36. Nemesis
T he hallways were cloaked in a thick, oppressive darkness, shadows stretching across cold, damp concrete walls. Silence lay heavily over the prison like a burial shroud. Forty-three pairs of eyes snapped open simultaneously, pupils dilated in the inky gloom. Each man's breath remained steady, synchronized, as though their lungs had rehearsed this moment for years.
Hands moved beneath pillows in perfect unison, retrieving instruments of silent death. Each blade was small, thin, and cruelly sharp — crafted meticulously from patience and smuggled steel. Fingers curled around familiar grips, knowing every groove, every edge, every lethal possibility. No hesitation marred their movements. No tremor betrayed any lingering humanity.
One by one, their bodies rose, a dark tide spilling silently across each cell. Bare feet touched the cold stone without a whisper of sound. Eyes were vacant, hollow voids devoid of any remorse. They moved as one, specters haunting the mortal realm, their souls already claimed by something far darker than the night.
Green was indeed far more valuable than red, more enticing than futile, pleading gasps. Blood was merely pennies here, spent without thought or care. Shadows stretched deformed behind them, a haunting echo of the carnage they would soon unleash.
Steel bars stood silent sentinel, indifferent guardians that had long forgotten mercy. They watched impassively, unwilling to betray the grim dance of death unfolding behind them.
Each blade found its mark in unison — a symphony of precise violence, a perfect execution in every sense. Arteries opened beneath steel, spilling ruby secrets onto thin, worn mattresses. Mouths opened, but no screams emerged, only choked, gurgling whispers swallowed by darkness. Seconds became lifetimes, and within each fading heartbeat, a soul was extinguished.
The forty-three cells in seven prisons remained still as the dying whispered their final, unheard prayers. One by one, life faded from wide, desperate eyes, cut short beneath blades wielded with clinical detachment.
In mere moments, it was done. Silence returned, deeper than before. Forty-three pairs of eyes stared down into emptiness, their expressions blank, unaffected by the violence they had created. Slowly, mechanically, they wiped the blood from their blades and returned them to their hidden resting places. Bodies eased back onto bunks, eyes closed once more, hearts steady, as though nothing had transpired.
The darkness embraced them, covering the sins committed in its name. Only the shadows knew the truth, and shadows would speak to no one.