He was relieved to see the familiarity of a mess hall during mealtime. He had been eating in mess halls since the day he turned sixteen, the minimum age for an army recruit. He didn’t have to ask how it worked, what he could take, or where he could sit. He wouldn’t stink of rookie like 60077, who was still trying to find a plate.

He joined the end of the short, fast-moving line and started to pile food on his tray. Leaving the bain-marie with an empty plate was a sign of weakness: you had to take everything you could get. He turned and started heading to the seat he had selected as soon as he’d walked into the room. He walked past 60077, who was still wandering about near the food. The poor bugger had no idea he was standing centre stage, virtually auditioning for a part in his own beating.

Jax made a beeline for the least populated table in the mess hall and took a seat, ensuring there were three empty spaces between him and his nearest fellow diner. There was also a guard standing directly behind him and the table was at the edge of the group, giving him an almost unobstructed view of the whole space. Jax spoke to no one and to his surprise, no one spoke to him. Not a word.

He snuck a look at the room after buttering his cold toast with a plastic knife. Fifteen tables with twelve seats, full but for a few empty seats on each table. He snuck another look after heaping on a slushy serving of scrambled egg. Ten cameras. After his third look, he had a complete picture of the room: 138 inmates, ten guards. But as most had their backs turned, he couldn’t begin profiling them. He couldn’t see Marsh either, which was a setback, as he needed to know as soon as possible where he fitted into the pack. He stole another look at the room while he peeled his banana, his eyes darting from table to table. Still no Marsh.

Although he couldn’t see all the faces in the room, he had seen enough to know he was in a racially segregated block. He’d also heard enough – ‘I’ll put you in the Lebo yard’ – to suggest that the other wings were too. The rules might not be hard and fast – facial structures and colouring suggested some in this room might be Slavic or Mediterranean – but the overwhelming majority looked at least three generations white.