Chapter 9 Which Unlucky Bastard

"It's just... just bumps and scrapes from working out in the countryside, officer."

Sarah's voice was faint and hoarse. She kept her head down, her face nearly pressed against her thin collarbones.

Her eyes were wide with fear, fixed on the concrete floor beneath her feet, not daring to look at the guard's polished leather boots.

"The roads in town are narrow, and there are no streetlights at night. I trip all the time, tumble down steep dirt slopes, and I haul thorny pine logs on the farm."

"I've never eaten well. The doctor said I've been malnourished for years — my skin bruises easily."

She curled in on herself even more, her shoulders trembling nonstop.

This cowering, helpless act had been her way of staying safe for a long time. It was through absolute submission and playing weak that she had survived under her violent uncle until she turned eighteen.

The guard, wearing latex gloves, pressed hard on a deep purple bruise on Sarah's side.

"Hss—"

The pain made Sarah's eyes go red instantly. She drew a sharp breath on instinct, bit down on her lip, and forced herself not to cry out.

The guard studied her calmly.

The girl was thin, her brown hair a mess, her eyes vacant with fear.

After ten years in the prison system, the guard could tell at a glance — these injuries weren't from physical labor. They were marks left by a belt, signs of repeated abuse.

The guard stared at her in silence until Sarah's breathing fell completely apart.

But in the end, she just laughed coldly to herself.

Section A's special assignment was a direct order from the higher-ups, tangled up with the Asteria crime syndicate and political interests. In this place, sticking your nose in other people's business only brought trouble. She wasn't looking for any.

"Alright, turn around."

The guard pulled her hand back, stripped off the gloves and tossed them in the trash, then picked up her pen and checked the box on the safety assessment section of the medical form.

"Meets program criteria."

Those words were as good as a pardon to Sarah.

The tension she'd been holding snapped all at once. The strength drained out of her body, and she nearly collapsed to the floor.

She gasped for air. Her back was already soaked through with cold sweat, the damp fabric of her undershirt clinging to her wounds, stinging with every breath.

"Get cleaned up, put on the uniform, and be out in two minutes."

The guard said her piece and walked out, pulling the door shut behind her.

Sarah steadied herself against the wall and made her way on shaky legs into the small private bathroom next door.

Cold water poured from the showerhead, running over her scarred shoulders.

Sarah bit down hard on her fist and let the cold water wash over her face. She scrubbed at her skin with force, trying to wash away the bruises, and the humiliation of being examined in front of someone, and the shame that had settled deep in her bones.

But she knew — no matter how hard she scrubbed, nothing about her situation would change.

She changed into the volunteer uniform the prison had issued. The rough fabric chafed against her skin, and the bold "Volunteer-51" printed on it was a constant reminder that she had no way out.

She couldn't stop the dread creeping in — would Alexander be even worse than Percy?

Once dressed, Sarah curled up on the wooden chair in the corner of the examination room, pulling herself into a tight ball.

Tap. Tap. Tap...

Clear footsteps echoed down the empty hallway.

The iron door to the examination room was shoved open, and a heavyset guard with a hard, menacing face walked in — one of the Section A escorts. A taser and a baton hung from his belt. The look he gave Sarah was the kind you'd give a piece of cargo waiting to be dealt with.

"Number 51, on your feet." The guard's face was blank. "Stay behind me. No looking around, no talking. Otherwise you're spending tonight in solitary."

Sarah shot to her feet. She stood up too fast — her vision went dark for a second.

She couldn't afford to fall behind. She clenched her jaw and followed the guard with her head down.

The reinforced door slowly sealed shut behind her. Sarah had officially entered the corridor reserved for Section A's most dangerous inmates.

It was all cold white — no decoration, the color harsh and bleached. It felt less like a prison and more like a sterile examination room.

The air reeked of disinfectant, but it did nothing to cover the raw, violent energy seeping out from the cells on either side.

The cell doors were solid steel panels fitted with bulletproof glass.

Bang! Bang!

"Hey, new girl! Over here!"

"Oh damn, they brought in a fresh one! Hey, look at me!"

As Sarah walked past the cells, the sounds of iron doors being slammed and chains dragging across floors kept coming, mixed in with crude whistles and shouting from the inmates.

The security cameras on the ceiling rotated slowly. Red indicator lights were everywhere, watching every inch of the corridor.

A suffocating pressure closed in around her, squeezing the air from her lungs, making her steps unsteady and her whole body rigid.

At the bend in the corridor, the escort guard was called away without warning, signaling her to stay put.

Two guards on rotation leaned against the wall talking, unlit cigarettes hanging from their lips, making no effort to lower their voices with Sarah standing nearby, pale as a sheet.

"You hear about it? New one got assigned to A-001 today." The tall guard's voice was full of dark amusement.

"A-001? Alexander's cell?" The shorter one looked stunned. "Christ, who's that unlucky? Regular volunteers won't go anywhere near that place. Has the higher-up lost their mind?"

"Who knows. Just some nobody with no connections. Brought in as cannon fodder." The tall one smirked.

"That's Alexander we're talking about. First day inside, he jammed half a toothbrush through the throat of the last Section A top dog."

"In here, the warden's word doesn't carry half as much weight as his fists. He never holds back."

"I give it until tonight before that girl breaks."

"Word is Alexander already knew a volunteer was coming today. He's been unusually quiet these past few days. Just saving up his patience."

"Well then. Should be quite a show."

Every word landed in Sarah's ears without missing a beat.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped straight over her. Her feet locked to the floor. The cold spread through her limbs fast.

She couldn't stop shaking — it started at her knees and worked its way up until her teeth were chattering.

Serial killer. Underground kingpin.

The terror broke through every wall she had left.

She wanted to run. She wanted to scream and pull herself out of this program.

But behind her were armed guards. Above her, cameras with no blind spots. On both sides, walls that sealed off every way out.

She had nowhere to go.

"Stop dragging your feet. Move."

The guard came back and shoved her impatiently from behind.

Sarah moved forward on numb legs.

The guard finally stopped in front of a heavy alloy cell door at the far end of the corridor. A black number was stamped into it: A-001.

Sarah looked up at the closed door, gripping the hem of her uniform tight, her heart slamming in her chest.

Through the gap in the door, the faint smell of blood seeped out.

"In you go, girl."

The guard pulled a cruel, hollow smile and pressed the green button on the wall.

Hiss—

The alloy door slid open on both sides.

Before Sarah could make out anything inside, the guard shoved her hard from behind.

Sarah let out a short cry and stumbled into the cell.

The moment her feet hit the ground, a cold, dominant force came pressing down — heavy with a raw, male intensity that wrapped around her completely.

Unfamiliar. Dark. Deadly.

Every survival instinct she had screamed at her to back away.

Then—

Bang!

The alloy door slammed shut behind her. The lock clicked into place, sharp and final.

The door cut off every trace of light.

The impact shook through Sarah's whole body. She stood frozen in the dark, unable to move.