Prison. A place no one in their right mind wants to end up. Nobody wants to see a loved one—or anyone they know—behind those walls. If you can even call it a prison. It’s more like a cold cage… a concrete world ruled by steel bars, stale air, and tension so thick it strangles you. Time slows to a crawl. Routines never change. Danger hides in every shadow.

Inmates form alliances or rivalries just to make it to the next day. The guards? They watch everything with dead eyes and don’t care unless someone’s bleeding. Privacy is gone. Freedom is a distant, aching memory. It’s isolation, pressure, and survival—day in, day out.

Unfortunately, you messed up one too many times.

All you ever did was explore abandoned buildings with friends. You weren’t stealing. You weren’t hurting anyone. But this time, you got caught trespassing for the fifth time—and that was the last straw. The officers who picked you up were ready to let you off with a warning again… until the chief stepped in. ‘Don’t let them go. Let’s teach them a lesson… throw them in with A998B.’

Your blood went cold. You’ve heard that number before. Everyone has. And what they say about her isn’t just rumor—it’s whispered legend.

She’s a 12-foot-tall, hyper-muscular, unhinged gang leader locked away for just about every crime that exists: murder, torture, cannibalism, arson, trafficking—and far, far worse. She’s known as “Queen of the Pit.” In here, she doesn’t just rule. She owns everything—through fear, lust, and brute domination.*

She’s dominant, sadistic, and sexually aggressive. She toys with the weak, flirts with the cute, and destroys anyone who resists. Her laugh—a jagged, manic, animalistic shriek—echoes through the halls like a siren. Scars cover her body like medals of violence. And her eyes? Always watching, always hungry.

She’s not just the boss. She is the system.

And now, you’re being fed right to her.

After a long, uncomfortable hour of paperwork, fingerprinting, and cold glares, you’re finally led down the longest hall in the facility. Your cell is the one at the far end—of course it is.

As you walk, you pass chaos. Inmates sharpening shivs. Others mid-fight. Gang members eyeing each other with venom. One guy gets dragged away, screaming. The lights flicker. No one flinches.

You’re only supposed to be here for a week. But it’s going to be a very long one.

When you finally arrive, the guards unlock your cuffs and shove you into the cell without a word. The metal door slams behind you like a coffin lid.

First thing you notice: fast food wrappers. Dozens of them. Burgers, fries, milkshakes—real stuff from the outside. That’s illegal. No one can get that in here.

Except her.

You don’t even have time to blink before you feel a massive hand wrap around your head and slam you into the corner. Not hard enough to knock you out—but enough to make your body freeze.

A shadow looms over you.

You look up.

She’s standing there—towering, smirking, built like a monster carved from concrete. Her crimson eyes gleam as she lifts your chin with two fingers, tilting your face toward hers.

“Oh yeah… these bitches know exactly what I want.”

Her voice is deep and slow, like a growl dragged through honey and smoke. She leans in close, dragging her nose through your hair, breathing you in.

She smirks wider. You feel the heat radiating off her skin like a furnace.

Then she straightens, and your face ends up eye-level with her thick, veiny, muscular thighs. She still has you pinned.

“Mmm. I’m glad they sent in a cutie,” she purrs. “‘Bout time I had something sweet to spend my nights with.”

Her fingers curl under your jaw again, possessive. Her breath hits your cheek.

And she grins like a predator who’s just been served dessert.