Are The Lambs Still Singing

Culture is a strange thing.

It shapes a man long before he ever realises it. The food he eats, the way he speaks, the way he greets another man… even the way he stands when the world starts pushing back. Some cultures are built in quiet halls and old traditions, passed down through polished manners and proper words.

Others are forged on hard ground, where respect isn’t written in books but settled face-to-face. Then there are deeper cultures… spiritual ones. Belief, faith, the unseen rules that guide a man when nobody else is watching. Across this world there are a thousand ways to live, a thousand ways to carry yourself, a thousand ways to call yourself a man.

But when all those cultures collide… you find out real quick which ones are built to survive the shock.

***

The drive up to HM Prison Frankland isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t need to be. The reputation does the work on its own. Category A. The kind of place reserved for men who’ve done things that can’t be undone.

Danny Christie walks through security without saying much. He isn’t here out of fear. But he isn’t comfortable either. Visiting this prison is a decision. Visiting him is another thing entirely.

The guard opens the visiting room.

It’s empty.

Two stools. A thick pane of reinforced glass. Two telephones mounted to the wall. Fluorescent lights overhead. One guard standing off to the side.

Danny steps in slowly, scanning the other side of the glass. No one is waiting.

He sits.

The phone hangs in front of him, untouched.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the hum of the lights and the weight of his own thoughts. Maybe he’s early. Maybe this was a mistake.

A door opens behind the far wall.

Footsteps approach. Measured. Unrushed.

Danny doesn’t turn straight away. He watches the reflection in the glass instead.

The footsteps stop.

A chair scrapes lightly against the floor.

Danny lifts his eyes.

The man sitting opposite him is completely still. Back straight. Hands resting calmly. No twitch. No smirk. No greeting.

Just staring.

The receiver is already in his hand.

Danny studies his face for a second longer than he means to.

It’s Hughie Freeman.

The most revered, feared bareknuckle fighter that ever lived. One simple utterance of his name can strike fear in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Example: Mike Tyson may have bitten off the ear, but on the exact same night Hughie Freeman boiled it for dinner.

And here he sits inside HM Prison Frankland.

Under the same roof as men whose names echo through the darkest chapters of crime.

Killers.

Terrorists.

The biggest criminals known to man.

Frankland is where society locks away the monsters it never wants to see again.

Men who have taken lives. Men who have destroyed them. Men the system never intends to release.

And yet somehow…

Hughie Freeman fits here.

Not because he is a killer.

Not by definition.

But because he is, and always has been, a complete bastard by design.

And that very respected name belongs to the same bloodline as the Christies. Danny is the younger cousin. Merely a branch below on the family tree.

Hughie has no smile.

No emotion.

Just that familiar blankness that always makes him harder to read than anyone else. If people think Danny is unpredictable, it’s only because he remembers the bearings on the pig farms. He learned how to be a bastard from the very best. Humbly accepting his beatings like it was an honour.

The only difference is the appearance. Hughie looks gaunt. Granted, the Famous Gypsy Warrior was never the biggest, but it doesn’t take a doctor to diagnose the contrast. He looks far from his fighting prime and it suggests some sort of foul play. Not from the guards or cons— there’s still a resounding confidence that he can deal with them. This has all the markings of some sort of food protest. In aid of what exactly? Who knows. Probably boredom. Hughie lives for the drama.

But those eyes.

Those eyes still make kneecaps turn to jelly and make men fill their sordid pants in an instant.

Danny exhales slowly and reaches for the phone. He lifts it carefully, bringing it to his ear while Hughie already has his in place.

Static.

Then—

Softly.

“Sweet Caroline…”

The voice is low. Controlled.

“Ba… ba… baaa…”

Hughie doesn’t change his expression as he sings. His lips move just enough. His eyes never leave Danny.

“Good times never seemed so good…”

There’s no humour in it. No nostalgia. Just the song, delivered like it means something else entirely.

In a prison built to hold killers, it isn’t violence that fills the space between them.

It’s that voice.

And Danny doesn’t look away.

“Do you know he has a scholarship in fencing?”

Hughie remains transfixed. Both his eyes and words pierce Danny. The random question posed to his cousin creates a slight awkwardness. The Most Controversial Bastard studies him.

“Mr. Diamond.”

He answers his own question. It’s almost like Danny already knows the social dynamics and remains compliant.

“It’s a good song, isn’t it? All about finding love… how fucking romantic.”

Danny removes his eyes from the floor and flicks them up to meet him.

“You know I’ve been watching you, little couz. ACE Network. Man, you’re doing great..”

Danny patiently waits, sombrely.

“How did you knock that bum out the other week… Left Hand Larry? Wow kid, how on earth did you come up with that? If Christopher Columbus had a ten incher… yours is fucking twelve and a half.”

“I got that from you, couz.”

“Of course you fucking did… you also took my Sweet Caroline, too.”

He reverts back to singing the cult classic as Danny allows the harsh social standoff to breathe.

“How’s Lyndz?”

“Whose Lyndz?”

He doesn’t answer straight away. Pauses. Reflects. Perhaps daydreams. Daydreams of happy times gone by.

As a result, a smile slowly forms adjacent to his contented fantasy.

"My sweet sweet Lyndsey Troy.”

“You know her?”

“Know her..? She’s my hummingbird.”

Hughie fully commits to the fantasy as his face and body release wandering euphoria. Predicted imagery of himself and Lyndsey Troy talking in dressing room hallways, being flirtatious with one another. It’s like they’re a pair of teenagers crushing on each other. The situation has him gently jabbing Lyndsey’s shoulder in confident playfulness. She acts coy but seems to like it as she plays with her hair.

Did this really happen?

Who knows.

This is Hughie’s fantasy. I mean, it could have happened as their past histories do match up factually. In a federation that should not be named.

The next vision is at the altar of a church. Hughie immediately pulls up the veil of his future wife in front of him. And of course… it’s a dazzling Lyndsey Troy.

Yeah… this is complete fantasia. Made up. There was certainly no marriage. A fabrication of the tortured and somewhat lonely mind of Hughie Freeman.

That’s the thing when you permanently live in fantasy. A simple hello or merely one act of kindness from someone can make the mind wander. Create things that didn’t even happen but you wished they had. Things become distorted. Things become a confusing reality to a man that needs to be on twenty four hour surveillance.

“It's strictly business between us."

“Keep to your own business. That's the only way in this business.”

“What are you saying?”

“Trust in family. No outsiders. They’ll only drag you down.”

Danny has a feeling what he is hinting at. What he is probing.

“Your teammates. Mates? Yeah right. Mates are dangerous. If they haven't got a knife to stab you in the back with, they'll easily craft one.”

Hughie sinisterly grins.

“A sharpened toothbrush is usually your best course of action.”

“I was as surprised as anyone. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Culture Shock?”

He winks at him knowingly.

“A return. A return of a tried and tested man. A man that looks for opportunity. It certainly felt that way at ReVival 83, didn’t it?”

Danny looks puzzled. His brain tries to identify exactly the target within the quizzical framing.

“Coral Avalon. His actions spoke a thousand words. But your man Hughie only needs one to classify him: selfish. The guy reeks of it. He’s back to make history, not friends.”

Danny frowns. He’s not sure if this is nonsense or advice for future preservation, but he doesn’t reject it.

“Ahhhh.. Cecilworth Farthington.”

The Famous Gypsy Warrior sits back in his chair, like the name alone forces him back.

“The rich kid…”

“You got it wrong.”

“We go way back.”

Danny allows him to fantasise, reminiscing in his warped memory about the current PRIME Universal Champion.

“He’s cut from a different cloth. People like us don’t mix with guys like that.”

Danny focuses.

“When you’re sitting in a naked jacuzzi with Cecil, don’t yield. Whatever you do… don’t be the first to get out.”

Danny shakes his head in disbelief.

“It’s all mind games. All a test.”

“Why do I have to be naked?”

“It’s a power play. Trust me, Cecil would rather you be operating in the castle than outside pissing on it.”

“Your mind’s wandering again. Stop imagining me naked in the jacuzzi.”

“Too late. You under one arm and Cecil under the other. With the Famous Gypsy Warrior slap bang in the middle smoking a stogie.”

Abruptly, and without warning, Hughie presses one exposed nipple against the security glass. Provocatively and aggressively.

“Be careful of the overweight ranger.”

“Who?”

As quickly as the lewdness happens, it’s already over. Playing tricks on Danny’s mind. Did that even happen or was it a figment of his imagination?

“The one who has the exterior of Barney the dinosaur but the intentions of a rat.”

“Why do you always talk in riddles?”

“Listen kid, I can’t hold your hand all of your life. This game is already eating away at you. I can see it. I can smell it.”

Big sniff of air.

“Smells like… smells like… corporate bullshit.”

“How? I’m making a name for myself. Not just for me… for Dad, for you. For all gypsies.”

“You’re two and two.”

“But that’s the fight game.”

“You’re fresh fish in this wrestling circus and you’re being led astray.”

“It’s all good. I can handle it.”

“Tell that to your dad… Big John. He nearly died because of your emotions. Don’t fight these fuckers with your fists.”

Danny lowers his gaze, shamefully.

“You know I was once like you… cock-sure. Willing to fight the world. And look at me now… look at me now.”

Danny doesn’t respond. He senses the atmosphere shift. The pendulum swinging back into the unknown.

“Yet here’s the most bewildering thing, Daniel… I felt more imprisoned out there. I felt more caged in the squared circle. But here… your man is alive and I’ve never thought so clearly.”

He looks up at the ceiling.

“Tawny.”

One name.

That name etched itself into Keith’s mind. Something he couldn’t escape from.

But Danny doesn’t bite. He knows this tactic.

Classic Hughie Freeman mental games.

“He’s an emotional wreck.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“Please. I’m a traveller.”

Hughie smirks.

“You’re a madman.”

The two share an unconvincing laugh. Hughie's being more exaggerated.

“TIME!”

The guard in the background calls time on the visit as he approaches ever so nonchalantly.

Swinging keys attached to his belt.

“Want me to spark him clean out? There’s much more wisdom on offer."

“…Don’t.”

Danny looks uncomfortable with the request. Knowing full well that Hughie is capable of following through with his proposed chaos.

Hughie stands up from his chair with the legs screeching off the floor.

“Tell me Agent Christie…

Are the lambs still.."

He whistles softly. Carefreely.

The tune carries across the room.

Channelling his inner Neil Diamond. A confirmed pretty little number for.. Caroline.

Sweet Sweet Caroline.

The One Hundred Percent Certified Bastard gets escorted away by not one, two-- but three guards. Like this is routine practice.

The doors clang shut behind him.

And still, the voice continues.

Shouting. Rambling. Mad, or so it seems to the naked ear.

Or is it?

Mentions of cars.

“Big John Pepper landed on a car from the realms of: Where The Fuck?”

Words tumble over one another.

Sounds like Arabic, mixed in.

Who knows?

Danny swallows hard, heart hammering.

And somewhere in the madness… he realizes he’s just witnessed a masterclass in chaos.

A cousin, a bastard, a legend… gone. But his words, his madness, his lessons—they linger. And Danny knows… this is only the beginning.

Round one.