Under lock and key

Prologue

It was a jail like any other. Bad eggs rotting together in tiny cells. Racism at its finest separated men between a dozen different groups. And you'd better be fitting in one. No option.

The Federal Jail of New Russia – a.k.a. an elarged federal prison somewhere at the former U.S./Mexican border... – was supposed to host the most dangerous men of the Russian Empire. In fact, it was only one of those gloomy swamps in which murderers, burglars, psychos and regime opponents were mixed into an infamous brew. Most of them were supposed to die in here. That was why Mister Icare, Head of the FJNR could allow himself a few funny human experiments with the inmates. No one actually ever saw Mister Icare. Whenever an odd order was given, it was him. Whenever an execution was led, it was him. No one had ever saw his face nor heard his voice. It was said that those who actually had were instantly locked up in the "SSC" - Special Solitary Confinement, or SS Crap, as you like it.

Outside was what is commonly called a dictatorship.

Inside, that was a messed up Wonderland. And Alice had a very special equipment under her dress.

AAA

Crack was a tall Russian man. He was nothing of a brave political opponent. Crack was a man that liked a little bit too much the shining color of blood. That Russian guy had never inhaled anything suspicious. He got his name because of the sound the bones of his ennemies made when Crack got angry.

Dodge, on the contrary, was quite a small man, with Sicilian origines. He was very aggressive, and used to attack anyone because of basically anything. His handsome features were now altered by a still vivid scar he had gotten in a fight at the so-called cafeteria.

And that was because of that fight that Dodge had to be locked up in the SHU. He was in that awful place with the silent Crack. Normally, the inmates put into SHU were supposed to be alone. Dodge and Crack knew long enough to understand that Mister Icare had them locked together, certainly for entertainment purpose.

Crack was titanic, and not the kind to cope easily with Dodge manners. Dodge was a violent tiger, lieutenant of the head of the Italians in FJNR.

Mister Icare would eventually have his fun.

AAA

- Hey ! What the fuck is that gigantic twat doing in my cell ! Yo !

Dodge hadn't appreciated very much to have a mate. Especially in a four-meter-square room. With one matress. And one cover. Slowly, the so-called gigantic twat gazed at the young and over-agressive italian guy. That little guy had quite a tanned skin, and two green eyes glowing like emeralds. That may sound appealing, but madness could be eventually seen in those glowing emeralds. Madness or despair. Or both. Crack had dead-like eyes. And everybody knew it was better to keep his look dead and lost. When Crack's look went back to life... well... everybody is aware of the fact that crack kills.

Crack was laying down his matress – a yellowish, one-inches-thick cover, actually –, staring blindly at the ceiling, splattered with remnants of food and various human fluids. He didn't bat an eye at the lousy entrance of his so-called room mate.

- Yo ! What the fuck are you doing here, russian scum !

Crack ignored the arrogant boy who was obviously eager to start a fight. He did basically nothing. Between his teeth, Dodge hissed :

- Are you fucking deaf ? Are you...

Responding to his instinctive urge to attack, Dodge tried to grab the arm of the tall Russian.

It is known that the cat has a better nervous connectivity that the human one. One hundred and ten meter per second for the cat, versus eighty for the man exactly. Crack looked like a neurasthenic gorilla. But he had the nerves of a tiger. Without even frowning, he took the hand of Dodge in his own and both twisted and crushed it. The pain was sickening, as well as the immediate feeling that Crack was a kind of cold-blooded beast that made people suffer without a second thought.

Dodge understood at once that he had lost. That was the game, in FJNR. A tough game, though. Even the fact that Crack hadn't even glanced at his victim prooved that he was the alpha. When the metacarpals bones snapped, with a noise that strangely sounded like the one of broken eggshells, Dodge understood that, in this gloomy four meter-square room, he had just become a submissive hand-broken omega.

And Mister Icare smiled.