Lord Of Beasts

"Beep! Cell doors opening!"

The harsh electronic announcement echoed through the concrete corridors, serving as an alarm clock that nobody in the prison had ever asked for.

Ethan’s eyes snapped open instantly.

There was no groggy stretch, yawn, or lingering in bed.

The young man shot upright on instinct, his body already tense before his mind had fully caught up.

His breathing was calm, but his eyes definitely weren’t.

Dark circles hung beneath his sharp blue gaze, making him appear older than he really was. Weeks of poor sleep had left them permanently bloodshot, forever scanning, forever expecting someone to attack.

He climbed from the narrow steel bed bolted to the wall, standing in his tiny cell that barely had enough room to take three steps.

Concrete, toilet, and sink.

Nothing else.

He turned on the tap and splashed freezing water across his face. It stung the fresh cuts scattered over his cheekbones, but he barely reacted.

His reflection stared back from the scratched mirror.

Bruises painted his jaw, healing cuts crossed his arms, while his ribs still carried purple marks from a fight several days earlier.

Worst of all were his hands.

His knuckles looked permanently ruined.

The skin had split so many times that thick layers of scar tissue had formed over them, giving his fists a rough, uneven appearance.

Weapons.

That was all they were now.

He stared at himself for another second.

"Just one more day."

It had become his mantra.

He never thought about years, release, or freedom - all he had to do was survive today, then tomorrow.

One day at a time.

It was the only thing that kept him somewhat sane.

Being sentenced to one of the country’s most notorious supermax prisons at eighteen years old had destroyed whatever innocence remained after taking a life.

Now he lived among people who had taken dozens.

Serial killers, Gang leaders, Contract killers, Cannibals - you name it, they were in this place. The only thing they all had in common was that they were monsters in human form.

And somehow, Ethan was fitting right in.

He had become one of them, and since violence was the only language anyone here respected, he became its personification.

His first cellmate had been transferred to the infirmary a week after being transferred, the second lasted even less time, and the third requested protective custody after Ethan broke his wrist during a sudden attack in the middle of the night.

It didn’t matter to him what they did; if they were in this place, he didn’t trust them to share his cell, nor did they deserve his mercy.

Eventually, the administration simply gave Ethan his own cell.

Not because they wanted to reward him, but because it had become dangerous to put someone in with him.

He had become a monster among monsters.

But as dangerous as he might be, he was still a lone young inmate, and each day in this place was torture.

The cell door clanged open.

Ethan stepped into the corridor, remaining alert.

There were hundreds of predators inside these walls, and he trusted none of them. The moment he started to look weak or like an easy target was the moment he died...

-

Breakfast was as miserable as always.

Grey slop that barely qualified as food sat inside a cracked plastic tray.

Ethan ate it anyway.

Calories were calories, and he needed as many as he could get, especially since he didn’t have any commissary to purchase things like snacks and coffee. What few things he did have, he had stolen from his first cellmates.

He was also one of the few who didn’t have any visitors or letters, exactly how he wanted it. Anything from the outside world only reminded him of what he had lost.

’It’s better to forget, makes it less painful and easier to survive.’

The scraping of a chair made Ethan glance upward.

A mountain of a man lowered himself onto the opposite bench. He was enormous, completely bald, and every inch of visible skin was covered in faded tattoos. Scars crossed both forearms, and his nose had clearly been broken more than once.

But despite looking terrifying, he was the closest thing Ethan had to a friend.

If someone could even call it that.

They had fought back-to-back several times during prison riots, yet neither had even asked the other’s name.

Names didn’t matter here.

The giant looked around carefully before raising his hands.

*You good?*

The signs were slow and deliberate.

He had been teaching Ethan sign language while simultaneously making sure he never forgot it himself. His mother had been deaf, and if he ever got out, he wanted to remember how to communicate with her.

Ethan nodded once.

His own eyes never stopped moving, scanning tables, watching exits, and counting people.

The giant frowned.

*Stay in your cell today.*

Ethan finally looked directly at him.

"What?"

*Stay inside.*

*Please.*

Ethan paused halfway through another spoonful.

His expression hardened.

"So your buddies are finally coming for me?"

The giant didn’t answer, which told Ethan everything he needed to know.

He sighed.

Then he shook his head.

"If your buddies come for me..."

He swallowed another mouthful.

"...then so be it."

The giant closed his eyes, almost sadly.

He had expected that response and knew that Ethan wasn’t the time to hide, but he tried anyway.

Not long after that, it was yard time.

Fresh air, if the stale prison air could even be called fresh. It was the only hour of physical activity they would get, and it was only a couple of days out of the week since they were in the highest-level prison.

But it was also the place with the fewest guards on duty.

Ethan immediately walked toward the pull-up bar in the corner, training alone as always.

Pull-ups.

Push-ups.

Squats.

It was just things to keep his body functional, not bothering with heavy weights that would just slow him down. The big oafs would hog them, so it wasn’t worth the trouble. He also didn’t have enough food to grow much muscle anyway.

His chest was sore from all the push-ups he did, and his knuckles reopened, his skin splitting painfully.

He ignored both.

The yard gradually filled with inmates.

Naturally, it was rowdy with arguments, shouting, and laughing, with predators circling one another and forming their own cliques.

That’s when everyone suddenly went silent.

Five large, broad-shouldered men stepped onto the yard, and they immediately made their presence known.

They were hard to miss.

White supremacist tattoos covered their necks and shaved heads, swastikas and lightning bolts, hate carved permanently into flesh.

Their leader smirked.

"We’ve asked nicely and multiple times."

Ethan climbed down from the pull-up bar, calmly staring at the leader of the small group. He was the smallest of the lot and older, likely in his fifties, with the four others towering over them both.

"I remember you offering protection and commissary if I joined you," the blue-eyed man responded slowly.

"You still thinking about it?" the man questioned with a smile.

Ethan snorted, not hiding his disdain for them.

"You hillbilly fuckbuddies can keep doing each other, but like I said, I’m rolling solo."

Several nearby inmates quietly backed away, sensing what was coming.

And that’s when things went to shit...