Black Pentagon Prison Novels & Stories

It wasn't a request for a date; it was a mandatory meeting with my captors. I slumped onto the floor, the ceramic tiles cold beneath my legs. West Wing Penthouse. I didn't know the building well, but the phrase itself screamed exclusivity and high security. It wasn't the communal floor; it was their territory. Their cage. I can’t. I won’t go. I wanted to throw the phone, smash it against the brick wall, erase the evidence of their contact. But the immediate, crushing thought was: What happens if I don't show up?

“Let me guess. Someone that wants you completely gone from life, right? A man who manipulated you into getting into a legal precinct prison, then paid a hefty, ridiculous amount of cash to the local authorities to have you roughened up by the local muscle, and then quietly transfers you to the black market prison? Because that's what I like to call this place. The black market prison. The graveyard where you’ll never see the dawn of the day again.” I stared at her, my jaw tightening as the absolute reality of Yamelyan’s setup solidified. “Something like that. Yeah. He told me he had a surprise waiting for me.” “Oh, he’s a big fan of surprises,” she said, her voice dripping with an incredibly

ELARA Hayes appears, and checks Richard's pulse. "He's alive. It is a shoulder shot. He'll survive." "Good." Damien kneels beside Richard, who's gasping, and clutching his bleeding shoulder. "You're going to prison. Real prison this time, not the country club facility you had before. Federal Supermax. Twenty-three hours a day in a concrete box. No windows. No visitors. No chance of parole." Richard coughs, blood on his lips. "You can't—"

She clasped her hands together, her eyes locked with Ryan's, silently urging him to continue. Ryan, still catching his breath, continued, "The facility is known as Citadel Penitentiary. It's a maximum-security prison located deep within the outskirts. It houses some of the most dangerous criminals in the country. Getting access won't be easy, but I assure you, we'll do everything we can to help reunite you with Kristen."

he replied, smirking as he led her toward a tall gray building surrounded by barbed wire. The sign read: New York State Women’s Penitentiary – Block A. Inside, the air was heavy with the stench of offensive smell. Metal doors slammed, voices echoed, and the sound of boots hitting the floor filled the corridors. “Name,” the officer at the front desk said flatly, not looking up. “Amelia Stone,” she answered quietly. The man looked up sharply. “Stone? The billionaire?” He whistled. “Guess money can’t buy you out of everything.”

Third person pov: The Council’s high-security prison was a cold, underground fortress made of white stone and reinforced steel. There were no windows, no clocks, and no sounds except for the hum of the air vents. In the center of the most secure cell sat Silas. He wasn't wearing his expensive silk suits anymore. He was in a plain gray jumpsuit, his hands and feet shackled to the floor. But even in chains, he didn't look like a prisoner. He sat with his back straight, a calm, bored expression on his face.

Elliott finally asked for all of them. Before Aaron could answer, his phone dinged, and he read the reply from Watson. “Eastern State Penitentiary.” Christian nodded. “Yes, that has to be where Ms. Riggins disappeared.” “What does that have to do with ice cream?” Meagan asked, clearly confused. “Nothing. Not that Klondike,” Christian explained. “Klondike was another name for the cell where inmates served time in isolation. It was also known as The Hole.” “So you think Gibbon is hiding in a prison? Wouldn’t that be the last place he’d want to go?” Aurora asked.

I ask the guard as we walk to A block. “Oh, yeah… the A and B blocks are for the riches or executives people who paid for every single night stays and the C and D is a federal state” He explains. “W-what? I thought this prison was a private prison” I respond. “Yes, it is… but the private one is only for A block and B” He explains. “Is that how the government works? Work for people who had money and power?” I raise my brow. “I mean, these people deserve to be treated as the same” I say.

Within the vast, dimly lit expanse of the repurposed factory, now transformed into a makeshift prison, an air of palpable tension hung heavily. The two-story building was segmented into numerous private cells, each imprisoning individuals from four towns – a mix of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas ensnared during the operation. These cramped quarters, typically housing two or three captives, bore the weight of their fear and uncertainty. In one such cell, a family of four huddled together, their faces ghostly pale.

Alpha Bradley had a permanent seat between Hitler and Stalin. We weren’t taking any risks. I had Bella and her daughter stay with Seraphina because I knew that she’d be safe while we got the bastard secured in his own cell at the black site. I was certain that it was far more secured than nearly anywhere else. They spared no expense in creating and maintaining it. Nobody would find him, and he certainly wouldn’t be getting out. Enzo had already added me to the access list, so my biometrics would allow me into the building. It was a massive secured underground bunker that put anything that the hunters had in their possession looking like child’s play.