Man at Arms

Chapter Six: Hello, Friend

CHAPTER SIX

I was seventeen when I was first sent to a place that screams insanity and depression. And it was the best fucking moment of my life.

The corridor was drab and grey. It extended like a subway train, lined with mechanical iron bars whose paint had worn off from the inmates' constant grip. The air was damp, and the stench of mildew, sweat, and sadness lingered in the air, but I welcomed it as an old friend.

Ramdam ko ang mga mata nila, nakasunod sa akin na tila CCTV at hindi kumukurap. Dinaanan ko ang mga selda sa magkabilang gilid, habang akay ng dalawang warden na tila hindi ako marunong humakbang. My wrists were bound by cuffs in front of me.

"Captain."

Huminto ang mga paa ko at lumingon sa kanang selda. Umangat ang isang kilay ko.

"You're still here, Meanie?" Meanie was short, shaved, and had the most terrifying electric blue eyes. I remember he was convicted of robbing a bank. What a stupid cúnt.

"My Omertà," he replied, his head held high and his palm against his chest.

The other inmates in his cell bowed their heads and copied him, their palms against their chests as a sign of respect and loyalty.

I smirked, and the officer pushed me forward slightly. I could sense their uneasiness as everyone in the cells bowed and addressed me as Captain as if I were their bloody salvation. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, my chest felt alive.

Something about the cold bars and solid walls made me feel like I belonged. Trapped, yet home.

While it served as a coffin for others, it was a sanctuary for some. Tahanan nang mga inosente na nagbabayad sa mga kasalanan na hindi nila ginawa, mga taong hinusgahan na nang lipunan at wala nang ibang kakampi pa, at mga tao na may mabibigat na rason.

And some just serve their omertà. Like Meanie. He did not rob a bank for fun, but his stupid Capo demands a large sum of money that Meanie cannot produce in a single night. He knew I gave him justice, though so his loyalty is now with me.

I couldn't help but remember when I saw familiar old faces.

I was seventeen and a virgin, barely understanding how to pump my cock with my hand. Yeah, yeah, I know. You're twelve and you already know what sixty-nine is, but hey, I was too busy being tortured and fed evilness to have a taste of heaven. I was scraping dollars in the streets with the cocaine the goomah wrapped for my little market when a rat called in the FBI. You could guess what happened next.

I was detained and here I met with the most terrifying monsters who showed me what pain, torture, and nightmares were.

Buong akala ko si Lucian ang tatlong iyon. Pero napagtanto ko ako pala ang mga iyon.

I've known there was a monster inside of me since the night my mother was beaten to death in front of me. I had always felt it, but I was terrified. Callus kept on reminding me I wasn't like them, the motherfuckers who raised their hands to a woman. But Lucian told me I was evil. I didn't believe him.

I should have.

This place taught me that being a monster was fine. I was welcomed, and they fucking ripped that seventeen-year-old kid out of his shell. And he's now a motherfucking grown-up evil.

The cuff tightened around my wrists. I arched my brow and relaxed my fists, which were so fucking solid the cuff was trying to hang on.

After many mazes of hallways, we came to what seemed the busiest part of the facility. We come to a halt in front of a large cell. It smells like mouse piss and something else. Something that would depress and agitate Nazi because he wouldn't stay put until the pungent clinging in the air was removed.