Henry had jolted forward so violently the glasses had flung from his face, and he threatened to clip Alfie around the ear for trying to kill him.

Six of them worked the night shift, three officers assigned to each wing. The two others with Henry were Ben and Dan. Identical twins with identical mullets, and after two months Alfie still couldn’t tell them apart. They had identical smoking habits too, and often left the lobby to satisfy them. Henry and the twins were assigned to H-wing, while Alfie was assigned to G, alongside Marie and Glen.

“Hey, newbie?”

Alfie cocked his jaw, then flashed an irritated expression over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Marie’s cheeks were bright red, and she shifted from foot to foot like she was desperate for a piss. Behind her stood Glen, grinning manically, and staring down Marie’s open shirt as she jiggled side to side. She didn’t need a piss, but they were heading for the staff toilets.

“We heard a noise, gonna go check it out.”

Alfie nodded his head patronizingly slow. “Sure, and when I hear wails and moans, I’ll just assume it’s the ghost that haunts our shift…”

She cocked her head and wore an expression of bewilderment.

Glen leaned over and bobbed his head. “Thanks, bro.”

Alfie tutted and turned back to face the prison. “Don’t mention it.”

At least ‘bro’ was better than all the other names that had been thrown his way.

Henry always fell asleep, the twins took smoking breaks every ten minutes, and Marie and Glen disappeared for their intimate ghost hunts. Eighteen, and Alfie behaved the most professional out of all of them. It was somber thought, and he shuddered. He had to grow up fast in the care system, and he prided himself on being mature for his age, focused unlike his peers. His colleagues taught him with age, came less care. If they did the bare minimum, and got paid, they were happy. That was maturity in the workplace.

Alfie ran his eyes along all the closed doors, imagining the prisoners inside, most of them fast asleep.

In the center of the room was a metal staircase that led to the next rows of cells, and then another that led to the second level of convicts. Those were considered the more desirable cells, private cells instead of bunks. Those well-behaved prisoners could even buy curtains, luxurious duvet sets, and paint the walls as long as it was approved.

It was an incentive to do well—get to the top and you can make your cell a home. Fall from grace and find yourself at the bottom, where you’re welcomed by a bed of nails and a chilly draft from the outside world.