~*~ The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author's imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, Oz. For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.
~*~ Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author's creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.
~*~ Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.
~*~ Address any type of question and/or feedback to email@example.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.
Caramel colored straps had dug into his flesh during the entire time he had been chained to that bed. They had engulfed both his wrists almost to the point of hurting but feelings like that had not registered within him in a very long time. Oz had taken his humanity and any feeling had been a luxury he no longer had been able to afford the high price of. Oz had taken away his will to live on many separate occasions. There had been no redemption here and nothing left of him. Oz had seeped into his skin and had defiled his blood and fucked with his head for far too long. It had been a vicious cycle that would keep rotating until God had found no more wicked amusement in it. In him.
The air had settled back into its antiseptic normalcy in the hospital ward of the Oswald State Correctional Facility. Another attempt had been made on his life as Miguel Alvarez had been bolted to the bed. He had been completely defenseless and would have taken his last breath in this room had it not been for that hack Howell subduing Carlos Martinez. It had to be someone from the outside. They had no respect for him; wanted to bend and break him. El Norte had wanted him gone. El Cid had wanted him a memory.
All had been quiet but Alvarez's mind had been too revved up with new thoughts and unattainable yearnings to calm down. The newly concocted plan had to work. There had been no escaping Oz. That hack Howell had completely taken her eyes away from them and was talking, most likely flirting, with another officer. Alvarez had kept his eyes busy, bouncing them across every inch of the infirmary until he had seen the familiar sight of Busmalis cautiously approaching. A sly smile had appeared behind his lips of the old man as straps had been loosened to give his wrists the chance of breathing---the chance at life again. Eyes had glared at the exits before they had found themselves glued to the unnaturalness on the floor of the janitor's closet.
The darkness of night---the freedom of light...
The announcement over the televisions in the quad of Emerald City erupted in a huge stream of boos and applause. The inmate population was divided upon what they were hearing. Miguel Alvarez, a fugitive on the run for six whole months, had been captured and would be returning to Oz. He was captured trying to cross the Arizona border into Mexico of all places. The newscast had since moved on but there was still laughter among some and unresolved rage among others.
A dark shadow passed across his eyes when Chico Guerra said, "Alvarez is coming back."
"So?" Morales answered back.
"That motherfucker tried to kill me."
"Yeah---only because you tried to kill him. Or did I get the story wrong?" Morales gazed over at him as if expecting an explanation, but nothing came. "You let it go, Chico."
Enrique Morales slightly exerted his power as the leader of El Norte and told him to drop his feud with the wayward loco Latino that had once been leader. That had once been his friend. Guerra scoffed and looked away as Morales focused his attention back to the TV. He wasn't going to let shit go. Alvarez would pay for coming back here.
With a clear view of the leader of El Norte and his lapdog from the checkered table, Ryan O'Reily watched without being obvious, as he always did. His eyes had been trained from long ago to not give anything away and that was partly how he had been able to survive in this inferno of hell for so long. Tensions between the Latinos could be used to his advantage, as he was determined to stay as many steps ahead of all the scumbags in here as possible. Sometimes it was just too easy. He watched as his younger brother Cyril played with the long blonde strands of his hair while sitting across from him at the table and a jolt of regret pierced through his well-built armor.
Metal bars clanked and shook open and drowned out most of the voices but the ones inside his head. Processing came into view and Alvarez just stood there waiting for a tongue-lashing he knew the warden had prepared especially for him. He was back home---only it was no place like home. Only a few moments had passed outside his mind before Warden Leo Glynn entered the same space as him and approached. A look of disgust and elation hung at the edge of his mouth.
"How you doing, Glynn? You miss me?" his tone dripped with satire and poison.
"Yeah, well---I almost made it. Almost made it into Mexico."
"We would have found you there," Glynn was in no mood for his games.
"I don't think so. You know, I would have made my way to Guatemala, Nicaragua, Columbia, go up the Andes through Chile, until I hit this little spot called `Tierra del Fuego'. You know about Tierra del Fuego?" Alvarez said as he continued to play the game in his mind.
"It's the end of the Earth."
"That's right. You would've gone that far to capture me? The end of the Earth?"
Glynn held his cold stare and said, "Probably not."
"Take him to Solitary."
The warden's lips pursed with a sense of satisfaction as Alvarez was led away into the black void of his mind. The place still had the rotted stench of hopelessness and crushed humanity. His heart started to beat faster as he walked the all-too-well known path back to Solitary. All the voices had escaped him for the moment and thoughts were emptied from his head. Like someone had cracked it open with a hammer and left him there for everything to drain out. The silent loneliness was bound to overtake him again. Alvarez's face was set in stone when he passed through the gates into Solitary Confinement.
"What's up, man?" Allah's voice traveled to his ear from his open slot in the heavy metal door.
The Latino stopped and stared at the man briefly before being shoved forward and asked, "Who's that?"
"What's it matter?" the officer did not care to answer his question.
"Just like to know the quality of criminal I'm neighboring with."
"He's a wank job---just like you."
Alvarez was pushed into the small cell and had his handcuffs removed before the metal door sealed him away from the living world. Hairs stood up on his arms and the back of his neck as he fell to the floor and pushed himself to the closest corner he could find. Sweat formed on his face and under his arms as he pressed his knees tightly into his chest and remained huddled in the corner like a wounded animal. Voices had not come back and the silence was deafening. The Latino closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees as his arms tightly held him in a ball. The walls wanted to close in and suffocate him. He knew that.
"Fuck," he muttered in a shaken voice. "Oh, fuck."
Ryan O'Reily was inside the other man's head, but it was merely for the fun and amusement of it. He had always did that when things dragged on in Oz. And, it was prison---so most days tended to be monotonous and uninteresting. Keller was looking at him; his interest in the conversation had suddenly jumped. The Irishman contained his smile---a good player never gave away his face.
"Wait a minute---wait a minute. You fucked Howell?" Keller had that look in his eyes signifying his interest in the conversation's turn.
"Mm-hmm," was all he could muster to say.
In the quad, the routine of everyday life continued where some watched TV, others played cards or board games, or simply stayed in their pods to read or sleep. O'Reily was deep in thought thinking about how to stay ahead. He occasionally glanced over to see his younger brother Cyril watching TV and as calm as ever. Dammit! Cyril. Chris Keller glared at him from across the table, obviously wanting details of his acknowledgement. He wanted the perverse details---the horny bastard.
"You don't just drop a nugget like that without a few details, O'Reily."
The manipulative Irishman casually replied, "We had sex maybe five times in the ladies toilet off the interview room. Then she got weird---"
"What do you mean weird?" Keller's eyes focused in more. "Weird like possessive weird?"
"Yeah. So when McManus came back and took over Em City and shipped her off to Unit J, I was, to say the least, relieved. I haven't seen much of her since."
"My esteem for you has risen sixty-nine percent but tell me, as one manipulative turd to another, now did you fuck Howell for the sex, or to get her to do some other kind of nasty?"
O'Reily's eyes gleamed over at the question but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared and, "Just the sex. Check."
Keller needed to know nothing about his relationship with Howell. That manipulative bastard probably thought he was the best at mind-fucking in this hellhole but he was wrong. His ego got in the way far too much for him to be considered on the same level as O'Reily. The way he hung on his every word about Howell. There wasn't much detail given but his eyes were salivating like a damn dog in heat. O'Reily was not sure if Keller was getting off on him getting pussy or something else but he did not care. He was no fag and he had caught the sick fuck staring at him a little too long at times---mainly when he and Beecher had yet another one of their lovers' spats.
He could and had mind-fucked Keller in the past. It was not as easy a task as with most the other idiots in here but the rewards had always been well worth it. He knew that if Keller was anything like him then he did not have a trustworthy bone in his body and that was a valuable asset here in Oz. The utter irony. He pushed for more information but the Irishman stopped the subject and remained in thought. Keller was a good ally to have but was unstable---especially where Beecher was concerned. O'Reily was about to head to his pod when he heard someone call him out.
"O'Reily, come with me," officer Mineo stopped him and ordered.
"What? Where the fuck to?"
"Field trip. Get your ass moving now."
Eyes looked on momentarily before dispersing and he remained quiet and followed the correctional officer out of Em City. A quick look back to Bob Rebadow guaranteed that Cyril would be looked after and the loud buzz sawed through their ears as the iron gate pulled back. O'Reily walked without purpose or not knowing who had summoned him. His mind was in thought as the officer kept him moving forward. The hallways were quiet but other footsteps were heard coming towards them. He looked at Howell in a split second after she emerged from the shadows.
"Don't you be winking at me!" she yelled out as if she had been violated.
"What?" his voice was surprised.
"Claire---" Mineo tried to diffuse the situation.
"The fucking bastard's winking at me! Take him to the hole!" Howell shrieked like the evil banshee she was.
"That's bullshit!" O'Reily called her on her melodramatics.
"Take him to the hole," she ordered again.
He looked over at the only sane officer in his present company, "Mineo---"
"Joe---" the banshee squealed.
"All right, all right. But you're filling out the paperwork," the officer grabbed him by the arms and said.
"Mineo," he said but Howell had managed to win this battle. "What? Fucking dyke!"
O'Reily fought and fought back but it was no use. That bitch had set him up and there wasn't a thing he could do but take the fall. He saw the grin on her face and knew this was not over. Officer Mineo pushed him throughout Oz until he ended up in that dreaded place. A place where neither day not night existed. A little box of a room tucked away in the deepest corner of Tartarus. He felt clothes being stripped away and his body examined before being tossed into the pits of despair.
"Fuck! Fuck that fucking cunt!" the naked Irishman screamed out at the very tip of his lungs as he pounded on the door for them to let him out. "Fucking bitch! Lying piece of shit!"
His throat felt like it was about to be ripped open raw; he had to regain control of his emotions in this cold and desolate room. The light hanging from the center of the room eerily swung back and forth like some type of twisted pendulum. It was cold and goose bumps covered O'Reily's arms and the back of his neck. That bitch is going to pay for this! He kicked the nasty bucket away from him, wondering how any people had used it before him. His dick and balls felt like it wanted to crawl back into his body because of how cold the air and the floor were. There was no escaping. O'Reily slumped back against the wall opposite from the door and spread both his legs there as he waited. His hands were at his side and his head slightly tilted as he waited for the door to open.
There was no sense of time in the hole. No sense of time flowing in this God forsaken box. His mind was too raveled up to think about much of anything. Cyril crossed his mind. He would be a handful for Rebadow and Busmalis to handle were he provoked. They had to escape this prison. Make their own freedom like Alvarez had. But the fucking Latino had to screw it up by getting his ass caught. Fucking Alvarez! You were the hope in this cesspool. O'Reily's eyes inhaled light from its artificial source when he looked up as he heard the door across from him open. He jumped up but it was not for what he thought.
"Ryan. Did you miss me?" the loathsome Howell had the door close behind her and began to invade his personal space.
"Oh, and you're already naked and ready to go," she snarled while edging even closer. "You think of everything."
"Fuck you, you ugly cunt. Stay the fuck away from me," O'Reily started to watch his step.
"Now now---is that any way to talk to your lover?"
"Back the fuck off! I ain't your lover," he tried to avoid her but the room was only so big.
"What's the matter, baby? I'm not good enough for you anymore? You want to suck cock now? Bend over and get it in the ass?"
"Fuck you, dyke! I'm no fucking fag!"
"Then come prove it to me, big boy," Howell goaded him into getting what she wanted from him.
He had to keep his emotions in check---this was still a game after all and he was not going to let someone as stupid as Claire Howell manipulate and get the better of him. He was the one that always did the mind-fucking---and the beauty of that was most of his subjects never had a clue they were being mind-fucked until it was too late. Or, they were just dumb as stones and never figured it out. Maybe Keller had some insight into his thought processes, but it was not enough to make him a worthy adversary. O'Reily loved spur of the moment plans and this one was going to fall into place just as a line of stacked dominos would. He knew just what to do to bait the insatiable hack.
"Claire---you love me don't you?" he asked coolly, starting to use her own feelings for him against her.
"You know I do, baby," she was inches away from his face now.
"Enough to do anything I ask?"
"Again? Stanislofsky wasn't enough, sweetheart?"
The Irishman grinned at his past manipulation to get that asshole out of his way, but said, "No---nothing like that."
"What is it, O'Reily? Spit it out. I don't have all day in here."
"I'll fuck you---but you have to let me out of here today. You and I both know I wasn't winking at you in the hallway," O'Reily planted the seed in her brain that would eventually bloom.
"And if I refuse?" the ugly hack was even closer to his lips now when she asked.
"You won't," he said as he grabbed her ass in between her uniform pants and groped her. "You want this. That's why you put me here in the first place. Deal?"
"I'll draw up the paperwork after we're done."
She lunged forward and kissed him passionately as if she actually loved him. But he knew better though. There was no such thing as love in Oz. Only fucking and manipulating. And Ryan O'Reily had an expert touch at both. Tongues and teeth scraped and wrestled together while her hands explored his naked body pressed against the wall. Realizing the position he was in, O'Reily flipped them around so that the devil hack was cornered. A hand darted out and squeezed his package while her other was busily undoing her uniform pants. He closed his eyes because this was the only way it was going to work. Think of Gloria.
Howell was on her knees soon and wasted no time in putting his dick into her mouth. Only then did it start growing---as thoughts of having Gloria like this filled him. Having her on her knees pleasuring him while he had a fistful of her hair and her eyes looking up at him like he was the only one who mattered to her. O'Reily had to keep his eyes closed to continue with the fantasy. She sloppily sucked and used her teeth to graze against the blood-engorged head to create a pleasurable pain. Oh, Gloria. That's it. Suck your man! Howell finished fiddling with her belt and slid down her pants as much as she could, considering she was on her knees. O'Reily's hips began to push against her face as he started fucking her mouth.
"Oh yeah---that's it," he drummed out.
Howell removed her mouth from his throbbing meat and stood up to say, "Enough of that. Fuck me good, stud. Fuck me so hard that it'll make me want to go deliver your paperwork myself."
"I'm counting on that---"
O'Reily flipped her back and pressed her body harder against the wall as he readied himself to enter her pussy from behind. Her face and clothed breasts were stuck to the hole wall as she arched her back and waited for him. Gloria. Gloria. Offer yourself to me. Just like that. He grabbed himself at the hilt and steadied his dick before he entered her warm cavern. There was no fucking in Oz. Everyone knew that.
Now the crafty Irishman just had to get her off and he would be out of this place. It didn't matter if he himself got off because Claire Howell hadn't been able to properly get him off in a while. The first few times they had hooked up, it was new and exciting and he had a lot of sexual frustration to take out on her. She had soaked it all up like a sponge. But then he started to realize what a twisted bitch she was and the sex wasn't enough to keep him satisfied. Sure, he came every time they fucked, but it was always empty and hollow. Getting off just for the sake of getting off. O'Reily was bored with her but better to have a pussy to fuck than his right hand.
"That's right, Claire," he spoke to her as he slammed into her.
"Uh-huh---yeah. Give it to me. Fuck me---fuck me good!" the shrill voice of the banshee was returning.
His hips moved at the speed of lightning, jerking back and forth because he knew she liked it fast and rough. She would get off soon and hopefully leave him the hell alone until he came up with a plan to take care of her. The warm friction between their raw bodies started to feel good but O'Reily knew it would feel so much better if Gloria was the one he had bouncing off his dick. Or even Shannon---his ex-wife he never understood why he married. Maybe he loved her at one time. Maybe he didn't want to be alone. Or to have someone look after Cyril. O'Reily grabbed one of her clothed breasts as she was blissfully moaning and enjoying the ride.
"Come on! Come on---pump me!" her cries irritated him.
"Nope. It's your turn. I'm not going to do all the work."
The sneaky hack turned back and grinned at him before she started moving her body back onto his---fucking herself on his dick. She rubbed and grinded against him as he felt quivers on her skin. She was in the middle of an orgasm and O'Reily thanked God it would be over soon. If a prisoner were missing for this long, there would have been a nationwide search already in progress. The correctional officers sure had each other's backs---whether right or wrong. Howell was moaning as she thrust herself into him, hitting another explosion inside. O'Reily felt a surge of his own and knew it was going to be over soon. He pressed his hand against the wall slightly past her head for support while she continued to work him like a jackrabbit.
"Fuck me baby! Harder! Fuck---harder," Howell yelled out as she sped up her movements.
"Shit!" he stammered out quickly. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
O'Reily quickly reached one of his hands to grab his dick and pull it out of her. Just as he did this, cum shot from his tender dickhead and landed on Howell's thigh, but mostly on the ground between them. He stroked himself as the sticky hot liquid spurted out and dripped to the hole's floor. His body shook and he closed his eyes to quickly regain himself and continue with his plan to get the hell out of here. She had what she wanted---she was at least satisfied for the time being. Now that hack had to stick to her end of the deal.
"Damn! That was some good sex, O'Reily. Almost as good as when we were first married," Claire Howell mercilessly teased him as she pulled up her pants and adjusted her uniform accordingly.
"Fuck you! Get me out of here," the Irishman reminds her of their arrangement.
"Hold you horses! Always so cranky after sex. It's supposed to be soothing."
She winked and smacked him on the butt before pounding on the door for one of her fellow officers to come and let her out. She said nothing else and he was left alone to wonder if she would double cross him. Either way, O'Reily had to get her off his back. She was eating up too much of his time and he didn't want to deal with her possessive ways anymore. Maybe he would pawn her off on some poor sap. She liked big dicks so it would have to be someone with his endowment or more. What the fuck? It's not like I can go around this place checking out dick sizes so they can audition for that cunt! He had to laugh at where his mind just led him. And then, the loneliness seeped in like a toxic gas from the walls.
The kitchen was busy with its usual bustle as lunchtime coming up. Pancamo and the other Italians kept the place running as he sat on his false throne of power as if it actually meant something. They would stupidly never learn--- power was the problem in Oz. Omar White was loading food trays into its carrier for the rounds to be made. He was mumbling something to himself but it was mostly harmless. One of the dagos yelled at him from the food cage to get a move on and he just ignored it.
A sneaking voice came from behind him as he was preparing a tray and asked, "You put something in Alvarez's food?"
"Like what?" he turned to see Chico Guerra lazy face.
"I don't know, rat poison or something. Look, the point is, you need to kill him, Omar," Guerra carried on with his plan. "I'll see you get all the fucking tits you need. Huh---what do you say?"
"No? Why no?" he asked as if he deserved an answer.
"I just can't put my finger on it," White continued to work and talk without eying Guerra. "I don't know if it's the way you look, or your smell, your breath, the way you talk. I don't know what---you know, it's just something about you just rubs me the wrong way."
"Yeah? Well, fuck you, nigger."
White finally looked up at that and Guerra had no time to react before feeling a sharp pain enter the side of his abdomen. Blood gushed out against his shirt and the implanted knife as other members of the kitchen took notice of what had happened. Omar yelled and talked rapidly and annoyingly as Guerra fell to the floor with his blood lining the tiles. Suddenly, there was a swarm of curse words and laughter and panic until the officers subdued him to the ground with a headlock. Other officers were keeping the crowd under control while two officers helped Guerra up and out of the kitchen.
"Fuck you, nigger! Fuck you!" the bleeding Latino scrambled to finish the fight but was kept under control by the officers dragging him out and to the medical ward. "This ain't over!"
"Let me see McManus! Let me see McManus!" White was shouting. "McManus!"
Omar was trembling like a leaf as he stared at his bloody hands. The hacks took him away as inmates continued to snicker and talk. He knew Solitary was the only place they had in mind and he was still shouting and demanding to see McManus to plead for his fate. They escorted him through winding hallways until he would be caged in all by himself. McManus was going to come for him. He'd explain what happened in the kitchen and the unit manager would take pity on him. He calmed himself down by the time they reached Solitary.
"You back?" Supreme Allah asked, surprised.
"Uh-huh," was the reply.
"Fuck, nigga---that got to be some kind of record or something," Allah laughed as he looked on.
"You Alvarez?" White questioned as he passed the Latino's metal door.
"Yeah," he looked as he was being addressed.
"You owe me, dawg."
"Inside!" the officer barked.
Alvarez wondered what the hell that meant and figured he would get answers once the newest member of Solitary had settled himself in. Again. Being on the outside for six months, he didn't know a lot of these people. He and Supreme Allah had talked but that was still a new face to him. Alvarez was sure none of them could be trusted so he mainly kept to himself and only spoke when he was spoken to. The voices in his head kept him enough company and even up at night. He would sometimes see the image of his baby boy that God wanted back. He was too perfect for this world and that was why God had to take him back. He selfishly wanted Alvarez's son all to himself.
Night was the worst time to be in Solitary. The quietness hounded at his mind like a pack of vicious wolves on a carcass. His body wanted him to cry when he was pressed up against that corner but no tears ever came. They had all dried up apparently. The small room was getting to Alvarez---as it had every time he had been locked away like this. Like it had gotten to his grandfather before him. Abuelo. Claustrophobia set into his mind and had caused him to return to that same corner and huddle in the same position. A light layer of sweat doused his skin and his eyes were intently focused everywhere---rarely even blinking. Oz even managed to take away his involuntary muscle functions. Have to get out of here---