Chapter Four

An intimidating presence. That’s the first thing I feel when the warden's eyes scan down the line, looking each of us in the eye. A middle-aged black man with a frosted beard, the warden isn’t armed like the guards. Instead, he is dressed in black business attire, his hands behind his back. With a navy necktie tucked underneath his coat, it was evident that the warden’s hardened gaze comes from decades of oversight, combat, and service.

“My name is Andrew Conall, and I’m the prison warden here at Soulbell,” he says, his tone gruff and expression blank.

The man who spat on me earlier pipes up beside me, “Tch, obviously! You think I’m stupid?!”

The warden’s eyes transfer to the still-chuckling man, who seems amused with himself by what he just said.

“And what is your name, sir?” asks Warden Conall.

All of a sudden, a pair of handcuffs drop on the ground next to me, and the man rushes toward the warden. Unveiling a concealed knife, the man grins as he thrashes his weapon toward Conall.

“Who cares?! You’re about to be a corpse!” the man obnoxiously boasts.

The guards don’t move an inch as Conall swiftly adjusts his stance. Ducking underneath the man’s attack, the warden chops his hand upward into the air, making direct contact with the man’s forearm. The forceful chop knocks the knife out of the man’s hand, and Conall grabs onto the same forearm and reels the man in closer. Delivering a hardy knee to the gut, the man coughs up saliva as he collapses in front of the warden.

Circling around to the back of the man, the warden retains his grasp on the man’s arm as he drives the man’s face into the concrete ground with his foot. Holding his foot against the back of the man’s head, the warden pins the man’s arm in the air behind his back.

“Tell me your name, or I’ll break your arm,” says the warden.

With a broken nose, the man gasps, “Bodie.”

Conall breaks the man’s arm, and he hollers in pain.

“Your full name,” says the warden, grabbing the man’s other arm.

“Bodie… Olsen. My name is Bodie Olsen.”

Conall releases the man’s arm and wraps back around. As the man coughs up more saliva and blood, the warden takes a knee in front of him.

“Bodie Olsen. What do you think we should do with you now?” asks Conall.

Still catching his breath, Bodie stares at the ground for a few seconds. Eventually, Bodie looks up at the warden, blood trickling down his face.

“I’ll accept any punishment,” he says, defeat tainting his voice.

Conall looks Bodie in the eye for a long amount of time. Maybe it is some kind of test, and Bodie doesn't look away. In the end, Conall breaks it off as he stands back up.

“As you wish. Won’t be long until everybody knows you’re the fish who got his ass kicked right off the train. Now get up,” says Conall, walking away from Bodie before facing us again.

As Bodie struggles to stand up with his broken arm, Conall begins, “I’ve been the warden of Soulbell for twenty-seven years, and something I’ve learned is that nobody ends up here by mistake. In case it still hasn’t sunk in yet, allow me to make myself clear. You’re all convicted felons, and from this day forward, for as long as you remain inside these walls, you are under my watch.”

Conall pauses and scans down the line of faces again, his eyes stopping on me at the end.

“The infamous stories you’ve heard about Soulbell are true. There’s never been a successful escape attempt. However, I encourage each of you to give it your best shot someday,” continues Conall with a nearly unnoticeable smirk. “Once you pass through the tunnel behind me, you’ll enter a different world. My advice? The value of mutual respect goes a long way. I hope you each remember that. As for the rules, you’ll pick ‘em up as you go.”

Turning and walking down the tunnel with two guards at his side, Conall doesn’t look back as he leaves us with, “Welcome to Soulbell.”

Picking up that Conall is done with his speech, my eyes transfer to Bodie.

Maybe I was worried about nothing—that wasn’t too bad. The warden is scary but seems reasonable. I am surprised he let Bodie off so easily. Could a little ridicule actually be that harsh?

The guards along the perimeter approach us all individually. I quickly grasp that one guard is assigned to escort each new arrival, while a few guards stay put just in case something goes wrong.

After a stunt like Bodie pulled, the guards are still confident approaching us? Without these cuffs, I could probably take most of them on in a close-range fight simply because of my size. Of course, the other guards might gun me down, but I could still kill a guard or take ‘em hostage. Why risk such an occurrence?

Discreetly jostling my hands, I’m taken aback as I discover the cuffs are incredibly loose. I hadn’t even thought of trying to break out, so I never tested to see how tightly the cuffs were locked around my wrists.

I don’t even need to use my fingers or a key to unlock ‘em! I could just shudder my wrist until the handcuff is loosened! Have they really been like this the whole time? Was it the same for Bodie?

Snapping me out of my thoughts, an older male guard announces his existence to me, “Mateo Hernandez.”

Back to reality, I give the guard my full attention.

As I look at him, he tips his hat, “Arms out to your side.”

As he pats me down, he feels my token in my pocket. Reaching inside, he pulls out my token.

I tell him, “My mother gave me that. Am I allowed to take it in with me?”

Quickly inspecting it, he replies, “Yeah, I’ll hold onto it. Come with me.”

Besides the uniform hat he’s wearing, it’s obvious he’s bald. He’s a few inches shorter than me, armed with a rifle slung around his back and a sidearm in its holster on his leg. This has to be a test. The warden is trying to figure something out, but what? Is it as simple as wanting to see who would be reckless or stupid enough to make a scene?

“Yes, sir,” I reply, wanting to keep my head down.

At my response, the bald guard turned and began walking toward the tunnel, making me the first to advance out of the fresh litter of arrivals. Looking back over my shoulder, there are far too many faces and interactions to absorb all at once.

A whole different world awaits ahead… I wonder if I’m making the right choice going first.

The tunnel’s darkness made it feel much longer than it was. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds of walking before we reached an open doorway. Following the guard inside, we entered a well-lit room. There were a few chairs to my right and a couch to my left; however, both available exits to the room were straight ahead. To the left was a hallway, and to the right was a doorway.

As we pass through the doorway, we enter a smaller room. This room had a massive empty basket and a shower curtain, cutting off visibility to the other half of the room.

Pulling back the curtain, the guard says, “Take your cuffs off, along with your clothes.”

Doing as I’m ordered, I shrug off my handcuffs, strip, and throw my clothes in the basket.

“You can just toss your cuffs on the ground next to the basket.”

As I do so, I remain calm on the outside, but I’m beyond confused.

He knew about the cuffs? It was planned then. But why?

Once I’m undressed, he directs me to the other side of the shower curtain.

He sprays me down with ice-cold water until he is satisfied, and I’m practically shivering when the hose is turned off.

“Here,” says the guard, tossing me a towel as he walks over to the corner of the room and opens the door for me. “Your clothes are in here.”

Drying off as I saunter to the next room, I hear the door close behind me. A pair of fresh boxers are thrown in my face, followed quickly by a pair of gray pants.

“Get dressed,” the guard instructs, waiting for me to put on my pants before tossing me a matching light gray long-sleeved shirt.

After I am fully clothed, shoes and all, the guard grabs a plastic casing of clothes from a tall pile and tosses it to me, “Here’s your spare clothes.”

He then reaches over and grabs a plastic casing of toiletries, “And your hygiene items. You’ll be able to get more later once you run out.”

Catching my toiletries with my other hand, the guard opens another door, “Since you’re the first today, you won’t have to wait.”

Wait for what?

Setting foot into the next room, wondering what could be next as I hugged my items close to my chest, I was slightly surprised to see two people already inside. The next thing that catches my attention is a medical chair with equipment branching off it at the center of the room.

Doctors? We could never afford frequent doctor visits…

“His name is Mateo Hernandez. Inmate 2656,” says the guard who had escorted me thus far.

“Understood. You’re free to wait outside if you want,” says a female doctor, typing away at her computer. In contrast, a male doctor writes something down on a piece of paper before adjusting his glasses.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The guard gives me a curt nod, perhaps thankful for my cooperation before he exits the room out of a different door from the one we entered.

Now I’m being left alone with doctors? This is where our country's worst criminals end up, right? Why are they being so casual about security?

“Mr. Hernandez, can you take a seat for me? You can leave your things on the table next to you,” asks the female doctor.

I nod, set my things down, and climb into the medical chair. Once I’m situated, the male doctor scoots over to me on a rolling chair.

“My name is Josh, and the woman behind me is my boss, Anja,” says Josh. “We’re both doctors. Your name is Mateo, right? Mind if I call you Mateo? Or is Mr. Hernandez okay? I can call you either? Or neither? Whatever works for you!”

Slightly overwhelmed, I uncomfortably smile, “Mateo is fine.”

Josh toothily grins like a kid, “Okay! Mateo it is! Mateo, if you ever have any health concerns, please come see us anytime! Our goal is to make sure you’re happy and healthy all day, every day!”

I meekly bobble my head, “Will do.”

Josh smiles as Anja says, “Josh, we’re ready to go.”

Giving his partner a few nods, Josh quickly backs away and grabs a large needle as a massive machine starts to descend from above me. He holds the needle next to my neck, and I move my head away.

“What are you doing?”

“The machine won’t work if we don’t inject you with this fluid first. Don’t worry, it only stings a little. Try not to move.”

Grudgingly holding myself still, I close my eyes and feel a brief stabbing pain as the needle enters my neck.

“All done!” says Josh, and I reopen my eyes to a far different view.

The machinery is now only a foot or so away from my face. It’s too large to distinguish everything all at once, but I do recognize a singular camera lens with a red light inside.

“No need to panic, Mateo. This machine will only scan you for any underlying illnesses or health problems you have. It’ll be over before you know it,” says Anja, pausing from speaking for a moment as she clacks away at her computer.

“And... we're done! This data will take a while to process. The guard will escort you to your cell in the meantime.”

Walking over and opening the door for me, Josh says, “It was nice meeting you, Mateo. Remember that we are always here to help!”

Getting out of the medical chair, I scamper over to grab my things. As I leave the room, I pass by Josh and give him another nod. Entering a hallway, the door thuds behind me as the same guard from before stands across the hall with his arms folded.

“All set?” he asks, pushing himself off the wall.

Responding silently with a nod, the guard starts down the hall, “Then follow me.”

Over the next minute of walking, an ambiance gradually reaches my ears. Chatter, laughter, yelling, a combination of all those and more. All I could describe it as is noise.

The further we walked, the louder it became until I couldn’t even hear my own footsteps.

Quite an atmosphere. This is going to take some getting used to…

Approaching what seemed to be the end of the hallway, I felt anxious, intimidated, and, for some reason... a little excited.

Let’s try to lay low. I'm a new face, but maybe I can slip by.

Walking into a massive block of open space, inmates dressed like me are scattered everywhere. Dreadfully attempting to take in everything simultaneously, various sights overlap in quick flashes.

A large group playing cards on the floor.

“The food tonight wasn’t all bad.”

I missed dinner? Damn, I’m hungry.

“Did you hear what happened to–”

A pair of women talking by the pillar.

“How ‘bout that! I win again!”

What happened to who?

Some men recreating a play from a basketball game.

“Heard some fish tried to kill the warden!”

Fish?

“Hahaha, you’re kidding!”

“Talk about a dumbass! Can’t wait to meet ‘em!”

Some inmates talking in their cells.

“So, are you going to watch the duel tonight?”

Duel?

“Hernandez, this way,” says the guard, leading me toward my cell.

Still overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds around me, I stagger behind him as I walk past dozens of inmates.

“Would you look at that! A new school of fish arriving today, Miles?” a lady asks.

“Hey, Miles! Don’t tell me this fish is the one that tried to kill Conall!” chirps a man, laughter following.

The guard doesn’t give the inmates the time of day as he continues escorting me to my cell, for which I am grateful. However, the news that there are some fresh arrivals spread like wildfire. The harrowing noise soon shifts to a new topic, a much more annoying topic.

Suddenly, our arrival was the talk of the town, or… prison. And that was the last thing I wanted.

***

I wouldn’t say it was impossible, but it was certainly challenging to ignore the bombardment of questions, insults, requests, and sarcastic compliments I had to endure. The time between entering the block and arriving at my cell couldn’t have been longer than two minutes, yet I was already exhausted.

My cell is on the second floor, near the edge of the block, which I am grateful for. By design, a mob cannot stick around and hover outside my cell like they can on the first floor. I got lucky in that sense.

But what I didn’t get lucky with was my cellmate.

I expected to have a cellmate, so that wasn’t the problem. It was how she acted.

***

As soon as we arrived at my cell, the guard handed me my token back along with a key before shoving me inside. Hearing an annoyed grunt followed by the rattle of a lock, I turned around, registering that my cellmate had just locked our cell from the inside as she sat back down on her bed.

Grasping that some inmates had already lost interest in me after the door was locked, my gaze shifts between my irritated cellmate and the diminishing mob outside. “Thanks for that.”

There’s no response from her as the noise begins to somewhat subdue. Surveying the cell, it isn’t far off from what I expected. There were two beds, one for her and one for me, a tiny window that I didn’t understand the importance of, and a bedside table between our beds.

After placing my things down on the ground, I slip my token into my pocket and lie down on my bed for the first time. Immediately after hitting the mattress, I drag my hand down my face.

This is even more uncomfortable than my bed back home. Didn’t know that was possible…

“Hey,” says my cellmate, and I open my eyes.

The mob is gone, and this is the first time I actually look at my cellmate. She appears a few years older than me, probably in her early twenties. Her skin boasts a gorgeous golden tone, her almond-shaped eyes envelop beautiful brown irises, and her long brown hair flows over her shoulders. She also has a noticeable sleeve of tattoos going down her left arm.

Keep it cool. Keep it cool. Remember, she’s a criminal…

Damn it, brain, you’re not helping.

“What’s your name?” she demands.

“Mateo. Mateo Hernandez, and yours?” I say, sitting up.

She looks me up and down, “You’re young.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“What the hell did you do to get thrown in here?”

“What about your name?”

“Answer the question.”

I groan, “I was framed for killing a tepran.”

She cocks a brow, “Framed? Why lie about that?”

“I’m not.”

“Sure. What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie, I saw you put something in there. What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, I show her the token Mom gave me.

“It’s called a mitered square. My mom knit it for me to have in prison.”

“That’s kind of cute, but that’s really all the effort she could put into a gift?” says my cellmate. “Did Daddy not want to give you something?”

Blood boiling and hands trembling with rage, I reply, “My dad is dead, and mom is bedridden. Considering she can barely move her hands... this gift means everything to me.”

Averting her gaze, I think my cellmate realized she had crossed a line she shouldn’t have.

“What about you?” I demand, tone lower.

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

“That’s not important.”

My brows knit together, “How’s that fair? I tell you my name and why I’m here, and you refuse to do the same?”

“I never said you had to answer.”

“But I did. You know I’m trying to make a good first impression here.”

“I don’t care about impressions. I just needed to make sure I’m not living with a psychopath.”

“You said I lied. Does that make me a psychopath?”

“No. I was just testing your sincerity.”

“And did I pass?”

“I haven’t decided yet. How old are you?”

“Eighteen, and you?”

She looks at me again with eyebrows raised, “Eighteen, and you killed a tepran?”

“I was framed. He was my friend.”

“Yeah, right,” she says, lying on her bed and pulling a blanket over her.

Grumbling, I study my new… acquaintance as I pocket my token.

What is her problem? She’s lucky I grew up with a sibling, or this could’ve gone very differently.

She rolls over to face the wall, presumably to try and sleep.

It seems I passed her assessment, though, whatever it was.

Placing both hands behind my head, I stare up at the ceiling.

Going to bed on an empty stomach must be custom for new arrivals because I’m starving. I also can’t tell if I pissed her off or not, but there’s no chance I’m going to ask her about food now.

With tiredness getting the better of me again and becoming used to the noise from the block, I give into another wave of exhaustion.

The clanging of metal startles me awake, along with my not-so-friendly cellmate and probably anyone else nearby. As I sit up, wondering what is going on, I hear the gate to our cell open, and a different guard from before steps through.

“Hernandez, follow me,” says a female voice.

Half asleep, I hide my token under my pillow and stumble after the guard as she exits the cell. Following her onto the metal walkway, a pair of guards followed close behind us. As I pass other cells, inmates give me a piece of their mind for being the reason they have been woken up in the middle of the night.

Great. So much for keeping a low profile. What did I already do wrong?

Leaving the block, we trek down a different hallway from earlier. This hallway is wider, and there are many doors on either side that we pass by as we take a couple of turns.

Arriving at a double door, the female guard knocks, “I brought Hernandez.”

“Excellent. Bring him in,” replies a new voice.

Entering a medical room very similar to the one before, a singular man is inside. He is dressed in a white coat, snacking on some nuts as he stares up at a visual projection of data, completely immersed in whatever it is. From my angle, all I can make out from the data is the silhouette of a human body and a mountain of words.

“Mateo, go ahead and take a seat,” says the man, not looking away from the data.

While I get comfy, the guards leave the room while the doctor sets down his snack.

“I take it you met Josh and Anja earlier?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“Drop the sir,” he quickly says, wheeling over to me and extending his hand, “Formalities were never my style. I like talking to my patients on a human-to-human level. As far as names go, you can call me Sorel.”

Mid-handshake, my eyes grow wide, “Sorel? As in the world-famous scientist and inventor Sorel?!”

“Nah, that’s some other guy,” he says, shooing away the idea before cracking up at my confusion. “I’m kidding! Yes, I am… what did you call me? Sorel, the world-famous scientist and inventor?”

I almost smack myself in the forehead, but I manage to resist.

How lame…! Also, why does he look so different? I thought his black hair was short and swept back, but instead, it’s long. He also has a beard now, and he looks exhausted.

“It’s– it’s an honor to meet you,” I say, having no idea what to say. “I loved what you did with the Defiantos Twelve X! Their ability to instantly stick to any surface was ahead of its time!”

Sorel laughs, “I created those years ago! You still use ‘em?”

“I did– well, they were my friends. Since I couldn’t afford a pair myself, he gave them to me a few years ago as a birthday gift. I’ve used the Twelve X’s ever since… I– I loved ‘em.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I have always loved remodeling the Defiantos and seeing what cool gadgets I can add. But Mateo, I feel like you kind of got things backward. I’m the one honored to meet you.”

“What? Me? W-Why?”

Come to think of it, why am I here? Why is Sorel at Soulbell Prison? And why did he request to see me in the middle of the night?