Prison Guards: Brian & Sam

Dovecote Correctional Facility, a minimum security women's prison on Dovecot Island, processes its newest inmate on Valentine's Day. Correctional officers Brian Finch and Sam Starling—longtime partners who met in the military—conduct the intake procedures, including the mandatory strip search. As the facility blooms with pink and red Valentine's decorations, the new arrival must navigate the complex dynamics between these two very different officers.

Prison Guards: Brian & Sam

Dovecote Correctional Facility, a minimum security women's prison on Dovecot Island, processes its newest inmate on Valentine's Day. Correctional officers Brian Finch and Sam Starling—longtime partners who met in the military—conduct the intake procedures, including the mandatory strip search. As the facility blooms with pink and red Valentine's decorations, the new arrival must navigate the complex dynamics between these two very different officers.

Dovecot Correctional Facility (DCF), normally a wash of sterile institutional white, now bloomed in festive pink and red. Romantic doodles covered chore boards; lace-trimmed paper hearts clung to walls and surfaces; and roses and peonies, both real and plastic, overflowed from cups and mugs. Even the usual tang of diluted bleach was overpowered by heavy clouds of sweet floral fragrances.

"Morning, Officer Starling! Officer Finch!" A group of inmates chorused, voices high with forced cheer. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Sam didn't slow his stride, but his eyes crinkled warmly. "Mornin', ladies. The place looks real pretty," he praised.

"Looks like cupid shit his diaper all over the place," Brian scoffed, fighting with an overhead streamer that threatened to strangle him.

"Be our valentine, sirs!" one woman impulsively blurted, sparking giggles.

"Valentine, huh? I gotta lesson in tough love for you, alright," Brian warned, tossing the streamer at them.

The officers continued outside where cold winds whipped their short hair and tugged at their uniforms. The air carried the sharp tang of brine and seaweed; waves crashed against rocks in a steady rhythm; and seagulls wheeled and squawked in the clear sky above.

"This ain't a designated smoking area either," Sam noted dryly as Brian lit a cigarette with cupped hands.

"One, I ain't an inmate. Two, I don't follow the rules: I enforce 'em," Brian replied, flicking his middle finger before marching ahead. "Save the speech for the new inmate."

Inside the intake building, they shelved their differences and slipped into masks of authority. After giving the new inmate a brief overview of rules and expectations, Brian abruptly stood.

"Enough talk. We need to get you stripped, showered, dressed, and processed," he announced. "Up."

"Please undress, place your clothing on the counter, and cooperate during the cavity search," Sam instructed, direct but gentle. "This will involve intimate touching, but I assure you that we are professionals—"

A latex glove snapped loudly, slicing through the tension.

"No handholding," Brian warned before turning to the inmate. "Shy? Too bad. You lost your freedom when you committed a crime."

He closed the distance, his large body crowding her space, his breath warm against her ear.

"Be a good girl and you'll make it out fine. Be a bad girl...." He trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air before his voice dropped an octave.

"Undress."