The bad

A long, narrow bridge stretched from Hallow Grove’s southwestern port, connecting it to an artificial island. An island only referred to Ironstone—a name as cold as the waters that isolated it. Rising from manufactured earth, its architecture was a deliberate fusion of Victorian-era stone and modern security, where weathered granite met unforgiving steel and concrete.

Ironstone housed those deemed too dangerous or too broken for conventional prisons. The east wing contained the killers—those who murdered with method and purpose. As for the west wing, it housed individuals who had lost their grip on reality, whether because of psychotic episodes, emotional breakdowns, or something even more severe. Some residents blurred the lines between sanity and insanity, leaving the staff to ponder whether their actions were born out of genuine malice or deep-seated madness.

Veteran guards spoke of Ironstone in measured tones, their eyes distant when discussing certain inmates or specific cells. Night shift rotations saw the highest turnover, with experienced officers not making it to morning should one slip-up occur in security measures.

Security wasn’t just protocol here; it was an obsession. Twelve-inch concrete walls formed the outer shell of a system that included motion sensors, biometric scanners, and surveillance technologies that covered every angle. No one entered or left without layers of bureaucratic approval, armed escorts, and clearance from both security forces and the psychiatric division. Even the staff entrance required three separate checkpoints, each more thorough than the last.

Among its notorious residents, one prisoner commanded a special kind of fear. Not just from his crimes—though the bodies of women and children had earned him the title of serial killer—but from something deeper, more visceral. His reputation had only grown after he killed two cellmates, their deaths serving as a grotesque demonstration of his capabilities. The incident report detailed how he’d crushed their skulls between his palms and the concrete wall with methodical precision, maintaining eye contact with the security cameras throughout. Guards and prisoners alike now maintained six feet of distance, their eyes darting away whenever they risked meeting his gaze.

Steel chains bound him at the wrists, ankles, and neck, though they seemed more a formality than a proper restraint. His isolation cell on the lowest level was spacious by prison standards—a calculated choice, giving him enough room to move while keeping him far from others. A hole served for relief, a cot for rest, and the bare concrete walls bore the subtle marks of reinforcement added after the cellmate incidents.

“Prisoner #1697, you have a visitor.”

The man’s cheeks twisted as he smiled, an expression more predatory than pleased. A deep, guttural laugh erupted from his throat, genuine amusement bubbling up from his core. In all his years at Ironstone, this was a first.

At six-foot-seven, he moved with a predator’s grace that belied his years. Time hardened him, like steel folded and tempered. Unkempt waves of hair fell past his shoulders, concealing a brutal scar that carved a path from temple to cheek. But it was his eyes that unnerved people most—pale, calculating, and utterly devoid of warmth, they seemed to strip away pretense like acid through paper.

Six armed guards flanked him through the maze-like halls, their route changing with each transit. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that danced along the walls. At each checkpoint, the additional guards straightened their posture, fingers tightening imperceptibly on their weapons. The air grew thicker with tension at every turn.

In the private meeting room, the guards lined the walls, weapons at the ready. The ventilation system hummed, pushing stale air through aging ducts. The door opened with a pneumatic hiss, revealing his unexpected guest.

“Lutheran Greyback Basil Harding, nice to meet you,” the visitor began, his tone carefully measured. “You must have questions. Like who I am and the purpose of this late-night visit and—”

“Mmm,” Lutheran interrupted, taking a deliberate sniff of the air. His voice emerged like gravel over steel, each word carved with the sharp edges of his native tongue. “I know who you are.”

A pause, heavy with contempt. “Strange... such a fat man. Never seen you outside without standing in front of a stage for eyes to see.” His lips curled around each word with old-world disdain. “Tell me, worm, what do you bother my time with?”

“Hah-hah,” his visitor chuckled, unfazed by the contempt. “You speak as if you don’t have much to spare. Come, sit.”

Lutheran’s chains rattled—a slight movement that sent ripples of tension through the room. The guards’ gear clanked softly as they adjusted their stances, sweat beginning to bead under their protective wear. “Ohhh, fascinating,” he drawled, taking a single step forward. His accent thickened with amusement. “Is it you don’t fear me, or have you faced something far more frightening than I?”

“Forgive me for not humoring your little show,” came the reply, tinged with something between amusement and disdain. The visitor remained seated, a subtle power play. “You’re big and bad, just as they say, but I have seen things far more frightening. Though I can’t say they are as thorough. You have quite a reputation.”

Lutheran edged closer, nostrils flaring at the cologne-masked scent of death. “You have danced with the devil?” His grin revealed. “What did that thing promise you, hmm?”

“Heh, nothing that needs you to concern yourself with,” the visitor deflected, adjusting his position with deliberate casualness. “Tell me, Lutheran, some deals come once in a lifetime. What kind of man wouldn’t take the opportunity presented before him?”

“Depends on the offer,” Lutheran replied. “But I suppose only a foolish one would refuse without listening.”

“That’s right. They said you were intelligent. You have to be to make it up in this world. What with all the sludge that tries to bring you down.” The visitor leaned forward slightly, his expensive suit crinkling. “So, here I am. A man speaking with a man who I hope is not foolish in the slightest. I have a deal I wish to propose. Before I leave here, you will be executed, gunned down full of silver, until your heart stops. Or, when I collect my things to leave, you can walk with me.”

A low, drum-like chuckle filled the room, echoing off the concrete walls. “Aye, you are quite interesting. They said the mayor was a very kind and generous man who helped those in need.”

“That I am. Especially my friends.”

“Ahh, friends. Must be the reason you have been in office for so long.” Lutheran’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “Now I am curious: what would you get if I came with you? Money—no. Fame? Nah.” He gestured dismissively, chains jingling like dark wind chimes. “You’re a man who clearly has both and connections, so what?”

“As I said, I need someone with your skill set.”

“No,” Lutheran cut in, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “What you need is someone disposable. Someone with no connection to you, so nothing can be tracked back. We’ve already established neither of us are fools, so do not treat me as such. What do you want, and what do I truly get?”

Mayor Hunt adjusted, the chair creaking beneath him. “What was it? Some weeks back, you were carving up people for fun, but then you got caught. One slip-up and you ended up hurt.”

“Aye. Like a man with his hand in the cookie jar,” Lutheran mused.

“Whatever hurt you wasn’t human. Left you with that scar over your eye. Heard your flesh was barely hanging on, and your skull was torn through like butter. But look at you now.”

“You should have seen the other guy. And that beast.” A spark of excitement lit Lutheran’s pale eyes.

“What was it like? The thing you saw?”

“Big... Terrifying.” His voice carried the reverence of a worshipper recalling a religious experience.

“And here you are talking about it with a smile.”

“Aye. So what’s it to you?”

“You get a lot from what you do, how you ended up here, and even surviving it. A thrill, yes?” Mayor Hunt’s words carried calculated weight. “Come work for me. I have a list that needs checking. Being mayor means looking out for the greater good of the people. Some see me as unfit for office—they don’t understand what needs to be done to ensure Hallow Grove’s safety.”

Lutheran tilted his head. “Am I the only one getting this deal?”

“Yes. I checked your background and know you’re very thorough. You enjoy what you do, so I trust you can handle what must be handled.”

Lutheran’s lips curled, revealing those pearly white teeth again. “And what needs to be handled? Folks who have strayed too far from their leash?” He rolled his shoulders before snarling softly. “Alright, I’ll handle it for you since I am not foolish. And you did not come alone, of course, so I doubt it was the guards you spoke of who would take care of me should I decline.”

“Clever and cunning, true traits of a smart man,” Mayor Hunt remarked, addressing the guards. The fluorescent lights flickered once, casting strange shadows across his face. “Release him. And could someone give him a proper shirt and shoes?”

One guard faltered forward, their boots echoing in the sudden silence. Something dragged them into the shadows, cutting their movement short. Their helmet rolled back across the floor, leaving a wet crimson trail in its wake.

“My words were to you, Warden,” Mayor Hunt said calmly as if discussing the weather. “Don’t be a foolish man.”

The remaining guards lowered their weapons, radio crackling with orders to comply with the visitor’s requests. The sound of their gear settling was jarring in the tense quiet.

“Well, look at that; you’re a free man now. Ready?”

“Aye,” Lutheran replied, pleasure dancing in his pale eyes as the restraints fell away. His expression of pure satisfaction made the remaining guards look away. In a place built to house monsters, the most dangerous one of them all was now walking free.