Chapter 1: Welcome to Hell

“00193, this kid's new today. Show him around.”

“Yes, sir.” 00193 gave a casual salute.

The officer turned and left. 00193 asked the newcomer, “First time on Hell Island?”

“Y-yes, sir. I'm Private...” He was about to give his name.

00193 cut him off. “No need for your name or rank. Remember, while you're serving here, you don't give those to anyone. See the uniform? We're the same rank. All that counts here is your number and what you're wearing. You can call me 00193, or buddy, pal, whatever you like. Just don't mention names, and above all, don't let the prisoners learn yours. As long as you're on Hell Island, you're 01055. Even in your sleep, you call yourself 01055.”

“Yes, understood,” said 01055.

“Put your helmet on and follow me,” said 00193.

01055 did as he was told and followed 00193.

As they walked, 00193 said, “Personnel must have briefed you before you came, but I'll go over a few things again. We work three-month rotations here. You eat and sleep on the island and never leave it. Of course, there's no way for you to leave anyway. The food's better than what the prisoners get, though not by much. You're on duty twelve hours a day. Your daily assignments will be posted on the information board in your room. You can also check them on the display inside your helmet.

“These uniforms we're issued are precision instruments. Pupils, fingerprints, voiceprints, DNA—anything that can be checked gets checked. Even if a prisoner gets hold of one, he can't activate it. On a guard, it's a powered combat suit. On a prisoner, it becomes a restraint. This uniform stays with you for three months. If you find a fault, take it to Maintenance for repairs right away. That's a regulation. Best not put it off.

“Don't ask too many questions, like how many guards or prisoners there are in this prison. Nobody will answer. See these numbers we're wearing? The total number of guards could run to five digits, or it could be only three. You aren't necessarily the first to use 01055. Maybe your predecessor quit, died, or changed numbers. Maybe 01055 is just a new number added at random. You might see someone numbered 99999 or 00001. Those numbers don't mean anything.

“And those doors. If you aren't authorized to go through one, it won't open for you. Even if you manage to sneak in, it'll count as an intrusion, and everyone nearby will get an alert. If you go wandering off on your own, they're entitled to kill you on the spot.

“The prison is divided into lots of sections. Every day, prisoners are randomly moved to different places. No fixed cells, no fixed cellmates, no fixed guards. Forming gangs or bribing guards is extremely difficult. Most importantly, even we don't know the prison's entire layout. Every day, we just go where we're assigned and do the job we're given. Anywhere outside your work area, like I said, even stepping in for a look will set off an alarm.”

“Sounds like they're guarding against us too?” said 01055. With his helmet on, his voice had become very deep.

00193 replied, “Yes. It's very unlikely, but if you do fall into the prisoners' hands, you won't be able to give them any useful intelligence. Escape routes, staffing arrangements, things like that. Because you don't know any of it yourself.” He paused. “Oh, the prisoners are the main thing I need to tell you about. Since you've been sent here, I take it you know something about ability users?”

“Yes, they briefed us on that before we came,” said 01055.

“Good. Then I'll keep it simple. Eighty percent of the prisoners here are ability users, so there's a special gas circulating through the prison's ventilation system all year round, without interruption. Exactly what that gas is is top secret. We have no way of knowing either. Anyway, it suppresses ability users' powers. The stronger the ability user, the stronger the suppression. Basically, whatever their rank, ability users serving time here are pretty much no different from ordinary people inside the prison,” said 00193. “When you're on duty in the prisoner areas, remember, you're the boss. As long as you're wearing the uniform, the prisoners won't dare touch you. Anyone comes up to talk to you, tell him to get lost. If he won't go, knock him down and shut him up. If prisoners approach you and initiate physical contact, you're entitled to shoot them dead.”

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” asked 01055.

“Not often,” said 00193. “But you can't let your guard down for a second with the people serving time here. If something does happen, you follow procedure. No leniency. Of course, you don't need to jump at shadows, constantly expecting a surprise attack. They all have shock rings fitted to their wrists. Leaving their confinement area sets them off, and so does touching your uniform. At that voltage, even the biggest bruiser will be knocked flat. Some have been killed outright.”

“By the way, since we guards all use numbers, what sort of numbering system do the prisoners use?” asked 01055.

“Oh... that. It's one of the peculiar things about Tidal Prison. Here, guards use numbers, and prisoners all use names.”

...

In a black corridor outside the confinement area.

A group of new prisoners who had undergone “disinfection” walked forward in single file. They wore identical prison clothes, with shock rings engraved with their names on their right wrists. A group of guards dressed much like Jedi Knights escorted them.

At the end of the corridor stood the last door they had to pass through before officially entering the prison.

Suddenly, the guard at the front signaled them to stop. The prisoners were linked together by leg irons, so they all had to halt.

They all turned to their right to face a middle-aged man standing before the line. He wore a suit and polished shoes rather than a guard's uniform, and his expression was stern.

“I am your warden, Jefferson,” he introduced himself. “Before you pass through that door, it is customary for me to meet you.”

His gaze passed over every face. “I know you may be more intelligent than I am, more powerful, or have outstanding talents and achievements in some field. Or you may be fearless fanatics, unwavering in your convictions.

“Whichever of these applies to you, please accept my sincere respect.

“But here, you are all losers.

“Whatever you once possessed in the outside world, you have now lost it. Even your most basic right, your personal freedom, has been stripped from you. The moment you were sent to Hell Island, you lost everything.

“You will never be eligible for parole. You are not even entitled to a trial. Your sentences are indefinite. There is no room for demands or bargaining. Even if the god you believe in truly exists, he has no authority here. I am the king here.

“There are only two ways to leave this place. The first is death.

“The second is for the Empire to decide you no longer pose a threat to this world. You need not offer a word in your defense. I will politely see you out, treating you like respectable people.”

“Hmph... ‘No longer pose a threat to the world,’ eh? Why not just say no longer a threat to those imperial pigs?” one prisoner sneered.

Jefferson glanced at him and told the guards, “Put him in a cage coffin. Seventy-two hours.”

“Yes, Warden.” A guard unfastened the prisoner's leg irons and shoved him away. As the man passed Jefferson, he was still glaring viciously at the warden.

“Gentlemen, if you have another opportunity to see that prisoner, you should find his attitude greatly changed,” Jefferson said. “I hope you will regard both the guards and me with a measure of awe.

“Torture is one of the languages we use to communicate with you. Death is a common occurrence here. We live by the law of the jungle, and pain is as ordinary as breathing. I am not trying to frighten you, because there is no need. I am stating facts. That is the master's duty.

“Welcome to hell.”

..