The prisoners' cells were lined up in several hallways. Each cell only contained one human. They didn't want more than one human in the same cell. It kept things safer for everyone. It would prevent them from being attacked when they opened the cell to bring out one of the prisoners.

The guard's comm link buzzed. "Yes, sir?" the guard answered. Medic Kaul's voice came on the other end of the comm link. "I need a prisoner who is scheduled for execution. I need him brought to my clinic immediately." Medic Kaul stated.

"Yes, Sir," the guard stated, then called for more guards to help with the escort.

The first prisoner they had scheduled was a middle-aged man. His hostile demeanor made him first in line for execution. He shouted obscenities nearly all day. They were glad to be rid of him. They were tired of his hostile behavior. When they brought him food, he would spit at them, calling them names that they didn't know what they meant.

Four guards surrounded him, preventing him from escaping, and placed him in chains. They separated each limb using a rigid bar that attached to each leg at the ends so that his legs couldn't touch. The bar that held his hands behind his back was forcing his arms to separate in the same way. The Ramesians (the name of the alien's race) learned long ago, when they were still on their own planet of Ramesia, that if the limbs touched. It was possible to escape. They had developed the bar method in response to realizing escape was possible.

In a dark cell at the end of that same hall, hazel eyes watched through the thick metal mesh. The prisoner they were chaining shouted and fought as they chained him and then dragged him away. They would not be back in the cells. It was his turn for execution.

Slinking back into a corner, prisoner 1192F pressed into the dark shadow in the corner, trying not to be seen, not wanting to be next. The idea of what they were doing was terrifying.

Hours later, the sound of the doors sliding open woke everyone. It was time for their single daily meal. Prisoner 1192 F pressed closer into the darkness. The guard stalked into the cell, placed a tray on the floor, and left. The tray had bounced and dumped some of the food on the floor. The tray contained something that looked like pasta. Most pasta was a favorite, but since the gossip in the building was that their fate was to be test subjects, prisoner 1192F decided not to eat. Dying of starvation was far better than being injected with zombie toxin or a vaccine that made your head explode. The guards talked about it all day. Not caring that the prisoners could hear what they were saying, and that they were the test subjects, and that the same thing would happen to everyone in the cells.

The time seemed to pass slowly. There was nothing to do but wait for their turn to be taken to the clinic to be used as a test subject. Days passed as if in slow motion. Each day, Prisoner 1192 F grew weaker.

Prisoner 1192F waited. This was the third day of not eating any of the food that was brought. The guard came in and pulled the tray away, noting it remained untouched, yet another day. Not caring, he picked the tray off the floor and exited the cell. The heavy metal mesh door slammed behind him, making prisoner 1192F flinch. For some reason, the sound seemed amplified in the cells. Even more so in the weakened state.

As the days continued to pass, prisoner 1192F became weaker. It was harder to move. A shadow stood at the bars and looked in. "I think we need to take this one next. The prisoner is going to die soon, anyway." It was the male voice of one of the alien guards. He didn't really sound concerned. He spoke as if what he said was stating facts. There was no compassion in his tone at all.

"This one doesn't cause any issues. They can't even get her to speak," another voice stated, also a male.

Prisoner 1192F was a young female who stayed silent. They didn't even know her name. They tried to get her to talk, but she kept backing into a corner; Fear was in her hazel eyes. Blood matted her long auburn hair. They didn't know whose. None of the prisoners had a bath. They just threw them in a cell with a long shift for them to put on to maintain privacy. They did not know if she was one of the bad ones or the ones that stayed with Travis out of fear. In reality, unbeknownst to anyone, she was neither. She had been Travis's prisoner.

They hadn't scheduled her to be executed because they didn't know if she was innocent or not. There was no way to determine it since she wouldn't talk.

A scrape of the metal mesh gate sounded as it opened up, and a guard came forward, his chains in his hand, ready to bind her. One guard spoke up. "I don't think she needs those. She looks too weak," he told the other.

Without binding her, the guard lifted the young prisoner. He gasped when he realized how little the girl weighed. Flanked by two guards, as was the procedure, the guard carried her to the clinic. She didn't protest; she was too weak to do anything about her predicament.

"Set her on the table," the medic in the clinic ordered. "When is she scheduled for execution?" he asked the guards.

The guards looked at each other and then at the medic. "This one isn't. It is undetermined who she is or if she is innocent or not," one guard stated. "She doesn't speak. She never has."

The medic pulled a scanner and walked up to her. "Whose blood is that in her hair?" his tone was callous. She was a prisoner, so he didn't care if it was hers or not. He was merely asking.

"We don't know, sir," one guard stated.

The medic scanned the prisoner. Hovering the small device near her throat. "This girl can not speak. Something damaged her vocal cords," the medic stated.

"Are you going to fix it?" a guard asked.

Not answering the guard, he pulled shears from a drawer, and the medic cut off the shift. When he turned her over to cut the back of it off, he noted the long gashes on her back. It was clear the blood in her hair was her own.

The girl weakly turned, seeing the body on the table next to her. Panic flashed in her hazel eyes. She backed away, falling off the exam table, snapping her arm as it hit the ground, her bones too brittle to withstand the fall. Immediately, she backed under a nearby desk. The break in her arm made it bend at the wrong angle, and the pain from her injury showed in her eyes as they filled with tears.

The medic pulled his comm link, calling their leader. "Council Leader Vorik, you're needed in the clinic. We have a situation."

"I'm on my way," came the Council Leader's voice.

"What do you need us to do?" the head guard asked. It was the one who carried the girl into the clinic.

The medic was about to answer, but Council Leader Vorik stepped inside the clinic. Seeing where they were looking, Vorik peered under the desk to find the damaged girl underneath.

"She is very weak. She hasn't eaten since they brought her in with the others. We have not been able to determine who she is," the guard stated. "She never speaks."

Council Leader Vorik studied the girl. "How did she break her arm?" he asked. He was curious. He didn't really care. She was a prisoner.

"She saw the body next to her and became frightened. She fell off the exam table and broke her arm," the medic explained.

The head guard spoke up, needing to pass on the information that might actually save her life. "She is not scheduled for execution, sir. We have never been able to determine if she is innocent or not. She never speaks."

"Even after wiping her?" Vorik asked, seeing the long gashes on her skin.

"She came to us like that. No one has harmed her. She never gave us a reason to," the guard stated.

The medic looked at Council Leader Vorik. "Her vocal cords are damaged. She is unable to speak. I can fix it so you can interrogate her," the medic offered.

Vorik nodded at the medic. "No tests on this one until we determine if she is innocent or not. I'm going to find Julian Cooper to see if he knows anything about her. And find Medic Kaul; he needs to be the one who deals with this one."

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