Chapter 3: Chapter 1.3
The City of Lakesboro had its very own prison right at the heart of the city. It spanned across 10 square miles, and went two stories up, and ten stories down.
Stanley was being led in handcuffs by two officers. A buzzer sounded as the officers opened the barbed wire gate using their badges for security clearance.
"Welcome to the Lakesboro Detention Center." said one of the officers. "We hold over five thousand of the most dangerous criminals in the state here. Easy to get in, impossible to get out. You're gonna be spending the next decade of your life in here, so don't get used to it too quickly, heh."
Stanley had on a neutral expression. The uniform at the prison consisted of a white t-shirt, white boxers, a pair of white socks, and a baby-blue jumpsuit with the prisoners' number ID printed on the left side of the chest.
It took about fifteen minutes for the officers to escort Stanley inside of the prison. There were several security gates to get through, too many for any foolish inmate to even dream of escape.
Before long, Stanley was at his cell. He couldn't help but grimace, seeing the cold concrete walls and flooring, the off-white toilet that clearly hasn't been cleaned since its installation, and a yellowed, worn-out, twin-sized mattress on the floor, with but a single sheet to lay under.
The officer unlocked the cell using a handprint scanner and shoved him inside.
"Your hands."
Stanley reached through the bars to have his cuffs removed. He rubbed his wrists, a faint red ring left behind from them being squeezed so tightly.
"Remember, the buzzer is your best friend in here. It lets you know when to wake up, when to sleep, when to eat, when to go outside. Any questions?"
Stanley shook his head solemnly. Once the officers walked away, he was left to his own thoughts. "Fifteen years..." he muttered darkly to himself. "I can't believe this."
"Hey."
Stanley whipped around. On the opposite side of the hall, in his direct line of sight, was another cell identical to his. Both sides of the hall were lined with cells, so each prisoner could see the one in front of them.
This prisoner was sitting cross-legged right behind the bars. His skin tone was tan, his jet-black, sweaty hair draped all over his face. Behind it, Stanley could see his cold, piercing eyes, daring anyone to test him. He had his jumpsuit halfway off, baring his upper body. His chest and arms were covered entirely with black tattoos of varying symbols, foreign scripts, and mythical animals. One in particular stood out; a large black cross in the center of his chest, going from the collarbone to his navel. When he noticed Stanley watching him, he spoke again. "I would call you fresh meat but... not much on you is there? What's your name little guy?"
"What's it to you?"
"I heard you say 'fifteen years'. Might as well get to know each other, dontcha think?"
The man's voice was rough and gritty, you could practically feel the hostility shooting out like iron daggers.
"You first..."
"Heh..." He took a deep breath in, taking the time to close his eyes before slowly opening them again. "HEY!!" He screamed, startling Stanley. "ANYONE ELSE SMELL THAT?!"
The other inmates from nearby cells chimed in, "Yeah, yeah, I smell it!! Smells like bitch in here!!"
A warrior's cry roared from the grunts. The man in front of Stanley smiled with teeth stained brown. "Don't talk back to me again, hm? You wouldn't be the first kid with a stick up his ass I kill."
Stanley frowned, stepping further away from the bars. "My name's Stanley."
"Stanley... nice to meet you Stanley. I'm Marco. Chow's in a few hours. Starting today, I get half of your shit."
"For what?"
Marco wagged a finger, "Ah ah ah, no back talk. If you don't get me that half, you're in trouble."
Stanley balled his fists. "I'm not giving you nothin'."
Marco snickered, so did the other nearby inmates. "For some reason, that look of yours gets me riled up. Okay then... no half for me." With that, Marco rolled to the back of his cell, in the shadows, and laid down without another word.
Stanley, although he didn't show it, he was shaken up. He'd never met such a guy in his life. He knew Marco was a stone-cold killer, his eyes and voice told it all.
He tried to lay down and get some rest, but the floor was uncomfortable. He tossed and turned over the course of just ten minutes before abruptly sitting up. "I can't do this...! I'm not supposed to be in here!!"
His outburst caused the inmates to laugh some more.
-
There was the sound of the buzzer after about an hour. Stanley sat up. Everyone's cell doors slid open automatically at the same time.
At first, it was no big deal. Stanley would find out what the buzzer meant sooner or later. But by the time he could even get to his knees, Marco was full-sprinting right into his cell.
Stanley's initial reaction was to put his hands up and cower in defense, but Marco kicked straight through it with a devilish grin on his face.
thwack!
Blood spurt out of Stanley's mouth as he shuddered on the floor, holding his mouth while letting out muffled screams of pain.
Marco let out a heavy breath. "Get up, little man. It's time to eat!"
There was a loud crunching noise. Stanley yelled out loud this time, as Marco stomped on his ribcage. He rolled over, trying to keep himself together.
The other inmates crowded around outside the cell, bickering and laughing at him.
Marco raised his foot again. "If you don't get up now, you'll die right there. A man on all-fours is no more than a plaything."
Stanley slowly crawled onto his knees.
Marco looked at the ceiling for a second, then slammed his foot into the same spot as before.
Stanley yelled out again. "AAAAARGH!!!"
More laughs from outside.
Marco put his hands in his pockets. "I'm waiting."
Stanley crawled to the wall, using the concrete as leverage to weakly get on his feet.
"Was that so hard?" Marco teased. He turned around and left the cell. One of the guards was standing to his direct right. "Got something you wanna say to me?"
The guard avoided eye contact and shook his head.
Marco chuckled and turned the other way. "Let's get some grub boys."
The other inmates eagerly followed after.
Meanwhile Stanley fought back tears. [ "Why me?!!" ] He tried walking and was immediately met with a sharp pain from his side, cursing loudly.
The guard peeked into the cell. "Chow's down the hall. Move it."
Stanley shot him a nasty look. "Does it look like I'm in the mood to eat?!"
"Rules are rules. No one said you had to eat. But you're sure as hell getting out of there."
Stanley begrudgingly limped his way out of his cell. The guard escorted him to the mess hall. As they walked, the guard lowered his voice to speak. "I wouldn't make enemies out of Marco if I were you. He runs the LDC."
Stanley held his side. "What the hell did he do?"
"If I said anything else, I'd be putting both of our lives at risk."
-
After reaching the mess hall, Stanley sat down at a table by himself, not even bothering to get up for food. His gaze wandered for a while, but before long he caught sight of Marco, who was standing near a table having a conversation.
Rage and anger swirled in Stanley's mind.
[ "Who does he think he is?" ]
[ "I should kill him." ]
[ "Why would it matter?" ]
[ "My life's over anyway." ]
[ "Kill him... kill him... kill him..." ]
Marco turned his head and met Stanley's nasty glare. Stanley quickly looked away, but Marco was already coming over.
He grabbed Stanley by his dreads and pulled him out of his seat. Everyone in the room was watching.
Marco whispered in his ear, not in a soft-spoken way, but quiet enough so that nobody else could hear him. "You don't think I know what kinda thoughts are goin' through that skull of yours? I stare death in the face every f*ckin' day. I know when it's starin' back at me punk."
Stanley grit his teeth and swung with his right fist. Marco swiftly moved his head back to avoid it, then smashed his left fist straight into the center of Stanley's face.
The onlookers yelled out in a hyped-up surprise.
Stanley fell to his knees, holding on to the table. He was covering his face with his hand as blood ran between his fingers.
Marco snarled. "Something about you just doesn't sit right with me..."
The sound of a high-pitched whistle rang through the mess hall. A group of three prison guards ran in and crowded around Stanley. One of them, an officer with a thick mustache and round glasses, eyed Marco with a hint of anger. "You know what this means right?"
Marco smiled to himself. "Hmph." He held his hands up. One of the other guards took them and handcuffed them behind his back.
Stanley was helped to his feet and escorted out along with Marco.
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