(West Wing: twenty-five minutes before the Assault)
     

The old warden stood from his chair and walked towards his office window. Despite the thunder and merciless wind that whipped through the glass, the outside to him, seemed more at ease than the war of emotions that had built inside his chest, taking precedence over thoughts that should have occupied his head. He kept his eyes on the slow movement of the raindrops that slowly slid off the glass. Like 247's life, those rivulets of rain can only take the form of what's willing to take them in. Unfortunately for the convict, it was a basin of blood and his young mind's confusion that molded him. "Eighteen," Protacio murmured. What should have an eighteen-year-old be doing at such a time, definitely far from killing a person, the warden mused, answering his own question.
     
But the warden, despite whom he had become, at some point in his life had seen brutality, felt unfairness, chose what is wrong, walked when he should have run, and jumped when he should have remained still.

Could anyone truly question how 247 lived his life? But humans are meant to stumble then get up. Why couldn't have 247 done so? He could have if he wanted to, right? But he was a child. How could he have done so? Protacio couldn't help but reason to himself.
     
Ending his internal battles, the warden took the next letter from the pile on his desk.
                                                                      ***

Dear Maria,
     
How are you? I hope everything is well. As for me, I thought leaving the others would give me peace, but as I lay inside this cell, I realized how alone I truly am. These four walls are driving me mad. I often fear that my memories would suffer. Am I still writing them properly? Am I still capable of recollection?
     
I wish I could write everything down, all at once, and see those memories forever inked on these pieces of paper. These letters which I often wonder would ever find their way to you.
     
As the days go by, the pain inside me kept accumulating, concentrating its claws inside my chest, drowning my every breath, making me want to wish that they don't come in small amounts. I wish that all the pain which was meant to befall upon me in this lifetime, would just descend and cripple me all at once.
     
I know I can withstand it. It would just be like that time when I had my surgery. An excruciating pain that came all at once.
     
Is it okay Maria? Is it alright if I share my pain?
     
If it is, please continue. If it's not, crumple this paper and throw it where it won't find your sight, ever again. When David's father admitted me into a hospital, one that looked shabby and probably less hygienic than a normal health facility, I felt scared. Not a simple scare Maria. My heart was pounding so fast, I almost failed to catch my breath. But David and his father assured me that everything will be alright. I don’t know why I trusted them. I don’t know why I felt that they cared about me.
      
The friend of David's father, I can’t remember his name, informed me, that what they were about to do, was not something acceptable as of yet. He went on to explain that what he and his partner aims to perform on me, could easily be classified as an experiment. He gave me a chance to walk away. He said it would be painful, and it would take a lot of time for me to recover, that's if, they were successful.
     
He warned me that I could lose my life. Did I fear his words? Yes, it frightened me so much. But what choice did I have? Would I have risked facing you with the image of a monster? No Maria, I couldn't. You deserve the best. And if I had to suffer to give you that, then so be it.
     
David's father went on to say that the scientific community, along with the health care industry, had not yet approved of the fleet which they were about to take. He said I would be one of the first in history to ever experience the thing they called reconstructive surgery. To be honest Maria, I had no idea what they were saying. All I understood was, if I survive, I will get to stand in front of you with an acceptable face.
     
Using some of the money my father stole. I gave them my permission.
     
It was a Sunday morning when David's father and his friend began the first surgery. I kept a mental image of you as they lay me on a cold bed. There were beeping machines all around me, some of which I haven't seen before. When they rolled a table beside my bed, I felt torn about whether to push through or not. I wavered, but only for a second. I kept reminding myself, that this is for Maria.
     
That table had metal things on it, knives, injections and saw. The others I didn't have the mind to recognize. They were scary, far scarier than the knife I clutched in my hand when I killed your rapist. The fluorescent above me gave a faint hue of blue as David's father stood above me, yes, I think it was blue. As he pierced my skin with something sharp. He said it would help with the pain.
     
But Maria, when the first cut on my skin came, I felt it. It was so painful. They said I would lose consciousness in a matter of minutes, but I never did. I was awake. I was wide awake Maria.
     
The surgery went on, sporadically for a whole year. In that one year, all I ever knew, was pain. I barely had the strength to eat or drink. I was confined inside a room that rarely had sunlight. But don't worry Maria, the room may have failed to bring me light, yet the image of you did. Every time I felt the pain, I would imagine you running around the playground, spreading your arms out, fluttering like a butterfly, continuously dancing and bathing under the sunlight. Many a time though, David entered my room and begged me to give up. That boy felt responsible for my pain. He blamed himself for giving me the idea. But I assured him, I will survive. I kept my mind busy with just the thoughts of you, and I did survive. After a year and a half, David's father and his friend finally said, "it is over, we did it."
     
It took two more weeks before all the bandage on my face was taken off. At first, I was hesitant to see the look they had given me. Although I saw the picture of the man they would take my features from, I still felt scared. What if you don't like it? What if you find it too plain? What if you'd rather, I had my original face?
     
But all those went away when they gave me a mirror. The man who stared back at me was as perfect as the still photo David had shown me. He had a button nose. His lips were not too thin or thick, but they did have a pinkish hue. His cheekbone rose with perfect symmetry as the other. His jaw was a bit pronounced. He looked so handsome in my eyes.
     
David's father smiled and asked me what I thought about my new face, but I failed to answer. It's not because I was unhappy, but because I was too busy wondering whether you would like it too. Would you find the man as attractive as I thought him to be?
     
It needed a few more months before they finally deemed me free from danger. When everything was set, I thanked David and his father, gave them a few of the bills I had, and finally went my way.
     
But before that, David's father gave a paper, a birth certificate containing the name, Lucious Dualti. He said, from then on, it was who I am.
     
Four years Maria, after four long years. I was on my way back to you, again.
     
But what I failed to consider in those four years, was what gave me a fate, far worst than death.
     
Merry Christmas! I'm spending this holiday with an inmate inside the library. Yes, Maria! This prison has a library.

Love forever

Your Silent Knight
                                                                            

***
     
The warden could barely believe what he had read. He was about to take another stick of cigarette towards his mouth when a loud sound rang throughout the prison walls.
     
Immediately, the warden took to his feet and went for the old cabinet that housed something important. He then ran out of his office and went past Melinda, who at that time, was also awakened by the noise.
     
"Stay inside my office!" the warden yelled to the woman before he descended the stairs.
     
Warden Protacio knew the prison ground far better than anyone. He could pinpoint where the sound came from. He was perhaps old, but he'd be damned if anyone could call him an incompetent man. His ears were trained to know exactly where a sound came from, and his hands expertly knew, how and when to pull a gun. His body held numerous scars that could attest to his ability to survive dangerous situations. The minute he heard that ring, he knew without a doubt. This was not just a dangerous situation. All hell was about to break loose.
     
"Damned Criminals," he yelled as his ears and feet propelled him towards the north wing.