Prisoner Novels & Stories

Two guys rushed toward the prisoner and forced him up on his feet. “No, please... I beg of you! I made a mistake!” The prisoner who was only a young boy of nineteen pleaded desperately. He had fat tears in his eyes, wetting his entire face and also soaking his bloodstained sweaty t-shirt. The 6'3 tall man who flickered with the dagger between his long fingers like it was a toy. A brooding monster with a dark aura, fierce tattoos around his rigid neck and hands. His silver orbs loved danger and the smell of blood.

George was now seated beside the cot, and the prisoner looked even more awake and alert. “Are you going to tell me where the hell I am?” The Prisoner asked, glaring at George. I stepped behind Conner, not wanting him to see me. “How about you just shut up and answer our questions instead?” Conner said, his eyes narrowed. “What is your name?” “I’m not telling you anything until I know where I am!” “The military barracks. You’ve trespassed onto Eboncrest territory, and now you’re going to answer to us. What is your name?”

"We'll do this the hard way. Elena?" Elena enters with magical truth serum. Not perfect but effective enough for basic information. "This violates pack law," the prisoner protests. "Forced interrogation is illegal!" "So is terrorism," I counter. "You forfeited rights when you chose violence, Elena, proceed." The truth serum takes effect quickly. The prisoner fights it but can't resist completely. "What's your name?" Elena asks. "Connor... Blackwood," he says through gritted teeth. "Who's your immediate superior?" Elena continues.

"You're here for rehabilitation. Follow the rules, you might survive. Break them, you definitely won't." They process us one at a time. Strip search, medical examination, decontamination shower. Everything's designed to humiliate. To break you down before you even see your cell. My turn comes. Two vampire guards take me to a concrete room. Make me strip. Search every part of my body for contraband. I've got nothing. Just the clothes I wore to trial, which they take away. "Prisoner 4729," one guard says, writing on a clipboard. "Callum Brennan. Six months for murder and embezzlement. Any medical conditions we should know about?"

Turning to me, he asks, “Are you sure you want their approval?” I bite my lower lip and lean in to whisper, “Yes. I don’t trust them, but please—no inhumane punishments.” “You’ll see,” he replies with a smirk as I pull away. The doors open, and the prisoners are led in—dressed in brown shirts and shorts, chained and guarded. Dolores is carried in, her legs bandaged but her sobs echoing her shame. Next come Marina, who avoids my gaze, and a short, chubby man I recognize as the Prime Minister.

When the door finally creaked open, a wave of decay and blood hit them in the face. Ragnar froze in place. The Alpha, who had been shouting about exposing my 'tricks', now stood with a pale face. He was nearly unable to keep his balance. The warden held up a torch and shook his head. “I’ve been running this prison for years. I’ve never seen a werewolf corpse rot like this. Who knows how long she's been locked up in here? “This cell should never have been in use! It shouldn’t have started leaking poisonous gas either. If I had known someone was in here, I would’ve arranged patrols and meals. At the very least, I would've made sure she didn’t rot to death without anyone knowing.”

I didn’t know where we were, but I knew we passed through the desert somewhat, passed through many deserted roads and many valleys and hills. The prison was so far away that any prisoner who tried to escape, either by luck or by strategy, would not be able to make it alive back into the city. It was from this instance, I knew I was dead. Arriving at the prison, “Move it, everybody!” the jailer who sat in the van with us shouted at the top of his voice. He held a bludgeon stick in his hand. It was made of metal such that when he hit it on any erring prisoner, such a prisoner might die.

"I expected as much, Leonard replied coolly, rising from his seat. He understood La Ravenl's brutal initiation process and had anticipated the test that lay ahead. He was escorted to an open arena, surrounded by thin wire fencing. At the center stood a hulking man, shackled with a heavy iron collar around his neck. It was evident he was a fighter-likely purchased by La Ravenl to entertain their group. One of Alphonse's men unshackled the fighter and left him inside the ring with Leonard. "If you can kill him, I'll set you free," Alphonse said to the man, who immediately looked eager. His miserable life as La Ravenl's slave had clearly left him desperate for liberation. "And if you kill him,

He made his way back down through ops before taking another set of stairs down to the basement where they kept prisoners and held interrogations. Rose smiled at him when he came down, "who are you here for, boss?" "Whoever Ray and Air brought in last night," Dean looked past his prison manager to the guards stationed outside the occupied rooms, watching as they all stood a little straighter in his presence. "I figured as much," she gave him a sly smile, "just figured I'd asked," "Always one for formality," Dean smirked, "where is he, then?" "B6," she pointed to the guard in front of the door who gave him a sharp nod.

Soon the prisoner bus entered Switzerland's largest international detention center, which was located far from the city. "Get off!" shouted one of the policemen. Tristan got off the bus, and he saw that on his left and right sides there was an iron fence with wire inside the fence. Many inmates were looking at him. Tristan could only sigh and walk, following the warden, who welcomed his arrival. Tristan was directed to the cell he would be placed in after changing into prisoner clothing with the number printed on his clothes. Because Tristan is known to be dangerous and a psychopath who has killed many girls.