The transport truck’s doors groaned open, the hinges shrieking with a metallic protest that echoed into the cold air. Ampelius felt the sudden rush of frigid wind funneling inside, biting at his skin. He flinched, and noticed his breath misting as the twilight sky deepened into a canvas of darkening blues and purples, swallowed slowly by the encroaching night.

  Beyond the truck, two towering guard towers loomed on both sides of the massive prison complex. Their long, faded shadows stretched across the hardened earth, cast by the cold glow of their mounted floodlights. The beams swept back and forth in slow arcs, hunting for any sign of movement.

  Rough hands seized him, dragging him forward. The sudden force sent him sprawling onto the compacted dirt, the impact jarring through his body. A sharp sting flared along his palms as he braced himself against the unforgiving ground. Before he could push himself up, two guards hoisted him with ease, gripping his arms like he was little more than dead weight. The sharp snap of their boots on the dirt signaled their march toward the entrance.

  Ampelius cast one last glance over his shoulder, his vision catching the first prison, the one he had just left. It was a hulking block of stone and steel, its dark silhouette broken only by the slow rotations of its own floodlights. Even from a distance, he could make out the movement of sentries along the perimeter. There was no freedom beyond these walls, only another cage waiting to replace the last.

  The new facility was the same imposing monolith of concrete and iron. It was taller though, and broader. It was less a prison and more a fortress. He noticed rows of narrow and barred windows that lined the upper floors. It was their grim presence that reinforced the layers of fencing crowned with coils of barbed wire. The guard towers stood like sentinels, each searchlight carving their own paths looking for escapees.

  Above the entrance, a faded inscription caught his attention. Carved into the stone archway was latin lettering. The words were worn by time, and the meaning just beyond his grasp, but he could sense the weight behind them. It was a decree. A warning.

  The moment the heavy doors swung open, blinding light flooded his vision. He recoiled instinctively, but what hit him next was far worse than the glare. Noise.

  A cacophony of voices crashed into him all at once. Shouting, jeering, laughter mixed with wailing and unfiltered chaos. Metal clanked against metal, doors slammed against their frames, chains rattled like restless specters. It was relentless, and his heightened senses made it unbearable. Every sound sharpened into a piercing assault of his ears, a barrage that burrowed deep into his skull, making him wince, giving him a massive headache.

  The guards hauled him forward without any pause, their grip like iron as they dragged him deeper into the facility.

  At the first checkpoint, two guards on duty gave them a halfhearted inspection. They barely paid attention as they patted Ampelius down for weapons or contraband. It was more of a formality, nothing more. They barely glanced at him before waving the group through, too absorbed in their own conversations to care.

  They spoke in Latin, which Ampelius barely understood, but certain words stood out. He heard them mention the city of Vetera, something about victory, and Zavon, which they said in English. He pieced together enough to know they were talking about the battle. About some kind of triumph.The thought made his gut twist.

  He tried to listen closer, to pick up more details, but their conversation shifted into something about food. His stomach clenched at the mention. When had he last eaten a real meal? Days? Weeks? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he was on the verge of starving. His body ached with hunger, his throat was always raw and parched, but he had already drained his ration of water for the day. No more until they decided to give him more.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  He considered asking one of the guards, but all he managed was a dry, rasping grunt. It wasn’t even a word, just a sound, a pathetic attempt to communicate his needs. The guards ignored him completely, shoving him along as they reached a line of prisoners waiting to be processed.

  Above the entrance to the next section, a faded metal sign loomed, its letters barely legible. "BLOCK B."

  Ampelius frowned. Block B? Was this where he was being sent? Was this for a different kind of prisoner?

  The people he saw ahead of him weren’t like him.

  They were bigger. Meaner. Well-fed. Their eyes carried a dangerous glint, some with cruel amusement, others with cold indifference. Who were these people? Where was he being taken? Questions flooded his mind, but the voice, that insidious whisper at the edge of his thoughts, one that that has been absent for a long time, finally spoke.

  "There is a plan. The Asventi have use for you."

  He wanted to believe it. Wanted to cling to some kind of purpose. But whether he was alive or dead wasn’t a question he could answer with confidence anymore. One by one, the prisoners were pushed forward, processed through the gate. As he inched closer, he caught a glimpse inside.

  It wasn’t just another section of the prison. It was a barrier. A wall, dividing one hell from another. Beyond the next checkpoint, the guards were less restrained.

  Prisoners were shoved aside with brute force. Some were forced to their knees, particularly those who resisted. Others were pinned against the walls, arms wrenched behind their backs as guards frisked them with deliberate aggression.The deeper in they went, the thinner the presence of guards became. And the more brutal things looked.

  Ampelius swallowed hard. This wasn’t just a prison. It was something worse.Then he got a better look at the guards.They were heavily armored, their bodies encased in thick plating that gave them an almost inhuman, mechanical presence. Their helmets were featureless save for a smooth, glass-like visor that obscured their faces, reflecting the cold glow of the overhead floodlights. The design reminded him of a skier’s mask, built to withstand the harsh mountain elements, shielding them from the biting wind and swirling snow. But these weren’t men braving the elements. They were enforcers. Machines in human form.

  Red and gray padded armor wrapped around their torsos, thick jackets layered beneath, making them look more like juggernauts than ordinary prison guards. The segmented plates along their arms and legs were marked with the insignia of the Empire, which was a golden eagle etched onto the left breastplate. There was no mistaking it, they were true Romans.

  The cold air grew heavier as they entered the barrier, a reinforced gate separating the outside world from the prison’s true depths. Then one of them stepped forward.

  There was no command. No warning. Only force.

  A massive hand slammed into his chest, sending him stumbling backward before a second strike knocked him to the ground. Hard-packed stone met his knees with bruising force. His breathing hitched as the weight of the guard bore down on him, hands already gripping at his clothing.They weren’t just frisking him.

  Around him, the prison roared with chaos. Inmates shouted over one another, voices blending into a cacophony of curses, taunts, and animalistic jeering. The clanking of metal restraints, the rhythmic slam of boots against concrete, the occasional sharp crack of a baton against flesh. He thought it was a deliberate orchestra of humiliation and control.

  His blood ran cold as the realization settled in.

  Prisoners were being stripped bare, forced to stand exposed in the open air as the guards carried out their brutal and methodical searches. Some struggled, only to be met with swift and punishing blows. Others stood still, faces blank, empty-eyed and broken. His fingers curled into fists. His breathing slowed.They were doing a full cavity search.

  His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck locking in place. It wasn’t just the violation that sickened him, it was the way they did it. Like they had done this a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again.

  Then came the final stage.

  When a prisoner was deemed “clear,” one of the juggernauts would lift them off the ground like nothing more than a sack of grain, carrying their naked, shivering bodies into the next chamber. Harnesses lined the walls, which were restraint devices designed for absolute control. Heavy-duty straps locked around arms, legs, and torsos, ensuring no movement, no resistance, no dignity. He knew those restraints. He had been in them before.

  The memory surfaced like a phantom rising from the depths. The smell of disinfectant. The sterile walls. The suffocating feeling of being held in place, arms pinned, body stripped of warmth and agency.The padded seclusion room.

  His heartbeat pounded against his ribs. His breath came slower now, steady but deep.

  He had survived that once. And he would survive it again.