Yesterday's Gone (Season 5): Episodes 25-30 by Sean Platt, David Wright

crossed his arms over his ample chest. “So, your name is John Doe, eh?”
    Boricio smiled, remembering how much shit the booking officer gave him while taking his prints and purty picture while Boricio refused to say shit. Let ‘em look — they wouldn’t find dick with Boricio’s name. Even his driver’s license was a decoy.
    “Yeah.” Boricio smiled.
    “You think you’re a real smart ass, eh? Walkin’ around like your shit don’t stink.”
    “I’m new, and we’ve yet to share the pleasure of a proper introduction. I suggest you take it down a notch, hoss.” Boricio winked. “That way you’ll have less regrets later.” 
    Guard Tard looked as if Boricio had pulled out his pecker and pissed on Old Glory while using the bible to wipe his ass.
    “Excuse me, boy?”
    “ Boy? ” Boricio laughed. “Do I look like I want a trip to Chuck E. Cheese?”
    Guard Tard’s face turned bright red.
    He reached for his nightstick and stepped toward Boricio, looking hungry for an excuse to whip it from his belt.
    Boricio stared at the man without flinching, and smiled. “You touch your sister with that stick? She ask you to shove it up her poop chute, or does she prefer it in her purty little slit?”
    Guard Tard responded as predicted — he leaped at Boricio, swinging.
    Boricio kicked the man hard, just missing his knee and striking right below it. Rather than breaking his leg as planned, the man merely fell forward, nightstick hitting Boricio twice in the ribs.
    Guard Tard raised the stick and swung at his head.
    Boricio threw his left arm up to deflect the blow.
    Unfortunately, his arm didn’t fare as well.
    Something cracked. An unholy pain streaked through Boricio’s forearm.
    He screamed out, surprised by how much pain the fat, fucking retard had managed to inflict.
    Guard Tard stopped his attack, eyes wide, realizing he’d gone too far and would have shit to explain.
    “Help!” Boricio yelled.
    Another guard appeared, a heavyset black dude with a graying beard and thick black glasses. His name badge read: BOYLE .
    Boyle yelled at Guard Tard. “What the hell, Sanders?” 
    Guard Tard withdrew from the cell, whining. “He hit me, sir!”
    “Bullshit! He got pissed 'cuz I asked if he fucks his sister with his nightstick.”
    Boyle looked at Boricio as if to ask: What? Did you just say what I thought you said?
    Boyle might’ve smiled. It was hard to focus through the pain.
    The guard looked down at Boricio’s arm, saw the huge swelling welt.
    “Hang tight, I’ll get a doc to check you out.” He turned to Guard Tard. “You, out here, now.”
    Guard Tard left with his tail between his legs. 
    Boricio held his clucking and smiled, hoping the fucker’s superiors would turn his ass into burger. He wasn’t sure how long his stay in ButtFuck County Lockup would be, but Boricio was no one’s bitch to beat on. 
    Sharks, bears, and Boricio: top of the fucking chain.
     
    * * * *

CHAPTER 7 — MARINA HARMON
     
    Marina woke in a dimly lit room not unlike Acevedo’s chamber — a bed, dresser, and trunk. An open door revealed a bathroom with a shower.
    A single bare light bulb hung from the ceiling. The bare stone walls bore no windows. 
    Marina stood, her head still dizzy, then went to the door and jiggled the knob, trying to open it. 
    It was locked.
    “Hello?” she yelled.
    No response.
    “Hey!” she yelled again, louder.
    Still no answer.
    “Let me out of here!” Marina screamed, wondering what the hell Acevedo had done to her. She vaguely recalled him saying something about her purity, whatever the hell that meant. If the man meant virginity, her dress hadn’t been white for a while.
    Wait a second. Where’s—
    She searched the room: trunk, dresser, and under the bed, but couldn’t find the vials.
    They took the vials!
    I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him!
    “Where are the vials?!” Marina cried out to whoever might be listening. Acevedo had to be somewhere nearby.
    His taking the