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It was very dark in the deep dungeons of Bargate Prison. Situated on Bargate Isle, the nearest town was 30 miles away, across the desert. From the constant dripping noise coming from the ceiling, to the constant odor of rust, Bargate Prison was barely livable. Damp, musty and dangerous, only the most horrible of criminals were sent there. Cannibals, strapped to the walls to stop them from eating each other, genocidist foxes with long, curving scars, and insane warlords graced its spartan cells.

In Cell Block C stood Ragtail, a seasoned fox guard. Cell Block C consisted of a large room with two floors; on the bottom, cages big and small. On the top, walkways all around the room for guards to patrol across. At the north corner of Block C stood Solitary Confinement. A reinforced cage, Solitary Confinement stood 20 feet away from any other cage. Inside the dank cage sat an albino wolf. Being in prison, he wore a black and white striped tunic and pants. Apart from those, the only accessories he wore were the dozen belts he was forced to wear as Solitary Confinement protocol. Being an albino, his fur was entirely white, except for his head fur. His rather spiky head fur was a bright, startling green. None could explain how or why. When asked, he would simply smile and laugh his evil, almost malicious, laugh, sending chills down the spines of all near by.

"I don't like that 'un." Said Ragtail, standing near Solitary Confinement, albeit on the walkway above. "Dey say heez spost to be ear fer life. Some say heez crazed in da hed. Dat's why he's wrapped in da belts all the time." Beside him stood Plagter, an eager, new mouse guard. He dreamed of one day becoming the best warden ever. Plagter took a step towards the cage. The wolf had his back to them, seemingly staring at the wall.

"Turn round, yah filth, let me get a good look at ya!," the young mouse barked.

The mysterious creature slowly turned around, a sly grin plastered on his face. "How are those pataters, matey? Theys good taters."

The guard tilted his head in confusion, "What?"

"I said, DO YOU LIKE THE BLOODY POTATOES!?," asserted the wolf.

"Don't get 'im started; see, I told he was wacky. The strangest one in the whole prison, I bet.," said Ragtail, pulling Plagter away from the cage." The old, reformed fox nodded. "Aye, we had to wrap him up in our belts to keep him from killing the poor soul that feeds him. All I do is slide the plate under the bars of his cell. I ain't going in there." Plagter had an extremely uncanny feeling about the wolf, who wouldn't stop muttering about potatoes and staring at them as they walked away. They were almlost out of the room when the wolf suddenly shouted," I'll be back! You see if I don't!" ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The tall white wolf stood close to the bars of the left side of his cage one day. Scraggy, he was named. He took a mad sort of satisfaction in getting people to believe he was insane. In reality, he was a master strategist, manipulator, and leader.He had been pestering the canniballistic weasels, and had soon worked them into a five-iron frenzy. Finally snapping, they strained on their chains and gnawed through the bars of their cages, determined to escape captivity. At first they did it quietly; they let all of their kind out first, then released the rest. The escape would have been seamless, had a young weasel not bitten the sleeping guard, Ragtail. He only had time to get out an agonized yelp before they were upon him, biting, crunching, chewing, chomping. Ragtail's last thought was regret; regret in going down without a fight.

Frozen in horror, the two guards outside the door listened as the painful and terrified screams of Ragtail mixed with the vermin's cackling and yelling. The horrifed guards then realized the depth of the situation and strted the alarm. Anvil, the head warden, came charging up the stairwell, taking the stairs three or four in each stride. The massive badger unsheathed his duel scythaxes, broke down the door, and burst into the room at break-neck speed. Gathering up the situation, the badger used his scythaxes to mercilessly beat the weasels and other vermin back into their cages. It was an epic battle. It was apparent that none of the vermin were going to go back without a fight, so with their chains and other objects, such as chairs and candlabras, they charged the badger and his loyal prison guards, hatred driving them. They had a reason for fighting so viciously; each and every vermin, even those without their sanity, knew that, since they had broken out illegally, any guard had the Fifth Freedom, the right to take a criminal's life. After the vermin were back inside the cages that were still intact, the dead were dragged out of the room and the floor was cleaned. There was a roll call, and, to all's, dismay, the white wolf was unaccounted for.

Plagter was ordered to stay out of the battle to keep him safe, for he was new to the prison, he hadn't quite gotten the feel of the place yet. He was told to guard the longboats, the only way off the island. Trigger, who usually guarded the boats, was called to help with the riot. Plagter was leaning on the wooden outer wall of the prison, eating his supper, when a whisper came from the shadows. "How are those potaters, matey?"

Scraggy sat in the longboat, watching Bargate Prison vanish into a tiny dot on the horizon. Scraggy was headed westward, towards the land where he was raised. As he sat eating his dinner, only one thought passed through Scraggy's mind.

                                 "Plagter needs more salt."

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