An eerie atmosphere covered one of the long and narrow hallways of the south wing. It's as if the devil himself found a portal towards the living; his menacing aura lingered and teased the seven, who were on the verge of attacking each other or meeting a truce.
     
"I don't find your words amusing 75," the warden sneered, after Sebastian's joke.
     
Sebastian laughed and answered, "Address me by my name, warden; you don't want to get on my bad side now, do you?"
     
Protacio is aware that he cannot antagonize the group any further. Harold was losing blood and the man had stopped responding a few minutes ago. Besides, he was now, far from a position to demand or command the prisoners, given his and his friend's condition. After swallowing his pride, the warden said, "I need your help to get this man inside the infirmary."
     
Sebastian mused for a minute. The warden was unlike the other guards or wardens that had walked the Isles of San Fernando Correctional. Yes, the man ruled with an iron fist, but he was always just, and according to the letter they read, the man also possessed a soft heart.
     
Sebastian glanced at his companions and saw that none showed resistance. Other than the shaking of Lawrence's head, everyone seemed to have given their silent agreement.
     
"Alright warden, but just for now," Sebastian grumbled as he took a step toward Protacio.
     
The seven-man team manoeuvred from one hallway to another. Like prey who carefully checked its perimeter, they kept an open eye for any threat which may come their way. Ernest carried Harold's body while Sebastian had Protacio's arm slung over his shoulder to assist the old man who was exhausted.
     
"Hey, does this mean we're on the good side now?" Kennedy whispered to Noah.
      
It was Lawrence, who at that time was falling a step behind them, that gave the young man the answer, "Yeah, for now, but don't expect any grand reward like a pardon or an early release; least you can expect is an additional pudding on your dinner plate."
     
"Soup, a change of soup would be better," Kennedy replied.
     
"I second that," Noah murmured.
      
Lawrence grimaced at the memory of the cook's soup, he had to give his two companions the thumbs up. The soup served to them every day could only be compared to one word, and that was shit. A watery shit, reminiscent of the one Lawrence released when he suffered from a loose stool.
     
After ten minutes of a heart-stopping walk for Protacio, they finally reached the infirmary.
     
Harold was immediately laid on top of a bed. Protacio searched around and was surprised to see that the entire infirmary was free of disturbance. Unfortunately, the nurse and doctor were no longer there. They must have left the prison building before the downpour.
     
"Better put a barricade on that door,” the warden commanded Kennedy.
     
The young one agreed without a single word of protest.
     
"Now, which one of you knows anything about stitching a wound? We need to stop the bleeding." Protacio asked. His voice came out louder than intended, but he had been worrying about Harold. His pulse felt faint and his breathing shallow, not to mention the pale complexion which has taken over the man's skin.
     
"Why stitch, let's cauterize it," Lawrence commented. His words immediately received a deathly glare from his companions.
     
Lawrence raised his hands and nervously replied, "Hey it's just a recommendation. Besides, do any of you know how to stitch a wound?"
     
"I... I can," came the soft reply of Kennedy.
     
Six pairs of eyes fell on him, and he couldn’t help but take a step back. They meant no harm, but having six menacing men staring at him, was not a good feeling.
     
"I went to medical school." the young man explained.
     
"Excuse me?" replied six shocked voices.
     
"I only got as far as the first year, but I got a good grasp of the procedure. I have seen a lot of ER doctors performing surgery when I was an intern nurse."
     
"What the fuck!" screamed Sebastian.
     
"What the hell are you doing here then?" Protacio yelled.
     
"He fucked up his life," Lawrence replied.
      
Noah walked up behind the young man and smacked him on the head while saying, "Stupid moron!"
     
Kennedy rubbed his head, and when he noticed Ernest staring at him, he asked, "What, you got something to say too?"
     
Ernest released a heavy sigh and then answered, "Big moron."
     
After a few seconds, the warden cleared his throat to get their attention and said to the young man, "Let's talk about this later, come here and help him."
     
While Kennedy busied himself with Harold's wounds, Ernest pulled out another letter from his pocket.
     
Protacio immediately recognized it as one of 247's. "How in the world did you get a hold of those?" he questioned the big man. Ernest shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I picked it up when you were unconscious on the floor. It fell off of you."

"The warden held out his hands and commanded," Give it here."
     
The big man seemed hesitant to hand over the letter; he was holding on to it as if his whole life depended on that piece of paper. His action did not miss the eye of his companions, so Sebastian walked up to him and said," Hey, hand it over, it's not yours to keep."
     
"I want to know what happened next," Ernest replied honestly.
     
"What do you mean you want to know? Have you been reading...” Protacio did not finish his words. Instead, he brought his hand inside his pants pocket and tried to locate the four letters that he had shoved inside before the commotion. He gazed at the convicts before him, then asked," How many letters do you have with you?"
     
"Two," the big man answered.
     
The warden stood from his chair and walked up to Ernest, he held out his hand and once again coaxed the big man to return the letters.
     
Ernest threw Sebastian a pleading look. His companion could only laugh at the childlike state of his co-prisoner.
     
"Give me both letters, and I will read them out loud for you," Protacio murmured after realizing that the big man truly had no intention of giving the letters back to him.
     
When Ernest finally surrendered the letter he had, he glanced in Sebastian's direction. The man then pulled out the other letter from his pocket and gave it to the warden.
     
Protacio's brow furrowed while saying, "Sebastian, what have you and these men been up to? It would have made more sense if you had been busy trying to escape, but reading a letter? That strayed from your profile."
     
"Exactly, my words exactly. We wasted so much time reading that letter and reminiscing about past women." Lawrence interjected.
     
Once again, Lawrence received a glare from his companions. The man shook his head in defeat and whispered, "Fine, I'm zipping my lip.
     
Protacio opened the folded letter that Ernest had given. He couldn't help but notice the smirk painted on Sebastian's face as he did so. He folded the letter back and turned towards the man, looked him in the eye, and asked, "What the hell is running through your head?"
     
Sebastian rolled his eyes and walked towards a chair; he sat, crossed one leg over the other, and then answered, "Didn't know you were such a romantic warden. I wouldn't have pegged you to be such a sweet and caring man.
     
"What in Jesus' name are you blabbering about? "Protacio asked irritably.
      
"Who is this Maria you wrote about Protacio? Childhood crush or something?" the half-Japanese man teased. When Protacio finally realized what the man was implying. He waltzed towards Sebastian and sat on the chair beside him. "I had one woman in my life, I married her and buried her a few years back. These letters are not mine, you idiot." The warden answered.