4. BAPTIZED IN HELLFIRE

Ryan Carter POV

Today I sought vengeance, retribution for the humiliation Samuel put me through.

He tortured me, and totally embarrassed me on this cursed solitary concrete floor.

The moment I tried to pick up the belt, he notices my movement and steps on my hands. The disturbing crack envelops the whole room.

What follows is my agonizing scream. I feel all my bones cracking. His boots are hard and merciless, judgmental enough to shatter my bones and tendons.

He doesn't stop. He uses his fists to hit me over and over again till I lose all will to fight.

“You shouldn't have done that, Carter. You think getting rid of me will save you in this hellhole? I am your greatest ally as well as your nemesis. Victor and Mateo Cruz will feast on you like a living sacrifice if I was out of the picture.” He grabs my hair hard as he whispers those words into my ears.

................

The remaining days here are horror, pain, and fear intertwined to break me.

The darkness is even more torturous. It has a voice, and it calls me at night.

It persecutes me with its cold awl, so much so that even the comfort of sleep evades me like a plague.

Its wings are suffocating, making my nights full of horror and pain as the core aspects of my existence grow dreadful. I find it difficult to breathe.

This night, I sit on the cold concrete, back against the wall, when a loud BANG invades my serenity.

The sound explodes through the wall, sending chills of fear and concern down my spine.

My head snaps toward the door. “What the hell is going on?”

The sound rings loudly, interrupting my thoughts, but it doesn't stop.

It hits harder. It is deliberate and rhythmic. It hits twice, thrice, then sudden silence. I couldn't fathom what just happened.

“Nice try,” I mutter, but before I could speak further, I hear a loud scream.

Raw. Human. Close enough to trouble the already raging waters in my fragile soul.

My body stiffens from the shock.

“Please! I’ll do it... I’ll do whatever you want!” The voice screams on.

The screams are desperate. Deliberate. I cover my ears to avoid going insane, but the torment intensifies.

I have been to solitary confinement several times, but this time feels different. Everything is tailored to hunt and break down all my defenses.

I shut my eyes, refusing to listen, but the screaming gets louder. “I said I’ll do it! Just stop!”

I hear the sounds of creaks and cracking bones. This time, I shiver uncontrollably.

Then I feel a sudden pound, so intense that it shakes the foundation of the prison, and everything goes silent.

The sudden encounter isn't a coincidence. It's planned, tailored to break me.

“Yeah,” I whisper hoarsely. “You picked the wrong guy.”

But even as I say it, the psychological event of the torture remains fresh, like a fire in my soul.

Time seems to go on an unspoken feud with me. Minutes stretch into hours. Or maybe it is the other way around, hours collapsing into minutes. There is no way to tell.

Solitary confinement is indeed driving me crazy.

I fall in and out of unplanned, uncomfortable naps.

Suddenly, a blinding light attacks my eyes. I squint as the overhead bulb regurgitates back to life.

Then I see it.

The wall directly across from me calls to me. It yearns for my touch.

I see scratches, not random, but deliberate and precise.

Every ounce of my bones resists, but I push myself forward in pain and distress until I reach that spot.

“No way,” I gasp.

As I begin to examine the wall, rubbing my fingers over the surface and tracing the marks, I discover an interesting truth.

These were patterns, symbols, lines, an encoded message, patiently and painstakingly carved with blood and ink.

Whoever did this wasn't just trying to escape, he was leaving something behind.

My brain starts to connect the pieces together. This is more than a message, a key, but my head hurts even trying to decipher the content of such difficult patterns.

I wish Mike were here. He is a genius and would greatly be the one to decode this mysterious discovery.

Someone was tracking something inside this prison.

“TUSTING HURTS.”

The words are faint, scratched deeper than the rest.

I sigh in exhaustion. “Noted,” I whisper, as I stare in awe.

I speak slowly, the words dragging out of me. “This is a map.”

My heart pounds harder. Whoever did this was planning something, but they didn’t finish it, or maybe they couldn’t survive long enough to.

“Guess I’ll pick up where you left off.”

I barely have time to step back before Victor Hale walks in.

Then —BANG, the door slams open.

Victor Hale walks in with swagger, his presence filling the cell like smoke.

“Well, look who’s still breathing,” he sneers, cracking his knuckles.

I shiver, not from the shock of seeing him, but from the fear of him discovering what I have just uncovered.

Thank goodness he doesn't notice.

I tilt my head slightly. “Disappointed that I didn't die?”

His smile widens. “Not yet.”

Two guards drag someone in behind him.

It is an inmate, probably the one whose torture traumatized me earlier.

He is barely conscious. Face swollen. Blood dripping from his mouth.

They throw him to the floor beside me like a pile of trash.

I glance down at him, then at Victor. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s an experiment. A lesson you need to learn.”

Victor bends toward me, staring into my eyes as he speaks. “You see, Carter, you’ve become... a problem.”

“I get that a lot.”

His hand moves faster than I expect, deafening me with a dirty slap. “Still got jokes, right?”

I couldn't even answer. My face stings from the impact.

I spit out a mouthful of blood. “If only your punch was as hard as your cock.”

Victor lets out a dry laugh, then yanks the hair of the tortured inmate. “Here’s how this works.” He smiles an evil smile. “You are going to apologize for hurting my guys and confess that you are done causing trouble.”

He adjusts his sleeve. “You are going to learn your place.”

I don't answer. There are no right words to say.

“Speak up!!!”

“Or what?” I reply, meeting his gaze.

He smiles and drives his fist straight into the inmate’s face.

The crack echoes through the hall, and the man groans weakly.

He proceeds with punch after punch. Blood drops from the inmate’s face.

His actions unsettle me deeply. My heart pounds with every blow.

“Stop,” I say weakly. I am fed up with the torture inflicted on the poor victim.

Victor pauses, looking at me. “Ah,” he murmurs. “There it is.”

He hits the inmate again, harder this time. Blood splatters across the floor.

“He’ll die if you don’t cooperate,” Victor says softly.

I clench my fist. “If you kill him, that's on you. It has nothing to do with me.”

But when I see him about to damage the inmate’s eye, I grab his hand desperately.

This is the game. Break me by using someone else.

I stare down at the man, barely holding onto life by a thread.

Victor picks up a baton, about to crush the inmate’s skull in one strike.

“Do it,” I whisper, unconvincingly, but my soul is about to leave me.

His smile fades. “What?”

“You heard me.” My voice is cold and empty now. “Do it.”

For a split second, something flickers in his eyes. Then he raises the baton in rage, swinging toward the inmate’s face.

“Enough.”

The voice tears through the room like thunder. Samuel Vale stands at the door, watching the drama unfold.

Victor stops. The baton drops to the floor with a sharp thud. “Sir, I... I just wanted...”

“I said enough,” Samuel repeats, his demeanor controlled, his aura suffocating. He strolls into the cell. “Leave him,” he says.

Victor hesitates. He stares at Samuel as if he wants to say a lot.

“Yes, sir,” he finally mutters, dropping the inmate and signaling the guards to follow.

The door shuts, and silence returns to the cell. Samuel stares at me quietly for a long time. Then he steps closer. His boots echo against the cold concrete.

“You chose the harder option,” he says. “Your stay here doesn't have to be this difficult. You'll soon be executed anyway.”

I shrug slightly. “It doesn't even matter anymore.”

His eyes soften for a split second. “Your heart couldn't take it when Victor almost killed that man, but your ego would let him be killed.”

I meet his gaze. “So did you!”

“You don’t belong here,” he says quietly. “You are just a kid, a victim of a great scheme.”

My heart pounds when those words leave his mouth.

“Then why am I here?”

He doesn't answer. He just walks off, letting the uncertainty of solitary confinement welcome me back to its torment.

They throw me back into the yard later that day. The moment my feet hit the ground, I feel it.

The eyes of suspicious inmates. Everywhere. Watching.

Whispers spread like wildfire.

“That’s him...”

“The one from solitary...”

“He snapped Rico...”

Let them look. Fear is currency here. I exhale as I sit on the gym apparatus outside. The warm breath of the early morning sun nourishes my skin.

My short moment of solace is interrupted as a fraction of Mateo Cruz’s men stroll toward me. I recognize them instantly.

One of them stops in front of me. “You made noise,” he smirks.

I tilt my head. “You got a problem with that?”

He chuckles. “No. Mateo likes noise. He also likes control. Maybe we could work together.”

I smile faintly. “Then he’s in the wrong place, and he will definitely clip your fingers if he finds you conversing with me.”

The man studies me for a second, then retreats quickly.

My roommate, popularly called “The Imp,” runs toward me. “Spill, Carter. You just made yourself visible.”

“Yeah. That was the point.” I yawn lazily.

The metal gates open with a disturbing groan as a transport bus rolls in slowly.

“New inmates. Fresh meat,” the old inmates murmur in the yard.

I glance over lazily, then freeze as a great shock overwhelms me. I see Michael, bruised but composed. Immediately, our eyes meet. Everything else feels smaller, almost nonexistent.

“Why are you making faces?” Imp questions.

I just smile and whisper, “Welcome to Hellfire, Michael.”

Things can only get messier from here.