Black Pentagon Prison Novels & Stories

I was pinned by sheer force of will. Rhys did not even spare me a glance; I was beneath his notice. He addressed Gideon, his conviction absolute and his voice hard as tempered steel. "She is fully recovered, and she has proven she cannot be trusted in the living quarters. I will not have her polluting the Pack House any longer. She is a grave security risk, and she will be placed in the Black Pit until the tribunal. Before that, she needs to wear silver restraints at all times." The Black Pit. The name alone carried the terror of total, sensory deprivation. It was a cylindrical hole, twenty feet deep, lined with rough, unworked stone, reserved only for the most destructive rogues or captured

Zena said. " Black Tourmaline." The man replied. " Black Tourmaline? Why would Dagon order for black Tourmaline and that too in large quantities?" Zena asked. " That, I don't know. Dagon doesn't share his plans with me." The man replied. " Okay, question number two. Where are the prisoners kept?" Zena asked. " In the dungeons of course." The man replied. " I mean where is it located, silly." Zena sounded annoyed.

[The Belly of the Beast] Undisclosed Location. Northern Virginia. A Private Military "Black Site". 4:00 PM. The hood was ripped off. Sebastian blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights. He was strapped to a medical chair. IV lines were hooked into his arms. Ryker stood over him, holding a syringe of clear liquid. Sodium Pentothal (Truth Serum). "You are a smart man, Sterling," Ryker tapped the syringe. "Surrendering to the FBI? You knew I would intercept you. You wanted a meeting."

Jonah and Alyssa exclaimed in unison, "A prisoner in an orange-colored uniform?" "In the Fifth Prison, orange-colored prisoner uniforms are meant for felons with mental illnesses. They are distinguished from other prisoners by the colors of their uniforms." Sean blinked. "That prisoner knelt before Steven and clung onto his legs as he bawled his eyes out. He claimed that he wasn't mentally ill and that he had not murdered anyone either. He asked Steven to help him with his appeal."

Turning around, he nodded slightly toward Eranthe in the front row of the public gallery. Behind his glasses, his eyes reflected calm confidence and complete certainty of victory. “Miss Taylor, every senior member of the Peterson family and the underground Black Tide Logistics organization will spend the rest of their lives inside the Supreme Security Bureau’s specially designed Silver-Ion Hive Prison.” “I assure you, not even a single bat belonging to them will ever see sunlight again.” Eranthe let out a gentle breath. The tension in her shoulders finally eased. She extended her hand and shook Gabriel’s politely. “Thank you for your hard work, Attorney Mitchell. The Administrative Departmen

Peter already knew that this little girl was going to be his karma. Both parents had slowly adjusted to their new reality during their stay at the hospital. Soon enough, Alden and Serenity would be stepping into the same chapter of their lives. Meanwhile, Maximus sat drinking a cup of coffee as he waited for his brother and sister-in-law to arrive. Suddenly, his phone rang. "Mr. Evans?" said a voice on the other end. "Yes?" "We’re calling from Blackstone Prison..." Maximus fell silent, deep in thought. He had only been there once, and since then, he had never wanted to go back. So why were they calling him now?

"He’s a dead man walking. He just doesn't know it yet." We arrived at the secondary estate—the "Black Site." It was a fortress of glass and reinforced steel tucked into the ridge of a private mountain. It wasn't a home; it was a cage designed for the highest level of protection. As the gates hissed shut behind us, I saw the other four waiting in the courtyard.

Third Person's POV The federal holding facility was a concrete fortress designed to break spirits before trials even began. Cold. Gray. Smelling of industrial cleaner that never quite masked the underlying scent of human desperation. Astor Sinclair sat in his cell, a space barely eight by ten feet, with a metal bed bolted to the wall, a toilet with no seat, and a small metal desk that wobbled when he tried to write. The orange jumpsuit he wore was rough against his skin, a constant reminder that his thousand-dollar suits were gone. His penthouse was gone. His empire was crumbling.

Donald asked “The only whistleblower that ever dared to cha-challenge Hillary Gray” “Where is he?” “In prison— he's in prison doing time for attempted murder” Palmer let go of the man, but not without giving him a good scratch on the back of his hand. “Wow, you pissed yourself. How pathetic!” Three hours later Donald Pavilochenki was at the state prison sitting with a man who was handcuffed. A warden was inside the room with them. The handcuffed man seemed to be in his late forties, and time in prison had withered him of his best years. He looked distraught and had dark circles around his eyes.

--- Three hundred miles away, the Crestview Supermax facility felt less like a state prison and more like a tomb. Kael walked the narrow, concrete exercise cage of the high-security block, his leg irons clanking rhythmically against the stone. The air smelled of cheap bleach and cold steel. There were no yard lieutenants here, no open corridors, and no room for leverage. The moment Kael had arrived, he realized the facility was a black site. Half the guard tower personnel didn't wear state badges, and the transfer logs weren't registered on the public corrections network. Mercer hadn't moved Kael to isolate him. He had moved him to execute him away from the public eye of Sector 2.