From Prison To Dominance!

“Get him down!” Warden Pratt screamed.

His bleeding gums painted his teeth red. Blood spilled from the corners of his mouth.

“Get him down NOW!”

Six guards lunged. Riot batons at hand. And still, the new inmate tore through them like they were made of paper.

“This prison is mine now! You are all dirt!”

Blackgate Federal Prison had a reputation. Men who walked through its gates walked out broken, reformed, or they didn’t walk out at all.

But the new inmate wasn’t impressed. He grabbed a warden and slammed him on the ground.

Bones crunched. Flesh ripped. The piercing scream tore through Cell Block D.

“You call this a prison?” the inmate said, his voice almost bored.

“I’ve put down guard dogs with more fight than you.”

A second warden lunged. The inmate caught his jaw with an elbow and felt it shatter under the impact.

“Pathetic. All of you. Pathetic!”

Warden Pratt backed toward the radio on his belt, hand shaking too hard to find the button.

“This is Cell Block D, we need immediate backup, we need… oh God… I repeat, immediate-“

The inmate grabbed him. Crushed the radio in his hand and raised Pratt off the ground.

“Three top prisons before Blackgate could not hold me.” His grip tightened around Pratt’s neck, choking him.

“I’m the king of this fucking prison now! You’re all my bitch! ” He yelled and slammed Pratt on a cell door.

The door buzzed.

And then opened.

Silence fell on the entire block.

Every man, even those who’d been howling and banging on the bars for a better view, retreated into their cells.

Because everyone knew cell 32 didn’t just open for frivolity. Not without purpose.

“Why do insects make the loudest noise?”

A voice said from the dark cell.

Then a figure stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck with the weary irritation of a man who’d just been woken up for something stupid.

He looked twenty-four, maybe twenty-five.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rhys muttered, glancing at the wreckage of wardens scattered across the floor.

“It’s my last day here. And you people can’t handle a single new intake without me?”

But then, the inmate looked at him and laughed. Amused by the lad’s audacity.

“Is this a joke? This…” He gestured at Rhys.

“…thing is what they send? Some baby-faced little bitch who still needs his mommy to cut his steak? They ran out of real men, I see, so they scraped the bottom of the barrel and found you.”

The young man didn’t answer. He just checked his watch, like he needed to be somewhere that instant.

“You know what they call me?” The inmate rolled his neck, cracked his bloodied knuckles, grinning now, wide and rotten.

“They call me the Reaper. One hundred and ninety nine confirmed kills. ” He jabbed a thick finger into the young man’s chest.

“And you? you’re gonna be number two hundred. I’m gonna cave your pretty little skull in and prop this gate open with what’s left of it, so every last one of these rats remembers what happens when they send a child to do a man’s job.”

“Fuck. I really do need to teach you a lesson now.”

Rhys said lazily.

The inmate blinked twice. His anger surged immediately.

“You little piece of shit—“

The inmate threw a punch. Rhys caught the hand, barely thinking about it.

The inmate tried to move it, but his hand was frozen in place. He strained, and threw the other punch.

Rhys caught it as well.

“That’s a rude way…” Rhys said slowly, “…to greet someone on his way out.”

Then he twisted.

The bones ripped at the elbow!