Character: Frieda Wächtler
Lewd: No
Character
The roar of the waterplane’s engines faded into the howling wind as the aircraft touched down on the churning gray sea. Salt spray lashed against the reinforced hull, and the pilot barely spared a glance at his passenger; he knew better than to look too long at the damned.
Frieda Wächtler sat slouched in the seat, her wrists cuffed in thick iron, her ankles chained together with barely enough slack to shuffle. The bruises on her jaw were already turning yellow, souvenirs from the bastards who caught her. She let out a slow breath, watching the mist of it curl in the frigid air.
Blackreef Prison.
That was its name, though nobody called it that. The inmates had other names for it; Hell’s Asshole, the Rock, the Last Stop. It was a fortress of, concrete, steel and stone buried in the gut of an island, surrounded by the endless, black waves of the Dread Waste. No one escaped Blackreef. Not unless they were in a body bag and even then they were just tossed into the water to be fed on by the sharks.
The hatch yawned open, and two guards in dull gray armor stomped up the ramp. Their visors glowed red in the dim light, and their rifles; old gear, but still lethal.
"On your feet, Wächtler." One barked.
She grinned, a lazy, wolfish thing. "You gonna carry me if I don’t?"
The butt of the rifle slammed into her gut, knocking the wind from her lungs. As she gasped for air, they hauled her up and dragged her down the ramp, boots skidding against metal.
Outside, the world was steel-gray endless sea, jagged rocks, the towering walls of the prison lined with automated turrets. A reinforced bridge led to the main gates, massive things of cold iron and rust, bearing the scars of failed escapes.
Beyond them, the prisoners lived like rats. The guards didn’t care what they did, so long as they worked the mines. The deeper tunnels were full of things worse than the inmates, things with too many eyes, too many teeth.
Frieda stumbled as they shoved her forward. The warden stood waiting; a mountain of a man in a long, tattered coat. He smiled at her with teeth like tombstones.
"Welcome to Blackreef, Wächtler." He rumbled. "You work, you live. You stop working..."
He glanced at a nearby guard, who pulled a lever. A heavy clang echoed as a steel door opened and from within came the sound of distant, hungry growls.
Frieda wiped blood from her split lip and chuckled.
"Guess I better get to work then, huh?"
Pushed inside, she was released into Blackreef.