<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 36pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;">MACK</span></span></div><hr/><hr/><div class="floatright"><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;"><span class="bbc_u">LOCATION</span><br/>Leaving Main Street;<br/>Entering the Prison<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u">TAGGING</span><br/>Mik</span></strong></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Mack didn't take his time as he headed back; with a prisoner in tow, there was no need to make the trip any longer than necessary, especially when Vern could be watching.  He vaguely wondered if the man would take it upon himself to try saving his captive, or if he'd just shoot him in the head to make sure no secrets could escape, to end his misery before it began.  He hardly listened to Mik on the trek, sticking close to buildings and as out of sight of the Mental Institution and the Watchtower as possible; when they reached the Prison, they were greeted by two on-duty guards, both of which were grinning and laughing behind their masks, silent and hidden to Mik.  He dragged him off to the cell they'd prepared for him -- where a bit of dry food on a plate, a bucket of water, the pillow and blanket tossed onto a metal bed frame, and even a working toilet were located.<br/><br/>"I bet this is fucking luxury compared to how my boys would get treated by yours," he spoke bitterly as one of the other men stepped over to scan and pat him down for, well, everything.  Each and every item Mik carried was removed from his possession: any teeth aside from those in his mouth, weapons, ammo, drugs, medicine, pins, photos, shoes,<em>everything</em>.  The only items left to him were his bare essentials: his shirt, pants, and undergarments.  When the process was finished, Mack tossed his ward in without removing the cuffs and locked the gate behind him; this lock, too, required a hand-print of someone trusted to open it.<br/><br/>It wasn't until Mik was secured -- with an on-duty guard standing ready with a rifle trained on him -- that Mik and a few of the other men finally removed their helms.  He grinned at his captive, a bit of the drunken state still apparent in his expression, and certainly still the stench.  "Welcome to your new home, fucker."