Page 4 of Enemy of the State

“Slow Suicide” by Cultist hammers through the speakers of all ten cell blocks and the barest whisper of a smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. Fuck, I hope these walking pieces of filth are miserable. When I pass Borman, one of my guys, I decide to ask him to shut off the music for a few hours. I like to play with my food before I eat it and I’m getting hungry.

I haven’t always been this way. I was made. Created. Molded like potter’s clay. Reborn into the person I am today, like some kind of demonic phoenix. I used to be relatively normal; a strong man my mother was proud to call her son—a manIwas proud of. It wasn’t until the government got their hooks in me that things…changed. My mom doesn’t know about the version of human I am now: the type thatcravesthe hunt andlivesfor the scent of blood in the water.

I hope to God she never discovers my barmy penchant for torture.

My day-to-day role has become more than just mydutyor my assignment—which it is—it’s my goddamnhobby. The government knew what they were doing when I was given this post.

I continue down the corridor until I reach the major’s temporary office. He’s rarely here, and when he’s not, I’m in charge. Knocking, I dutifully wait until I’m ordered to enter.

“You asked to see me, sir?” I ask, removing my mask and taking up my position across from his pitiful desk. He’s a large man, with salt and pepper hair and lines marking his weathered face. He nods as he holds out a manila folder for me to take.

L. KOSKINENis printed in bold, black ink along the side, and I slide it open and begin to scan the text, not making it much further than the second summary paragraph when the major interrupts me, “Koskinen is waiting for you in Cell Eight.”

Only the worst of the worst criminals are sent here. Those kept at Ex-I are a national security threat, a danger to civilization, or simply too depraved for a maximum-security prison. The low number assigned to L. Koskinen tells me he’s a threat to national security. The higher your number, the less of a security risk you are. Everyone in Cell Block One is a terrorist and has been on at least three watch lists at one time or another.

Prisoners here are usually unknown to society in the first place; so dangerous that the government shields them from public view. But when those criminals are eventually caught, they need a hell to make home for a while, and that’s where I come in. I’m the gatekeeper of this hellhole, at least until I send you on to Lucifer for your next round of fiery damnation.

If you’re here, you’ve already been pronounced dead, forgotten, thrown into the pits. The outside world doesn’t know about this place, therefore offering more freedoms—and the potential forcreativity—than a standard prison.We have our own set of rules,our own code, and believe me when I say that the list of rules is very short.

Rule number one: never reveal the existence of Ex-I. Rule number two: never kill a prisoner without orders. That’s it. Everything beyond those two rules is on the table.

“I’ll let you brief yourself later. I’ve got a chopper waiting, so let’s make this quick. We believe Koskinen is the leader of a British terrorist cell. We thwarted their attack on the Federal Reserve, but we need intel on the next target and remaining members of the organization. You have six months. If you don’t get answers by the end of February, Koskinen is to be eliminated. Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir. I’ll get you what you need.”

Sure, I have prisoners still holding out on me—like the behemoth in Cell One—but I rose the ranks faster than a bolt of lightning for a reason, and it’s not because I can squat three times my weight. I get results.

“I know you will. You’re dismissed.”

I turn and start for the door, folder in hand, when the major stops me. “Diggory, keep your wits about you with this one. Koskinen is probably the most dangerous prisoner in this building.”

With that omen, I nod once and stalk out of the room, tugging the mask back on and making a beeline straight for the barracks, where I hope I’ll meet up with Jace. On my way, I stop and ask Borman to bring my new toy to what we refer to as the “playpen.”

As I suspected, I find Jace fresh from a shower, pulling on a shirt, and I toss him the folder. I yank the mask from my head and take some deeper breaths as I give him a moment to briefly skim the text on the first page, which contains more than enough information for us to get started.

When he glances back up, a small smirk quirks the corner of his lips, and I have no doubt that my own face mirrors his. I jerk my head in the direction of the door and leave the barracks with Jace at my side, my mask dangling from my fingertips. Once outside theheavy metal door of the playpen, Jace asks, “How do you want to play this?”

His expression is cloudy now, but his eyes betray just how excited he is to sit down with some fresh meat. He’s almost as unhinged and bloodthirsty as I am.

“I thought we’d start with the sprinklers.”

He arches a dark eyebrow, his eyes widening slightly as he huffs, the sound somewhere between disbelief and humor. “Waterboarding, really?” he clarifies, as he crosses his arms over his broad chest, fisting his mask.

I shrug. “Baptism by fire.”

“Bro, it’s just plain baptism if there’s water involved.” Rolling my eyes, I tug my mask on, obscuring my identity.

A generous dose of excited adrenaline pulses in my veins as I blow into the room like a violent storm, letting the metal door rattle against the concrete wall behind it.

Louhi

I’m bored.

I wonder what day or time it is. There’s no way for me to make markings on the wall or anything either, not that I would. None of that matters.

I’ve begun talking out loud to keep my mind from withering. I don’t answer myself or anything—I’m notnutty—but I recite lyrics to my favorite songs, invent creative insults, and solve mental math equations. Considering my mind is the only weapon I have at my disposal, I need that blade to be sharper than ever.

The next few days—only marked by the tender-eyed soldier boy bringing me my meals—pass uneventfully. Every day is filled with heavy metal music, and if they don’t cut that shit out soon, they’ll manage to ruin my favorite genre, and we can’t have that. I’ve been consistently fed two meals a day and given one cup of water. So far, this is vastly more pleasant than my previous arrangements. Nevertheless, I’m not naïve enough to think it will stay this civilized.

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