4 (french) Werber, Bernard

We found ourselves in a courtyard. We were in the center of
the town-prison. It was immense. Five blocks buildings
stretched out of sight. Each harbored in the center of a
football field. Raoul explained that inmates practicing the
sport a lot, but at that hours they were still recorded in their
cells.
Fortunately, as many seemed to me very angry our
presence. Clinging to the bars of the first floors, they
roared:
- Garbage, bastards, you will have your skin! Apparently,
the guards did not put any zeal to to silence. A voice stood
out:
- We know what you make in the D2. Of People like you do
not deserve to live! I was getting worried. What had been
my friend Raoul, he went on his way recklessly to put these
men in such a state of rage? I knew as passions could lead
to the far, far away, beyond any reason.
Building D2. I followed the reprobate, less desire to learn
more than not to be alone, between angry prisoners and
guards equally hostile. Still corridors, reinforced doors and
unlocking. The stairs. Other stairs. Printing a descent into
hell. From below came the laughter
fat mixed with many complaints. Do we shut the crazy
around here?