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(Транскрибировано с помощью TurboScribe. Обновить до Неограниченного, чтобы убрать это сообщение.) Out of uniform on a village green, Mr Whitcombe.

My mates took it off me, sir.

The police report says your mates saw you take it off yourself.

Do you know what Marrowgate is?

A prison, sir.

It's where the Magisterium keeps men who are close to turning dark.

800 of them, behind that wall.

Each one is a few bad weeks from losing himself to it,

and a chaklis is the only thing that brings them back.

So your role here is to be a whole.

Every day, at least 100 men will fuck you and use you.

For how long?

Until the Magisterium says otherwise.

Mr Hatch.

His address has changed on the registry.

It says Marrowgate, out of uniform in public.

Marrowgate?

Christ.

He'd never take his uniform off, not outside.

He knows what happens.

Then someone took it off him, and he's in there for it.

How do I get him out?

I'll stand outside the gate every day if that's all there is.

Noel, the old charlis with the steel tag at the muster.

He's kept by one man, and he lives where that man says.

He told us anyone with a flat, a clean record,

and a form from the Magisterium can keep a charlis.

I live in a block with 40 blokes.

Then get a flat.

He'd rather be kept by you than by me.

Right.

New ones, eyes front.

When a man comes to your cell, you present, like this.

Gethering.

Every time.

You don't make him ask.

I'm not doing that.

Present.

Present.

Count the men, Rory.

Outload if it helps.

When you get to a hundred, your day is done.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow you start again at one.

This is my second time in here.

First time, I stopped counting, and I lost track of how long I'd been here.

Look at the arse on that.

Is he mine tonight, Mr. Hatch?

Form a queue, lads.

He's not going anywhere.

Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh.

Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh.

Your missus coming Thursday?

If she can get the bus.

It's alright, mate. I could feel the dark coming on all week.

63.

Extra for the chalice. You'll need it.

Finish your tea, Captain. Then your pudding.

Is that stew or curry?

Does it matter?

Don't let your tea go cold.

Tray's in. Two minutes.

Nearly there, Mr Hatch.

What time is it?

Late. Go back to sleep, lad.

Sorry, I couldn't sleep.

Nobody sleeps in here, mate.

Ten more, Whit Rook.

Here, Captain. Breather.

Lap nine. Or ten.

It goes over, son.

Laps don't run themselves, Whit Rook.

That's one lap, you old meat.

Where have you put my two plates, Whitlock?

I've been on this bench the whole hour, sir.

Then you've had an hour to hide them.

Thieves get punished on this wing.

Down on that bench.

Someone scratched the Governor's car.

I've been walking laps, sir. Ask anyone.

I'm asking you. That's a punishment.

On your back, on that bench, in front of the lot of them.

There's bleach on the Governor's shirts.

I've not touched his shirt, sir.

You're the only one in here. That's a punishment.

Seg.

Who's had the remote apart?

It was like that when I came in, sir.

Course it was.

You'll be punished for it. On that sofa. On your knees.

On your knees.