After walking down a darkened hallway for what feels like eternity, the young man finally arriving in front of a heavy metal gate along with old man Frode next to him.
The heavy gate creaked open as a gust of musty air hit Isaak's face.
"Don't you two cause any trouble, or you're dead!" The guard snarled, shoving Isaak forward, making him stumbled into the prison yard. Luckily, this time he able to caught himself before hitting the ground again.
Frode walked slowly behind him, cursing about the rough treatment. "Watch your step, kiddo." He muttered, his voice grumpy.
Isaak squinted at the dim light coming through the cloudy sky. In front of him, the yard is a grim, desolate place like it have swallowed all hope. Dozens of prisoners wandered aimlessly, their uniforms nothing more than tattered rags clinging to their skinny bodies. As they stared at him, their sunken, hollow eyes sent a chill down Isaak's spine.
He stepped forward, his heart racing as he scanned through the place. The yard was surrounded by tall, rough concrete walls with barbed wire curled on the top. On the watchtowers were the guards, they watched carefully with rifles in their hand, ready to fire at any moment.
Beyond the prison walls, tall mountains rose, their snowy peaks shimmering softly beneath the gray sky. For a moment, they felt like a different world entirely, their beauty trapped behind stone and steel.
This was it: a brutal landscape, a place of despair and brutality, surrounded by mountains.
"Welcome to to the playground." Frode said dryly. "Better watch yourself, or you'll get mauled any second."
The young man felt the eyes of nearby prisoners on him, a mix of curiosity and scorn. Around him, whisperings began to spread across the yard.
He clenched his fists, shame gnawing inside him. He knew what he'd done, but it wasn't his fault, it was Isaak's, not him.
Sensing Isaak's turmoil, Frode warned carefully. "Don't let them get to you. Follow me closely if you don't want to get badly beaten."
As Frode walked next to Isaak, his eyes swept across the yard before landing on Isaak's face.
"Listen up, kiddo. We're in Moroznaya Bashnya Maximum Prison." The old man said, his voice low and steady. "This place isn't like any normal maximum jail. It's the royal family's execution ground for the worst of the worst."
Moroznaya Bashnya, just the name alone made Isaak already feel heavy enough. He glanced around again, seeing more prisoners dragging around like undeads, their faces either lifeless or filled with madness.
"See that guy over there?" Frode pointed toward a tall figure sitting near the corner of the yard, his muscles rippling beneath his rag shirt. "That's Viktor 'the Bear' Ivanov. He doesn't take kindly to newcomers wandering into his territory."
Isaak followed Frode's gaze. The man named Viktor stood alone with his arms crossed, glaring at anyone who dared to approach him. A faint scar cut across his dark cheek like a lightning bolt.
"What does he do?" Isaak asked cautiously.
"He runs a black gang called Wild Panthers." Frode replied. "They don't like any perceived threats, and of course, racism. If you tried to mess with them, I wouldn't be surprised if the next day I woke up with your corpse next to me."
Isaak swallowed hard as he took in Viktor's serious words.
Frode continued walking, leading Isaak further into the yard while keeping an eye on Viktor and others who might take interest in them.
"And over there is Nadia." Frode pointed toward an old woman sitting against the wall, surrounded by many muscular female prisoners."She leads the Bloody Nightshade, a gang full of powerful women."
Nadia wore her gray hair cropped short, her sharp features set in despite her old age.
"What's her deal?"
Frode shrugged. "Her gang, the Bloody Nightshade, handles all the deals of the prisoners in here. Deal properly, or you'll regret being born."
The prison buzzed with an undercurrent of tension as whispers danced among prisoners huddled together for warmth and camaraderie. Each group held its own dynamics; some were friendly enough to share scraps of food while others thrived on chaos and violence.
Frode gestured toward another corner where two men were engaged in what seemed to be a heated argument. One man towered over the other, veins visibly pulsing on his neck.
"That's Mikhail 'The Ripper'." Frode said quietly.
Isaak narrowed his eyes at Mikhail's fierce expression as he shoved the smaller man away with one swift motion. "Alright, tell me what gang he's ruling already."
Frode shook his head. "He doesn't rule any gang. Still, he's notorious for his numerous successful heists and serial murders, all done with just his bare hands. Just say that you should stay away from him, you'll be crushed and devoured for real."
The old man's words sent chills down Isaak's spine. "Is there anyone in here even friendly and not dangerous?" He asked nervously.
With a mocking smirk, Frode replied. "In here? Kiddo, everyone IS dangerous in here. There's a reason why this prison is one of the worst places you want to be."
They walked past through a group of men. Isaak noticed their brief exchanges of hushed laughter or threatening glances, while the others simply lounged against the cracked walls.
Frode slowed down as they reached the edge of the yard.
"Although I've told you who to be careful with, there are still some unspoken rules I must tell you." He said firmly as he scanned their surroundings again before focusing back on the young man. "First rule of the playground: Stay out of gang territory unless you want to be shredded like meat."
Isaak felt his heart thumping faster at each word as Frode continued.
"Second rule of the playground: Don't ever snitch, not even if you're bleeding or have a broken bone. If a guard asks who stabbed you, you say, 'I accidentally fell on a nail,' or find whatever damn reason. Snitches often get shanked to death if they dare to snitch.
Third rule of this playground: You gotta respect the Old Heads. They get first pick of food, jobs, and contraband. When they tell you to do something, you do it. Why? They got the connections to either protect you or crush new inmates like you."
The air hung thick with dread as the situation hit Isaak like cold water: every interaction here carried consequences far greater than he'd expected.
The old man turned to face Isaak fully, his eyes full of experience.
"There are plenty more rules you'll need to know, but I'll tell you those later. For now, remember this most important rule: trust no one, not even me." He warned firmly. "Everyone in here has something to gain, and they'll do whatever it takes, whether that's using you or betraying you."
With those final words echoing between them, Isaak felt a slight sense of isolation wash over him. He knew that in here, even allies could turn into knives at any moment. Yet, he didn't want the old man in front of him to turn into his enemy.
But if it must be done, then I have no choice but to accept it. After all, what other options do I really have in this hellish place?
The young man remained silent as the weight of Frode's words sinking in. He watched the chaos around him: prisoners shouted and rushing each other while others sat quietly in their corners, their eyes blank and hollow as if they had given up.
After a few minutes, Isaak finally broke the silence as he glancing at the old man. "How do you know so much about this place?"
Hearing so, Frode let out a small chuckle before replying. "Kiddo, I've only been in this hellhole less than two weeks, but let me tell you, that's more than enough time for me to get ears everywhere." He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Prisoners just loveee to gossip, especially when they have almost nothing to do. If you listen long enough, you'll pick up plenty of stories."
Isaak nodded slowly, his mind racing with questions. "So what do we do now?"
"Now? We wait until yard time ends," Frode replied, pointing toward the gate where they enter. "After this is over, we'll line up to head back inside."
"How so?"
"A guard would shout over a megaphone, ordering everyone to line up." Frode shrugged. "If you refused, you'd lose yard privileges and face punishment, like scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush or some sort."
"What happens if we don't get back in line?" Isaak's curiosity pushed him further.
Frode's eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the yard again. "Those guards would fire warning shots into the air or ground if you disobey." He pointed at the guards with rifles standing on the watchtowers. "If you resisted, oh, it would get even worse. The guards would show up with metal batons in hand and beat you senseless, all of them."
"I-I understand…" Isaak muttered, his gaze shifting away as he fell silent.
The young man released a long sigh as he leaned against the cold wall, trying to inhale the musty air of the prison yard. The smell of sweat and despair invaded his nose, but he still tried to appreciate it anyway. He watched the yard's chaotic energy: groups huddled around, prisoners walking around like undead, and of course, the guards on the watchtowers watching their every move.
But as he glanced around, his heart skipped a beat. A muscular figure was approaching him with an angry expression on his face. That figure is none other than Mikhail 'The Ripper', the one Frode warned to stay away earlier.
"Uh… Old man…" Panic grew within Isaak as he turned to seek Frode's help. "Is he really coming in this way or-" He called out. However, Frode was not there; in fact, he was nowhere to be found.
That damn old geezer-
As Mikhail drew closer, his voice booming across the yard. "You bastard!" He shouted, his voice filled with anger. "You said you'd cover for my crimes! You promised me that!"
Isaak's heart raced as Mikhail grabbed him by the collar and dragged him forward, forcing him to stumble toward the center of the yard. A crowd of prisoners began to gather around them, curious faces peering out to witness the unfolding scene.
"What are you talking about?!" Isaak stammered, trying to break free from Mikhail's hold. But the man's grasp was like iron, impossible to escape.
Mikhail's voice dripped with venom as he continued his outburst. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out it was you? That I'd just let this slide? You tricked me into this hellhole after I did everything you asked in the contract!"
Confusion swirled through Isaak's mind as he struggled to grasp the situation in front of him. Slowly, after what felt like forever, realization slowly began to emerge.
He realized that the real Isaak Semenov, the one Mikhail was raging about, had caused all of this whole mess, tricking Mikhail into this hellhole. But the problem is… that traitor wasn't him! And now he needed to somehow prove it before he got ripped into pieces.
You've got to be kidding me... Why the hell did I suddenly get tangled in this? This isn't my mess. I didn't create this bullcrap! His mind screamed.
With brutal force, Mikhail threw the young man to the ground like a piece of trash, making him cough up blood as shouts erupted like cannon fire.
The crowd surged closer, their whisperings swirling like a storm.
"Isn't that Isaak Semenov? The noble scumbag who killed his own clan?" One prisoner whispered, disbelief etched on his face.
Others nodded, their expressions twisted with a mix of disgust and scornful.
"Yeah! I heard he massacred his whole clan!" Another voice chimed in. The gossip grew even louder as time went on.
As Isaak struggled to rise, blood leaking from his lips as he glanced up at Mikhail's huge figure.
"Crush him!" Someone yelled from the back.
Another voice chimed in with excitement. "Teach that bastard a lesson!"
The crowd roared like a pack of hyenas, hungry for blood. They eager for the scene about to unfold in front of them, their vengeance boiling over as they urged Mikhail to deliver the punishment they all craved.
The tension thickened in the air as more and more prisoners joined Mikhail's side. Their chants echoed through the yard, fueling Mikhail's rage even more.
"Now I'll make you pay for what you did!" Mikhail roared, his voice filled with fury. "I'm going to break your leg first, so you can't run. Next, I'll rip off your hands, breaking your bones one by one. And finally, I'll chewed off your head for dinner!"
The young man struggled to catch his breath as Mikhail stood in front of him, looking about to unleash. His eyes slowly moved to the guards on the watchtower, his gaze pleading for help, but they stood unmoving like stone statues, arms crossed, watching the unfolding chaos beneath with amusement.
Warning shot my ass… He thought. No one is going to help me…
As Mikhail charged forward, fists clenched and ready to deliver his punch, Isaak braced himself for the impact.
"Tensile yield at 1400 N/cm²... Triangular load brace formation, 7-point lock... Deploy…"
But just as Mikhail's massive figure reached him, a sudden metallic sound clink-clank broke the chaotic tension of the yard.
Within a second, a mechanical wall suddenly appeared out of nowhere between them. It was made of gears and skeletal metal rods, popping up from thin air with its joints clicking perfectly into place. Isaak stared in disbelief as it completely blocked Mikhail's incoming fist.
Mikhail stopped abruptly, his expression shifting from rage to confusion. He glared at the mechanical wall and then back at Isaak, his fists still clenched tightly.
From atop the watchtower, a tall, commanding figure appeared. Dressed in a crisp suit that seemed out of place in the prison yard, the blonde man immediately drew the eyes of all the prisoners with his aura.
"Enough!" He shouted down at the chaos below, his voice echoing across the yard like thunder, instantly silencing the prisoners.
"There won't be any chaos under my watch." His piercing blue eyes swept the crowd before locking on Isaak, his voice cold and harsh. "Isaak Semenov… It's your first day in prison, and you've created such a mess."
"You will be punished accordingly. Take that filthy murderer to my office now."