On a cold, drenched night, a new inmate entered the brutal gates of The Skull Collect in heavy chains, a facility notorious across the nation. Its grim legend was built on the collection of skulls belonging to every inmate who had attempted escape and failed. The dark, echoing passageways and rusty, locked cells seemed to breathe the tormented history of countless lives forgotten within its stone walls.
"Well, look at the fresh meat," an old inmate drawled, his voice rasping as he peered out from behind the bars with a predatory grin. It was the look of a wolf watching new prey stumble into the den.
The new man wore the standard gray uniform, marked with the damning number '666' on his chest and back. Outside, he was Jack. Here, for the duration of his sentence, he was nothing more than 'Number 666.'
"Worst luck in the world, son, landing yourself in this stone hellhole," a toothless man chuckled as the convict was marched past his cell.
Jack was tall and middle-aged with a chiseled, diamond-shaped face. A neatly trimmed, medium beard framed his jaw beneath a stark black crew-cut. His physique was lean, yet clearly muscular. A distinctive scar ran diagonally across his right cheek, from the earlobe to the chin. His features were sharp: small, beady eyes, a pointed nose, and thin lips. Despite the rough-hewn look of a life lived on the edge, his appearance was undeniably striking.
Jack met the glare of the chuckling inmate, his own face devoid of discomfort. "Says the man who's been rotting here for years. Your life is already a certified masterpiece of misery."
"What did you say, you piece of trash?" the inmate howled, slamming his fist against the steel door. The loud clang echoed down the corridor, rousing the other prisoners.
"What the hell happened?"
"Is someone getting assaulted again?"
"Who's about to die now?"
"Kill each other quietly, you bastards! I need to sleep!"
"Please, don't fight. I'm faint at heart."
The reactions were varied, but unified by the sudden, intense noise. It was night, and only the lights above the central pathway were lit, casting long, feeble shadows. The darkness within the cells made it impossible to see the inmates fully unless they pressed their faces against the iron bars.
"Quiet!" shouted the prison guard accompanying Jack, hitting the bars with his baton. The violent clatter silenced the yard instantly.
How could they speak? No one wanted to end up as part of the infamous Warden's skull collection. The guard was young, clean-shaven, and wore a stiff blue khaki uniform, with a taser on one hip and a revolver on the other.
Based on their reactions, Jack understood this facility was completely cut off from the outside world. Otherwise, they would have at least heard his name, given the scale of the havoc he'd wreaked. "A cage full of low-level thugs," he muttered under his breath.
They reached the final line of cells. Another guard was already there, opening the door to the last cell on the right. Jack's guard shoved him inside, his voice a low menace. "Don't try anything funny, terrorist. Your execution is only a month away. Don't try to make it shorter."
"A terrorist?" came a surprised voice from the corner.
The guard locked the door and left. A minute of silence passed before Jack's three cellmates began to acknowledge him.
Jack looked at the silhouettes. One was quite short and frail, the next tall and lean, and the third massive and wide, towering around six feet.
"Welcome, young man," said the frail, short figure. The voice was gentle, belonging to an old man counting his last years. "You'll be in our care now."
Jack paid no heed to the words and simply laid down on his cot in the far-end corner. Each cell contained four inmates, with single beds situated in the corners. The empty center chamber was sometimes used for fights or crude games to kill time.
Irked by the casual dismissal, the tall, lean inmate hissed, "This little punk… Hey! The old man is talking to you!" He stood up to approach Jack, but the old man stopped him with a simple gesture.
"Leave him be, Barry. Ending up here is a heavy thing. He'll be clearer-headed in the morning."
"Too optimistic, Uncle Ben," said the huge man, Finn, from the parallel corner. "People who land here are dreaded criminals, devoid of humanity. I consider him", he gestured toward Jack, "no different. Who knows what atrocities a terrorist has committed."
"Maybe so," Uncle Ben replied gently, "but we shouldn't be too quick to pass a judgment."
Barry, the lean man, chuckled. "You've got a tough backbone, old man, for being so cheerful in a place like this."
"Nah, it hurts now," Ben said, clutching his lower back, earning soft laughter from the others. Jack listened to their talks for a moment, then closed his eyes. What a collection of morons.
Half a dozen hours later, a loud, grating alarm ripped through the facility, signaling morning and breakfast.
Trrrrriiingggg…
"That infernal ringing again!" barked an inmate in annoyance. "Turn it off!" "Let me sleep, man," another groaned.
Jack's cellmates had already woken up before the alarm, their biological clocks long since adjusted to the prison schedule.
"It's breakfast time," Uncle Ben said when the ringing finally stopped, straightening his hunched back. "What more does an old man need than a place to stay and regular meals?"
"Good for you, old man," Barry said, stretching his legs in the middle of the cell.
"It makes me jealous that you can stay so carefree," Finn said, a flicker of sorrow in his eyes. "Not everyone has the luxury of having no one left outside."
Ben tapped his arm twice for encouragement. "Don't be sad, Finn. I'm sure your daughter is fine. You just have to stay strong until your sentence is over. She'll be happy to see you."
Finn nodded, wishing the old man's words were the absolute truth. Suddenly, his sight fell on Jack, who was still on his cot. "Hey, he's still asleep. Wake him up or he'll miss his breakfast."
Just as he spoke, Jack stood up and yawned. "Speak for yourselves." He looked at Uncle Ben- bald except for tufts of white hair above his ears, his face a tapestry of wrinkles. "You are quite cheerful, old man. I like your attitude," he told him.
"People say it's attitude," Ben replied casually, "but it's just the effect of having no attachments."
"Attachments?" Jack fell into a moment of reflection before Barry drew their attention back.
"By the way," Barry said urgently, pointing toward the cell gate, which a guard had already opened. "We need to hurry. Or the Grizz crew will finish everything again." Barry was a tall, lean Black man, muscular and intense. His long face was dominated by thick eyebrows, a flat nose, and full lips, crowned by a shock of dreadlocks.
"You're right," Finn agreed, already hurrying out and signaling everyone to follow. "Let's go." Finn was a massive, round man, his face equally large. He wore a trimmed mustache and a faint stubble, and was built on a grand, imposing scale.
They walked along the pathway Jack was brought in on, but now in the daytime with all the lights on. Jack could finally assess the facility, a vital task for the plan already forming in his mind.
The main prison chamber was vast, far larger than he had estimated. High walls, several dozen feet tall, enclosed the space, with cells carved into two parallel sides. Balcony structures high above held guards in blue, armed with sniper rifles pointed directly at the path. Now I understand why nobody dared to cross that guard.
They turned left out of the chamber and entered a huge dining hall. It was a chaotic, cavernous space where long tables were lined up in parallel rows. The prisoners crowded the hall, a brutal economy on full display as the strong preyed on the weak for extra food.
"Let me give you an advice, Number 666," Finn said to Jack while they waited in the queue for their rations. "No matter what they do, don't pick a fight."
Jack stayed silent for a beat, his eyes narrow and predatory, then replied calmly, "Understood. But my name is Jack."
"Then it's all good, Jack," Finn replied with a cheerful smile.
They took their seats after collecting their steel plates of bread and omelette.
"Ah, bread and omelette again," Uncle Ben reacted, pulling a face. "They have zero innovation when it comes to food."
"Well, we can't have what we want," Finn replied with a forced smile. "We are in prison, remember?"
"I know that," Ben said, sulking as he quickly gobbled a piece of bread. "It's not bad, though."
Jack was about to eat when a shadow loomed over his head. He looked up to find a huge, bulky man standing over him. This was Grizz: brown-skinned, with slicked-back hair, thick lips, and a wide, almost snout-like nose. Scars crisscrossed his face and hands, a testament to a savage history. He loomed, radiating menace.
"I heard you're the new boy. Thought I'd let you know the rules and the pecking order," he said, glaring down at him.
Jack remained silent and simply resumed eating his food, infuriating the huge man.
"I am talking to you, you bastard!" Grizz slammed his hand on the table with a bang that took everyone's attention.
Jack glanced at Finn, who subtly shook his head to signal him not to escalate the situation. "So this is the one he warned me about," Jack thought.
"Grizz, he just got here yesterday. He doesn't know how to behave," Barry stood between them to intervene.
"Get lost!" Grizz shoved him aside. "Let him speak for himself."
Jack still paid no heed. He ate the final piece of his breakfast and quietly burped. This act of casual disrespect pushed the prison bully over the edge.
"You bastard, it seems you need a lesson in manners." As he spoke, he threw a punch with devastating force, connecting squarely with Jack's face.
"Jack!" Finn reacted in shock.
Jack crashed from the chair, slamming hard onto the floor. Barry jumped to help him up. "Hey, are you alright?" Jack was bleeding from the mouth, yet he showed no hint of pain or discomfort.
Jack stood slowly, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, maintaining complete calm. He then walked away, still holding his empty plate.
To Grizz, the apex predator of The Skull Collect, this was humiliation. Nerves visibly popped on the sides of his head from pure fury.
The surrounding prisoners began to murmur. "Now he's done it. Grizz is furious."
"Better for the new guy. He won't have to live in this hellhole anymore. He'll be dead."
"Oh wow, a fight! So exciting!"
"Stop, you bastard…" Just as Grizz was about to approach Jack from behind, Uncle Ben stepped in the way.
"Now, now, young men, no need to escalate this further."
Barry leaped forward, knowing what was coming, but he was too late. Grizz slammed the old man with the back of his hand, sending him crashing into the tables and chairs.
"Grizz, you bastard!" Barry howled, his eyes blazing. "He's an old man!" He punched the bully in the stomach, which only discomforted Grizz enough to take a few steps back.
"Nobody comes in my way," Grizz replied, kneeing Barry hard in the gut. The devastating hit instantly caused Barry to collapse on the ground, coughing and fighting for breath. Grizz grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up. "You forgot your place, punk?"
"Grizz, don't!" Finn pleaded from afar. "We won't bother you again. Just leave us alone."
Grizz headbutted Barry's face, which sent him collapsing onto his back, bleeding from his nose and immediately passed out.
Finn ran to help Barry and the old man when suddenly, the air was knocked out of him and all the other prisoners. A massive figure slammed hard onto the floor.
"What!?"
Everybody's mouths fell open in shock. No one had ever seen both of Grizz's feet off the ground. This rare scene was the result of a precise, unexpected dropkick to the face by Jack. No one had ever hit the bully with such calculated force.
"Are you guys alright?" Jack asked his cellmates after settling back on his feet.
"Yes, we are," Uncle Ben said, struggling to get up. "But don't pick a fight with him, Jack. He is not alone."
Upon hearing this, Jack's eyes moved around, noting the other prisoners, allies of Grizz, who were now surrounding him. Not a moment of despair entered his mind; instead, it made him grin. "Fine with me."
Grizz struggled for a few seconds before standing up, spitting aside a glob of blood. He grinned ear-to-ear menacingly. "Looks like I get to kill someone today."
"Woohoo! A fight!"
"I didn't think we'd get entertainment this early!"
"Go get him, Grizz! I bet my money on Grizz."
"That dropkick was a spectacle, but now Grizz will definitely crush him."
The prisoners surrounded the combatants, cheering for a good show. Jack and Grizz looked into each other's eyes, assessing the opening moves.
On a small CCTV screen, someone watched the chaos with a slow, satisfied grin. "A terrorist versus the resident thug? Let's see if this spectacle is worth my time."
And one of them made the first move…