CHAPTER 7 — Cellblock D: The Devil's Playground
The words on the fogged glass refused to leave Ethan's mind.
"IF YOU WANT YOUR SON BACK... COME TO CELLBLOCK D."
Every prisoner in Blackridge knew what Cellblock D really was.
It wasn't a housing unit.
It was an execution chamber disguised as a prison wing.
No surveillance.
No witnesses.
No survivors.
Sophia grabbed Ethan's arm.
"It's a trap."
"I know."
"They're expecting you."
"I know."
"So why are we going?"
Ethan looked down at the tiny toy police badge still clutched in his hand.
"Because my son believes I'm coming."
Without another word, Ethan kicked open the steel security door.
Sirens echoed through the prison as hundreds of inmates flooded the corridors, taking advantage of the blackout.
Fights erupted everywhere.
Guards fired tear gas.
Metal doors slammed shut.
The entire prison had become a battlefield.
As Ethan and Sophia reached Cellblock D, they found something that made even Sophia stop breathing.
The corridor was lined with bodies.
Not guards.
Not prisoners.
Mercenaries.
Every one of them wore black tactical armor with no identification.
Professional killers.
Each had been eliminated with a single, precise wound.
Ethan knelt beside one of them.
Still warm.
"Someone got here before us."
Then...
Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the darkness.
A man emerged wearing an old gray prison uniform.
His hair was completely white.
His hands were chained.
Yet every surviving mercenary instinctively backed away from him.
Even wounded killers looked terrified.
Sophia whispered,
"It can't be..."
The old man smiled.
"I've been waiting a long time, Ethan."
"You know me?"
"I trained you."
Ethan froze.
Impossible.
General Marcus Reed—the legendary intelligence officer who had recruited Ethan into undercover operations—had officially died twelve years ago.
Yet here he stood.
Alive.
Locked inside Blackridge.
Marcus looked directly into Ethan's eyes.
"Hale didn't build this prison."
"He inherited it."
"The real owner..."
"...has been here all along."
Before Ethan could ask another question, a deafening explosion ripped through the ceiling.
Concrete rained down.
The prison shook violently.
And from the smoke emerged Brutus.
Covered in blood.
Holding Ethan's son over one shoulder.
Brutus wasn't smiling anymore.
He looked terrified.
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"They're coming..."
"We have less than five minutes."
