Krelmic Skein: Inauguration (Story)

Inauguration is the second part of Krelmic Skein, in which we're introduced to the group who become known as "The Four Gods"; with the titular characters being Max, Dean, Jonathan, and Simon.

Chapter 1: Prison

A new batch of naked inmates go through reception, having just recently gotten off the plane from an overseas prison transfer, their new home is introduced by one of the larger framed guards, a man with a bushy beard and a scowl to his face;

"I… Am Correctional Major Gordon." the man says with a heavy breath, his stance giving a hint at a military history. "I am the man just below the Warden. The man that oversees all of your cares and needs. It is my duty now to introduce you all... To Ashgate Correctional. Formerly known to the public as Hilmand Correctional. In this place, you won't own much, you'll learn to love even less. You all are here due to one of several reasons, but ultimately It's because you are, in layman's terms, 'fucked'. You hold no family and have been forgotten by the system in its entirety."

As the man explains this, the inmates watch as he begins to pace before them, his low brimmed hat hiding his short dark hair.

"You will learn while you're here. That no one in this world loves, loved, or even remotely cares for you, aside from me and possible your cellmate." Gordon says, pausing and looking over the new batch, half seem to be hardened criminals and the other half seem to be new fish, completely new to the system, bringing a saddened look to his eyes and causing him to say, "I am sorry. For the atrocities that will be happening here. To you. You see, to the warden you all are numbers, and this facility isn't built like the typical prison some of you are used to."

"We got that when we were flown into the ocean." One of the inmates cites with a smirk running his face, causing Gordon to pause again and look at the inmate for a moment before continuing his pace and introduction.

"I like to give you all a quick head ups. Tonight, most of you, except a..." Gordon pauses again, letting one of the officers call off

"Matroni, Dean."

Causing one of the young men with long, beautiful dark hair and a brown complexion to look around, realizing they likely know of his ability, as well as the reason why he hasn't been able to use it since he woke up a few days ago.

"Will be taken." Gordon continues, "We here at Ashgate hold a variety of interesting events. One of the Warden's favorite is the Lazarus Effect. In which you will die. We will do things with your body. And if you wake up, you will hold some extraordinary power, that we in the business refer to as 'Eaftousia... This death will be extremely painful... My condolences."

"What the fuck?" One of the slimmer, darker convicts questions

"Yea, I know. But I already told you. You're fucked." Gordan states in sarcastic reaction. "If any of you feel the inclination to use your Eaftousia after you wake, you will let one of my officers know. And they will let me know. And we will see about getting you signed up for using these abilities in a real world setting, maybe as mercenaries. But until then, the only area for you to use your 'tousia, will be in what we like to call, U.P.F., or Ultimate Prison Fighter. Kind of a play on U.F.C. and a mix of that one movie about Russian prison fighters." Gordon pauses to look around with a chuckle, claiming, "I love that movie."

"This is fucked up." Another convict claims, causing Gordon to instantly inflate into a red tan.

"There are towers set up around the prison. These directly connect to the grate flooring, which is constantly sending out a certain energy signal which dampens 'tousia. We control when and where you may use the powers we bestow upon you. We are the only people in the world to know of your continued existence. Your files, including birth records, marital records, and even family records have been burned. You belong to us, and you will listen."

"This some sort of power trip shit, sarge?" The same convict questions, stepping out of line only to find several guards shot into him, causing the other people in line to cower into a lower posture for just a few seconds before Gordon says

"Despite the irony here. No. Now, all of you, back to your feet. Time for you to get dressed."

Jon Heller & Jonathan Stokes

"Yo, Heller!" An inmate calls, walking up to a man with short, dark shaggy hair and a sluggish slouch, causing him to look over, where he is met with a left hook, putting him instantly onto the metal grate flooring the whole prison is laid with. The pain and surprise of the situation causing him to let out a few coughs, Heller stays down for a moment as the scene has caused inmates and guards alike to peer over to the situation. "You lying piece of shit!" The inmate says before turning and walking away.

"What'd you do now?" a guard asks Heller as he gets up, wiping himself off.

"Nothing. Guy's just crazy. I was minding my own damn business, and he comes up and just pops me." Heller explains, rubbing his jaw, wincing in.

"Yeah, sure, Heller." the guard scoffs with a low smirk, walking away and leaving the inmates to go back to their business.

"You know what? I'm getting sick and tired of the same shit. Every time we're in this place, someone gets the better of us and makes us look like a couple of morons. And I'm fucking done with it." Heller complains, looking over at his cellmate, a guy of average height, with short dark straight hair, and a face that looks like it could have been carved out of stone.

"What are you saying, Heller?" His cellmate questions.

"I'm saying, we need to do something. This is bullshit." Heller answers, looking over at his cellmate.

"And what are we supposed to do about it, Heller?" his cellmate retorts, giving Heller a look that could kill.

"I don't know, I'm open to ideas." Heller replies, giving his cellmate a shrug.

"Well, I got one. And it's going to require you to be a little more assertive." His cellmate comments, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Like, physically assertive? What are you thinking?" Heller questions.

"You need to stop letting everyone else take the lead, and start taking things into your own hands." His cellmate answers.

"Well, okay. Who am I going to beat up, then?" Heller replies.

"Well, why don't you start with Terry?" his cellmate comments, giving him a smile, that Heller reciprocates.

"Yeah, Lil' T. That's someone I stand some chance with."

"No, Diesel Terry." his cellmate states with a toothy grin, almost sarcastic.

"B-No, I could never. I'd have my ass beat." Heller replies.

"Of course, but it'd show you got some backbone." his cellmate comments.

"Fine, I'll do it." Heller states, taking a deep breath.

"You'll what?" his cellmate asks, holding out his hand.

"I'll fight Diesel Terry." Heller repeats, slapping his hand against his cellmates.

"That's what I like to hear. Now go." his cellmate says, pointing him off.

Standing up, Heller walks across the yard, dodging some of the small groups that congregate together and ignoring comments by some of the people he passes until he gets to a long, slender man, roughly six foot four, with a fro nearly twice the size of a basket ball.

"What's up, baby?" the man questions, leaning against a wall.

"'Sup, Bobbi, I heard you're the one to talk to about jumping in U.P.F.?" Heller comments, crossing his arms.

"Well, I'm not surprised *Heller*, of all people, wants to join. But, what about the others?" Bobbi questions, nodding his head towards Heller's cellmate, who gives him a smile and a nod.

"Yeah, he's down." Heller states, Bobbi giving him a skeptical look.

"Oh, is he now?" Bobbi replies, pushing himself off the wall.

"He is, and so am I." Heller asserts, staring at Bobbi, whose mouth tugs into a slight smile as he sucks his teeth, his eyes still full of suspicion.

"Alright, then." Bobbi comments, his smile growing slightly. "Who you beefing?"

"Terry. Diesel." Heller replies, his heart beating a little faster at the mention of him, a reaction which causes Bobbi to suck his teeth.

"Alright, then. You're in." Bobbi states, slapping him on the shoulder.

Maxwell Baxter

In stark contrast is a man who sits on the other side of the yard, a pale man with ash white, tightly textured hair, and dull eyes. Unique electrified bracelets wrap each of his wrists, which are chained together with a loose chain, the same case for his ankles, with enough space in the chains to allow him to walk without handicap, however running would cause some issues.

"So, this is the mutant, huh?" One of the new inmates says as he walks up to the lone man.

"No, that's the Red Surgeon." Another inmate explains, leading him past with a frown.

"What's he called that shit for?" The new blood asks, causing the old blood to pause and look back to the Surgeon.

"You see them designer cuffs?"

"Yeah?"

"This turkey’s ‘tousia is so strong, these towers and flooring ain't the only shit that halts it. With a simple touch of his hands, he can turn you inside out."

"Jesus." The new blood exclaims, looking at the Red Surgeon in horror, realizing he is a monster after all.

"I've been here a long time. This is one of the motherfuckers you leave be." Nodding away from him, the old blood keeps leading the fish through the yard, introducing him to the prison.

Sydney Clarke

As the sun cast its last golden rays through the barred windows of the prison, the echoing clang of metal doors signaled the end of another day behind bars. Among the sea of orange jumpsuits and hardened faces, a figure stood out—a young woman with fiery determination burning in her eyes. She walked with a confident stride, her presence commanding attention in the dimly lit corridor. Despite the oppressive atmosphere of the Ashgate Correctional, there was an air of resilience about her, as if she refused to let the harsh realities of incarceration dim her spirit.

"Must be Clarke."

A gruff voice says as the woman looks over to see a new inmate, entering the cell. A man, roughly four foot three, with a patchy red beard.

"You must be my cellmate." Sydney replies, taking note of the man's height, "They tell me your name is..."

"Krill. Krill Vendt." The man grunts.

"I'm Sydney. Sydney Clarke."

"Well, Ms. Clarke, tell me..." The man hesitates, "Will they be coming for you tonight?"

"I am a good-looking girl." She says, giving the little man a wink.

"Nah, I mean Lazarus."

"La-... Wait, you mean that harsh major was a spittin' fact?"

"It's no joke, Ms. Clarke." The man's voice lowers to a whisper. "The Lazarus will come for you tonight. In your sleep. It's their way."

"So... They came for you then, right?" Sydney asks, her eyes wide with wonder and fear.

"Yeah. Took me down below. Dragged me into hell, where I saw men torn apart, demons playing with organs. Chain and plastic curtains. Terrors that I faintly recall. A piece of advice, sexy. Fight."

"Fight? Wouldn't that make it worse?" Sydney questions, shakingly crossing her legs as she imagines the horrors of what they're about to be doing to her.

"If you fight, they dope you up. Shoot you with a sedative. You hear and occasionally see things, but you won't much feel it... At least until they start to tear you apart."

Chapter 2: Ultimate Prison Fighter

In the heart of the penitentiary, where concrete walls echoed with the whispers of past regrets and the clinks of metal bars, a different kind of battleground emerged. It wasn't the clang of cell doors or the shuffle of chains that commanded attention now, but the primal roar of anticipation as inmates gathered around a makeshift arena. Here, in the shadows of confinement, a fighting championship reigned supreme—a brutal spectacle where strength, cunning, and survival intertwined in a deadly dance. As the overhead lights flickered to life, casting stark shadows across the grim faces of spectators, the atmosphere crackled with raw energy. For those trapped within the confines of the prison's walls, the ring offered a fleeting taste of freedom, where alliances were forged, debts repaid, and destinies determined with each thunderous blow.

In the center of the arena, under the harsh glare of the floodlights, three fighters squared off with a primal intensity that belied their surroundings. Muscles coiled like springs, sweat glistened on their skin, and eyes burned with a fierce determination to conquer or be conquered. The crowd's murmurs swelled into a deafening crescendo as the referee, a grizzled inmate with a no-nonsense demeanor, signaled for the bout to begin. With the first thunderous clash of fists, the air crackled with anticipation, and the fight erupted into a flurry of punches, kicks, and grapples. Each blow reverberated through the arena, a symphony of pain and desperation echoing off the cold, unforgiving chain walls. As the fighters battled for dominance, the audience cheered and jeered, their faces twisted into masks of savage glee. They were not here to admire or critique; they were here for the carnage.

Pair o' Squireall

Within one of the guard towers is a group of guards, not paying attention to the fight but instead monitors, watching numbers and lines go up and down on various tablets and screens as they take bets and watch outside sources. In this room along with the guards, is a pair of squirrels, watching one of the few monitors in the room that is focusing on the fights, as the opponents, Rob Kurz and Regan Sabat are in a bout at the moment.

"You think the kid's gonna last?" One of the squirrels asks, a female.

"Hell no." The male guard answers. "Look at him! He's a damn cripple. Even with that fancy new arm and leg, I'll bet he's gonna lose. Kurz is a top-ranked fighter for a reason, he's taken on three others and came out without a scratch!"

"Yeah, but he's also had a lot of practice against people with weapons, and you know how hard it is to get a good weapon here." The squirrel points out. "This is the kid's first time and he's already in the ring against someone who's fought in dozens of fights, and won most of them."

"True." The guard agrees. "But what's the kid got against someone who can't be beaten?"

"Well, what if he wins?" The second squirrel, a male, asks, the guard looks at him like he's insane.

"He can't win." He states flatly. "It's impossible."

"And yet you took a bet against it." The squirrel points out.

"I only bet against his winning because the odds are stacked against him." The guard tells him. "There's no way he can beat Kurz."

"Fuckin' losers." The male squirrel states as the female calls out,

"Dumb idiots."

"What?" The guard asks.

"That's why you're betting against the kid." She clarifies. "You're an idiot. You don't see the potential in him."

"He's a cripple!" The guard says in defense.

"So was that girl with the bat in the third fight." The squirrel counters.

"And she died." The guard tells her.

"And he'll die." She says, nodding towards the monitor. "Or he'll live."

"You're betting against me?" The guard asks.

"Of course. There's no way in hell you'll win. Especially with those odds."

"You can't bet against me, you're a squirrel." The guard protests.

"Actually, she can." The male squirrel corrects him. "We're part of the staff. We can bet against the guards and fighters."

"Well, fuck." The guard states, the other two laughs.

"Yeah, and I just won." She states as Regan Sabat elimates Rob Kurz.

"How'd you know he was going to win?" Guard Gramo asks.

"I saw him on the screen, when he first arrived. He had that look, that fighting spirit that the good ones always have." The squirrel explains.

"Fucking dumb." The guard tells her, as they leave the room, walking past a large man, the biggest fighter there, a mountain lion of a man named Diesel, as he leave the tower, flustered over losing to a squirrel. Making his way across the yard to a large group of other guards, all of them looking a little shocked at their losses.

"The fucking squirrels!" The guard, Gramo, announces, as the others look up, a mix of anger and amusement.

Officers Kelly, Reyes, and Gerard all look to the pair of squirrels and ask "So, who's winning the next round?"

Jonathan Stokes & Jon Heller

“Alright, Heller, you ready?” Jonathan, Heller's cellmate asked, walking up, one arm around a girl of dark shade, reaching down and cupping her tit.

"Well, I guess..." Heller said, timidly, as another inmate wrapped his hands with tape and cloth.

"Hope you are, you're next." Jonathan says, with his girl giving a giggle and a nice smile.

"Y-Yeah, me too." Heller replied.

"Don't worry, baby." Jonathan's girl spoke up, walking over and giving him a kiss on the lips, and rubbing her hand on his chest. "I got a good feelin' you'll do great. And if not, you always got my ass." she says with a laugh.

Heller just rolled his eyes at this, and looked down, not sure what to make of the whole situation, and was a bit confused at how his life has been for the last 5 years.

As soon as his hands were wrapped and ready, Heller stood up, and made his way to the center of the arena. He was a little nervous, and wasn't sure he'd be able to pull this off, but he'd done it before. As he entered the ring, the crowd roared in approval.

"Looks like Heller's finally going for the gold." Jonathan's girl, Marsha says as Heller steps out of the prep-room.

"It's about time." Jonthan replied, knowing it's not about winning.

As the fighters squared off, the air was thick with tension. Heller was well aware that a lot was riding on this fight. Not only was there the prize money, but his reputation as well. If he could pull this off, he'd be a force to be reckoned with. But if he failed, he'd go back to a life of mockery and assaults. It was a lot of pressure, but he was ready to rise to the challenge.

"Our first contestant!" the ref calls into a speaker, ringing through the crowd, mixing with the metal music that plays to give more life to the prison for the event. "Big man with a big plan and money favorite! Backed by Ashgate itself... Terry 'Diesel' Talies!!" The Ref screams, pointing to one of the corners as a man the size of an old truck drops into the lowered ring. His weight heavy enough that the thud his feet made when landing was loud enough to be heard over the music. A toned man with sideburns, a large nose, and a face like a bulldog, he stood in the ring, flexing his muscles as he stared down the cameras that floated through the ring, watching him before panning to some of the viewing inmates, all blocked by wired fences, keeping them from interacting or interrupting the show.

"Now, let's hear it for our second contestant! A unique occasion. A handicapped match!" As the ref says this, Jonathan tenses, believing he knows what's next. "Backed by *Cool* Bobbie 'Black' Ice. A newbie pair!" Jonathan's heart drops as he hears this, now knowing for sure what Heller did. "Jon 'Polar' Heller! And his cellmate... Jonathan 'Code Red' Stokes!" The ref calls as Heller drops into the sunken arena, while Jonathan tries to walk away, but is pushed towards the arena by some of the inmates in the prep-room.

"Hey, now, wait, this wasn't the plan."

"You're fighting too?" Marsha questioned, as Jonathan gives her an angry look and she understands what happened.

"There has been a mistake." Jonathan says before being punched in the face, stunning him long enough for a pair of inmates to grab him by the arms and dragging him to the arena, where they toss him down the nine-foot drop, causing him to groan in pain as he lands on his side, looking up and seeing Heller and Diesel standing there, looking down at him.

"Hey, Jonathan, glad to see you joined us." Heller says, smiling, before looking to the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen! My cellmate and friend, Jonathan Stokes!"

The crowd laughs and mocks the new fighter, throwing bottles and paper, some even trying to grab him, only to be shocked by the fence.

"Fuck you, Heller." Jonathan says, pissed off, as he gets to his feet, dusting himself off.

"You're not gonna win this, you know?" the ref says to them before walking back to the center, having walked over originally to check on Jonathan but abandoning it when he has seen the fighter get to his feet.

"Oh, I am. You'll see." Jonathan says, a wave of anger washing over him.

The arena is different. It's one of the few places in the prison that inmates are allowed to walk that doesn't have the grated fences constantly sending out eaftousia disrupting signals. It's also one of the few places inmates are allowed to use their eaftousia with limits. Instead, it relies solely on the towers and fighters good wills, with only non-problematic fighters being allowed to fight, or even openly practice for fighting. The ring is a sunken rectangle, with a single, solid nine-foot wall surrounding the arena. The only way in or out is to use a ladder held by guards.

"Let the fight, BEGIN!!" the ref yells, jumping out of the way, not wanting to get hit by accident or intentionally by the two.

Heller is the first to charge in, taking a swing at Diesel, who easily blocks and retaliates with a jab. Heller quickly recovers, ducking under the punch and responding with a left hook. This exchange continues, with each fighter trying to gain the upper hand. Finally, Heller lands a powerful blow to Diesel's jaw, staggering the larger man, only to his dismay as he reveals he was simply playing with the newbie. Giving a quick straight kick to Heller which throws him back into the wall, sliding around its curve for a moment before rolling on the floor, as Diesel turns his focus to Stokes, saying,

"What? Going to let your boyfriend do all the work?"

"Fuck you." Stokes says, charging in and trying to kick at Diesel's legs, only for the larger man to step aside, and punch him hard in the gut, making him drop to his knees, spitting out bile, before grabbing his hair, lifting him up, and slamming him down onto the ground, making him spit blood.

"You're just gonna die here, bitch." Diesel says, pulling his foot back, and kicking him in the side, throwing him into the wall. "You can't take me, and I'm not gonna kill you. You'll die, but it won't be by me. No, you'll be eaten alive."

As he says this, he stomps on Stokes, pinning him to the ground. The crowd cheers and laughs, enjoying the show. Stokes, struggling, looks up and sees Heller, who's staring down at him, a blank expression on his face. He then glances at the guard towers, one of which is being watched by a guard he knows. A guard who hates the arena, and who's not paying attention. Looking at Heller, Stokes, who is trying to push Diesel's foot off of him, gives a wink and a thumbs-up.

As soon as Stokes' thumb went up, a blast of wind erupted from the crowd, pushing against Diesel and making him stumble back. Stokes took the chance, getting up and running to the other side of the arena.

"Oh, so you wanna run. Coward." Diesel taunted.

"Focus, Diesel, that wasn't a normal attack." another fighter says, knowing the signs.

"Shut the fuck up, I got this."

"So, you have your powers?" Jonathan asks, wiping blood from his lips.

"Yeah, don't worry, though, I got a plan. Just keep him distracted."

Jonathan nods and goes back to his fight, using his eaftousia to help keep his balance. Heller, meanwhile, focuses on gathering energy. The crowd cheers as he starts to glow blue. Diesel, not sure what's happening, moves in, throwing a punch. Heller dodges, and returns the attack. His fist hits Diesel, who barely seems to feel the impact.

"That all you got, boy?" Diesel says, laughing.

"No."

Heller throws a few more punches, trying to get a feel for Diesel's fighting style. The larger man blocks every blow, seeming to get more and more confident. Finally, Heller lands a kick, catching Diesel off guard and sending him stumbling back. Heller follows up with a flurry of attacks, using his speed and agility to his advantage. The crowd roars in approval, loving the show.

"You're pretty fast, kid, but you're gonna need a lot more than that if you want to beat me."

Diesel's words are barely heard over the din of the cheering crowd and metal blasting from hanging speakers. Heller jumps back as Diesel seems to be pushed by another gust of wind, this time right into Jonathan's fist, as Jonathan can hear a crack in Diesel's jaw.

"How about you shut the fuck up for once?" Jonathan says, as Diesel's eyes narrow, his hand coming to his face, feeling it.

"You're a real fucker, aren't you?" Diesel says, as Jonathan regains Diesel's focus before a red mist begins to swirld around him, forming into a solid block, stopping Jonathan from running away, or even trying to really black Diesel's next attack, another quick front kick to Jonathan's chest, which is interupted just in time as another gust of wind blows through, just barely moving Diesel's foot from connecting with Jonathan.

"Come on, now. This is a two-on-one match, so let's play fair, okay."

"Fair? You're talking to me about fair?"

"Yeah, fair." Jonathan replies, giving a glare to his friend.

"I can't wait to beat the shit out of you, both of you."

Diesel and Jonathan resume their battle, each one trying to gain the upper hand, with Jonathan landing a flurry of blows while each of Diesel's attacks are counter by some ethereal force pushing him off balance, or moving him just enough to miss. Thinking he can outsmart Jonathan, Diesel occasionally tries to push against the direction of the last gust, thinking he can use Jonathan's eaftousia in his favor, only for Jonathan to instead pull the opposite direction, changing up which direction Diesel is being pulled from.

As the crowd roars with excitement, the fighters are locked in a deadly dance, each one determined to come out on top. With every punch and kick, the tension in the air rises. Finally, Diesel lands a decisive blow, knocking Jonathan into the ground, breaking some of the reinforced concrete and sending him rolling away with several broken bones, spitting up blood, showin signs of eternal blood.

Heller finally jumps back in, his energy fully focused in his right hand, shading it an intense neon blue, grabbing a hold of Diesel's face, Heller screams with a voice break as he lets out all of his energy, flashing a bright light into his eyes, enough so to blind any man. The blast causes Heller to drop to his knees, feeling the pain in his hands and his head. As the light fades, Diesel falls to his knees as well, his eyes burned and bleeding.

"FINISH HIM!!" a few voices call from the crowd.

"You'll be a dead man for this." Diesel says, as Heller walks behind him, grabbing a hold of him.

"Not yet." Heller says, putting a hand on the side of Diesel's face, and with his other, puts his fist to the side of his neck, and with a loud, wet thud, pulls back his arm only for Diesel to grab Heller's arm and rip it out of its socket as he yanks him across the ring, sending him into the concrete wall, shattering several bones and placing him in a worse state than his cellmate.

"Winner, by total knockout, and still the Ultimate Prison Fighter! Terry 'Diesel' Talies, backed by the Ashgate Facility!" the ref calls out, holding up Diesel's arm.

As the crowd cheers and the announcer hypes the crowd up, a pair of guards walk into the ring, pulling out a pair of electric batons, shocking Jonathan, and dragging him out by his legs, his arms dragging on the ground . As he's dragged out, a nurse climbs in, helping to lift up Heller, as they drag him out.

Dean Matroni

"Blackthorne is the winner!" The ref calls, ignoring the loser, as the heavily tattooed man climbs out of the ring, entering the prep-room which he originally came from, passing by and shoulder checking one of the new fighters on his way out.

"Said this was your first night here, right?" Maurice Esov, an older man, questions, eyeing the younger new fish, Dean Matroni. "You're going to go against this guy," He nods over to a man who is a bit older than the newbie, who has a shaved head, and has a few visible tattoos indicating him to be a part of one of the harder gangs in the State's criminal world. "Don't go easy on him, you'll be dead in a month if you do."

Dean takes in his opponent. He knows the man's reputation, knows he has been here longer than Dean has been alive, knows the man has killed more people than he has years, but still, he looks him in the eyes, and smiles.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Dean answers, not giving the man any reason to believe that he is afraid, or intimidated, or that he won't give the man a fair fight.

"Well, tell me. D. Why did you decide to participate? I mean, you only just got here this afternoon? What do you stand to gain, Matroni?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well, see. It's like this. In order to participate in the fights, you gotta have a sponsor. You don't have a sponsor, so, I ask again. Why did you decide to participate if you can't?"

"What is this? A fucking job interview?"

"If that's what you wanna call it. I'm a businessman. I see potential in you. You have a fire in you, Matroni. But, you also have a smart mouth on you. That's something that's going to get you into trouble, you know? Especially, when it's directed at the wrong person. So, again, I ask. Why did you decide to participate? What do you stand to gain?"

"A little birdie told me the winner gets to walk away scot free. You said yourself that you are a businessman, right? Well, I'm willing to pay the price, and, if I win, then you'll get your payment, and I'll get my freedom. Everyone wins, Esov."

"That's where you're wrong, kid. No one leaves these walls unless Ashgate wants them for something more nefarious."

"You're telling me no one has ever left?"

"Not alive. Not safe."

These words resonate within Dean, as he feels his knees grow weak as he realizes what Major Gordon said when he first arrived was right.

"New man on the block! Dean Matroni! Backed by old head, Maurice Esov, drop down in here, boy!" The ref calls as the red skinned Dean steps up to the edge of the hall leading to the arena before jumping in, sliding down the slightly angled wall and entering the Arena.

As he enters the ring, the cheers are a little lower than normal, but as soon as the bald tattooed man walks up, the crowd erupts with screams of blood thirst, the energy causing the hairs on Dean's body to stand on end as the ref calls into the speaker, "His opponent!... A man everyone in prison knows!... A man everyone in Ashgate can trust!... The one and only... Michael 'Big-Mich' Carradine!!!!" The man gives a blood-curdling scream as he rips his shirt off, revealing several racist tattoos and scars. Jumping up and down in excitement, pumping himself up with the crowd, he begins scratching at his arm frantically before bringing it to his face and snorting the ashes that come off his skin.

The crowd, seeing this, grows more rowdy and excited as the referee stands between the two men and speaks to both of them. "Alright, alright! We all know the rules, and we all know the stakes, so I'm just going to go ahead and let y'all have at it. Let me get out of the damn way. I'll keep a close eye on you and step in if things get too out of hand." He backs up, and the crowd goes silent as the two men slowly circle one another, waiting for the other to make the first move, Big-Mich, a man of lesser than average height occasionally twitches as Dean notices his eyes are blood shot and under his nose, a white power.

The silence is suddenly broken by Big-Mich as he suddenly runs forward, surprising Dean, as he tackles him to the ground, his head smacking against the concrete with a sickening crack. Blood begins running down the side of Dean's head as Big-Mich begins punching him repeatedly, blood spattering across the concrete as his knuckles split from the repeated contact.

"You think you can just waltz in here and take my spot?!" Big-Mich screams as he continues to punch Dean, who is attempting to defend himself from the barrage of blows.

"Fucking fresh meat! You'll die by my hands!" Big-Mich yells, spittle flying from his lips, as Dean grabs a hold of Big-Mich's fists, stopping him from being able to punch him anymore.

"Get off of me!" Dean growls, as the crowd screams with joy, some people even going so far as to throw popcorn into the ring as one of the inmates tosses cupcakes to the others.

"What's the matter, fresh meat?! Can't handle the heat?!" Big-Mich growls as he grabs a hold of Dean's hair and slams his head against the concrete, blood beginning to pool beneath the new inmate as the old veteran stands, a sick, twisted grin on his face.

"I'm gonna fuck you, boy. I'm gonna fuck you hard." He says, as the crowd begins chanting.

"FUCK HIM, FUCK HIM, FUCK HIM!" They chant over and over again as Big-Mich begins unbuckling his belt.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Dean shouts, struggling to stand, but falling down as his legs buckle beneath him.

"I'm gonna fuck you." He repeats as he takes his pants and underwear off, revealing his erect, massive cock, which he begins stroking with one hand while using the other to pin Dean's arms to the ground, his eyes staring at Dean's own, a sadistic smile on his face.

"You know, it's not every day that I get a fresh piece of ass." He whispers, his breath smelling of stale alcohol and vomit before screaming into Dean’s ears, “WOO! I’m the king!”

"Get the fuck off of me!" Dean shouts, but Big-Mich merely laughs, his eyes glinting with an unhinged madness.

Suddenly, a spark appears as Dean finally gains a smirk of his own, his eaftousia finally kicking in after being abruptly shut off all day from the disruptors.

"What the fuck are you-" Big-Mich starts, his eyes widening, but it is too late, as Dean kicks out, hitting Big-Mich's crotch, causing him to howl in pain and excitement as his cock is crushed, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

"Fuck yeah, I can feel it, baby. Fuck yeah, fuck yeah." He moans, his cock swelling as he releases Dean's arms, his hands moving to Dean's throat as Dean places a palm against Big-Mich's face and a loud explosion occurs, sending Mich flying, turning completely one-eighty before crashing to the wall and rolling on the floor, holding his face from where Dean had caused a chemical explosion.

The crowd screams in surprise as the ref, who was watching the scene unfold, looks to the new inmate and nods in appreciation.

"He's not dead yet." Dean grunts, standing up.

"I know, and that's fine." The ref nods, motioning to Dean, who limps over, blood pouring down his face.

"Finish him." The ref commands, and Dean nods, placing his hand on Big-Mich's stomach and releasing a second explosion, which causes his organs to liquefy, nearly killing him, with Mich only living due to his will.

"And the winner is... Dean Matroni!!!!" The ref shouts, pointing at Dean, who collapses on the ground, his breath ragged and body trembling from exhaustion.

"Hey kid, you alright?" The ref asks, kneeling down.

"Fuck no." Dean wheezes.

"I see. Well, you know what this means, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's go." The ref stands, motioning for the medical staff to come and take the nearly dead man away, before offering Dean his hand.

Dean grabs his hand, and the ref helps him stand up, his legs barely able to support his weight as a female guard approaches Dean and offers him her shoulder for support, helping him to the ladder to climb out and get some medical care.

"Thanks." Dean says.

"No problem." The woman answers, her voice husky.

"You have a pretty voice." Dean says.

"Thank you." The woman answers, a small smile on her lips.

"What's your name?" Dean asks.

"You'll have to wait until you're cleared medically to know that." She answers.

"Why?"

"Because the warden will have my head if he finds out I've been giving out personal information."

"Oh. Sorry about that."

"No worries. Just get better."

"Will do."

"See ya later, big boy." She says, before dropping him off in front of the infirmary.

Chapter Interval

It's been a few weeks since the new fish's arrivals, and the next round of the monthly U.P.F. is revving up. There has been a tenseness in the air since last month's fights, when two fan favorites, Terry "Diesel" Talies and Michael 'Big-Mich' Carradine were both placed in the infirmary by new fighters, one on his first day in the pen. It seems the crowd has been waiting impatiently for a rematch. The chants of the crowd, calling for "The Diesel" to step into the ring, have echoed off the walls of the arena all morning, while Big-Mich is still in recovery, many say that both Diesel and Mich are both looking for a deathmatch against their respected rivals.

Jon Heller & Jonathan Stokes

Jonathan and Heller spent most of the time since last month's U.P.F. in recovery, having reconciled Heller's actions of placing both in the fight, having managed to place Terry in the infirmary with them. Diesel's sight has mostly come back, but now seems to carry a massive chip on his shoulder, becoming hostile to inmates and guards alike, waiting for his rematch.

A rematch that may not happen as Jonathan has declined it, knowing he'd likely die if he was put back in the ring against Terry, as his use of his powers had mostly drained him heavily. It has caused Jonathan's powers to go on the fritz.

Making it back to their cell, Jonathan had fallen asleep on the bottom bunk, a bit exhausted from the time spent in the infirmary, but still recovering as best as possible. Marsha sitting on the bed next to him, reading.

Heller had stayed up, having read a book and having been released from the infirmary a couple of hours prior to Jonathan.

"You can't be serious?" A soft but pericing voice states as Bobbi Ice appears in the doorway of the cell.

"Bobbi!?" Heller called, rolling off the bunk and falling into Marsha who had also went to stand, causing both to tumble into the wall and floor, "Ouch!"

"Oh...sorry," Bobbi says, a bit of a blush forming as he notices the surprise he had caught them in.

"What the fuck is happening?" Jonathan said, groggily, having been woken by Heller and Marsha's fall, as Marsha slapped Heller for his clumsiness.

"What's happening is you two are lying around when you got a fight tomorrow." Bobbi says, turning his attention back to them.

"Wait, what fight?" Heller asked, rubbing his face, having been slapped hard.

"Diesel's challenge. I came here to make sure you knew, being that I'm sponsoring you and all."

"You knew I wasn't interested from the get-go, I've told you several times, besides, I barely made it out alive the last time." Jonathan said, shaking his head and laying it back down, trying to get more rest.

"I don't care. Your boy made a deal, and that rematch will make some paper, you heard. So get yo turkey asses up and let's go. Need to get you all loosened up and ready."

"He's not my boy," Jonathan says, keeping his eyes closed.

"Well, your brother, whatever. Just get the fuck up." Bobbi says, annoyed.

"He's not my brothe--" Heller starts but is stopped by Marsha slapping him again, "Ouch! Damn woman!"

"Shut up and do as you're told," Marsha says, her voice like venom as she looks at him.

Heller walks out the cell, rubbing his cheek again as Jonathan sighs and slowly stands up, having not moved an inch as they were speaking.

"Come on, Jon." Marsha says, walking out behind him.

"Damn, y'all just going to leave me hanging like this, man?" Heller asked as Bobbi walked towards the rec room.

"We're going, we're going," Marsha says, dragging Jonathan along with her.

"Damn." Heller says, following.

Walking down the hall, they notice inmates watching, some talking quietly, but the halls are still relatively quiet, a bit earlier than normal.

"Now." Bobbi said, stopping, "This ain't normally how I use these things, but."

"Huh?" Jonathan asks, before hearing a sound of metal scraping, "Woah!" He yells as Bobbi swings the baton, smacking him in the leg and bringing him to his knee, "Ow, the hell man!?"

"Don't talk back to me, bitch," Bobbi said, holding the baton up to his neck, "This is a prison, not a daycare. I'll beat yo ass and you'll thank me for it, you understand?"

"Yes," Jonathan says, trying not to look directly at Bobbi, looking more to the ground.

"What was that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good, now let's go," Bobbi says, as Heller realizes that there are three different Bobbis, remembering Bobbi's power has nothing to do as a pun to his name but is instead to create clones. Clones he usually gets money for pimping out, but right now he's going to use them as a source of training.

Dean Matroni

Dean Matroni has lived it up since his first day in, having been one of the only people to participate in the U.P.F. on their first day, having come to Ashgate with an eaftousia already in his system. Gaining the nickname 'The Terrorist' due to his eaftousia being explosion based, as well as his immediate disruption of the Ashgate system by taking out Michael 'Big-Mich' Carradine, the man who held up the inner economy by dealing various substances that he secreted from his body. Many assaults and attempted assassinations have occurred against Dean in the past month, but he's managed to deal with every one of them, gaining minor scars from a few of the incidents.

Though don't be fooled, Dean has essentially taken top spot in all bets for his next bout, which he agreed to participate in, if only to let out steam and be able to use his eaftousia, bringing in money unlike any before. The other inmates are all looking forward to his fight, even those who are against him. Along with his payout beating all past Ashgate records, Matroni has managed to tangle himself a couple of the girls in the prison, including some of the guards, all finding him irresistible. His luscious long hair, and milk-chocolate skin. Well maintained teeth and lack of tattoos all built into his natural charisma.

But none captivated him more than one, a woman with golden curly locks and blue eyes. Clear, clean skin, with breath that smelled of freshly picked strawberries. She's been visiting Dean, the two engaging in many intimate activities, the two have grown a connection, but they both know they won't have the pleasure of staying together, but for now, the two just want to enjoy each other's company. The inmates refer to her as Candy Mandy for her qualities, but Dean knows her as Sam Welster.

A large group of inmates gathered around the pit, a circular concrete slab, surrounded by the same nine-foot wall with a new area above the ring, a grated walkway for inmates to gather and get another view of the fights. The floor and walls stained red with the blood of many a man who's been pitted against another, whether it be for glory, money, or respect, the prison's inmate fighting system has become one of the most lucrative in the industry, bringing in money from the wealthy all over the world in an underground broadcasting syndicate on the dark web, only intended for certain categories of people.

On the ground, two men entered the arena, Dean Matroni and a man known only as The Beast, his real name and appearance unknown, due to a combination of a medical condition and his choice of keeping his name and appearance hidden. He stood at a solid 6'7", and weighed a monstrous 285 lbs. Of pure muscle, the man's face was covered in a black mask, that had a hole in the shape of an upside down smile for him to see and breathe, as well as a larger hole for his mouth, allowing his opponent to see his sharp teeth, and the small fangs poking through the sides.

"You know the rules! No weapons, no killing. We don't care about maiming, though!" The guard announced, before a bell rang, and the two men charged each other, the Beast immediately getting a grip of Dean's head, lifting him off his feet, and throwing him across the arena, the sound of bones crunching and a loud smack echoed throughout the arena as he crashed into the wall, falling onto his back.

Dean grunted, slowly picking himself off the ground, shaking his head, and holding his left arm, a few of his fingers bent and broken from the impact, and his jaw dislocated. He glared at The Beast, charging towards him, the crowd cheering and shouting obscenities. As the two neared each other, Dean leapt up, planting his foot into the man's stomach, using his momentum and strength to knock the large man over, landing on top of him, and raining down fists into his head and upper chest, before grabbing The Beast's arm and with a smile, zoomed on by the floating cameras and drones that flew around the arena, detonated The Beast's arm, singeing and pushing his arm out of socket from the elbow.

"Fucking bastard..." The Beast groaned, grabbing Dean's face and slamming him into the ground, rolling over him and repeatedly smashing his head into the ground with his one good arm, leaving him dazed, and his face covered in his own blood, as he was pinned, a heavy weight on his chest. "Now I'm going to end you."

The Beast wrapped his fingers around Dean's neck, squeezing the life out of him, choking him until his lips turned blue and his tongue lolled out. But it was all for show, as Dean had learned in his month here that is what the game is all about. Grabbing The Beast's remaining arm with both hands, Dean rolled his tongue back into his mouth, his face turning blue as could hear his heart pump, waiting for the final moment before he set off another exposition, this one completely burning The Beast's arm, from the wrist up the elbow, charring it, causing The Beast to let out a scream and take a few steps back, falling to a knee, he continued to scream in agony as Dean looked to see if the Ref was going to pull the plug on the fight.

He was busy looking down at his phone, a smirk on his face, no doubt counting the cash the fight was making him. Dean turned back to The Beast, who was still kneeling in pain, and placed his hands on The Beast's face before asking, "The Beast? I wonder, is it biblical?" Before detonating the man's face, the blast blowing the black mask off and exposing the man's face. A face covered in sores, a mixture of green and yellow, the face was deformed and covered in a few scars, but what was the most terrifying feature was his eyes. Two pitch-black orbs that seemed to absorb the light around it, as well as his lips. A pale grey that blended into the surrounding skin, his teeth, while sharp, were yellow, and had bits of gunk on them.

"Eaugh!" Dean said, disgusted at seeing the hideous creature. "Frankenstein bitch." He said under his breath as he peered to the guard who was filling in for the usual announcer.

"And the winner!" The guard said, looking up and realizing the match was over as he walked over, patting Dean on the back, "The Terrorist!"

"Hey, why don't we just call me Dean?" He asked.

"I'm not calling no native-nigger by his first name." The guard said, spitting at his feet.

"Well, I was planning on doing something else, but if you want to go the racial route, sure. Hey, how come you never called The Beast by his name?"

"Because that's not his real name, dumbass." The guard chuckled, walking away from Dean.

A small group of guards enter the ring, grabbing The Beast and struggling to drag the beast of a man out of the ring. Dean shrugs and steps up the ladder he had climbed down on, embarrassing his lover Sam, and taking a seat next to his trainer and prison aficionado Maurice Esov.

"Good work kid. I didn't think you were gonna win for a second." Maurice said, smiling as he handed Dean an water.

"Gotta give the people what they want, Maurice. Besides, more money like that." Dean said, taking a big gulp from his drink as Sam began to clean off the sweat and blood from his face and arms.

"I'll give you more, baby," Sam said, rubbing her breasts on Dean's face. "We have a half hour."

"I don't need thirty minutes," Dean said, lifting her shirt up and squeezing her breasts. "Besides, I have something that I can do to kill time." He smiled, kissing her neck.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Sam asked.

"You'll find out, my sweet little candy," Dean said, picking her up, and walking off to the showers.

"What's going on there?" Maurice asked, confused, turning to see the arena empty, a few guards cleaning the floor and a single inmate left behind, sitting at a table, playing solitaire, talking into a few of the cameras. "Hmm. Must be their new interval. Another thing to make money, I'm sure."

Jonathan Stokes & Jon Heller

Watching as Dean and Sam head towards the showers, Heller squats a few times, stretching, getting ready as Jonathan gives a nod towards Marsha, asking Heller, "Think she's getting anything out of this?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Heller says, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Because I think she likes the idea of getting fucked in the ass more than she would getting a free meal," Heller said, looking at Marsha as she finishes saying something to one of the other fighters before walking over.

"Alright, so apparently Terry ain't showing." She says, having not heard the previous conversation.

"Really? After all that? He was the one that was adamant about the rematch." Jonathan said, looking over towards the hallway the others had gone.

"Yeah, well, he's got a meeting with someone. Don't know what it's about."

"Well, I'm just glad it's over. Maybe Diesel will chill out, or at least calm down enough for me not to have to worry about being stabbed in the caf'." Jonathan says.

"Unfortunately, tonight Diesel is preoccupied" The announcer calls, catching the three's attention, "But don't you worry. We've made a few positive changes. He had set up a CHALLENGE tonight against Polar and Code Red!" As the announcer calls their names, the crowd begins to boo loudly.

"Damn, guess they didn't like my last fight." Heller says under his breath, having been hoping that fighting Diesel would gain him enough respect to not be messed with anymore.

"No, but the betters did. That's all that matters." Bobbi says, joining the three, nodding towards him, "Get yo asses in there, and fight."

"Fuck." Jonathan says, taking a step out of the prep room, standing above the arena.

"I thought you were going to decline this?" Heller questions, walking out next to him, noticing that the crowd is even bigger than last time, with boos erupting the crowd as the music lowers and enters a type of build up in beat.

"I did, but Bobbi has a way with words. And a mop stick."

"Huh? What did he do to you, man?"

"Let's just say I might need another trip to the infirmary later," Jonathan says, rubbing his leg, "You ready for this?"

"Fuck yeah, I'm ready. I'm going to kick someone's ass."

"That's the spirit."

"And our challenger," The announcer's voice is drowned out, but Heller hears it, as he looks over to the opposite side, noticing a pair of dark figures.

"Is that a kid?" He questions, having been unable to tell.

"Yeah," Jonathan says, having not taken his eyes off the left one.

"Well, that's just fucked up."

"White spider!" As the ref calls, the child the two had been staring at rolls down the wall and lands on all fours in the arena, causing Jonathan to roll his eyes as Heller lowers a jaw in astonishment at the acrobatic ability of the kid. "And her partner, Fallen Phynix!" Suddenly, the guard behind the male falls back being burned as a set of angelic-like wings appear, made of fire from the shoulders of the partner as he jumps, gliding into the arena, causing a surprised look in Jonathan as he raises a brow.

"Oh, shieit!" Bobbi calls from the prep room, watching.

"You know who we're about to be facing, Bobbi?" Jonathan questions as Heller jumps down into the arena.

"They're some of the dogs."

"Oh, fuck." Jonathan says before hopping down into the arena after Heller.

"Alright, I don't know who you two are, but I'm going to kick yo asses. One's a kid and the other a winged punk, so, let's go," Heller said, cracking his knuckles, looking towards the two with a new profound self-esteem after his fight with Diesel.

"Don't let it fool you, it's a trick," Jonathan said, noticing the child and the man stand there, not moving, just staring at him and Heller.

"Well, alright," Heller said, taking a few steps forward, "You know, I really appreciate this. You don't know how long I've been wanting to kick someone's ass, and well, this will help. So, thank you." He finishes, his arms stretched out, waiting for the bell.

"Just fucking do something, please." Jonathan says, sighing and shaking his head, annoyed, and embarrassed at the show his partner is giving.

"Don't rush me, Jon. I want this to be good." Heller says, not looking away from the two.

"I'm sorry, can we continue, please?" The announcer called, noticing the awkwardness of the arena.

"Yeah," Heller says, finally lowering his arms, "Now, if you're ready."

"Ready." The male, Fallen Phynix, says, the two moving into their stance, the young girl crouching slightly, while the male holds his fists in a traditional fighting stance.

"Alright, three." The announcer's voice fades as the group stares each other down, Jonathan and Heller taking a quick glance at one another. "Two... One... Fight!" The crowd yells in unison as the announcer is drowned out. The music not playing metal but instead rap-metal this time around, featuring various big-name artists who've been paid to make announcements for the streams between fights.

Heller makes the first move, charging at the two, hoping to catch them off guard, but as he gets closer, the two split, the man gliding into the air, landing behind him, as the young girl slides between his legs, the man quickly grabbing her and swinging her, sending her flying at Heller's back.

"What the fuck," Heller says as he turns, seeing the young girl, and instinctively catching her, the young girl's foot connecting with his jaw, as he is sent back a few feet, but not before his arm comes up and sends the girl into the wall.

"Ouch, that had to hurt," Jonathan says, his arms crossed, watching, not bothering to do much yet, figuring he can help later.

"Ahhhh," Heller screams as his arm begins to burn, looking at his forearm to see it on fire, the skin beginning to char, the flames quickly moving towards his hand.

"Fuck." Jonathan says, realizing the flames are being controlled and runs to him, grabbing his hand and placing it on the ground.

"Ahhh," Heller continues to scream, trying to keep the flames from spreading further up his arm.

"Sorry, Jon," The man says, hovering above them, his flaming wings spreading across the arena, "But this will be over soon."

"Shit, shit, shit!" Heller continues, rolling on the ground.

"Fucking hell," Jonathan says, noticing that the flames have spread onto the concrete and have begun moving towards the audience, the man hovering above, the wings flapping slightly, "Hey, dickhead!" Jonathan calls, getting his attention, as he looks at him.

"Oh, the other half is here. My apologies," He says, as the wings shift, sending a large wave of flame at him.

Jonathan rolls, dodging the first wave, and as the second comes, he dives, sliding underneath, but his leg is caught, burning a bit, "Fuck!" He says, pulling it free, and using his other foot to kick himself to the side, avoiding the third wave.

"How the hell is he doing this?" Jonathan thinks, not noticing the small child that had landed in front of him until the child is on him, her foot smashing his face, the force sending him into the concrete.

"I'm sorry," She says, her foot raised, about to come down.

"Ahh," Jonathan cries, his hands covering his face, the girl's foot coming down, but stopping as a fist connects with her jaw, sending her flying towards the wall, Heller having jumped to his feet and punching her.

"Oh, you're going to get it," Heller says, turning towards the male who has just noticed him and is beginning to move.

"No, you are." He says, flapping his wings and sending a massive wave of flame at Heller.

Heller, unable to move, and unable to think, reacts, throwing his arm up, his power activating. The flames hitting his hand, a white light emitting from his hand as he uses his other to cover his eyes.

"Ah, what the fuck," Jonathan yells, having been blinded by the light, as he crawls backwards, his head throbbing, his ears ringing, the light not dimming.

As the light dims, Heller drops to his knee, his right arm burned, but still in-tact, as the young girl sits up, shaking her head, as the man glides back towards the ground, landing softly, and holding his hand to his chest. Walking by, the girl quickly rolls over, grabbing Jonathan's leg into a twist and with a tight tug, breaks it.

"Ah, fuck!" He yells, reaching his hand out, but his head spinning, unable to concentrate.

"That'll teach you," She says, standing, and turning towards Heller.

"Fuck." He says, falling over, having lost balance from the lack of strength and the pain.

"Well, that's done," The man says, the flame on his back dying out.

"Yes." The girl says, taking a few steps towards him, but stops, her head jerking to the side, the sound of a body slamming against the wall, the man's eyes widening, the girl's narrowing.

From behind them comes a tank of a man as the man who was said to not be returning enters the ring.

"DIESEL!!" The announcing guard calls, shocked as the bear of a man grabs the girl by the throat, having been on the pair before they realized he was there. The crowd exploding in cheer, as Diesel tightens his grip, and the man jumping back, his flame wings reappearing to aid him in getting high into the arena, away from Diesel.

Diesel calls out as he snaps the child's neck, revealing not blood but sparks, not muscle but wire, and not bone but metal rods. She was an android.

"It's fuckin' rigged!" He calls out, his body covered in blood and wounds, several bones sticking out as he throws the girl into the man, sending him crashing into one of the higher caged walls, burning and melting it and catching several watching inmates on fire. "They're trying to fuckin' kill me! I lost them some fuckin' money, and they want to kill me!?" Diesel screams, tears rolling down his face as Jonathan watches, unable to do much as several guards run into the arena, zapping and shooting Diesel, attempting to stop his rampage.

Chapter 3: Let’s Start a Riot

A couple of days have passed since Diesel's final words in the arena during Heller and Stoke's U.P.F. match. Diesel was pumped full of various anesthetics and sedatives that he went into a coma, or so the Warden claims, as tensions in the prison have risen to unparalleled levels. The guards know something is up, but are unable to find any evidence, however among the prisoners, talk of a rebellion has begun. A riot.

Sitting alone in his cell, one Maxwell Baxter sits, his back straight, mostly pressed against the wall, his arms and legs still chained, further restraining him. Complete quietness holds his cell, as he listens patiently to the talk of the other prisoners, overhearing a pair in the next cell discuss an event they're referring to as “The day the Stars will fall."

Jonathan Stokes & Jon Heller

"Them cracka ass bimbos think they gonna fuck us over on a constant basis, treat us like dogs, for their amusement? For there money? And the rest of the time spit on us, beat us, berate us. Nah. Gonna fuck us whenever they want, gonna rape us when they want? Nu-uh." Bobbi Ice states, speaking lowly between several inmates, including Jonathan and Heller.

"Okay, I think I have the idea as to how this is all going to work." Heller said.

"But we're in the middle of the Heran Ocean? Where the fuck are we supposed to go?" Jonathan questioned, curious as to the plan after.

"You're not going to like the answer, kid." The inmate, Carol Gross, proposing the plan to them, told him.

"I already don't. What's the answer?" Jonathan asked again, more aggressively.

"We got in contact with someone. Some guy that simply goes under the name of 'Hume's illusionist'. Some philosophy shit I guess, either way, dude is saying he has a plan. A bunch of boats that can help us. But there is one hick up."

"Can't wait to hear this." Jonathan says.

"Always is." Bobbi scoffs.

"We have to get something to someone."

"Will you stop beating around the bush and spit the shit out already?" Jonathan says, getting upset by Carl's way of speaking.

"Alright, look." Carl goes. Raising a vile up, Carl states, "We have to get this shit into Big-Mich. And it has to be the day before the next fight."

"What? Isn't he still in the infirmary?" Another inmate questions.

"Yeah, but he's due to get out in a few days." Another inmate with guard connections states.

"Good, I need my shit." the former inmate says under his breath.

"And what does this do?" Jonathan questioned, reaching for the vile only for Carl to yank it away.

"Honestly, not sure." Carl says, pocketing it. "But apparently it's our key out of here."

"How is that?" Another inmate questions.

"I just said I don't know."

Bobbi steps back into the conversation, asking, "And you're telling us this all because... Why? Give the guards a chance to hear the plan?"

"Aside from the fact that everyone is going to need to be a part of this, Humes has a special place for you three." Carl says, pointing to Bobbi Ice, Jonathan Stokes, and Jon Heller.

"Uh-oh." Heller whispers.

"Bobbie, according to Humes, you need to exploit an in you have with the Warden." As Carl says this, Bobbie blushes and looks to the side. "Need you to do something about Amo is all I heard. Polar, Red, need you two to go and deliever a message to that new guy, the Terrorist or something?"

"We don't know him." Jonathan says.

"Then get to know him." Carl snaps. "I'll deal with Big-Mich."

As this is going on, one of the inmates whistles, signling to Carl and the group that a guard is coming, causing the group to disperse