Prison Life Script -

Corrigan watches. He’s no longer smiling.

OFFICER HARPER (55) sits behind a scratched plexiglass window. He’s chewing a toothpick, bored. HARPER > Name. ANGEL >(whisper) > Angel Reyes. HARPER > You ain’t an angel anymore, kid. You’re 38179. That’s your name. You got a gang? ANGEL > No. I... I’m not... HARPER > Then you’re meat. Next. Harper slides a bag of linens and a thin blanket through a slot. HARPER (CONT'D) > Pod 3C. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t owe anyone. Don’t look at anyone’s cards. ANGEL > Cards? HARPER > You’ll learn. Move. A two-tiered cell block. Catwalks. The sound of a dozen conversations, a TV blaring a soap opera, and the constant CLANG of locks.

Flaco stands up. D-Ray stands with him. FLACO > Yo, Cain. That seat taken? Cain takes a bite of his mashed potatoes. Chews. Swallows. CAIN > It is now. Flaco looks to Corrigan. Corrigan gives a tiny shake of his head. Not here. Not yet. prison life script

CAIN folds a grey bedsheet with surgical precision. His hands are scarred, knuckles flattened. He moves like a man conserving oxygen.

Flaco sits back down. But he points two fingers at his own eyes, then at Angel. I see you. Corrigan watches

Angel sees this. He stops breathing.

Cain sits on the edge of the bottom bunk. He’s not threatening. He’s just... there. CAIN > You gonna die in here. Angel’s eyes widen. CAIN (CONT'D) > Not tonight. Not next week. But if you say yes to Corrigan... yeah. You’re dead. You just won’t fall down for a long time. ANGEL > What am I supposed to do? CAIN > You got a choice. Be a ghost. Or be a man. Ghosts get left alone. Men get killed. Which one you want? Angel thinks. Tears again. ANGEL > I didn’t kill anyone. I mean—I did. But he was hurting my mom. For years. He was gonna... I just grabbed the knife from the kitchen. I didn’t plan it. Cain looks at him. For the first time, something softens behind his eyes. CAIN > That why you’re here? For love? ANGEL > I don’t know anymore. Cain nods slowly. He stands up. CAIN > Tomorrow, sit at my table in chow. Don’t talk. Don’t look at anyone. Just eat. ANGEL > Why would you help me? Cain is already climbing back to his bunk. CAIN > I’m not helping you. I’m helping the man I used to be. Beat. CAIN (CONT'D) > Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna cost me. The room is electric. Word travels fast. He’s chewing a toothpick, bored

ANGEL is shoved through. He’s small, baby-faced. His orange jumpsuit is two sizes too big. He’s crying—not sobbing, but silent tears streaming down his face.