Black Pentagon Prison Novels & Stories

His face was drawn, dark circles lingering beneath his eyes. "I received the clearance order from the Director an hour ago," Miller said, opening the rear door for us as the rain began to fall over the tarmac. "I don't know who your friend in the prison cell is, Cross, but the Department of Homeland Security has him classified under a Priority Nine red tag. No trial record, no public roster, no attorney visits allowed." "Where is he?" Daniel asked as we climbed into the back.

"We are ready to get out of this disgusting place." The news hit them all at once; they didn't expect that kind of information. The dream of someday getting out of prison was one that all three teenagers shared, life was hard behind the thick bars, and it was even harder if you were there unfairly. The three boys could only imagine five percent of what the world was like and the freedom of living in it. "It's impossible to get out of here, Jack," Annette's dry voice brought everyone back to reality. "It's not," he affirmed "this time, it's going to work," and he assured with a slight smile.

I was loving her even more. She used to be my secretary at Twinkle Stars, now she was my wife. Raymond, James, and even Kenneth, had all tried to get her, but I was the lucky one. I was the one who made her mine, which was something I had least expected. In this case, if all four of us had wanted her, did it mean she had been involved in a… love pentagon? Or wait, was it a love polygon? Wow. This was such a journey I wouldn't ever forget. This was a journey of love, which was not different from a struggle.

In the dim light of the bunker's lower armory, Vivian pulled the primary locking straps tight across her chest, her blue eyes reflecting the cold green luminescence of the tactical interface. ​"The Blackwater Extraction Facility operates on an isolated, localized power grid," Vivian said, her voice dropping to a sharp, clinical whisper as she loaded a fresh magazine into her suppressed sidearm. "In my past life, the Inner Council used this exact prison block to hold high-tier dissidents whose execution dates had to remain completely off the central census bureau ledger. The outer courtyard is swept by automated gravity-induction mines, and the inner corridors are patrolled by elite warden en

I pressed the high speed on my wheelchair for auto drive along the gravel road. I was halfway through the journey when my Bentley arrived at my feet. Together, Sage and I made our way to the warehouse in another seventeen minutes. The privately owned, I-shaped steel warehouse structure had overhead cranes and was about 3,500 square meters. Between the static and dynamic storage areas on the surface, we built a covert vault metal door that opened to stairs that led underground, containing fifty cells and a large torture room. Dad had installed an elevator to facilitate my wheelchair. To guarantee that inmates were under rigorous control, only a select group of warriors were allowed to guard t

I gripped the steering wheel so hard I heard it crack. I walked down the basement steps into the well lit area that acted as our holding cell. Twenty clear plexiglass cubes lined each side of the basement with a walking path in between. The cubes were just big enough to fit one prisoner in human form. With no space readily available they couldn't shift while being contained, eliminating their chances of breaking free.

They transferred him that same night. Armored car, sirens blaring, four motorcycles in front, two in back. They dumped him in the EIV (Former Isolation for Violent) unit of Rebibbia prison, the famous "soft 41-bis" for the bosses who can no longer speak to anyone. Cell 14, basement. Reinforced door with electronic spyhole, rough concrete floor, bed bolted to the wall, steel toilet without a seat. No window.

“There was an assault. Clean. Fast. No security feeds survived, and over forty guards are confirmed dead. Reynolds is no longer in custody.” A sharp pain pulsed behind my eyes. “That prison was underground,” I muttered. “Built to contain the worst of the worst. There were only two ways in or out—and both were death traps.” Micah nodded grimly. “Whoever orchestrated this knew that. It was inside help. The escape was executed using one of the facility’s backup helicopters.” Of course it was. I turned my back to them, staring out the window, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Reynolds was out.

He smirked at the thought of Max suffering under the Devil-reaper’s wrath. He arrived at the hideout late that night and went directly to the dungeon. “Release me now, or I will kill all of you!” Max yelled as he rattled the iron bars of his jail cell. Ethan heard him yelling from the entrance to the dungeon. The prison was strategically placed in the basement of the southern part of his villa. It had five jail cells and 3 separate rooms, all of which were lined with soundproofing material. The first room was Ethan’s office, the second was the playroom where he brings the sinners to be punished using different weapons. And the third room is the viewing room, where one can watch and hear the

Lorenzo’s Point of View There are prisons. Then there are graves. What we built beneath the mansion was never meant to house the living. It was a tomb for monsters, designed not to rehabilitate, but to erase. No paper trail. No airflow from the outside. Concrete wrapped in steel, protected by algorithms so aggressive they could burn through decoys, fingerprints, even blood. This cell, required my eyes to open. Not scans. Not codes. Retinal tissue. Pulled in real time. Not even Logan knew the override sequence.