Chapter 4
Celin sat silently in the back of the armored van as it rumbled down the cracked highway toward San-Jamb Maximum Security Prison.
The heavy engine droned like a funeral march. The faint smell of rust and gasoline filled the air, but Celin hardly noticed.
The metal cuffs around his wrists dug deep into his skin, leaving raw red marks, yet the sting was nothing compared to the weight inside his chest.
He had watched his family die.
His brother Melin, reckless but brave, who always carried hope in his voice.
His father Felin, strong and protective, who had taught him how to stand tall.
And his mother, gentle and warm, whose smile had been the last light in his darkening world.
Now, all gone—snuffed out in seconds.
And the world believed he was the one who killed them.
Celin lowered his head, staring at the cuffs. Chains for the innocent, freedom for the guilty. That's the way of San-Jamb.
The van screeched to a halt. Outside, the towering gates of San-Jamb Prison loomed like the jaws of a beast.
The massive steel doors opened with a slow, mechanical groan, the sound echoing across the yard like a warning. Guards in riot gear waited with cold eyes and rifles ready.
As Celin was marched through the gates, the air seemed to grow heavier. Concrete walls, lined with razor wire, stretched endlessly.
Steel bars clanged shut behind him, one after another, sealing off any hope of escape.
From the very first step inside, he could feel the weight of the system pressing down on him—a machine designed not for justice, but for control.
Inmates leaned against railings or sat on benches, watching him with predatory eyes. Some smirked, others whispered. A few just stared, empty and broken.
Celin didn't flinch. He just kept walking, jaw tight, eyes forward.
For the first few days, Celin was locked in isolation. A tiny cell, four walls, one slit of a window.
The silence was deafening. He lay on the hard cot staring at the ceiling, replaying the massacre in his mind again and again.
Each time, the sound of the gunshot ripping into Melin's chest made him jolt awake in a sweat.
But eventually, isolation ended. He was moved into general population.
That was when he realized this place wasn't just prison—it was a kingdom with its own rules, its own predators, its own prey.
And he was new blood.
One evening in the crowded mess hall, Celin noticed a group of men at a corner table.
They didn't laugh or shout like the others. They didn't bully the weak or beg favors from guards. They were quiet, sharp-eyed, deliberate—like wolves in waiting.
Days passed before one of them finally approached him.
A tall man with broad shoulders and tattoos crawling up both arms sat across from Celin without asking. His gaze was calm, but his presence was heavy.
"You don't belong here, do you?" the man asked in a low voice.
Celin's eyes narrowed. "Why? You do?"
The man smirked faintly. "Name's Tariq. You should know something, kid. We all got locked up by the same people—the Ballas. Framed. Silenced. Just like you."
Celin froze. His heart skipped. He hadn't spoken a single word about the Ballas Gang since arriving.
"How do you know that?" he asked sharply.
Tariq leaned in closer, voice just above a whisper.
"Because I know Fedrick. And I know how the Red Cult cleans its messes. They make sure no one ever talks. That's why you're here."
The words sank into Celin like cold steel. His breath caught in his throat.
That night, Tariq introduced him to the others. Around a dim corner of the prison yard, they spoke in hushed tones, telling their stories.
Each one carried the same pattern—families destroyed, businesses stolen, reputations ruined. False charges. Rigged trials. Paid-off judges.
Every one of them had crossed paths with the Red Cult, and every one of them had been crushed.
Some had lost everything to betrayal. Others had lost wives, brothers, or children. But they had all survived the same fate: to be branded criminals while the true monsters walked free.
They weren't just inmates.
They were survivors of Fedrick's empire of lies.
And now, Celin was one of them.
For the first time since his arrest, he didn't feel completely alone.
But inside, the storm still raged. They killed my family. They framed me. I will survive this hell. And when the time comes—I'll make them pay.
Meanwhile, Back in San-Jamb City…
In the shadows of the city, Fedrick was already weaving his next lie.
Melin had not died that night.
Fedrick had dragged his bleeding body to a private hospital owned by Red Cult loyalists. The doctors worked frantically to save him—not out of compassion, but because Fedrick ordered it.
The bullet had pierced deep into Melin's chest, tearing muscle and scraping bone, but it had narrowly missed his heart.
He spent days hovering between life and death, drifting in and out of a fevered haze.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Fedrick—dressed in black, sitting solemnly at his bedside like a grieving friend.
"W-Where… am I?" Melin croaked, voice cracked and dry.
Fedrick leaned forward, his expression painted with sorrow.
"You're safe now, Melin. But… I'm so sorry, son. Your father… Felin… he did something terrible."
Melin's eyes widened in confusion and dread.
"What?"
Fedrick let out a long, rehearsed sigh. He was an actor in his finest role.
"He killed your mother. And he tried to kill me too. He snapped. I tried to stop him, but…" Fedrick lowered his head, pretending to wipe away a tear. "You were caught in the crossfire. I saved you. I couldn't let you die."
Melin's lips trembled. His body shook. The world he thought he knew was crumbling.
"No… no, Father wouldn't… He loved her. He loved us…"
Fedrick placed a hand gently on Melin's shoulder, his voice soft and poisonous.
"He was sick, Melin. Angry. Dangerous. I didn't want to believe it either. But it's the truth.
You have to accept it. You're safe now. I'll take care of you… like a son."
Melin turned his face away, tears spilling down his cheeks.
He wept like a broken child, like a wounded animal abandoned in the storm. Every sob tore deeper into his chest.
In his grief and weakness, he clung to the lie, too shattered to see the truth.
And Fedrick smiled in the shadows.
Because with Celin branded as a murderer, and Melin now bound by false loyalty, the Red Cult had won.
For now.
To Be Continued…