Name, [REDACTED]. Age, roughly thirty. Race, [DATA EXPUNGED].

This is how he was known the day he stepped into their custody a little while ago. His name had been temporarily expunged from resistance according to protocol, and replaced with a number instead.

D-9341.

In place of the grey death row jumpsuit he'd been allowed prior to facilitation God-know-where here, he had been given that of a bright orange, and stamped on the back and left breast in black D-CLASS. It was a nice change to the sterile grey he'd been wearing... An even better change to the darkness of Death Row was the bright whiteness. The walls and tiles so far as he'd seen were white and kept clean. the doors where black, steel enforced, and stamped with the facility brand mark. sometimes even the motto "Secure. Contain. Protect."

The cell he had been assigned was pretty decent, he realized, looking around over his meal of potatoes and chicken - better than anything he'd been given for years in wait of his death sentence. the walls and tile in his room were scrubbed clean, and the beloved steel door was emblazoned with the symbol. Across from his twin-sized bed was a little built in shelf on the wall, a steel sting and toilette; and above hung a fluorescent light bulb that lit the whole room.

On his little shelf, he was given a pamphlet to read. Something he had yet to do, but he had till the next day to do so after all...

But God. The chicken and potatoes were legitimate - but he still preferred the diet that had gotten him here in the first place.

By far.

He blinked, and finished off the last piece of poultry on his plate, before rising from his bed and stretching toned arms tattooed in sleeves of calligraphy. On his palm, a scar split the padded flesh, and his brown eyes flickered at the memory of it's origin.

His heart almost cracked a bit.

Almost.

She had been delicious...

A smile cracked the male's lips, and he briefly brought his hand up to his face, kissing his palm as if kissing her good-bye.

She had indeed been so very fine.

He dropped his hand and pushed away the plate and fork, setting it at the edge of his bed before rising and putting it beside the pamphlet he had yet to read still. He didn't feel the urge to read it just yet, so why not let sleeping dogs lie?

Relieving himself went quickly and he retired to his bed, laying back on it as he mentally relived the incident...