I've tried so damn hard to comply with the regulations imposed on us by the guards. Staying out of trouble is my top priority, especially now that my release is only a few days away. But then, there's Josh.
He sits right across from my corner, and every time our eyes meet, a fire rises within me—a rage I haven't felt in a very long time. The sight of him pretending to be someone he isn't, acting like this cold-blooded psychopath, disgusts me to my core. It's not just the lies—it's what those lies have cost. Sharif… He's gone. Killed by this coward who now wears the mask of a monster to keep others in check.
I want peace. I want out. But justice? Justice burns hotter than my desire for freedom. And I know exactly what to do to bring Josh back to reality.
He keeps throwing that psychopathic stare in my direction—an act meant to instill fear, but instead, it only amuses me. I laugh. Loud. A laugh so sudden and intense it confuses the others. They glance my way, puzzled. To them, maybe I seem unhinged. But it will all make sense soon enough.
"You scumbag… I never knew you were such a good actor," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Josh blinked, startled. The tremble in his jaw gave him away—he wasn't expecting a direct confrontation, not from me.
This was the moment.
"Shizzle!" I called out to my bunkmate, a loyal friend since the beginning of my incarceration. "Keep watch. Let me know if a guard's approaching."
Without question, Shizzle stepped to the cell's edge and posted up like a soldier on duty. My other cellmates, sensing something serious, remained quiet.
I turned to the room. "Anyone who tries to stop me gets the beating of his life. Understood?"
There was no protest—only silence. Slowly, they turned to face the wall, giving me the space I needed. My feet carried me steadily to Josh's corner.
"So, you're the big, bad psychopathic killer, huh?" I taunted.
Josh smirked, trying to conjure that same fear-inducing presence he used to control the room. But before he could respond—I struck him. A loud, blistering slap echoed through the cell block. The walls vibrated with the sound, the very air tense with the shock.
He barely had time to react before a second slap cracked across his cheek—more painful, more humiliating.
"You've been riding high on fear, deceiving everyone," I growled. "Pretending to be a killer just to keep control. I see you haven't changed at all."
He grabbed the collar of my shirt, perhaps hoping to regain some power by provoking me. Desperation showed in his eyes, but I wasn't buying it.
"Do you want to die?" he spat, his voice trembling.
"No!" I bellowed, grabbing him by the collar. "I want to kill."
And in that moment, Josh knew—he had finally crossed paths with someone who wouldn't cower. He dropped to his knees.
"Please… forgive me," he whimpered, his voice cracking with fear.
Josh—once the self-proclaimed monster of the cell—was now begging. The same Josh who had bullied, tormented, and even killed without remorse was now shaking in fear. Everyone turned their heads, curiosity etched into their faces. The tough guy was cracking, and they all wanted to see how it would end.
"Forgive you?" I asked, arching a brow. "For what, exactly?"
"For… for picking a fight with you," he stammered.
Wrong answer.
"No. You need forgiveness… because you killed Sharif."
The blood drained from his face.
He hadn't expected that. How could I know that name? How could I possibly know the truth?
What he didn't know was that I was Sharif—or at least, I had been. I had lived his life in another cycle, carried his pain, and died at Josh's hands. I had stood up to him once as Sharif and paid for it with my life. But this time, I was back… and I would finish what Sharif couldn't.
I turned to face the rest of the room, letting the truth spill.
"He's a coward," I announced. "He wasn't always like this. Back in high school, he bullied a kid until the tables turned. That same kid fought back, and Josh couldn't handle it. He got beaten. Humbled. So, what did this punk do? He waited, snuck up behind him, and smashed a brick into his skull. A damn brick! And now he's in here pretending to be some cold-blooded killer just to scare all of you!"
The room erupted in gasps and whispers. Josh stared at me, lips parted in disbelief, wondering how I knew these things. I returned to him and grabbed him by the neck.
"If you've taken someone's life, the least you can do is repent. But instead, you used it as a weapon to scare others. You selfish, cowardly bastard."
I released his shirt and turned to the others.
"Don't be fooled by his lies. He's not a monster. He's not even a man. He's just a scared little boy hiding behind a fake reputation."
One inmate stepped forward. "Unbelievable… how dare you lie to us?"
Then came the stampede.
They rushed him—fists, knees, whatever they had. Years of fear and submission erupted into wrath. Josh tried to defend himself, but it was no use. The truth had broken the illusion.
I had done it.
I had avenged Sharif. His murderer was unmasked. And now Josh would face the slow-burning justice of those he once oppressed.
But I didn't stop there.
Ever since that day, Josh's life has been hell. No longer the alpha, he now sits alone during meals, too scared to even eat unless told. He once feasted first, hoarding food, barking orders. Now, he stares at his tray like it might bite him.
One day, as we gathered for lunch, I saw him seated in the far corner, pretending not to be hungry. The act was pathetic.
"Josh," I called, "come get your food."
He hesitated. Just then, one of the inmates flung a fish at him.
"Finish it. Every last bone. Leave anything, and we'll beat it out of you."
Josh nodded quickly, scooping it up and eating it whole. The others laughed.
I could have pitied him, but I didn't. He showed no mercy when he had power. He deserves every minute of this.
Meanwhile, life for me had changed.
I was respected. Not feared—but respected. I didn't abuse the power I'd earned. I didn't bark orders or hurt anyone for fun. My aim was simple: survive this hell, and beat Death at her own game. That has always been my focus.
I volunteered for work in the prison yard—cleaning, lifting, even assisting the guards with minor tasks. I avoided trouble like the plague. But trouble, it seems, has a way of finding me.
We were assigned to the woodworking structure inside the yard, crafting furniture for prison cells and guard offices. I had just begun sanding a plank when a sharp sound zipped past my ear.
A mechanical blade—sharp as a guillotine—whirled through the air.
Reflexes kicked in. I ducked. The blade missed me and ricocheted off a metal beam… straight into the chest of another inmate.
Blood spilled instantly.
My body moved before my brain caught up. I ran to him, pressing on the wound, yelling for help. Guards rushed over and took him to the clinic. I hoped he'd live.
But something felt… off.
Why had that blade been launched at my head?
Before I could gather my thoughts, I turned—and saw I was surrounded.
A circle of prisoners, most of them unfamiliar faces, now closed in with metal rods, screws, anything sharp. They came prepared but little did they know I had my own skills.
"What the hell is this?" I asked, backing up.
One of them spoke. "Someone asked us to make sure that you don't get out of here alive, and that's excatly what we are going to do. To kill you."
But only one familiar face among them—Shizzle.
"Shizzle? You too?"
His eyes were filled with regret, but he nodded.
"I'm sorry, brother. I had no choice."
"Who sent you?" I asked, though the answer was already forming in my mind.
Another inmate stepped forward. "You know who the client is."
And there it was. The attorney.
He had warned me, said my "big talks" would get me killed. Now I understood he wasn't bluffing. He was buying silence—with my life.
With no other option left, I clenched my fists, my body coiled like a spring.
"So that's it, huh?" I muttered.
"I'm supposed to die here and let Death laugh again?"
No!... Not this time. I turned to them now.
"You want a show?" I said, cracking my knuckles. "Then let's dance."