of someone's throat, the matador silently positioned himself near the iron bars of his cell. His hand clutched tightly on the tang of his machete, waiting for the final signal. The guard on duty who agreed to assist their escape positioned himself on the west wall of their gigantic encasement. His sniper gun was in position, ready to take out the rest of the guards within the North wing.
***

(West Wing)

Warden Protacio finally agreed to stop reading the letters. Harold had argued that the night was turning deep and the three of them must retire. It didn't take a lot of convincing for Protacio to give in, since he too, was finally craving a good night's rest.

***

After they left the warden's office. The two officers found themselves facing a predicament. There were a couple of rooms designated for the guards on night duty, but they were already occupied by those who were actually on duty. Mark, Harold, and the rest of the guards who failed to leave before the downpour had no place to stay.

So Mark and Harold, accompanied by four others, decided to spend the night inside the prison kitchen, located in the East Wing. It was not an ideal place to rest, but it was either that or spend a night inside the remaining vacant cells of the prison building, which neither of them found appealing. They couldn't say the same for the other guards though.

The sixty employees inside San Fernando Correctional who were stranded due to the strong winds and rain were divided into occupying the East, West, and south wing. Most of those guards found no qualms laying their bodies inside a jail cell. According to Harold, at times like that night when the weather was off, the guards would usually spend their hours inside empty cells. Mark once asked why that was when there were available rooms for guards on duty to use. Can't they share the rooms or something? His senior explained that at first, it was more of a challenge between the guards until it became a normal thing for the tenured. Besides, the current night was an exemption. The day shifts have added to the number of those on night duty. Sacrifices must be made.

The guards though deviated from staying in the North Wing where the notorious criminals were held. They may have the upper hand, knowing that those prisoners were locked behind their cells and all, but still, they must remain on high alert. Staying inside a cell or anywhere within the compound of the North wing was a definite no.

The North wing was meticulously designed to house and fend off any attempt from those notorious criminals to escape. There is a total of thirty-five cells in the North Wing. Each enclosure has at least two meters of distance between them. The cells are more like individual rooms made of iron bars, structured to be void of any blind spots. Those iron bars proved to be of great help with transparency. Each of those iron bars was about five inches thick in diameter, welded together on every corner of the square-shaped encasement, while the door was also strategically made to be narrow. An inmate must crawl within a rectangular-shaped door located one meter from the floor up, to leave their cell, which was a rare thing to happen because the notorious criminals were never allowed to leave their confines.

The cells occasionally received a monthly inspection to assure that their strength remained strong enough to withstand any assault by its prisoner, or anything from the outside. A single crack on any of the iron bars comprising the cell would immediately be taken care of, by soldering them or by use of Loctite epoxy. Unfortunately, the recent months were a harsh time for San Fernando Prison, resulting in the neglect of the existing cracks.

The walls in the North wing were also designed to be the highest. The space between the floor, up to the ceiling has about one hundred eighty feet of distance between them. It was created to give the guards an upper hand.

The guards on duty in the North wing were located high up in a bridge-like structure that encircled the entire length of the North wing, to give them a clear view of the prison cells below.
***

(West Wing)

Protacio couldn't keep his cool. He owed 247, that was something he had vowed to himself. The time the old prisoner, made possible for him and his wife was irreplaceable. He had contemplated many a time to re-open the old man's case without his approval or knowledge, yet every time, he was turned down by his superiors. According to them, 247 must request it himself.

He kept fidgeting with the letters until his curiosity ate him up. He picked up the pile of letters and removed the rest, keeping in his hand the last letter dated February 14, 2020.
***

Dear Maria,

My time has come. I can feel the messenger waiting on the other side, on which side though, I can't tell. Do I fear my end? I don't.

But I fear that when I die, all my memories of you will perish along with my conscious mind.
***

Warden Protacio kept reading, and as the written words progressed, tears began to pool at the side of his eyes. For the first time in his life. He thinks he understood why 247 had to do what he did. He thought going through the letters would give him the enlightenment he craved about the old man's case, but alas, everything is clear, only at the end.

But, when he reached the middle of the letter, he was taken aback. There was one paragraph that caught him off guard.

Could 247 be right? Was it possible?

Warden Protacio snickered before he murmured, "Crazy bastard," as he realized the need to keep reading all the letters, to fully understand how the words of the paragraph came to fruition.
***

(East Wing)

Mark kept his wife on the phone despite the static in the line that turned their conversation into a battle of incoherent words.

He couldn't name it. He couldn't figure it out. He felt like something was about to go down. No matter how much he assured himself that his unease was caused by the thunder and the blood-curdling sounds from the rain, his erratic heartbeat refused to calm down.

"Mark, I can hear the warning on your phone. That thing is about to die. Go charge it and call me again. You don't have to worry. We are safe," his wife screamed on the line.

"Alright," Mark yelled back. His loud answer earned him a few plastic cups thrown in his direction.

"Keep it down, Mark!" Samson yelled, his voice a bit slurred by the alcohol he consumed a while back.

Mark smiled and scratched his head, then said, "Sorry I'll end the call."

"You'd better," Sheldon answered, adding to the number of people who showed their irritation.

(North wing)

As the third spark came, so did the sound of a sniper gun. The clacking of metals that fell on the tiled floor echoed inside the North wing, accompanied by the scent of acid that danced in the air. The man with his machete smiled as he watched his boss step out of his iron cage.