((I'll put the prompt at the bottom seeing as it's quite interesting and I don't want to spoil it.))

Vincent sighed, shoving his tray underneath the matron's ladle, "What's for breakfast this morning, Madge?" He snarked. It was only ever the standard prison breakfast of half-baked porridge, but it had become a habit of his to ask every morning, regardless.

"Move along, Vincent," Madge growled, dumping a pile of the slop onto his plate.

"Now, now, that's no way to talk to a loyal customer," Vincent winked. He knew nobody here could stand him. What he'd done was so 'abhorrent' that even the other prisoners were wary. That was what made prison fun. "You wouldn't want me to starve, now, would you?"

Ooh, if looks could kill. Vincent shot the matron a feral grin, then slid his tray further down the line to get his standard glass of juice, water or milk.

He looked up to see that another guard had taken the usual matron's place. He knew this one. Scott, he was called. Sergeant Scott Keegan Adams. Vincent had plucked the kid's application papers out of the lead guard's hands once, but only caught the name before it was snatched out of his hands again with a low growl of, "Stop mucking around, Bishop, or so help me..."

He was relatively new. Only been around for a year or so, after transferring from his local prison to this high-security facility. Hm. From the world of drug junkies and car-stealers into the world of paedophiles and murderers. Vincent briefly wondered how he was coping.

The dark-haired man cleared his throat, "What do you want to drink? We have orange juice and water. We're all out of milk."

"Hmm," Vincent glanced down at himself, "Well, orange suits me quite well. I'll have the juice."

The sergeant gave him a tight-lipped smile, apparently appreciating the joke. He leaned over to grab one of the orange juice boxes and passed it directly into Vincent's hands. Vincent grabbed it, pausing suddenly as he felt the familiar crinkle of paper between his fingers. The guard had passed him a note.

Vincent's worn grey eyes snapped up to meet the guard's serious brown ones, an unspoken question written in them.

Scott frowned in what looked like frustration, giving just the slightest shake of his head. Don't draw attention to us. "What are you waiting for?" he snapped, "A kiss on the cheek?"

Vincent relaxed into his usual demeanour, playing it cool and licking his teeth, "If you swing that way, hon." Then he took a step away from the canteen and turned around, looking for an empty table where he could eat in peace. His curiosity was piqued. Nothing ever happened in this place, so he wondered what on earth a guard could have wanted to do with one of the most hated criminals in the entire 50 states.

Was he warning him that they'd finally decided to put him in the chair? Letting him know there was going to be an inspection? Maybe he'd heard some other prisoners were planning an attack on him. Maybe, even, Vincent had caught his eye. It was extremely unusual, but not unheard of, for guards to have intimate relationships with some of the prisoners.

I'm totally kinkshaming him if that's what he wants, Vincent decided.

He couldn't look at the note straight away, or the other prisoners would wonder what was up. He placed his tray down on a table right up at the back, kicking his feet up on the table as he did so. The others stared at him, a few looking aggressive, a few passive, and a few just looking broken. Weak, Vincent thought.

Figuring out a game plan, Vincent unfolded the note quietly and propped it up against his bowl of porridge. Then he leaned back in his chair and sipped from that orange juice that tasted like someone had dissolved an orange-flavoured tablet into old bathwater. He stared at his bowl vacantly, slowly taking in the note. The handwriting was scrawling and tiny. The note was simple.

I 've been studying your case for a long time, and I know you didn't kill those kids. I'm going to get you out of here, one way or another. Start a riot at 18:00. I'm on patrol then.

Vincent read and re-read the note another couple of times, trying to figure out whether or not it was sincere. This guy wanted to get him out of jail? Wanted to help him escape this hell-hole once and for all? He had to stop himself from grinning. He looked up towards the canteen, trying to silently attract the sergeant's attention. In the brief moment that their eyes met, he nodded slightly, and the guard flashed him a quick smile.

Vincent finally let his grin show, almost laughing aloud (which wouldn't have been considered suspicious - Vincent had a habit of doing it on the spur of the moment). If this guy was serious, he was an idiot!

But... what would be the point of lying? Getting him to admit he'd really done it? He was already found guilty. What more proof did they need?

He guessed it was plausible that the guy actually believed he was innocent. There technically had been no proof that a murder even took place. Only 5 missing children, eyewitness accounts of someone leading kids away in a suit, and a staff member who was found to be a diagnosed psychopath and happened to be the only one who knew how the suits worked.

Vincent finished off his orange juice with a loud slurp and leaned forward, sliding his feet off the table. He grabbed his spoon and started eating his clammy, bland porridge, indiscreetly grabbing the note with his free hand and crunching it up.

Look out free world, here I come~

(( Based on the prompt:

One day, you find a note in your breakfast; one of the guards knows you're innocent and is going to try to help you escape. You aren't innocent.

Hope you guys liked. This was so much fun omg.))