*****
Goldilocks was back. The retrial had ended and not much had changed. The verdict? Guilty of a lesser charge, but not lesser enough to get him out of the Prison. Things had been strange since his return. For starters, he had cut his hair. He also told everyone that he did not want to be known as Goldilocks any more, which was somewhat appropriate since the name was partially derived from his long-present cornrows. He hadn't mentioned his preference for a new name. Maybe it was up to the other prisoners to decide. It was more than superficial changes that had come, though. The retrial had altered his outlook in some way that was hard to figure out. Maybe he had gained maturity by going through the process. Maybe he had a better understanding of how he got here, and what it would take to get free. Maybe he was secretly happy that he wasn't leaving, and could continue to be seen as the leader to these men that desperately needed one. Whatever the case may be, he had not spoken to anyone in the crew of conspirators that had awaited his return, and this caused the Answer to wonder if he was still fated to end his days within the Prison walls.
Shortly after the former Goldilocks had returned, the Prison was attacked by the Western Banner. It was an unnecessary battle, as the prisoners were no threat behind the reinforced walls of the penitentiary, itself isolated high in the mountains. This was another of the Banner monk's theatrical showings of force. True, the Prison and its denizens were making no trouble for the Banner. But they were, after all, dangerous convicts. No one would cry foul over assaulting them, and beating them down would further carry word of the Banner's steel-fisted dominance of the west.
*****
The Answer heard the loud rattle of a nightstick against the bars of cells further down the row. Another day was beginning. Another day that would be just like the one before it. He stood, and felt the pain of a hard-fought battle in his bones and muscles. They had fought intensely, and the Answer felt that they had almost defeated the monk and his assassin. The concerns he had about Not Called Goldilocks were still there, though. The Answer had occasionally caught sight of him during the battle, and was not impressed. He was not connecting, not being the force that the Answer knew he could be. Maybe he wasn't trying or didn't care. When he did finally fire himself up, it was not enough to counteract the damages done by the Black Knight, and the Banner eventually left the Prison looking like a triage ward - blood and bandages on bodies sprawled across the yard.
The Answer waited silently with his thoughts for the cell door to receive its electronic signal to slide open. Vertical line shadows moved across the surface of his face when the barred door rolled to the right and opened. He stepped out of the cell and turned to his right, as did the other men in the Prison, and they formed a line that then marched quietly into the dining hall for breakfast.
*****
He believed that he was having a dream on the following night, because his sleep was broken in a way that did not follow routine. There was no rattle from down the row. The buzz of the cell's electronic lock was followed by the sound of the rolling door, and the Answer turned a sleepy eye to the noise. The fluorescent overhead lights were not on, and instead the bright beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness. He was unable to see who held the flashlight, and before he could react, two men held him down on his cot while another placed a cloth over his mouth and nose. He knew he wasn't dreaming just a few seconds before the chloroform returned him to quiet sleep.
*****
The Answer awoke with a start, and found himself face-to-face with a rather serious and unhappy looking man. The man was sitting behind a desk in a well-furnished office. Behind the desk was a large picture window that looked out over some type of industrial plant. The Answer found with some surprise that he was able to move freely and was not cuffed or bound in any way. He was dressed in overalls similar to what he was used to, but had on steel-toed boots rather than the soft shoes of the Prison. His name was sewn onto a patch above his breast pocket, and he had a belt stocked with small hand-tools.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Welcome to my Factory. My name is Joe."
"Why am I not in Prison?"
"It was agreed upon by a number of parties that your time had been served, and there was no further benefit to keeping you behind bars." As Joe explained this, The Answer thought about his former fellow inmate, Marcus. "I've had some trouble here. I've made some changes, and I want to do a few things a little differently. I have a job for you to do. I expect that we don't need to discuss in great detail just yet what my expectations are. I think it's enough to say that you're here, you're no longer in Prison, you'll do as I ask, and you'll get paid."
"Sure," said the Answer. "I think that's fair."
"As you can see behind me, my Factory is a serious producer. That's because the guys I have working in that Factory are serious producers. You give it all, all the time, whether in here or when we go out to fight. My employees are also my soldiers. We want the money, the power, the product, and the means to make all three. Understand? If you think it will help you, I'll call down to Curry and get you on a practice line before you're operating on the main line."
The Answer looked out at the work being done in the plant. "Nah." he said. "How the hell can I make my teammates better by practicing?"
*****
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