Caged Inmates Novels & Stories

"Inmates cite provisions the way you'd cite scripture. Compact v. Hargrove, ninety-day holding limits, administrative review triggers. It's not law up here. It's survival grammar. You learn the words or the words get used against you by somebody who already knows them better." "Simms mentioned Hargrove," Ricki said. "The first postponement." "Simms knows more law than half the guards on this block," Leon said, mouth curving faint, almost fond. "Doesn't surprise me he's already teaching you the language." The room settled into a quiet that felt less transactional than anything Ricki had experienced with Leon before, and for one stupid, dangerous moment he let himself believe this might just b

He muttered and my body froze. "What about my job?" My voice trembled as I asked. "Fired," He replied and my eyes widened. "For your information, You are being watched even when I'm not around. If one day, I heard that you went out or invited anyone over, consider yourself dead that day... Maybe your mother would be the one taking the punishment for you," He threatened. My heart sank and the blanket fell. I felt energy drained from my body and my eyes brought out water. "Are you imprisoning me?" I couldn't help but ask.

She clenched her bag tightly and followed Ethan inside the room. “Is there so-something wrong?” She asked, not closing the door out of fear. He turned around, his gaze burning, before ordering her, “Lock the door.” to be continued

She wore rags that barely qualified as clothing, and even from this distance, Aaron could see the bruises, the cuts, the casual cruelty in how the rogue soldiers shoved them, kicked them, laughed at their pain. Teased and tortured simultaneously, entertainment for monsters. But it was the cage that made Aaron's heart stop. Two more females, imprisoned in a crude metal structure barely large enough for one. Their clothes were tattered, hanging in strips that revealed too much skin marked by too many hands. From the looks of it, they weren't "let out" often—and Aaron's mind supplied exactly what that meant with sickening clarity. Kept like caged animals, only let out for the rogue's entertainm

After a pause Ivan continued. “Now, obviously not all men were there for reasons like mine. Most were criminals, psychopaths, and delinquents. Some were in debt, or sold by family members to clear a debt. Either way, once you were in, there was no way out. To keep the fighters happy, Kingsley Axelon introduced women as prizes. So as well as taking men, at least six women a month were kidnapped and taken to the Cage too.” “Hang on, why six every month?” Anders asked. For such a wise looking icy face, he was surprisingly naïve.

And they were close by. We stepped into a large hall, and I stopped right in my tracks. My eyes took a quick sweep of the entire room, and my lips formed a disgusted scowl. Scrawny, unconscious betas of all ages and genders were jam-packed in wooden cages. The ones that were to be turned to The Cursed. They were lean and frail, almost like they hadn’t eaten for days, which I was sure they hadn’t. ‘Damn you, Killian. You don’t treat those under your care like this.’ I gritted my teeth.

Elowen snapped. “I solve it by keeping you alive,” Corvin said. Elowen stepped closer, heat rising in his chest. “Alive where? In your rooms? In your sight? Or under your command?” Corvin’s jaw tightened. “Under my protection.” Elowen shook his head. “You dress it in softer words, but it is still a cage.” Corvin’s gaze did not waver. “A cage keeps predators out.” “And traps animals inside,” Elowen shot back.

said Old Joe, standing up. My two inmates lined up before the metal rails and I followed their suit reluctantly. One by one officer came into view as the barrier opened up. We walked in silence, in groups of threes with officers in tow, a baton in their hands. We were led in a canter after some time. Inside were prisoners alike me, lined up for food.

“How sketchy?” “The back of the van’s basically a metal cage welded to the interior frame with a couple steel benches on either side. The two prisoners already in it look like they haven’t bathed in a week and they’ve been using a metal urinal connected to a drainage tub. Probably for the same amount of time.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shepard cursed again. “Extradition’s a state responsibility and most of them contract with these kinds of services. Does it at least look like they can’t get out of the cage?”

After all, everyone knows what happens to abusers in prison. Then I was here, in this stinking, ugly, foul place, locked in a cage like I was some animal, isolated from everything, from everyone. They said I would be here for a few days. They call it adaptation, but I couldn't believe anyone could adapt to this, that anyone could adapt to bars, restricted freedom, this slop they gave me to eat. No, adapting was impossible.