Danielle kept hunched over his seat, eyes darting wildly around. How the fuck did he get himself caught? He was better than this. The rickety bus that surrounded him jostled on every bump, earning a new groan from every other inmate on his or her way to Sugar Valley. After yet another complaint from a rather burly looking older man, hiding in the seats between two women behind him, he growled and banged his head against the seat.<br/><br/>â€œWould you kindly shut the fuck up?â€ He hissed. The man glared before turning back to his seat,  curses under his breath. It was surprising how silent it was on the bus, save for the jingling of chains against the windows. He looked up to see quite a few rather muscled men standing at the door, armed with some impressive gear. Danielle winced. Well thatâ€™s probably why.<br/><br/>He wasnâ€™t totally sure how long he had been in that God forsaken bus but as he looked out the window to see the desolate, desert landscape he hoped it hadnâ€™t been long. The butterflyâ€™s of fear and nervousness were long gone, replaced by the dull ache of hunger and scratchy dryness from the heat.<br/><br/>â€œDios mio.â€ He groaned, leaning back, his eyes squeezed shut. He was fucking sick of being trapped in the smelly bus and no one was going to be telling him anytime soon when they were arriving. He had barely gotten the words in his mind before everyones heads shot up and the guards sprung in to action, unhooking chains from the windows and dragging soon to be inmates out the door. They were surprisingly agile for their size and as one hoisted the Spaniard into the air he thought twice about attempting to make a daring escape.<br/><br/>The bus doors opened with a quiet swishing sound, like air being released from a pressurized tank and Danielle was roughly pushed forward, scuffling thorough the bus. He regretted not looking out the window for a longer time when they arrived. When he saw the outside of Sugar Valley for the first time, it would be his last time too. At the thought they butterflies returned but he grit his teeth. He had to put up a fight here. Find someone to help him, someone to not kill him. When he came to America he had gotten along quite well with the Mexicans and any other immigrants bordering the Mediterranean sea. He hoped he would have the same luck.