Michael walked down the concrete corridor and noticed that movement in the cafeteria had decreased drastically. The inmates were already gathering in groups under the guards' orders, since breakfast was almost over. In the distance, he spotted Albert, who was still sitting at the concrete table, hurriedly finishing the last bites of food.
Michael approached and nodded.
– Let's go, Albert. Everyone's already heading to the intake line, Michael said, adopting a more casual tone.
– I thought you'd gotten lost out there, man, Albert replied, swallowing the rest of the bread in one go and standing up. – Let's hurry before the guards start yelling.
The two walked together and joined the line of inmates moving toward the housing units. The transfer was quick and silent. As soon as they crossed into the pavilion, each prisoner returned to his respective cell. Michael and Albert entered their metal and concrete cubicle, and seconds later the heavy bars slammed shut with their usual metallic impact.
Sitting on the bunk, Michael stared at the ceiling for a few moments, keeping the brown envelope well hidden. He caught himself wondering whether the sergeant's delivery of the items would take long, since timing was crucial to his plans.
To break the monotony of confinement, Michael decided to strike up a conversation with his cellmate, dropping the overly rigid posture he'd kept before.
– So, Albert, what do you usually do to pass the time around here when we're not in the yard? he asked, leaning his back against the wall.
Albert looked surprised, pleased to see his companion acting more relaxed.
– Oh, I try to read the books they bring from the library, or I play checkers by myself with some paper pieces I made. If you want, I can teach you the game later. It helps keep your mind from going crazy in this place.
– Sounds like a good idea. We can try it later, Michael replied.
Meanwhile, in the cafeteria's service bathroom, Sergeant Miller was still trying to recover from the shock. He stepped up to the sink and splashed cold water on his face again, trying to push back the panic. Just then, the door opened and another guard named Stefan walked in.
Stefan stopped and looked closely at his colleague, noticing something was wrong.
– You okay in there, Miller? You're pale as hell, like you've seen a ghost, Stefan commented, raising his eyebrows.
Miller forced a weak smile and grabbed a paper towel to dry his face, trying to hide the tremor in his hands.
– I'm fine, Stefan. Just an upset stomach from the coffee this morning. I need to get back to my post and sort out some paperwork.
– Got it. Feel better, man, said Stefan.
They exchanged a nod and Miller left the bathroom. He walked quickly through the administrative hallways until he reached the technical and security sector office. Inside was a staff member named Ricardo, responsible for managing the systems and issuing the prison's credentials.
– Hey, Ricardo. How's everything going around here? Miller asked, leaning casually against the workbench.
– All quiet for now, Sergeant. Just updating the routine reports. Need something? Ricardo replied, without taking his eyes off the monitor.
Miller chatted a bit about random prison routine matters to build rapport, then brought up the real reason for his visit.
– Here's the thing… my master card keeps erroring at the Block B readers. I think the magnetic chip is damaged. Could you make me a new one?
Ricardo glanced at him and shrugged.
– Sure, I can do that. But the encoding system is slow today, so it'll take a few hours to be ready. I'll drop it off at your post when it's done.
– Perfect. Just please don't log this as a loss in the main system, or the head of security will give me hell for being careless, Miller asked, carefully weaving the lie.
– Relax, Sergeant. I'll process it as an internal replacement and no one will know. Partnership is partnership, Ricardo assured him, smiling.
Miller thanked him, said goodbye, and left the room feeling a bit lighter, knowing the first part was underway. He began patrolling the housing unit corridors to keep up appearances. As he passed Michael's cell, he slowed his pace strategically and, pretending to look the other way, whispered low enough for only the young man to hear:
– The card is being made. Now all we need is the guard uniform. And after that, everything will be over.
Right after speaking, Miller straightened his posture and resumed walking normally down the corridor, disappearing from view, while Michael silently absorbed the information inside the cell.