"You're being released."

Three words. Three words was all it took to make Cash's barely beating heart fall straight through his ass. At first he wasn't sure why the Warden wanted to see him, but it was more than safe to say this was not the outcome he was expecting. He stared blankly in shock at Warden Foxtrot, whom of which was not happy about the words he had to mutter.

Cash blinked before a low husky a chuckle rose in his throat. "You're full of shit."

"Watch your language, Mr. West."

"Oh, alright Captain America. Where was that attitude when you said I think I'm King fucking Tut?"

The Warden took a long, deep breath to collect his thoughts and control his frustration with the intolerable young man.

"Someone worked some unbelievable magic on your behalf. You will return to your cell, gather your belongings, then head to the north gate for discharge paperwork."

Cash still didn't buy it. It felt too easy. This had to be a joke or a trick or even a set-up. He wasn't going to be played twice. Like they say, fool him once.
Two weeks ago they were giving him ten additional years and now they were setting him free? He called bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. A big, fat, honky, steaming pile of shit straight from the bull's asshole.

He scooted forward in the plush chair and glared skeptically at the man before him. "Mitchell McCallum paid you to do this, didn't he? What's his endgame, huh? Give me false hope?"

The Warden scoffed. "Don't believe me?"

He rummaged around in his expensive mahogany desk before pulling out a single letter in a yellow manilla envelope and tossing it to Cash. Confused, he slipped the tri-folded paper from the package, lifted the already sliced wax seal, and began to read.

Executive Grant of Clemency

To the immediate notice of Warden Alan Foxtrot of California State Prison and associates, The State of California hereby grants a full and unconditional pardon for Prison Inmate #042971, Cash Alexander West, for all crimes charged. Be it known that this day, 12th of October, 2023, Cash West's 35 year sentence—charged on the basis of guilt for the following crimes: weapon trafficking, drug trafficking, and voluntary manslaughter—is to be rescinded.

In Testimony Whereof and With Sincerest Wishes For The Future,
Governor Walsh Jefferies

Cash read the words, he understood them, but he simply couldn't believe them.

"I'm confused." He mumbled quietly under his breath.

"Look, kid. I can explain it to you but I can't understand it for you." Collecting a thin pair of glasses from the desk, Warden Foxtrot adjusted them on his face and sighed in annoyance. "You're free to go. Be grateful."

"Wait," Cash chuckled half-heartedly. "You're being serious..."

The Warden grimaced. "I wish I wasn't. The guards will return you to your cell. Pack your things and say your goodbyes, West. And don't let me catch you back in my prison. Next time, I'll put you on death row."

Confused, shocked, stunned. None of those words could describe the emotions flooded Cash all at one time. As he was dismissed from Warden Foxtrot's office, he stalked quietly behind the guards as they towed him along through the grey hallways and back into his cellblock. Cash was stuck in his head the entire time, trying to piece together exactly what had happened at the speed of light moments before. Everything was going so fast he felt he had nearly no time at all to process all of it.
Eventually, he was returned to his pod, where Kenji was waiting at one of the tables with a deck of cards and a cup of noodles, which seemed to be all he liked to eat. The guards turned and left, presumably to get his paperwork process started, as Cash sauntered to the table and flopped into the seat across from his friend. He didn't say a word.

Kenji raised his perfectly shaped eyebrow.
"Don't tell me they added more time to your sentence."

Cash could only shake his head.

"Extra cleaning duties, then? Or are you being transferred to a different pod?"

Another head shake.

"A different...prison?"

Cash swallowed harshly, finally meeting Kenji's eye.
"I'm...being released."

Kenji's eyes went wide for a agonizingly long moment as he digested the words, before a huge grin appeared, pulling at his smile lines and showing his forming crow's feet. He slapped the top of the metal table with excitement.

"You're shitting me! That's amazing! Whose dick did you suck to pull that one off?"

Kenji's excitement was what should've been expected of Cash, but he couldn't bring himself to be anything other than stunned. The words went through one ear and out the other. Like his world was spinning, he simply couldn't focus. What was he going to do? Did he even have a life back home? Angel hated him. What if his friends had moved on? What if Tiana moved on? What if his town forgot about him? The respect he worked so hard to gain withered away. Then there was Kenji. The person who protected him. The person who taught him how to survive prison. How could Cash leave behind someone who took him under his wing for three years?

"You're not seriously bummed about this, are you?" Kenji questioned, folding his arms across his large chest.

"But...what about you?" He murmured. "I-I can't just leave you here. Not after everything you've done for me..."

Kenji laughed, his thunderous chuckle booming around the large room. "Quit being a pussy! I'm a serial killer, remember? I'll be fine. Besides, you still need to relay my message to my brother."

"West!" A guard called, catching their attention, and the looks of the other inmates in the room. "Grab your shit. Your paperwork is ready."

Murmurs and whispers began to circulate as all eyes were on Cash. Stares of hatred, contempt, jealousy all flooded the pos. Kenji, however, was gleeful. He smiled and punched Cash in the shoulder playfully.

"Now, get! The outside world is waiting for you, kid."

As unsure as he was, Cash numbly made his way to his cell, ignoring the glares of his prisoner counterparts. He collected what little things he had. His sweatshirt, his toothbrush, and one crumbled photo of him and his friends that was taped to the wall, with Frankie's face being scratched out in red pen, and the words "fuck you" written above him.
He took a final look around the small cinderblock room. He surely wouldn't miss the rickety bed or the moldy smell, but it was just beginning to feel like home. A home he hated, but home nonetheless. Wasn't all that different from what he was use to in his childhood.
Nearly shaking, he left the room for the last time, where a guard was waiting for him outside the door.

"We'll get the rest of your stuff at the north gate." He said as he nudged Cash toward the exit.

Shaking his head, Cash came to a stop.

Scolding and unsure, the guard waited for a moment before rolling his eyes and stepping aside.
"Two minutes."

With a nod, Cash jogged down the long metal stairs and made it back to the center floor, where Kenji was watching him leave with a bittersweet smile. He rolled his eyes as the blonde approached.

"Back so soon, Cash Money? You act like you don't wanna leave!" He joked.

Taking a deep breath, Cash pulled Kenji in for a tight hug, patting heavily on his back.

"Thank you. Seriously." He whispered.

Kenji chuckled, pulling away. "You are one lucky kid."

If there was one thing Cash would miss about prison, Kenji was at the top of his list. The conversations, the advice, the illogical arguments, the stupid board games. He'd miss it all.

Walking ever so slowly backwards, Cash grinned at his friend for possibly the last time.
"See you in 45 years."

Kenji finger saluted him. "Tell Riyeko to come visit sometime. I'd love to catch up."

After last glances, several goodbyes, and a long walk through the prison, Cash had finally arrived at the north gate. It took well over an hour to sign sheet after sheet of discharge paperwork. Not to mention the long spiel he was given about parole and court and such. Not that he was listening to most of it. The shock was beginning to ware off and excitement was settling it. He was finally itching to taste freedom again.
When all was said and done, he was given back his civilian things. All the objects he walked in with and that had been confiscated upon arrival were shoved into a plastic bag. His phone, his necklace, his wallet. Almost everything except his blood soaked clothes that were taken into evidence long ago. Instead, he was given a pair of jeans, a beat up pair of Converse, a raggedy, too large Harley Davidson t-shirt from God knows where that was barely hanging on by a thread, and a black bomber jacket that had seen better days. All free of charge though! How thoughtful of California State Prison after three years of hell to give him some free clothes as consolation!

What felt like an eternity later, Cash was guided to the front entrance of the prison; a place he hadn't seen in three years. It felt rushed, as if they were trying to get him out, and his skepticism never dulled, but the taste of freedom on the tip of his tongue was an euphoria that overshadowed his doubt. There, standing by the large double doors, was Cougs. She stood with her arms behind her back, feet planted firm. She grinned as he and the other guard approached.

"Leaving so soon, Cash?" She joked, nearly teary-eyed.

"Yeah," Cash shrugged. "I got work tomorrow at my 9 to 5, you know how it is."

Despite laughing at his obvious sarcasm, there was a bittersweetness to the conversation. Cougs had been like a second mother to him, and who knows if they'd ever meet again.

Cougs sighed with a sad smile. "You do good out there, you hear me?"

Cash nodded firmly, the corner of his lips tugged up into a smirk. "No promises."

His tall frame wrapped around her short, pear shaped body as he pulled her in for a hug. He'd miss the woman, that was for sure. But he knew she was safe there, especially when all the other inmates had her back. With a final sad glance, Cougs stepped aside, letting Cash inch towards the heavy metal doors. He took a deep breath, finally realizing that this wasn't a dream, before pushing his way into freedom. Sunlight blinded him and an October breeze sent a chill up his spine, but God did the outside world feel nice. He took slow steps into the outside world, melting into the sensation.

"Don't stab anyone else with wooden handles, yeah?" The guard shouted after him.

"Go fuck yourself!"

"Cash!" Cougs warned.

"Sorry, sorry."

Cougs watched as he all but two-stepped out of the prison halls, blinded by his new found freedom. But in the back of her mind, she couldn't shake an uneasy feeling.

"Something don't feel right about this." She muttered to no one in particular.

The guard next to her scoffed. "You're tellin' me."

Despite their unheard skepticism, Cash didn't seem to have a care in the world. It was official. He was free. He had no idea how, no idea why. But he didn't care. He was free. But with freedom came one realization.

How the hell was he going to get home?

*

"How's that feel Ollie?"

"Like you're twisting me into a fuckin' pretzel?"

Despite the tension of the crumbling world around them and out on the streets, the gangs had found time to recollect themselves. There was much work to be done, but not enough to where they couldn't take a little well deserved time off.
Ollie laid stomach down and twisted up on the side of Bluejay's unnaturally comfortable bed, where she practically had her knee lodged in the base of his spine. Bluejay had done well over the years since the night of the warehouse. It didn't come easy. For a while, she was traumatized by what she endured that night. She couldn't wash her hands enough to rid of the thick blood that stained them. Even when her hands were clean, and for weeks following the incident, she found herself scrubbing the skin off her palms until they turned red. Under her nails, between her fingers, everywhere. She couldn't shake the image of her friend's blood smearing all on her. The feeling of knowing Ollie's life was literally in her hands wasn't one she's soon forget. As a result, after that she hunkered down on her medical side. She studied, she trained, she learned. With enough hard work, she became a certified medic—for the streets, rather than for a hospital. She wanted to be sure that if it were up to her, no one would ever die on her watch. Regardless, this didn't stop her friends from thinking she was an expert in every medical field to ever exist.

Including chiropractic work.

"I dunno, Chey." Ollie frowned as she placed her hands on his bare back and felt along the base of his spine. "The pain isn't going away."

"Maybe sit your big ass down somewhere and you wouldn't have back pain."

"Just one good crack! That's all I need."

Bluejay shook her head and chuckled. "Have you taken that extra pain medicine your doctor prescribed last month?"

There was a long pause before Ollie mumbled low and pouty, "No...they make me feel weird. I don't feel like myself."

Before she could reply with medical advice, a shirtless Cig burst into the her meticulously decorated room without knocking, picking lazily at something on his lower back. It seemed like no one wanted to wear shirts anymore.

"Hey, BJ. You're a doctor. Can you tell me if this mole is something I need to worry about, or..."

He whipped around to show her the small, black dot on his smooth dark skin.

Sighing, Bluejay stood up straight, relieving the pressure from Ollie's back.
"You do know I'm a street medic, not a dermatologist, right?"

"To-may-toe, to-mah-toe. Do I have cancer or not?"

She scoffed and turned her attention back to Ollie.
"I dunno about your skin, but keep smoking and you might acquire lung cancer."

Cig shrugged nonchalantly.
"Smoking kills but so does God, and if I'm going out, I'm going out like a G: boned and stoned."

"AJ," She chuckled in disbelief. "I really can't help you. Besides! It looks like a normal mole to me."

"A-ha! So you are a dermatologist."

"Oh—is...is that Kittie I hear?" Bluejay feigned as she put her hand to her ear, hoping to get Cig out of her room. "I think I heard her call for you! Maybe she wants to look at your mole."

"Trust me," He smirked. "She's seen every mole on my body."

Ollie scrunched his nose in disgust. "Gross."

"C'mon, Scout." Cig raised his eyebrow as he leaned against the doorframe. "Don't act like you and V don't be gettin' it in."

"You don't know what we do." Ollie tooted his nose up defiantly, as much as he could while still laying on his stomach.

"You grunt like a gorilla." Cig deadpanned. "The whole house knows what y'all do."

Ollie gasped. "I don't grunt!"

"You grunt..." Bluejay winced.

"Do not!"

Cig threw his hands up in surrender. "Alright, Mr. 'That's right, baby. Ride it, V'."

"I heard my name?" Veronica said, peeking her head around the corner of Bluejay's door.

"Nothing!" Ollie replied hastily, his face red and hot.

Narrowing her perfectly eyeliner-ed eyes, she stared at the three skeptically before moving on further down the hallway and out of earshot.

Ollie exhaled in relief before grimacing at Cig, who couldn't help but laugh.
"That wasn't funny. Look, sex is a good stress reliever. And as you could imagine, I am very stressed. And V being horny, like, all the time is just a plus."

"Hey, no argument there!" Cig agreed. "Getting laid helps with a lot. And you know who really needs to get some? This one right here."

Both boys turned to Bluejay expectantly. She slowly looked up at them, her eyes wide and innocent. Realizing what they were insinuating, her jaw practically unhinged.

"Me?!"

Cig scoffed. "Yes, you."

Ollie flipped onto his back, propping his torso up by planting his elbows into the soft mattress. "Be honest, Chey. When was the last time you had sex?"

"I—" She shifted awkwardly on her feet. "It was—"

"See!" Cig exclaimed. "Look at ya. All pent up and stressed out. Either smoke some weed, or get some dick. Or both! I swear, it'll change ya life."

"Yeah, like I'll be taking advice from a pothead and a brain damaged ginger." She joked, raising her eyebrow with a smirk.

"At least this brain damaged ginger has seen some good pussy." Ollie chuckled, throwing his hands behind his head.

"In all seriousness," Cig sighed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Have you been seeing anyone? At all? Doing something outside of your routine may be good for you. You can't just do gang shit, read medical books, go to bed, and repeat."

Bluejay thought for a moment. She hadn't been seeing anyone. She cut herself off from romance and flings. She thought she was doing what was best; keeping her mind focused on what was in front of her. Her friends. Her gang. Her town. But when all was said and done, and to be truthful, she was scared. The moment she started liking someone years ago, it blew up in her face. What if it happened again? She couldn't go through that a second time.

"This ain't about, him, is it?"  Cig said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She blinked rapidly, and shook her head.
"Of course not. Are you insane?"

Cig shrugged. "Only a little. Look, Kit and I are about to go hotbox the Escalade. You should join. Relax a little."

"I want in." Ollie announced, standing from the bed and stretching out his aching back.

"You shouldn't mix marijuana and your meds." Bluejay murmured almost robotically, as she was still kinda in her head about Cig's question.

"I'm already doped up to high heaven." He rolled his eyes. "What's a little weed?"

Cig smiled as he turned to Bluejay. "Chey? You in?"

She swallowed hard. "You guys go ahead."

Cig shared a disappointed look with Ollie before shrugging. "Suit yourself. But you know you're always welcome to join, BJ."

Giving her a solid pat on the shoulder, Cig nodded firmly as he and Ollie turned to leave the room. She watched them fade away before slumping onto her bed. Maybe they were right. Maybe she needed to relax more. Was she too uptight? Too stiff? What was she feeling?

What was wrong with her?

Meanwhile, downstairs, Tiana and Toothpick sat across from Ikaika, who moments earlier had gracefully invited himself inside their house. He claimed he wanted to talk about gang stuff, but that conversation topic had quickly derailed.

"I'll be throwing a party this weekend in San Mateo," He smirked, throwing his arms over the back of the couch where he sat adjacent to the two unamused gangbangers. "You and your posse are invited, Curls."

Toothpick looked over to Tiana, an annoyed expression plastered on his stone cold face. She didn't disagree with the look in the slightest. Visits from Ikaika were always less than blissful.

"Kai, I thought you wanted to talk about gang issues. What do you need? More ammo? Narcos? Between the East Enders and the SoCal Socials, we could surely use the business."

"This is gang stuff!" He exclaimed giddily. "Gang and gang, hanging out! Team bonding n' shit. Maybe we could add a little bang too, if you know what I mean. Then it'll really be a party. You and me, Princess. Ain't