Jail

Thomas knew he had done too many people wrong. He knew he would get caught, but he didn’t stop. Now he was paying the price. Most would say he was getting off easy, but that would be plainly wrong.

He thought he got a rather light sentence as well, considering his crimes. After all, a murderer usually gets more than just a year in jail.

The reason it was only a year rather than a decade was simple, nobody had ever managed to leave this prison alive. You should take notes.

Most people who enter do leave, but not as they were before.

Some as rotten husks, others as fools plagued by memories that aren’t theirs.

Some would leave as amalgamations of flesh, others subtly more twisted than before.

The only consistent thing is their opinion of the jail;

The Jail is distorted.

Simple, right?

Thomas just needs to survive in the jail for a year, then leave without being shot on sight, and he’s a free man.

Assuming he doesn’t go mad, that is.

Thomas of course knew none of this and was just bored when he saw the massive fortress of solid stone and steel cresting the hill as the armored transport bus drove steadily forward. Thomas didn’t notice the tense atmosphere of the guards, nor did he notice the hundreds of motion-activated turrets surrounding the base. They simply weren’t interesting to him.

What was interesting however, were the guards rushing out to meet the bus.

They wore full face masks, no skin showing, pitch black goggles and were armed to the teeth, and then some.

They also moved in sync.

Perfect sync.

The militia around the bus immediately dragged Thomas forward.

I should probably describe Thomas, shouldn’t I?

Thomas wasn’t a tall man, standing at around 5 foot 3 inches, and he wasn’t that bulky either.

But, as you will have learnt, appearances can be deceiving.

Thomas, despite being incredibly thin, was one of the few people who could punch several levels above their weight class.

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He had short blonde hair that he had never once combed, but had kept perfectly clean, and no other facial hair.

Thomas was, all in all, a rather good looking man.

The wardens all surged forwards, restraining Thomas in identical manners. This was the first time since he got caught that he was confused. The badges of the officers were all inscribed with “officer Joerg”. It hurt to look at, and nobody else was even looking in his direction anymore.

The number of red laser sight dots didn’t make him nervous, being an ex marine, but the fact that they were all on the wardens? That was concerning.

As he entered the building, there was an immediate feeling of danger, the same kind that you feel when there is a gun to your head.

The feeling that your life is not in your own hands anymore.

“What was that?” asked Thomas, trying but failing to sound confident rather than scared.

There was absolutely no response, the only sound being the falling of boots and wind blowing.

There were no windows.

The door to the front was closed, bolted and had a hydraulic seal.

There shouldn’t be any wind, by all measures.

Thomas of course just assumed it was the ventilation, maybe it was being pushed extra hard?

Thomas then noticed the complete absence of any people in the cells.

Just one had anything in it, and he was being directed to the cell next to it.

This ‘thing’ appeared to be a large pile of molten flesh, littered with teeth and bones.

Thomas entered the adjacent cell, and immediately felt the lack of wind.

There was a window, but no wind.

There were trees outside, but he knew he should be at least three floors underground by now.

“What is going on?!” Thomas screams, finally unable to hold back from this seemingly warped place.

“N0t much.” an unknown and grating voice sounded, coming from all directions.

“Who are you? Where are you? Where am I?” begged Thomas.

“All 1n g00d t1m3.” Another voice sounded.

“Y0U JU5T N33D T0 5URVIV3, 3A5Y, R1GHT?”

And then Thomas fell to the floor, unconscious.

Thomas woke up in a pool of his own vomit, a little blood and buckets of sweat. He was still in his cell, but the door was open.

On the other side of the doorway seemed to be a swarm of beings of all shapes and sizes, but none human.

Thomas did the reasonable thing, and jumped underneath his bed, shivering in fear.

The demonic things seemed to ignore both him and his jelatinous neighbour.

Until the neighbor tried to eat one of the mingling group, that is.

Then they retaliated.

By swarming the blob, tearing at the flesh, devouring both skin and bone as though they were the most delectable thing ever to grace their mouths.

Within a minute, the blob of flesh was reduced to a single tooth, which was grabbed by the greedy paws of a smaller demon.

“BOO!” hollered a voice, sounding like barely contained joy, coming from behind the horde.

“A NEWCOMER! IT’S BEEN YEARS!” another voice boomed, much deeper.

The demons charged the voices, only to get turned to mashed paste by what appeared to be a gigantic Warhammer.

You see, I did say that most leave, and some don’t. A small portion of those who don’t leave but don’t die, often become battle junkies. Why? That’s a dumb question, because they either need to kill for food, or they kill to grow in power.

Either way, anything that stays in the jail for too long will inevitably become a monster in one way or another.

Thomas should be thankful these ones are kind, and he should tread carefully.

Unfortunately, Thomas is having difficulties talking, given the fact that a wraith has taken a liking to his vocal cords, and has removed them with surgical precision for no reason other than entertainment and to add to its collection.

Thomas is now mute.

Oops.

Anyway, the newcomer wielding the Warhammer would be comparable to a polar bear in terms of size and strength.

The other one is hurling fire around, teleporting and stabbing as many beings as possible in the weakest point on each one.

The first people Thomas meets in this place are mildly insane.

And so it begins.