❛You're mine. And If I don't get you, no one can.❜
In which our little psycho protagonist somehow makes the world's 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 most dangerous criminals develop an unhealthy obsession for her.
➻ Alternative Universe
➻ Mafia / Crime / Psychological...
There was something disturbing about the concrete box he was in. It had been engineered with absolute precision. The corners were sharp and straight, the window a perfect square with evenly spaced bars. In front of him stood a solid metal door with only a small slide for someone to speak or peek through.
These walls were crumbling. If someone took the edge of their nail they could dig at the softening mortar between the distressed bricks.
This prison was designed differently than others. It was the basement of the detention centre, away from everyone's sight.
Guarded heavily from all corners it was clear that this prison cell was made specifically for Code Red Criminals.
Minacious Beings who were dreaded by all. Individuals who had broken out from the strongest security team of the government more than once. They were meant to be feared.
The only sound available was the ones made inside the cell as the walls were soundproof. It was once in a while when the door slide would open and the sounds of the living would rush in. This was meant to drive the prisoner insane. Drive them crazy.
This place was designed to make the person forget their name and lose their vocabulary even before half their sentence could end. For the most part, their sanity was shot, they would swing between crying for their mothers and battling invisible demons.
Rumour has it that the worst of the worst happened to the people held captive here, that they nearly begged the devil to let them die.
Unfortunately for them, the incarnate of the Devil itself was imprisoned in the dusty walls, anticipating to be set free. It was only about time when the walls of the casket would break, seething fire hotter than hell.
His husky frame was wrapped thickly in shackles that forbid him from moving. An orange garment provided by the jail cloaked his tattooed body, the sleeves of his shirt reaching his elbows as a never-ending line of wounds trailed.
Instead of handcuffs, his wrists were cast in thickly armoured automatic detectors, the dense metal following up to his chest all the way up to his shoulders.
A preprogrammed password safety feature was positioned just above his heart indicating that only a certain word could unlock the whole armoured suit that restricted him from moving even his head.
