Dark Cloud Prison descended into mania. One of the six sections completely collapsed, leaving a scene one thought should have been a catastrophe. But, while some did indeed die, the resulting explosion was rather controlled. It was obvious to any third party observer that this was all planned, down to the final dotted ‘i’ and crossed ‘t’.
“Hohoho.” Lionel chuckled.
[Author’s Note: from now on, whenever referring to ‘Leonel’, I will write it as Lionel. They are pronounced the same so it should help with the flow of the story. But, do keep in mind that this ‘Leonel’ has a name spelled and said the exact same way as our favorite MC]
Lionel sat on the damp cell floor, his arms wrapped around his body. Of course, this wasn’t by choice. The straitjacket they forced him to stay in was made of materials far tougher than Kevlar. As though that wasn’t enough, it was reinforced with several locks and chains. Even if he wanted to unwind his arms, he didn’t have the luxury.
One would think that they would at least let him out to take a shower, but he didn’t have this luxury either. Rather, every time the stink got to be too much, they’d bathe him in UV type light and send him on his way.
The result of this treatment for almost two decades now was a man who smelt somewhat like one part vegetable left to dry beneath the sun for too long and another part cured meat.
In the darkness, it was hard to see his face at all. Or, rather, he had a habit of speaking with his head lowered, his messy hair covering much of his face. However, if the guards had a choice, they’d prefer him to keep his head lowered just like this.
“So close.” Lionel continued to chuckle. “If that blast was 2% stronger I would be free. What a shame, what a shame.”
The rookie guard felt a cold chill at the back of his neck, the ground still trembling beneath their feet.
“What…?”
The rookie guard began to speak, but his next words were caught in his throat when he saw the unsightly expression on his partner’s face.
“W… what is it?”
The rookie suddenly entered high alert, his hand hovering over his weapon.
The veteran guard took deep breaths, trying to calm himself, his gaze never leaving Lionel.
If others saw his actions, they would think that he was insane. Why he was so focused on a man who couldn’t move an inch… maybe only those of Dream Cloud Prison would know.
“Listen, rookie. Back away slowly. Stay on high alert. If needed, don’t hold back.”
The rookie guards pupils constricted.
“You mean…?”
“Yes. Do whatever is necessary.”
A cold shiver traveled up the rookie’s spine, his muscles tensing.
The first thing any new guards of Dark Cloud Prison were taught was the importance of information. This wasn’t a lesson about learning as much as you could. No, it was a lesson in keeping as much of it away from these prisoners as possible.
Dark Prisoners were incarcerated from the time they were toddlers to the day of their deaths. Most couldn’t even remember a world outside of these walls. In fact, their only interactions with the world should have been at these moments where food was brought to them.
Any understanding of language these prisoners had should have been from their short time as members of society… in fact, that went for all their understandings.
With all this said, there was one matter in particular that they wanted to keep from these prisoners… the Metamorphosis.
Those prisoners that became Invalids were silently killed. There weren’t any Paradise Islands above Dark Cloud Province. Even guards were diligently trained in combat without their abilities. From day one of training, they were drilled in the fact that use of one’s abilities should be a final resort.
Yet now, the veteran guard was saying to use any means necessary…
The rookie’s breathing couldn’t help but grow shallow, a cold sweat slowly trickling down his forehead.
“Tsk, tsk. Is there a need for such caution? Didn’t I already say it was a shame?”
The veteran’s jaw steeled.
“How did you learn about percentages, #D1109?”
Lionel paused for a moment before his laughter returned, stronger than before. His hair dangled across his face, vibrating to his cadence.
The veteran guards countenance became more chilly, still taking slow steps back.
“Oops, my tongue must have slipped. Aiya, what else can you expect from me? My street smarts are still a bit lacking, I’ve seen too little of the world.”
“… Where did you hear the name Leonel Morales from?” The guard continued coldly, trying to buy time for the rookie to inch away and report this matter to the Warden.
Lionel froze. But this time, his laughter didn’t come. An eerie silence hung over the cell as the ground continued to rumble.
“Where did I hear it? From the lips of my own mother before you ripped me away from her and threw me into this place.”
The voice didn’t carry any sort of emotion to the point it sounded somewhat mechanical, as though it was a automated message rather than the words of a human.
The veteran and rookie froze. Fear the likes of which they had never experienced in their lifetimes took hold of their hearts, clenching it tightly.
Blood flew, splashing against the walls.
The crimson sparkled in the darkness, looking like the wings of a fallen angel.
**
“Warden! Warden!”
The rumbling of the prison’s framework couldn’t stop the booming of this voice. A mixture of panic, shock and horror laced it, coloring the roar with emotion.
Within an office on the lowest floor of Dark Cloud Prison, one could find the Warden.
He was a man of average height but broad presence. His graying mustache hung over his lip with the thickness of a forest’s bush.
His every breath was deep and unfathomable. If one paid attention, it would be easy to notice that every cycle of inhaling and exhaling took a full minute to complete. Yet, this Warden completed it with absolute ease.
At that moment, the Warden was shirtless. Despite his old age age, his body rippled with strength, his torso having a level of tone that left men half his age in shame. A healthy bronze sheen glistened across his skin, making him look more like a fitness model rather than the Warden of a Prison.
This man was none other than Governor Duke Escobar Owen.
Before the shouting guard could even reach the office, Escobar put on his black military uniform, hiding his toned body and opened the door, his demeanor steely and indifferent.
“Warden! #D1109 has escaped!”
If Leonel had been there, he would have immediately recognized this “warden”.
He was none other than Coach Owen, a man Leonel respected almost as much as his own father.