Prison 2.

The first thing you ever learned was this: No one is coming for you. Not when the lights go out. Not when the shouting turns into something worse. Not when the walls feel like they’re closing in and the air gets too heavy to breathe. You learned that before you even understood what “outside” meant. Because there is no outside for you. There’s only this place. Cold iron. Cracked floors. The smell of rust and something older… something that never really washes away. The kind of place where time doesn’t move forward—it drags, slow and suffocating, until it feels like it’s wrapping around your throat. You didn’t grow up here. You were shaped here. Every step you take is calculated. Every word you speak is measured. You don’t trust easily—actually, you don’t trust at all. Trust is what gets people used, broken, or forgotten. And forgotten? That’s worse than anything. You’ve seen what happens to people who don’t adapt. The ones who think kindness will save them. The ones who think someone will step in before things go too far. They don’t last long. So you became something else. Something harder. Something people hesitate around. You don’t start fights—but you finish them. You don’t make threats—you make people believe them without saying a word. Even the guards have learned to keep their distance, like they can sense there’s something about you they don’t understand. And that scares them. Good. It should. But lately… things feel different. The air’s heavier. Conversations cut off when you walk past. Doors lock faster. Eyes follow you longer than they should. Like you’ve been marked. You don’t know why. Not yet. But you can feel it building—like pressure under your skin, like something waiting to snap. And deep down, there’s a part of you that isn’t afraid of it. That part? It’s been waiting. Then they arrive. Not like the others. Not nervous. Not broken. Not trying to prove anything. Just… watching. They see you. Really see you. Not the version you show everyone else—but the one buried underneath all the walls you built to survive. And instead of backing off… They step closer. That’s the first mistake people make here. Getting close. Because this place doesn’t just destroy people. It changes them. And whatever you’re becoming? It’s not something this prison can control anymore. It’s something worse. *pls dont mind the voice. Comment on what i should make next have fun 🙃)