When morning came, Lothar was surprised when they were taken out by the guards for a morning jog around the prison grounds. He didn't read about anything like this in the brochure, but it seemed that only a few got to have this privilege.

He didn’t know why he was included, but the smirk Droj shot him when he first saw him could only mean hell was coming.

What’s his agenda?

It was surprising how much better the guards treated the surrounding prisoners. They acted more like escorts, in fact.

If Lothar had bothered to give a shit, he might have been impressed by the show of power these people presented. The prison was a corrupted playground. The guards were the kids that stole your toys and only gave them back if you called for your mom. He didn’t know who the prisoners’ mothers were, but they had to be influential enough to pull that shit off. The surrounding men were just suckling at their mothers’ teets like starving dogs. Nothing commendable about that.

Not for the first time, he wondered who the prison’s warden was and who exactly they were affiliated with. Though politics and scheming had never been his thing, he wasn’t dumb enough to ask around. He’d rather not mess with the wrong beehive.

Lothar kept his head down and tried to avoid stepping too close to some groups that kept giving him the stink eye, probably not happy to see additional competition.

He only recognized Droj, Schlatt, and Dickins. The first two formed their own clique, keeping their eyes on everyone while speaking in hushed voices. Behind them ran another group that looked more like a minor cult than anything else. They all had bald heads and toothless smiles–not that he had seen them smile.

Dickins was barely jogging next to a pair of giant white men who, to his surprise, were not glaring at him. In fact, they were laughing and joking too loudly to be interpreted as anything but annoying and fake.

And lastly, the first group ran in an arc formation which was led by one lean man with eyes too big for his head.

He was the same man that tipped his hat when Lothar first witnessed the graveyard’s horror.

They had expressionless faces, straight backs, and barely any sweat glossing over their foreheads as they finished round after round.

They were one marching cadence away from looking like a proper military unit, Lothar decided to stay far away from them as possible. Their complete at-ease behavior ticked him off, his spidery senses tingling for all the wrong reasons as he observed their stoic visages.

Those four were the most notable groups, the rest just followed behind or tried to.

Once the rounds were over, a guard let them rest before tossing water bottles. Lothar caught one and drank it until there was not one droplet left. Ronny approached him and snatched the empty bottle. Lothar grabbed his shoulder to stop him, which only earned him a glare.

He dropped his hand awkwardly, “Apologies, Ronny. I was wondering why I am here.” He said.

From this close, Lothar could see the thin layer of acne scars on Ronny’s chubby cheeks. The man visibly cringed, more out of annoyance and misplaced anger than anything else. Lothar bit the inside of his cheek and waited. Ronny responded with a strained voice that didn’t sound like it has been used much.

“Yes, you are indeed here. They told me to bring you, so I did. If you’re curious, ask your friends.”

Haughty, unnecessarily so. Lothar already didn’t like the man. Ronny left Lothar to his thoughts and continued on.

Lothar’s eyes jumped from one guard to the other, trying to look for the guy who dropped his message. There were almost a dozen of them—half he never saw before, and the other he wished he didn’t.

Lothar’s neck prickled when his eyes landed on a long-haired, blonde officer whose eyes were hidden by sunglasses. He knew it was him. There were few things he was confident about, of which were his inevitable death and sharp memory. Most problems in his life resulted from the latter. Lothar heard then someone call his secret helper ‘Rex’.

“No more morning rounds for the time being!” Tony’s shout got Lothar’s attention. He turned just in time to see one of the small fries speak up.

“Why then? Ain’t we paying you hard-earned money for the chance to see the sun for over one hour a day?” Lothar expected rough talk and possibly a fight, but the prisoner’s tone was desperate at best.

“They’re burying their heads in the sand and hoping Alka doesn’t come fucking them in the ass. The agents have finally caught a whiff of your lies, eh?” Dickins snickered.

Tony leveled him with a glare “Watch it, dick. Keep your eyes straight and don’t worry about the administration’s business. You still are scum beneath our boots.”

“Well-polished boots because of us.” One of the cultists whispered in a breathy tone. Lothar couldn’t tell which one.

“Shut up, thralls.” the bald men all frowned unanimously.

“Let’s move.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Lothar fell behind the queue and slowed his footsteps until Schlatt and Droj appeared next to him. The former passed by him after ‘accidentally’ bumping into him.

“You wanted me to hear this?” Lothar asked Droj, ignoring Schlatt’s attitude.

“I just invited a new business partner to a small outing under the sun. Your pale ass ought to be grateful.”

Lothar scowled “You’re doing me favors now?”

“There are no favors among friends.” Droj’s accent rolled off his tongue like acid to Lothar’s ears. He was beginning to hate the noise coming out of Droj’s mouth, especially the meaning behind them.

“I talked to my contacts. Your boosters will be here in few days.”

Lothar’s brows furrowed further “Isn’t that a bit too quick?”

Droj smiled “Why do you sound displeased? I’m doing my part of the deal.”

“Because you’re smiling like it’s Christmas. You seem to be in a hurry to get those gloves. Wonder if that has anything to do with the agents coming.”

Droj laughed “It has everything to do with them coming and you’d be stupid to question that. Death usually follows whenever Alka steps in. I like me head where it’s at.”

Lothar chewed the inside of his cheek “You got a place for a third?”

Droj scoffed, “We ain’t that type of friends yet.”

Lothar shrugged “Can’t blame a man for trying. How about this—tell me, who here might be the most willing to do help me with a problem? Someone with freedom and who’s desperate enough to deal with me. Should have no loose flaps, and isn’t licking Dickins’ ass.”

Droj eyed him warily before nodding towards a guard smoking a cigarette. He had brown short hair, and a beer gut “Gus, there. He’s of decent sorts but is really ambitious. He’s a bit too sensitive, so he doesn’t like real coocoo nests.”

He will dirty his hands for a good price, but he won’t do the bidding of murderers or rapists. I killed—Vols killed someone, but it was an accident. It’s a gamble, a huge fucking one.

Lothar sighed, back to Gus.

“How cooperative is Gus?”

“Enough. Don’t push too hard and don’t ask for too much. Keep it easy and don’t tell him I sent you. He hates me.”

“Why?”

“He’s not ambitious enough to like me.”

.....

If this doesn't work then I will probably end up here.

Lothar looked down at the lost limb of a broken child.

Would that be so bad?

Lothar moved when he spotted Gus. A day has past since he talked with Droj, which counted as another day in one of the devil's paygrounds.

His thoughts of dread and exhaustion were pushed back behind a wall that used to protect his mind from succombing to pressure. He would get back to cursing life for its meeciless laughs when he gets out. Waving his fist in the air would not work here, so for today, he will try to live.

He breathed a sigh of determination. The note was tucked inside his overalls, waiting for him to make the move.

His heart drummed inside his chest as he asked the worm to give him a pep talk.

< This is a bad idea. Only a moron would take that big of a risk for practically a dumb reason.>

You suck at pep talks.

< I do not encourage you to do this. >

But you won’t stop me?

< I am forbidden from influencing any of your decisions or actions.>

Lothar shook his head and let out a deep breath. His legs took him towards the guard and stopped when he came close enough to smell his BO.

Lothar glued his head to the ground and swept with his shovel. He barely made his sound audible over the rumblings of the prisoners.

“I’m Vols. I have a proposition for you. Please, hear me out.”

Gus shuffled his feet but did not raise his baton. He was listening.

Lothar looked around subtly before making sure he stepped on the extra wet floor. He slipped and fell, grunting as his ass landed first. His pain was not a consequence of his mighty acting skills.

“Up!”

“Shit, would you help? I think I sprained my ankle.”

Gus grumbled and made to pick him up. Lothar slipped the paper inside his pocket and nodded at him.

“Read it and inform me of your choice.” He whispered.

“Thank you, Gus.” This time his voice was louder, he picked up his shovel and went back to work, faking a limp.

Droj was looking at him from the other side of the room with a mocking smile.

Lothar snarled and ignored him.

.....