Prologue:

The man stood at the window looking out at the view four stories below. He held both of his hands clasped behind his back and his posture was rod straight. The afternoon light cast him in shadows, not letting the steely gray colour of his hair shine through.

There was a light knock at his door before a uniformed man walked in.

“Sir. The new batch just arrived.”

“Yes. Yes, they have.”

The man at the window looked down at the courtyard for a few seconds longer before he turned around and addressed the other man.

“I want them all processed, cleaned and tagged before twenty hundred.”

Reminding himself of the man’s name with the tag at his chest, he added.

“It’s your ass I am after if even an ounce of shit hits the fan, you got that Mitchell?”

“Y-Yes sir!”

The younger man responded. He wanted to turn around and leave, but lingered because of remembered orders.

Seeing his reluctance, the older man asked.

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“Anything else Mitchells?”

“It’s Edmunds, Sir. He wants to know if we should wait until tomorrow before we throw them into The Game, Sir.”

The man slowly ambled his way from the window to his desk, where he unfolded his hands from behind his back and used them to lean into the wood in a pensive gesture. In front of him were the profiles of the new batch. After giving each one another perusing glance, he looked back up at the man who still stood at his door.

“No. We shouldn’t.”

Description: Alkatraz, no one has ever escaped. It is where only the worst of the worst go. Going there means only one thing... certain death. Unless... they conquer The Game. Offered with a slim chance of survival, no one has ever turned down the chance to win their freedom. Then again... no one has ever won either.

Warning: I am thinking of making this gruesome at times. Haven't decided how much yet... but prepare yourself.