The Prison In Walking Dead Novels & Stories

Sometimes, the sound of clinking chains hanging on the walls echoed in their ears, reminding them that this prison had a dark and deep history. As they continued their journey, Lora couldn't help but think about what her brother might be experiencing in this prison. Is Laurens okay? Does he feel isolated and afraid? Lora felt even more determined to free him soon. Finally, they arrived at a door that looked very old but well-maintained. "This is the door leading to the old prison cells," explained the head of security. "The troublemakers from the Tar Village are held there," he continued. They carefully opened the door and entered the dark and oppressive prison cells. Old rusty chains still

Yet, the prison has seen advancements with thicker iron bars, reinforced doors, and locking mechanisms. The ceilings arch high, supported by columns. They are cavernous, devoid of any sanctity. As we descend further, the guard occasionally glances back at me. Finally, we reach a massive iron door, rusted with age yet formidable in its design. The guard pulls out a large key from his belt and inserts it into the lock. With a creaking groan, the door swings open, revealing the cell where Collins is being held. The room is sparse, its only furnishings are a narrow cot and single window, barred and set high on the wall—allowing a sliver of gray light.

I don’t have any idea where we are heading to, but I am aware that we are still inside the Blood Moon pack’s territory. We walked through passages inside the prison cell that I am oblivious it exists. The prisoner’s eyed us, rogues and wolves with missing limbs growled and snarled, but they speak none. Ragged looking as if they have long forgotten how to. My stomach churned at the sight. It’s horrible. “Did we do this...?” I trailed off.

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.

“Greetings, Mr. Wyot.” Wyot ignored the bodyguards kneeling on the ground. He opened the restriction seal and entered the prison. The prison was underground. He walked toward the depth along the passageway. It was a winding passageway. The bottom of the passageway could not be seen. Soon, Wyot arrived at the depth of the underground. There was a prison cell in the depth. It was dark and humid, and in it was a lady sitting cross-legged.

Am I making him feel uneasy because I'm Hardins mate, and technically now his Alpha too? It wasn't long before we reach the 'jail house', and I call it that because it's not the average underground cells. No, this is a building built from very old stone and concrete, with no windows or doors, meaning anyone can just walk in here. Walking in it's a huge empty room full of leaves and dust, until you reach the bottom, and there's a single metal door on the floor already lifted up. I suppose it is underground. I thought.

The penitentiary sat at the edge of the city like a wound no one wanted to acknowledge, tall, gray, surrounded by razor wire, and humming with a quiet dread. Alma had never imagined she'd voluntarily enter a prison, especially not to seek the truth about her father’s downfall. Yet here she was, hand in hand with Roman Hartwell, stepping into the dark heart of the past. The metal gates clanged behind them. Inside, the air was thick with disinfectant and stale regret. A guard led them down a sterile corridor, their footsteps echoing. Alma's heartbeat pulsed in her ears.

Larry packed some clothes, looked at the seized villa, and walked toward the way to the prison with mixed feelings. Yes, at this time, the prison was the safest. Because there was only one man in the women's prison, and that was himself. When he arrived at the prison, Alex asked Larry to send Wanda, who was still in confinement, to the third cell. The distracted Larry opened the confinement room without vigilance, not expecting a hand to reach out and grab him. Lately, unforeseeable events seemed to come out of nowhere, and Larry was dragged inside the confinement cell by Wanda.

I didn’t know attempted murder was enough to land me in this hellhole. “Move!” I’m pushed, jolting me out of my thoughts, and I begin to walk forward. The officer’s grip on my shoulder is firm, almost bruising. It’s a silent reminder of the power he holds over me. Approaching the wire fence, I can feel the electric current coursing through it. There’s a faint buzzing in the air, like an angry swarm of bees. Any prisoner who attempts to escape from this prison will be electrocuted to death.

If I was lucky he would snap my neck instantly, but of course I was never one for luck. With every step, the man's nails sunk deeper and deeper into my arm. The tears that well up in my eyes I blink away, unwilling to let them see my pain. We approach a giant cement building. The entrance is covered in shrubs and if you didn't know the land, the door would never have been seen. Yanking me into the building after quickly inputting the password, he shuts the door behind us. An eerie chill runs up my spine as I take in the prison. The walls are lined with unconscious prisoners chained to the walls. The bars are clearly made of silver and the smell of vomit and blood causes me to gag. We walk ha