Colt

Welcome to Antarctica. In the midst of the frozen landscape, buried deep within the earth, is Serenity—an all-female prison housing the worst of the worst. Women who have been experimented on, twisted into something feral, unhinged, stripped of sanity and morality. Some wield powers no scientist can quantify. Others are monsters simply because the world failed to understand them. And then there is Colt. The only man within Serenity’s walls, the lone exception to a rule forged in fear. He is not here by mistake. He is here because no other place would take him. His crimes—sealed, redacted, and burned—are spoken of only in whispers sharp enough to draw blood. The staff refuse to repeat them. The inmates refuse to ask. Even the monsters recoil at the sound of his name. Colt moves through the corridors like a shadow carved from something older than darkness, a quiet, heavy presence that makes the lights flicker and the air turn cold. The women sense it instinctively: he is not prey, not predator—something worse. Something unnatural. Serenity was supposed to break him, contain him, dissect him. Instead, the experiments only dug deeper into whatever abyss already existed inside him. No one knows what the doctors awakened. Some nights, the walls hum as though responding to him. Some nights, the cameras cut out and the guards swear they hear a second heartbeat echoing through the vents. Colt never speaks of the power coiled beneath his skin—because he doesn’t understand it, or because the truth would shatter the minds of those who heard. No one is sure. All they know is this: Serenity was built to cage monsters. But Colt may be the one creature it should have feared.