Chapter Text
The noise of cells creaking open rang out in the block, a symphony that ground into the barely woken brain. The soft glow of the early morning sun offset the harshness of sound, casting beams of light through the tiny windows, so close to the ceiling that it almost seemed as if light poured down from above.
The lighting was gentle, and yet…
It was a very bleak place.
His steps echo against the walls, the clack of his dress shoes as damning as a wake-up call. Some may stir, stopping in their journey to crane their heads and peek up high, but he doesn’t spare a look to any one of them.
He stops at the balcony, overlooking the entire cell block. From high above, the light was eerie instead of ethereal.
Here, the sluggish, uniform lines of inmates were cast in grayish light, making them appear as shadow-like blurs moving through the painted concrete halls. From this angle, they almost resembled ghosts, drifting to a predetermined ending.
“Don’t think of it that way, that’s kind of creepy…”
The figure that stands above, looking down as if a king to his peons, was smartly dressed in a pressed uniform, peaked cap over smooth, black hair, dress shoes glinting with the light and uncovering scratches. He was Kim Soleum, the newest correctional investigator assigned to the Glass Prison.
I was originally working somewhere else, but someone quit because they got assaulted by an inmate here…
The thought of working in this kind of place made him want to run away. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to find an escape from the assignment on time– and now, he was here in the flesh, unable to run away from a house of criminals that were crazy about biting.
The infamous guys here are a different breed.
The Glass Prison was not a maximum security prison, but it was far off from minimum security. The number of notorious criminals it housed were small in number yet they dominated the hierarchy, lifting the facility’s risk factor significantly. Tension was always simmering, and a few riots had broken out over the years. As a result, nightmare stories about the prison and its inmates were commonly shared among correctional investigators.
This was the kind of facility that Soleum is expected to thrive in.
“I have to watch my back, or else I’ll pay.”
The light slowly turns golden, transforming ghostly forms into ethereal shadows passing through the bright. Within the blink of an eye, the cell block empties out, inmates ushered to their morning routine.
Soleum does a cursory scan of the block, adjusting his eyes to walled cells and concrete floors colored in somber grays, to the workplace that he would be stuck in for the next few months and hopefully, not any more than that.
The sunlight alleviates the severity of the scene, appearing almost warm under the golden glow. Almost as though blood has never spilled on the floors.
The cell blocks aren’t as intimidating in broad daylight. The shadows of the inmates that occasionally cast on the walls when they pass by their doors from the inside feel almost domestic, their quiet shuffling hinting to simple lives tucked away into tiny cells, boarded up by blinds and painted doors as if to give the illusion of normalcy.
Each cell hides a person capable of danger, of causing chaos, of making an escape, no matter how dormant they might have been for how many years. In this environment, there is always a melting point. Soleum’s job is to make sure it doesn’t get to that point, to crank the stove to a low simmer.
The first (and main) order of business is observation.
The majority of his work relies on being perceptive enough to notice small details about others and being diligent enough to remember them. Consistency is the key to success, and Soleum survives by staying sharper than the knives these murderers used to slaughter.
Most of the ‘big-name’ inmates here were loners, opting to mind their own business and brood, building up their reputations or using existing ones from the outside to scare away other prisoners, living the closest thing to peace and solitude that this life could possibly offer.
The rest made themselves de facto leaders of small gangs, a few even grouping up together. Despite the risk of friction, they’ve mostly managed to stay intact over the years. According to their files, several members of that group were familiar with each other before coming to the Glass Prison.
“The inmate files are surprisingly descriptive…” It makes his job a little easier, to have a reference he can look to while getting used to new habits and behaviors.
The second order of business is tasks. On his third day, Soleum is ordered to escort an inmate from solitary confinement back to his regular cell. The guards are tied up, so they say, and since the inmate is from Soleum’s assigned block anyway, he might as well take over.
He obediently trudges towards the control units, basement-locked and provided with much better electrical lighting than in the main blocks. The cells are clumped together in rooms of two or three, isolated from the rest of the facility for punishment or until death comes to claim its dues. The area is deathly still, as though the people locked inside have long grown used to silence.
The man that he beckons out of the cell matches the image in mind when thinking of a solitary confinement prisoner. His brown hair is a mess, recently washed but neglected in the combing and drying aspect, with a sickly pale complexion and skin littered with scars, shadows weighing down half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t fight when Soleum fits handcuffs around his wrists, only looking up when Soleum courteously greets him.
“Good day, sir. I’m Officer Kim. Please cooperate quietly until you’re returned to your cell.”
He doesn’t return the greeting, staring at Soleum as if scrutinizing him. His dark, lifeless eyes slowly drag down Soleum’s face and form. It takes some effort to remember his training and keep still.
Soleum gingerly places a hand on the man’s arm, and when he doesn’t react, begins walking to the direction of the common cell blocks with him in tow.
For the record, the man is docile, walking a step ahead from Soleum without protest, eyes seemingly wandering into nothingness. When Soleum glances at him, his gaze is blank. It’s like he’s not paying attention at all.
“Here you go.”
With one, hand wrapped around the man’s forearm, Soleum single-handedly twists open the hard lock of the cell door. He pushes open the heavy door with a grunt, keeping it at bay with his foot as he unlocks the secondary cell door, made of bars, before sliding it open and stepping aside to let the inmate in.
He unlocks the handcuffs when the man turns his back to him in the doorway, stepping out and sliding the secondary door closed the moment he could.
“Have a good day, sir.” Soleum calls before he closes the main door, but the man is already peeling apples with his fingers.