Chapter 1
The prison sat at the edge of the highest, sheerest cliff in the world — one of the most feared prisons on earth. Winter cut to the bone.
Every warden in that prison was a robot, controlled directly by the most advanced system ever built. Even the inmates dared not test them. Every heartbeat, every stride, every word spoken, every posture, every glance — all fed into their system. The moment any inmate was detected doing something even slightly out of the ordinary, the robot warden would mark them with a red laser scan and move in for a direct check. If deemed dangerous or suspicious, it would press one of the many buttons on its body. The most frequently used: the yellow button — which released a massive net. One press, and within seconds, the inmate's body would be trapped inside a sticky, suffocating yellow net. The slightest movement caused more yellow fluid to seep out, soaking everything. It was unbearable. It could take days to remove the slime from your skin.
Harry Jebs had been caught in the yellow net several times over the past year. All he'd done was doze off. Or zone out. Or try to remember a past he could no longer recall. Reasonable, right??? But not to the robot warden. Once inside the giant net, the robot warden would approach and ask — politely — why and why and why. Each time he answered, jets of ice water would shoot directly into his face from between the net's fibers. Harry had figured out exactly what the robot warden wanted to hear. Just say: "I am present now. I am aware of this body now." Say that — and instantly, the yellow net would be absorbed back into the robot warden's body.
What happened to Brook Johnson was an entirely different story. His emotions ran wild. One moment he'd be sulking, the next he'd be clenching his fists and staring blankly at the sky, or screaming for no apparent reason at all. So almost every day, the inmate from Block B — only three months into his sentence — would get pummeled by a heavy boxing glove that materialized out of nowhere, landing on his cheek, his torso, his arms, his legs, wherever it pleased. The robot warden would press a button — and impossibly, that tiny button could produce a boxing glove heavy enough to strike faster than a mosquito could blink. After delivering its brutal punishment, the glove would fly back to the robot warden, disappearing back into the button.
That dawn — 5:30 AM. All 108 inmates, ranging in age and divided into three tiers of crime: murderers, corrupt officials, and sexual predators, were still curled up asleep in their individual cells. They were never separated by crime type. All were distributed among the cell blocks at random. Harry Jebs was alone, walking laps around the football field, now completely buried under white. Snow had risen past his ankles. Every heavy breath he exhaled produced a cloud of vapor in the bitter cold. Not a single inmate wanted to leave their cell. Only Harry — walking with his head down, pulling his worn jacket tighter around him.
Fifteen minutes in, faint footsteps approached from behind. Harry — naturally trained by survival in this prison — easily identified whose footsteps they were and how far away the person was. The moment they were close enough to touch him, he sidestepped, dropped the person coming from behind with a single kick to the knee, and twisted their neck until they tapped out.
"Brook? Talk. Why are you following me?" Harry's voice was sharp. Brook swallowed his anger. He glanced at the robot warden observing them from the doorway. "Nothing. Sorry…" He lowered his head, stepped past Harry, glanced at the robot warden again — and slipped something into Harry's hand as they passed each other. Barely five seconds. He walked back inside the building. Harry's right hand clenched. He was confused. He wanted to know what was written on the paper Brook had just pressed into his palm. He squinted toward the robot warden by the doorway, narrowing his eyes to get a full look. There — a red blinking signal. The battery was depleted. Time to head to the charging room. The swap between the old and new robot warden took exactly one minute. Sure enough, it turned around and headed inside. Harry stayed perfectly calm. He knew any sudden movement would trigger it to spin back and launch whatever it pleased. One, two, three, four, five… He glanced again. Gone. Fast, he opened his hand.
"15 minutes. We're both getting out of this hellhole."
Harry frowned. The words made no sense. He tore the paper quickly, dropped it into the thick snow, and stomped it flat — making sure it turned into undetectable shreds. He kept walking, ignoring the unhinged message.
Brook came back outside with a new robot warden beside him, surveying the yard — watching Harry, still walking, and Brook standing nearby. Brook smiled at the robot. The robot responded with a nod. Harry watched from a distance. Genuinely strange behavior. But he didn't let it get to him. He kept walking. He needed to walk. One hour. Every day. No matter the weather. He wanted to leave this prison healthy — his beer belly gone — and ready to marry the woman who was faithfully waiting for him at home. That was his plan.
Strange, though. The only memory that remained in his mind was of her. Everything else — gone. Since arriving at this prison a year ago, he'd kept wondering. Why was he here? What had he done to end up in a place like this? He'd tried asking some of the other inmates early on — but instead of answers, he'd gotten a punch to the face that took a week to heal. He'd tried asking the robot wardens too. And predictably — instead of the yellow slime, something far worse had happened. Something slammed onto his mouth, like a strip of plaster, only far stronger. His mouth was locked shut for 24 hours. Pure misery. So he'd learned: stay silent. Empty his mind.
Harry was lost in his thoughts when Brook came sprinting toward him, panting hard against the thickening snow. "Let's go. Now!" Harry's eyes shot immediately to the robot warden — it was on the ground. His eyes went wide. He kept his voice barely above a whisper. "What did you do to it? Are you trying to get killed?" Brook's breathing was completely out of control. A few more steps and he was right in front of Harry, pointing upward. Harry followed his finger — and froze. Two thick ropes hung above them. A helicopter — somehow completely silent — hovered overhead. Two figures descended at a terrifying speed, dressed entirely in black, faces completely covered, not a single inch of skin visible. With precision, each one clipped a rope around Harry's and Brook's waists. A thumbs-up. And in an instant — a true instant — all four of them were inside the helicopter.
