Chapter Text
- “Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we’re opened, we’re red.” ― Clive Barker, “Books of Blood: Volumes One to Three”
PROLOGUE:
The year was 2320, a time when the corporate interests of the United Jupiter Company stretched across the far reaches of the solar system. Jacob Lee and his partner, Max Barrow, were on a routine cargo run to the dead moon of Callisto, a desolate, lifeless orb that was little more than a barren rock orbiting Jupiter. The mission was simple: transport a mysterious, highly classified cargo-sealed and kept under tight security. They had no idea that by the time they reached their destination, everything would be thrown into chaos.
Jacob sat alone in the cockpit, eyes scanning the glowing interface as the ship hummed softly around him. Max was in the lower decks, ensuring everything was secure for the long journey ahead. Their transport, the Nightingale, was a modest but reliable vessel-a far cry from the colossal ships of the corporate fleets, but more than enough to handle the cargo they were entrusted with.
Yet something was off.
The air felt too thick, the silence unnerving. The soft hum of the engines seemed somehow distant, muffled. Jacob's instincts prickled. There was something wrong. He'd heard nothing from Max for far too long. A suspicion formed, gnawing at him.
He pushed himself from the pilot's seat, stepping into the narrow corridor that led to the cargo hold. His boots clicked against the cold metal floor, the sound echoing through the hollow ship. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he froze.
A woman.
Her figure slipped into the shadows near the cargo bay. Jacob's hand instinctively moved to the sidearm holstered at his hip, but he held back. The woman wasn't alone. Another figure-a man-moved with purpose, heading toward the locked cargo door. They were too close to the cargo; the precious, mysterious cargo entrusted to the United Jupiter Company. Jacob's blood ran cold. This wasn't just a stowaway situation. They were here to steal it.
His heart raced as he silently retraced his steps, moving back toward the cockpit, but as he passed the door to the cargo hold, he felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. The ship shuddered. A voice-a whisper-cut through the silence.
"Outer Way."
The words sent a chill down Jacob's spine. The Outer Way was a radical terrorist group known for their ruthless, unpredictable tactics. The cargo they were transporting-top secret, highly volatile-was the last thing anyone should be targeting.
The ship shuddered again. This time, it wasn't just a vibration; it was a warning. They were being boarded.
Jacob's pulse quickened. He moved swiftly back toward the cockpit, reaching for the comm system, but before he could make a call, the door hissed open behind him. There was no time to think. The intruders were close. He could hear them-footsteps, urgent whispers. The woman and her partner had found him.
The woman was first through the door, her eyes cold, calculating. Her partner moved quickly behind her, a hulking figure with a weapon drawn. Jacob's mind raced, calculating his options. He had to act, and he had to act fast.
The airlock.
Without hesitation, Jacob slammed his hand onto the control panel beside him, triggering the emergency airlock release. The door slid open with a loud hiss, and the sound of rushing air filled the cabin. But the woman was faster. She raised her weapon, a pulse rifle, aimed directly at him.
"Don't do it," she snarled, but Jacob's instincts had already taken over. He didn't hesitate. The cold vacuum of space was just beyond that door, and he wasn't going to let them steal the cargo-no matter the cost.
His finger found the button to activate the manual window release.
A piercing screech rang out as the outer window of the cargo hold shattered. A hole, small but deadly, was blown clean through the reinforced glass, creating a violent decompression. The woman was flung backward, her scream drowned out by the howl of air being sucked into the void of space.
Jacob braced himself, the ship groaning under the pressure. The man who had been with her scrambled, trying to reach the woman, but the force of the explosion sent him flying as well.
They were losing. Losing control. The cargo hold, now a chaotic battlefield of debris and shifting air pressure, was beyond saving.
Jacob stood at the threshold of the cockpit, breath shallow, pulse racing. There was no time for second thoughts. He had made his choice.
The Outer Way had underestimated the wrong man.
* * *
Jacob's hands gripped the controls tightly, knuckles white, heart pounding as he wrestled with the Nightingale's steering. The ship groaned under the strain, the damaged airlock still howling from the breach. He had to land, and he had to do it now-before the ship tore itself apart.
The course was set for Callisto, but this wasn't a planned landing. No clearance, no authorization, no time for the bureaucracy that governed these kinds of decisions. He was flying blind, adrenaline coursing through his veins, a sense of doom hanging over him. The woman and her partner were gone, lost to the vacuum of space, but the ship was in critical condition. The damage was catastrophic, and Max-Jacob's longtime partner-had been caught in the blast.
Max.
The memory of his partner's screams echoed in Jacob's mind, a jarring contrast to the cold, methodical precision required to pilot the Nightingale into the barren expanse of Callisto's frozen surface. He'd been knocked unconscious for a few moments when the breach occurred, but when he came to, Max was already gone, blood staining the ship's interior.
There was no more time for grief.
The ship lurched again as Jacob pulled the levers hard, tilting the nose downward, guiding them through a violent atmospheric entry. Sparks flew from damaged wiring, and the ship rattled violently as it careened toward the barren wasteland below.
The Nightingale's descent was a chaotic, unrelenting spiral of fire and smoke, but somehow, despite the near-death experience, Jacob's hands never wavered. His eyes focused through the smoke as he spotted the flat, jagged surface of Callisto below, a dry, lifeless landscape devoid of anything but death.
The landing was anything but graceful. The ship slammed into the surface, bouncing and skidding violently before it came to a halt with a deafening screech. Metal groaned under the impact, and the entire vessel shuddered, as if protesting its unceremonious arrival.
The dust settled. Jacob, battered but alive, staggered out of his seat. His head throbbed from the impact, but there was no time to rest. He could hear them coming.
Outside, he could see figures approaching-the heavy, thudding footsteps of Callisto's security units. But these weren't ordinary security officers; these men were under the direct command of Captain Leon Ferris, an officer with a reputation for ruthlessness. The figures were cloaked in dark armor, their presence filling the air with a sense of inevitable judgment.
Jacob staggered out of the cockpit, struggling to maintain his balance in the aftermath of the crash. His gaze flicked to the smoldering wreckage of the Nightingale and then back toward the door, where the security team was closing in. He barely had time to react before they stormed the ship.
The door to the cockpit slid open with a hiss. A sharp voice cut through the tension, commanding, authoritative. "Jacob Lee. You're coming with us."
Captain Leon Ferris stood at the threshold, flanked by two of his men. His expression was stern, unreadable, as he took a single step forward.
"You've violated the most basic protocol," Ferris said, his voice cold, calculated. "And now, you're going to pay the price."
Jacob's mind raced. He was too battered, too exhausted to fight. Ferris had the upper hand, and the crew he commanded was more than capable of handling someone like him-someone who had just crashed a United Jupiter Company vessel without clearance.
But it wasn't just the landing that had caught Ferris's attention. It was the cargo. The mysterious, highly classified cargo that Jacob had risked everything to protect.
Ferris stepped closer. "The damage you've done... the lives you've cost... It's over."
Jacob tried to steady himself. His mind was clouded with grief over Max, his partner-his only friend-who had died on this mission, but now wasn't the time for mourning. He had no choice but to comply.
The soldiers moved forward, weapons raised. Jacob's body felt like lead as they shackled his wrists and led him out of the wreckage of the Nightingale.
His gaze flicked to the horizon, the endless expanse of the Callisto wasteland stretching before him. He had no idea what was coming next-only that, in his gut, he could feel the weight of his fate closing in around him.
"Get moving," Ferris ordered, his voice sharp.
Jacob was shoved forward, his mind still racing, trying to make sense of everything. He had survived the horrors of Black Iron Prison once, but he had never imagined he would return as a prisoner. But now, that was the only path before him.
The doors to Black Iron Prison loomed ahead, its dark, foreboding silhouette casting a shadow over Jacob's future. He had no idea what horrors awaited inside. But one thing was certain: the nightmare had only just begun.
Jacob's body felt as though it were being torn apart. The procedure was supposed to be a routine procedure for all prisoners: the CORE Device, a machine designed to monitor and control the mental state of inmates. But nothing about this was routine for him. The last thing he remembered was being dragged into the cold, oppressive corridors of Black Iron Prison, the harsh metallic walls surrounding him as they shoved him into a holding cell.
His mind was clouded, the sounds of the prison-a low hum, distant echoes of prisoners' shouts, the clicking of boots on metal floors-fading into nothingness as the CORE Device did its work. He felt the needles enter, the cold tendrils of the machine probing deep into his consciousness, and then... nothing.
Darkness took him.
And then, it wasn't darkness anymore. It was something... different. He found himself standing in a sterile, white room, staring at a strange, glowing object in the middle of it. A pink box, unlike anything he had ever seen, hovered in the center of the room. It pulsed with an eerie, unnatural light. He reached for it, drawn to it as though it were calling to him, but as his fingers touched its surface, the world around him shattered.
A familiar voice called his name, distorted by the dreamscape's nightmare-like quality.
"Jacob..."
The voice. Max. His partner. His best friend.
Jacob spun, heart hammering in his chest, but he couldn't see him. The hallways stretched infinitely, dark and twisted. The walls pressed in, suffocating him. He could feel Max's presence there, but he was nowhere to be seen. A shiver ran down his spine as he heard the laughter-his partner's hollow laugh, echoing like a ghost in the vast emptiness.
"You failed me, Jacob..."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He staggered back, unable to breathe, unable to comprehend. His vision swam, the shadows of the hallway distorting around him as Max's face appeared. It wasn't Max anymore, though-his eyes were hollow, vacant, filled with a darkness that made Jacob's stomach churn.
"You let me die..."
The nightmare consumed him, the walls closing in as the dark figure of his friend reached out, grabbing him with a grip as cold as death itself.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything went black.
Jacob awoke with a jolt. His chest heaved with panicked breaths, his hands trembling as he sat up. His head was spinning, his mind still fogged by the remnants of the dream. The sterile white of the cell block was replaced by the harsh, flickering lights of Black Iron Prison's grim holding area.
Something was wrong.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision, only to be met with an unfamiliar sound: a cacophony of chaos. The distant, echoing sounds of alarms, the clattering of heavy footsteps, the unmistakable sounds of prison doors slamming open.
A breakout.
Jacob's heart skipped a beat as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The cell block was in disarray. The usual order, the structured routine of Black Iron Prison, had broken down. The guards-if they could still be called that-were nowhere to be seen. The inmates were running rampant, some cowering in fear, others taking advantage of the chaos to make their escape. But what caught Jacob's attention the most was the overwhelming sense of danger in the air.
He wasn't alone in his cell anymore. The prisoners were rioting, and they had the upper hand.
The doors to his cell rattled, the mechanisms struggling under the pressure of the alarms. He stood, trying to get his bearings, his body weak and uncoordinated after the procedure. His heart was still pounding in his chest as he realized that the mass breakout was not just a spontaneous event. Someone-something-had planned it. And in the midst of it all, Jacob couldn't shake the feeling that he was meant to be part of it. He had been awakened for a reason.
The prisoner's voice echoed in the halls, harsh and desperate.
"They're coming for us. We break out now, or we die in here."
Jacob's breath caught in his throat. He didn't know who they were, but he didn't need to. The madness in the prison had escalated beyond anything he had anticipated. As the alarms blared, Jacob realized that his only chance for survival now lay in joining the breakout-or being swallowed by the nightmare of Black Iron Prison.