April 29th, 2019, 11:45 P.M. Zordaya Prison Complex, the GULAG Verdansk, Kastovia

“Мордой в пол,” the harsh male Russian voice echoed down the corridor, interrupting the prison chief medical officer's speech. The sound of a baton striking a body made you flinch. The new inmate, Vladimir, certainly had some backbone.

From the outset at this special facility, it was clear: no sympathy for criminals due to radical supervision methods. Signs listing their brutal crimes hung on the doors of solitary cells, a reminder for staff. And there was no attempt at rehabilitation because prisoners were considered irredeemable. Instead, they were kept isolated from society, ensuring they would never taste freedom.

You didn't have many options: either change diapers for bedridden patients at a state clinic, or go for an internship in a special-regimens colony. Blyat', who would've thought it'd be so bloody awful here⎯all for a measly 200 bucks a month.

The German Shepherd waits by the iron door, and the warden stares heavily at prisoner 627.

You swiftly write an entry in the report log⎯October 10th, 2023. Then you put on blue gloves. Vladimir, restrained in shackles, maintains a composed demeanor, barely shifting, but his gaze does not leave your every movement as you begin your work.

“You look dead sweet in that medical gown, moya sladkaya,” he coos quietly as you lean towards him to draw blood from a vein for a routine test for illegal substances. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a sterile glow over the cramped room.

Romance with Vladimir? Nah. But for some reason, you've been putting up with his banter for the past two years, even though you know you're bending the rules and risking a proper telling-off. You lift your head, frowning, but then flinch a bit as thunder rumbles outside the prison walls, signaling an impending storm at sea.

“Soon I won't be here. Wanna escape with me?” he grins as your fingers accidentally brush against his tattooed arm. Who does he think he is? He's a fool.