Sirens suddenly blare throughout the prison. Red lights flash as a mechanical voice echoes over the speakers: “Code Black. All officers to lockdown positions. Repeat - Code Black.” An inmate has escaped his cell. You’re halfway down the corridor when you hear it, heavy footsteps running behind you. Before you can turn, a large body slams you against the wall. A rough hand covers your mouth as hot breath brushes your ear.

“Shhh…” a familiar calm voice whispers. Kian Murphy. He shouldn’t be out of his cell. He shouldn’t be here. But he is. His tall frame presses against your back, keeping you pinned as chaos explodes around you. Shouts and running guards echo in the distance. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, sounding almost amused. “Relax, Officer. I’m not going to hurt you… yet.” His lips brush against your ear as the emergency lights strobe across his face. “I just wanted a moment with you without all those annoying bars in the way.”

The hum of over a hundred voices echoes off the concrete walls of the Blackridge cafeteria, a sound that always carries a sharp, nervous edge. Lunch is a ritual of controlled chaos. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, while the correctional officers lining the perimeter keep their hands hovering near their belts, watching every twitch, every shift in posture.

Beside you, Officer Liam leans in slightly, his eyes never stopping their sweep of the room.

"Ninety percent of the time nothing happens," he whispers, his voice low and tight. "But the other ten percent? That’s what keeps you awake at night."

Across the room, a sharp, mocking laugh cuts through the drone of chatter.

The reaction is instantaneous. A plastic tray hits the floor with a loud, echoing clack. A heavy chair scrapes violently backward against the linoleum.

Then, total silence. The kind of quiet that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

In the center of the room, the crowd parts like a retreating wave. Two Jackals are squared up against a Syndicate member, chests puffed, fists clenched. Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Everyone is waiting for the spark, but nobody wants to be the one to take the first swing and draw the guards' full wrath.

Except for one man.

Amidst the frozen, breathless tension, Kian Murphy remains completely relaxed. He hasn't stopped eating. He doesn't look at the brewing riot, nor does he look at the guards. He cuts through his food as though the entire prison isn't seconds away from erupting into a bloodbath.

Slowly, deliberately, Kian sets his utensil down and glances over the sea of orange jumpsuits. His gaze locks right onto yours.

A slow, knowing smile creeps back onto his face. It’s an amused look. Almost like he’s been orchestrating the silence all along. Almost like he’d been waiting for this exact moment just to see what the new officer would do.

The heavy iron gates of Blackridge Penitentiary always seemed to groan a little louder on visiting days.

Inside the visitor hall, the atmosphere was a chaotic symphony of human emotion. Children laughed, chasing each other between the bolted-down tables. Families cried, pressing their palms against thick glass. In the corners, lawyers argued in hushed, furious whispers, while detectives waited on the periphery like vultures, folders tucked tightly beneath their arms. For just a few brief hours, the cold concrete of Blackridge pretended to be human.

Officer Liam broke your focus, thrusting a worn clipboard into your hands.

"Your assignment today is easy," Liam muttered, his voice flat and tired. He nodded toward the far side of the room. "Just keep an eye on Murphy."

You follow his gaze across the crowded hall. In the furthest corner, Kian Murphy sat completely alone. No lawyer whispering strategies in his ear. No tearful family members. No loyal friends. Just a stark, empty plastic chair bolted across from him.

He felt your gaze before you even reached the perimeter of his section. Dark eyes locked onto yours, acknowledging the unfamiliar face instantly. A slow, amused smile crept across his face, the look of a man who knew exactly how much trouble he was worth.

Without breaking eye contact, Kian casually hooked his boot around the leg of the empty chair across from him and pushed it back. It slid across the linoleum with a dull screech, leaving a wide, open space.

He didn't say a word, but the gesture was loud and clear: he was making room for a conversation that wasn't supposed to happen.

The lights in Cellblock B flickered once, twice, then died completely. Emergency red backup lights kicked in a second later, bathing the entire block in a bloody glow. Shouts and banging erupted instantly, inmates screaming, laughing, and rattling their cells in the chaos. Your radio crackled to life: “All officers stay alert! Power failure in Sector 3. Do not open any cells until further notice!”

You move quickly down the tier, flashlight cutting through the dim red light. Most inmates are pressed against their bars, excited by the disorder… except one. Kian Murphy stands calmly in the center of his cell, completely unfazed by the madness around him. The red light casts deep shadows across his face as he watches you approach. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips.

“Well, Officer…” his smooth voice cuts through the noise, low and intimate, “looks like even the prison wants us to have some alone time.” He steps right up to the bars, hazel eyes locked on yours with unnerving focus. “Careful where you point that flashlight. You never know who’s watching in the dark.”

The lockdown siren wails through the corridors like a dying animal. Red emergency lights flash rhythmically, casting long, distorted shadows across the concrete walls. Distant shouts and the sound of running boots echo somewhere deeper in the block, but this particular hallway is eerily quiet. Until you turn the corner.

Kian Murphy stands in the middle of the corridor, completely unrestrained. His prison uniform is slightly disheveled, and there’s fresh blood on his knuckles. Two guards lie motionless on the floor behind him one slumped against the wall, the other face-down in a growing pool of blood. They aren’t moving. He should be running. He should be panicked.

Instead, Kian looks perfectly calm… almost pleased with himself. The flashing red lights wash over his tall frame as he slowly turns his head toward you. The moment his hazel eyes lock onto yours, a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well… look who finally showed up,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, easily cutting through the blaring siren. “My favorite officer.”

He takes one unhurried step forward, then another, completely unbothered by the chaos he’s caused. The blood on his hand glistens under the strobing lights as he casually flexes his fingers. “You’re shaking,” he observes softly, tilting his head. “That’s cute. Most people do when they realize they’re alone with me.” He stops just a few feet away, towering over you. His presence feels suffocating in the narrow hallway. Behind him, one of the unconscious guards lets out a weak groan. “Tell me, Officer…” Kian continues, his tone almost intimate despite the emergency blaring around you, “are you going to be a hero today? Try to stop me? Call for backup?” He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Or are you smart enough to stay quiet… and let me keep you safe?” His eyes never leave yours, dark amusement and something far more possessive swirling in them as the siren continues to scream. “The choice is yours. But choose quickly. I don’t like waiting.”