As a child born in the nameless lower city, I always knew that you need to have either a working mind so you can try to climb your way to Lineover, the upper city, or have a good swing. Hated by those in the heavens, they claim themselves as a city full of angels and that we, poor people born in an unjust city, are devils. Well, not exactly that, but it's better than saying those richer than us just like to look at us as pigs in the mud.

Another thing that was always clear to me was not to trust anyone, but harsh times create weakness, and that weakness is the exploration field for bad guys; that's how I got betrayed and thrown at the high-security prison: North Waters. The place has this name because it resides on a small rock in the ocean, a few miles away from civilization, meaning that to come here, you would need a boat and a lot of ability to manage the aggressive waves created by the constant tempests. So there was never any hope of escaping this place, not when I was ten and first got here, and not now that I've reached twenty-three.

All nights before going to be in my lonely cell, I train my fists against the solid concrete wall as books became scarce since some dumb fuck decided to ask their girl to try and sneak in a knife hidden between pages, one good reminder of how dumb people in love can be. There aren't many girls around here; there was supposed to be a female-only block cell, but I don't blame them for mistaking me for a boy back then. A small girl would never have two bloody knuckles in a sea of corpses; that would be just absurd to imagine, I assume, and the female block rests on another rock in the ocean.

When my first period got me, some inmates thought I had been stabbed in the nuts; that's when the truth was revealed to the whole block. Some kind guys adopted and protected me from the many inmates that prayed at the early Christmas present. Of course, I too never gave them any chance to get near me; their broken teeth are a constant reminder to others not to mess up around me. All the others had names and lives, but I never did. That's precisely why they decided to call me IV, or Four, based on my cell number.

Now, with enough reminiscing out of the way, I start to wash my face in the sink of my cell, cleaning the coat of charcoal on my left cheek from mining on the lower floors. It doesn't satisfy them to leave us to rot in small and uncleaned cells, but they also try to make as much money out of our misery as they can, one more point to the 'legal' system.

The thin layer of dry blood in my knuckles pools around the half-clogged sink as it tries to engulf all the filth. I catch the sound of talking from the end of the corridor, where that fat fuck who calls himself a guard sits all day, eating sweets and talking about how his daughters are the cutest angels that exist and how we, scum, are the reason he can't spend more time with them. From time to time, the guards gather and talk with him; sometimes it is his wife that comes to unload her bottled-down disgust in his face, so the lack of laughter or rage screams are sure something new.

That is something I lose interest in fast, deciding instead to focus on going to bed early to make sure tomorrow I'm up first thing to get the less cold food from the cafeteria. As usual, I slap away the rat trying to eat my pillow every night, and so it flies away almost out of my cell, just not reaching the outside because it hits the metal bar first. Thinking I was free from headaches seemed to be my mistake, as footsteps approaching stop for a second before resuming with the sound of approaching conversation.

"I forgot to mention: be careful, or there's a very high possibility that a rat will try to bite your leg." Guard... I believe his name was Thominic or something. He talks in his usual relaxed and uncaring tone. The person accompanying him just doesn't say anything back, or at least not anything I can hear.

I keep an open eye to when they would pass up my cell, but as the seconds go by, I find myself surprised by the fact they decided to stop right in front of it. Actually, scratch that, Thominic was not the one who stopped; he just forced himself to as the person he's walking with decided to check my cell seemingly out of nowhere.

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"You can keep on your work; I'll find you once I deal with what I came here to do." The mysterious person says to brush off the guard, and as expected, it easily works on the lazy young guard.

"Sure, just don't approach the bars too much; the last person who did was stabbed in the nose with a toothpick. I'm sure you can imagine the scene." With that unnecessary but fun reminder of the memory when Brutus stabbed the soon-to-be husband of her daughter in the nose right in front of her because he spoke out of line, I'm still sad that the man turned out to be a cop. That for sure pinned the grave for Brutus, because only a day after that he had an 'accident' in the washroom.

I stay in the shadows of my cell, watching quietly from afar as the person steps forward into the light outside, stopping only to check their feet and make sure they are barely an inch out of the yellow line painted on the floor, a warning to not enter the danger zone, giving them enough room to speak clearly to me and have one cell to my side not hear anything. Not that Wrench would hear anything; he's said he's half deaf, but I'm sure he is not just half.

"I had to dig in a lot to get your records, and the strangest part is that there is neither mention of a specific crime nor a name." Clearly, the voice belongs to a girl, and looking at her, she looks to be one. Young and dumb to come here. "Why exactly are you here for?"

"Take your pick. It may be because of my sunny personality or my good looks. Just a hint: the answer is both."

She takes a file in her hands and starts to read it. "Your record in the prison, on the other hand, is not so clear; you attacked some inmates more than once, but the most recent one was one called Denny, a witness in an ongoing investigation."

"Bummer."

The girl closes the file in her hand angrily and takes a step forward, closer to the bars. "I don't have time to be playing games with you; I came here to get answers, and I'm not leaving without one." From the file, she grabs a diary and shows it to me—a symbol of a row of blades, three in total, circled around by black ink in an imperfect circle. "Is this familiar to you in any way?"

"Nope."

"Great, so I really did come here for nothing. What a waste of time." She takes a step back, and before she can go away completely, I decide to throw my bait.

"But I may know someone who does," Upon hearing my words, the woman stops her feet and looks straight back at me, interest picked up and desperation clear in her eyes, as demonstrated by the fact she, at this point, forgot the danger line. "I can even find them for you if you wish."

It seems I step too close to the gold pot, as my words make her stop and change her expression to one of distrust. "You think I'm trusting someone like you this easily?"

"Someone like me? Yeah, the same old lower city scum card, huh?" I lean against the bars and present my pissed-off expression to her. "You and your intoners are always the same—just criminals with fancy clothes and superiority complexes—not at all different from those in here. In truth, the difference is that most here did what they had to survive, as your people just enslaved and killed people lower than you for fun, using the law to get cleared of any wrongdoing.

"Do me a favor; go find the people connected to that symbol yourself; try your luck in the lower city; and try not to be bitten or chewed up while there. One last thing, please do send my kindest fuck you to Bunny if he is still alive; that motherfucker should be here to get his nose angulated."

The silence coming from the woman is one I ignore, deciding to instead lay comfortably in bed and prepare myself to sleep. Soon enough, she leaves me alone in the quiet peace, only interrupted by the sound of waves breaking against the island.

Some minutes later, the sound of my cell opening makes me wake up quicker than a rat after smelling cheese. I close my hands into fists and wait for whoever wants to try their luck assassinating me this month. When no one steps inside the cell, I decide to come and beat them up myself.

I get to my feet and crack my neck only to find Miss Justice standing right there once again, now with a jacket in her hands and a handcuff on top; there is no need for words as the understanding of her decision is clear. So without thinking, I grab both items as she tosses them to me and gear myself, putting the jacket on and handcuffing myself.