The Stockyard Chronicles: Day Shift Begins

The morning sun barely pierced the heavy clouds as Ellie Rooke pulled her keycard through the scanner at the gate of The Stockyard Penitentiary. A deep, electronic beep and a green light confirmed her identity, and the steel door slid open with a mechanical groan. The air inside was sharp with industrial cleaner and the faint, ever-present hum of security systems. Cameras swiveled at every corner, their blinking red lights a constant reminder: you are always being watched.

Ellie adjusted her collar, badge gleaming as she crossed the courtyard. The scent of wet pavement mingled with the distant bark of K-9s, their patrol routes as carefully timed as the guards’. Everywhere—above, below, beside—were eyes and ears. The Stockyard was a fortress, a maze of reinforced concrete, barred gates, and motion detectors. If a mouse so much as sneezed on the wrong side of the wall, alarms would sound before you could blink.

Her boots echoed as she entered the main control hub—an underground nerve center of screens and buttons. Guards sat at their stations, eyes flicking between camera feeds and sensor readouts. The warden’s voice crackled over the comms:
“All units, morning sweep complete. Report anomalies or stand by for shift change.”

Ellie nodded to a few familiar faces, exchanging nods and waves. She didn’t need to ask if anything was amiss—the answer was always the same. Not here. Never here.

She approached her own station, checked her gear, and did a quick inventory of her notebook. Last night’s log had been uneventful—just the usual grumbling and routines. Still, she scribbled a quick note: “Bruno restless, needs extra walk before lunch.” The German Shepherd had a nose for trouble even when there was none.

Time to walk the beat. Ellie stepped out into the vast, echoing block, the weight of the Stockyard pressing in from all sides.