There have been reports of drones flying contraband into the jail, but, in a surprise to no one, endless searches of cells have turned up nothing. The first recourse is to make an example of someone and let it be known that strip searches will become more common as a result of drone activity. The someone has to be an alpha on the wing or it won’t work. The warders choose someone who is respected, has more to lose by kicking up a fuss than going along with it, and who is likely to have something on him. In this case its this stoic green eyed Irishman…
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Try as I might, all I could possibly see outside was mown grass. One by one, the doors to the cells opened. The guys in green pushed a gentleman’s head down. They kept us from hitting our heads as we shuffled, hunched, out of the cage. Thank you. The familiar face left. I wouldn’t see it again for hours. But my sense of time was gone. I had no watch. I had no phone. They were in my luggage, which was labeled “Lukas” on blue painters tape, in a clear plastic bag labeled “Lukas” on blue painters tape. Every rule I had seen, every request thus far, I had followed to the letter. I didn’t want to be a target. I needed to be good.
