Chapter 1 :- Smiles and Scars
The bus rumbled like a dying beast, its engine groaning under the weight of steel bars and human despair. Rain streaked the reinforced windows, turning the outside world into a blur of grey smudges. Inside, shackled women sat in silence. Some glared. Some wept. Others stared at nothing, already hollowed out by years of sentences still to come.
At the back of the bus, Anya Williams sat perfectly still. Her wrists were cuffed, her ankles chained, but her posture was straight, composed. The fluorescent strip above flickered against her pale face, highlighting sharp cheekbones, a faint scar along her jawline. She could have been a statue—except for her eyes.
They were alive. Cold, watchful, calculating.
The guards avoided her gaze. They knew her file: third-degree manslaughter, life sentence. One woman. Forty dead. A Chinese gang boss and his entire crew wiped out in a single bloody night. The press had called it impossible. The courts had called it insanity. Blackwall Prison called it home.
The bus screeched to a halt.
Ahead loomed the prison itself—a fortress of black stone and razor wire, its towers cutting into the sky like jagged teeth. Floodlights swept the yard, slicing through the rain. Blackwall wasn't just a prison. It was a tomb for the living.
The doors hissed open.
"Move, dirtbags!" barked a voice like gravel being ground under a boot.
The inmates shuffled out into the downpour, chains clinking with every step. They were herded into a line like cattle, rain soaking their orange jumpsuits. At the front stood the warden.
She was enormous. Six feet tall, muscles thick under her uniform, arms veined and tattooed. Her cropped hair and scarred face told a story she didn't bother to hide. Her stare could cut glass.
"You're all filth," she snarled, pacing the line like a wolf among sheep. "Society's vomit. Murderers, thieves, liars, whores. You're nothing. Less than nothing." She stopped in front of one trembling prisoner, leaning in close. "When I say jump, you don't ask how high. You fucking levitate."
The women shrank back under her voice, but not Anya. She stared forward, unmoving.
The warden's eyes flicked to her for a heartbeat, lingering, but then moved on.
The line was driven inside, stripped, searched, prodded, humiliated. Every guard was a woman, and none showed mercy for their fellow sex. Hands were rough, words sharper than knives. Dignity wasn't permitted in Blackwall—it was stripped at the gates.
By the time the cells were assigned, most newcomers were broken shells.
Anya wasn't.
Her cell was small, damp, lit by a single buzzing bulb. On the bottom bunk sat a wiry woman with short black hair and glasses that slipped constantly down her nose. She looked like she belonged in a library, not a maximum-security hellhole.
She looked up from a book as Anya entered, chains removed.
"Well, well," she said brightly, voice full of mischief. "Fresh meat. I was beginning to think they'd forgotten me in here." She hopped off the bunk, extending a hand. "Maya Delgado. Two years in. White-collar crime, fraud, embezzlement, yadda yadda. Don't look at me like that, I'm dangerous. I once hacked the IRS for fun."
Anya regarded the hand, then the face, then simply sat down on the top bunk without a word.
Maya grinned. "Silent type, huh? Great. My favorite kind. Means I get to do all the talking."
And she did. She chattered about the cafeteria slop, the guard rotations, the smell of mold in Block C, the gangs that controlled the showers, the barter system of cigarettes and favors. Anya listened, silent, eyes half-closed, but she absorbed every word.
When yard time came, Maya insisted on giving her the "grand tour."
"This is the chapel. Don't pray too loud, it annoys the atheists. That's the gym. Don't touch the weights unless you wanna get stabbed. Oh, and that corner? That's Valentina's court. Don't even look at her unless you want trouble."
Anya looked anyway.
Valentina was impossible to miss. She was bigger than the warden, a mountain of flesh and scars draped in prison gray. Her hair was shaved close, her jaw like a sledgehammer. She sat on a concrete bench surrounded by lieutenants, every prisoner in the yard stealing glances but never staring too long.
Except Anya.
Their eyes locked.
Valentina smirked, then beckoned. "Come here, little mouse."
Maya hissed, tugging Anya's arm. "Don't. Just don't."
But Anya stepped forward.
Valentina leaned back, voice booming for all to hear. "Look at this pretty new toy. Fresh meat. Bet you still smell like the outside world." Her lieutenants laughed. She stood, towering over Anya, circling her like a predator. "Tell me, mouse… what's your name?"
Anya said nothing.
"Oh, she's shy!" Valentina sneered. "Don't worry, we'll break that." She leaned closer, lips curling. "Tell me… does your mommy miss you yet?"
The words hit like a blade.
Anya's eyes narrowed, something sharp flashing in them. She spoke at last, voice quiet but cutting. "At least my mother didn't raise a pig."
The yard went silent.
Valentina's smile vanished. With a roar, she swung a fist the size of a hammer. It crashed into Anya's face, sending her sprawling across the dirt. Blood spattered the ground.
Gasps echoed.
Anya pushed herself up slowly, nose bleeding, wiped it with the back of her hand—then smirked. "That all you've got?"
The yard erupted.
Valentina charged, fists like thunder. Anya ducked, weaved, countered with sharp jabs. They barely bruised the giant, but the shock wasn't in the power. It was in the audacity. No one had ever dared strike the Queen.
For the first time, Valentina bled.
The yard roared. Guards shouted. The warden stormed in like a hurricane, shoving her way between them. "Enough!"
The fight froze.
Every prisoner expected punishment—solitary, the pit, worse. But the warden's eyes flicked from Valentina's bruised jaw to Anya's bloodied smirk. For a long moment, the silence was deafening.
Then the warden chuckled. Just once. Dark and low.
"Not bad," she said. Then she shoved Anya back toward Maya. "Get her out of here."
Maya grabbed Anya's arm, dragging her toward their block. "Jesus Christ, you're insane," she whispered. "Nobody stands up to Valentina. Nobody!"
Anya dabbed at her bleeding nose, smirk still ghosting her lips. "You have no idea."
Behind them, Valentina stood in the yard, lip bleeding, fists trembling with rage.
It wasn't over. Not by a long shot.