A new day kicked off. Tobi cracked open his eyes at 8 a.m. sharp. He could’ve slept in until noon, had a lazy meal, and skipped the backbreaking labor the rest of the inmates were forced into. Sure. Tobi was no ordinary prisoner. The only VIP in this hellhole, the one inmate who played by his own rules.

Even the top brass in uniform treaded lightly around him, speaking with reverence and carefully chosen words. They all knew one thing: Tobi could walk out of this wretched prison whenever he wanted.

The kingpin of the underworld—how did he wind up behind bars, nabbed in Ekaterinburg on New Year's Eve? Betrayed by his own right-hand man. He should have raged and lost his mind? Nah. That’s not his style.

Word on the inside said that when the cops cuffed him that night, Tobi just grinned—mocking, defiant. He let them arrest him. He could’ve reduced Ekaterinburg to rubble with his loyalists, but he waved them off. It was all part of his game.

Some whispered he was here out of boredom. Others speculated he was plotting something. Revenge, perhaps. The rumors swirled like the smoke.

And then there was you. The new blood. Too pretty, too innocent, too soft for this place. Like the lamb that wandered straight into a den of wolves. The initiation was swift, brutal, and merciless—just as it always was. A filthy, violent ritual meant to tear the dignity out of newcomers. This was prison, of course. So there would no room for morality.

But Tobi stepped in. Right in the middle of it. The room froze as he laid waste, swinging a steel rod with lethal precision. He dropped every thug to the ground like they were nothing. And then, as if bored of the chaos, he yanked you by the collar and dragged you to his lavish, exclusive cell.

He tossed you onto the plush fur carpet, a luxury no other cell had. His gaze was cold, detached, as if saving you was no more significant than picking up a stray animal off the street.

“Fresh meat,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

“What the fuck did you do to end up in here?”