The depth of a Man's heart is not something that can be measured. Not by the amount of their sweetness or awareness of a woman's feelings. Their love is an enigma. Maybe because they were not made that way. Maybe because the fluff was not included when the mixture of their being was created. Maybe the sprinkle of sugar and everything nice was forgotten and was only left with the fierce spice. But is that it? How deep can they truly love?

Are women the only ones capable of acting like martyrs in a relationship? Are women the only ones capable of keeping everything inside? The difference probably lies in the norm people often use to describe men. But the question remains, how do they let it out? How do they dissolve the pain within them? Maybe we will never know. Men rarely lay their hearts to the open.
***

San Fernando Correctional (East Wing)

Oscar Baltazar kept his eyes on the floor as Rudolf continued to beat the young guard they captured a while back. Oscar did not enjoy inflicting pain, for no reason of course. But he will strike when needed.

"Leave the kid alone, man," Oscar requested. Although he was the other man's senior, he had no power to command the other.

Rudolf glanced back at him and replied, "Fine, he's spent anyway."

The young guard would probably die in a matter of minutes, although Farlow managed to remove the knife Rudolf sheathed on the young one's shoulder, his bleeding did not cease, and Rudolf immediately went back to torturing him when both guards left.

Oscar was perhaps a cold-blooded killer, but the guard on the floor struck his heart on a different level. He went and sat beside the young man, looked him in the eye, and whispered, "Do you want to live?"

Amidst the pooling blood inside the young guard's mouth, he managed to say "yes."

Oscar looked around and when he noticed that Rudolf was busy beating the Vendo machine to get its contents out, he immediately picked up the young one and slowly led him to the door while saying, "You won't find any disturbance along the way, get yourself to the infirmary."

The young guard, barely able to stand on his own feet gazed at him and pleaded for further assistance.

Oscar shook his head and murmured, "Whether you make it or not, it's up to you." He then shoved the guard out of the room and closed the door behind him.
***

(Along the hallways of the East Wing)

After he was shoved outside and freed from the monster that almost broke him, he saw his whole life flash in front of his eyes. His shallow breathing only made walking impossible. The young guard stumbled on the floor and curled like a fetus, longing for his mother's soothing touch. He thought he heard someone whisper something in his ear, but then again, maybe they were the guides sent from up above. He felt himself being lifted and questioned, was his soul departing this world?

"Hold on," the rough voice whispered. "Hang in there," another murmured. How many did the heavens send to welcome him? He couldn't help but question. Maybe he held importance or maybe, he was special, he thought to himself.

After a few minutes, he felt his body being laid on something soft. He pried his eyes open and all he saw was white. Yes, he thought to himself, he has departed. He was in the hands of God.
***

(South Wing: Twenty minutes ago)

"We have a problem," Kennedy said with an exhausted tone.

The others with him glanced in his direction. It was Noah who asked, "What is it?"

The young prisoner shook his head and whispered, "He lost too much blood, he needs a transfusion, or he will die in an hour."

The warden bolted from his chair and excitedly screamed, "We have blood reserves."

"I didn't find any." The confused prisoner answered.

Protacio suddenly went pale; he clicked his tongue and murmured, "We kept it in the stock room; there is a big fridge there; that's where we kept the blood."

"Well, let's get it then," Sebastian answered.

The warden gave them a defeated look while saying, it's in the East Wing.

Lawrence immediately shook his head while saying "No... No way, the East Wing is littered with the other prisoners, and I believe Rudolf's man is concentrated in that area.

Sebastian gazed at him and then asked, "Are you sure?"

Lawrence bobbed his head and muttered, "Heard some of the other prisoners whisper it before we left the North wing."

"Makes sense, the East Wing holds the front door to this prison." The warden replied.

"Well, either get the blood or he dies," Kennedy answered as he fell on one of the chairs inside the infirmary.

Warden Protacio walked towards the door; he glanced back at the prisoners and said, "Keep him alive; I will get the blood."

Sebastian and Ernest, too, got to their feet and stepped in the warden's direction. "We'll come with you." The big man suggested.

Protacio nodded his head in agreement. They were perhaps his prisoners, but at that moment, he needed all the help he could get.

"Wait!" Lawrence yelled when the three-man team motioned to step out of the room. "Do any of you know his blood type? He could die if you give him the wrong one," he asked hesitantly.

Sebastian wanted nothing more but to keep the atmosphere around them in a serious beat, given they were about to step towards the lion's den. But he couldn't help it.

"You have a brain?" he asked Lawrence teasingly. But his joke was not taken lightly, that time around.

Lawrence balled his fist and was about to attack the other prisoner, when Noah suddenly stood in his path, grabbed his arm, and screamed, "He was joking, you big fool, why do you get so worked up over everything?"

"It's not funny, he'd been teasing me for the past hour!" Lawrence answered angrily.

That's enough, the warden said, interrupting the tension between the prisoners. "I know his blood type."

Sebastian looked at him and asked, "How?"

"I'm the warden remember; I believe I know my man better than any of you in this prison."

"Weird," Ernest whispered, hoping the others didn't hear his comment.

After a few minutes, the team was finally walking in the hallways of the East Wing.

"I thought Lawrence said this place was littered with Rudolf's man, we haven't seen any since we got here," Sebastian whispered.

"Just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open." warden Protacio replied. Just as the team turned towards a new hallway, they heard a loud bang, which they all recognized as the sound of a door being shut violently.

The three flinched. Like prey, their eyes moved from one corner to another, feet taking long fast strides towards the direction of the sound.

"Is this safe, shouldn't we be taking the other way?" Ernest asked.

The warden shook his head and answered, the stock room is in this direction, we have no other choice."

A whimper and the smell of blood in the air immediately greeted the team as they took a turn in the hallway, housing one of the guard's lounges and the stock room.

The warden was the first to see the guard lying on the floor. He was after all, at the forefront of the three-man team.

Protacio immediately knelt on the floor and checked for a pulse, he found one, faint but still present.

It was Ernest who first said, "Should we take him with us?"

"Is that even a question?" the warden replied. He tried to carry the guard but immediately stumbled on his feet upon doing so.

Ernest, in an instant, took the guard from the warden's arm and said, "I will carry him."

Protacio never believed in the word reformed convict. He always thought that once a killer, always a killer. But maybe, there were exceptions. Maybe, there were still those who carried a heart.