Chapter 13: Taking the Plunge

The morning sun barely peeks over the horizon as I wait on the curb outside my brownstone. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt from the distant sea, a reminder that today I’m heading to a place far from the familiar comforts of New York City. I’m lost in my thoughts, staring down the quiet street, when a sleek black car glides up to the curb, almost ghostlike in its silence. The tinted window rolls down, and I see Jones in the driver’s seat, looking as professional and stoic as ever.

“Morning, Professor,” he greets me with a nod. “Ready?”

“Morning, Jones,” I reply, trying to sound as calm as possible, though the flutter of nerves in my stomach betrays me. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He steps out to open the door for me, and I slide into the backseat. The interior of the car is luxurious, all dark leather and polished wood, the kind of vehicle that feels more like a private jet than a car. As we pull away from the curb, I steal a glance back at my building, wondering how long it will be before I see it again.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant as I settle into the seat.

“We’re heading to the helipad first,” Jones explains, keeping his eyes on the road. “Dr. Reed and Director Coleman are already waiting for you there. We’ll take the chopper straight to Frigid Rock.”

“Straight to Frigid Rock, huh?” I murmur, more to myself than to him. The name alone sends a chill down my spine. “What’s the weather like there?”

“Cold,” Jones replies with a slight smirk. “Pack a jacket, Professor.”

I chuckle softly, but there’s a knot of anxiety growing in my stomach. The closer we get to Frigid Rock, the more real this whole situation becomes. I’m not just a professor heading off to do some academic research; I’m about to immerse myself in a prison filled with the most dangerous men in the country.

The drive to the helipad is uneventful, the city gradually waking up as we move through it. Jones expertly navigates the morning traffic, and before long, we’re pulling up to a private helipad on the edge of the city. The sleek black chopper is already there, its blades slowly whirring, waiting to whisk us away to God-knows-where.

Jones opens the door for me, and I step out, the cool morning air hitting me like a slap in the face. I can see Dr. Reed and Director Coleman standing by the helicopter, deep in conversation. When they see me approaching, Dr. Reed offers me a warm smile, while Director Coleman gives me a curt nod.

“Good morning, Professor Lockwood,” Dr. Reed says, her voice carrying easily over the hum of the chopper blades. “Ready for the next phase?”

“Morning, Dr. Reed. Director Coleman,” I say, nodding to each of them. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Director Coleman replies, his tone brisk. “Let’s get moving. We have a lot to cover today.”

As we approach the helicopter, I spot a familiar face in the cockpit. Pearl, the pilot who had flown me to the White House the other day, is sitting there, adjusting her headset. When she sees me, she flashes a grin and gives me a thumbs-up.

“Liberty! Fancy seeing you again!” she shouts over the noise, her voice full of warmth. “Climb on in, and let’s get this bird in the air.”

“Good to see you too, Pearl,” I reply, feeling a bit more at ease now that I recognize at least one friendly face. I climb into the chopper, taking a seat across from Dr. Reed and Director Coleman. Pearl gives me a quick nod before turning her attention back to the controls.

Once we’re all strapped in, Pearl lifts the chopper off the ground with practiced ease, and soon, we’re soaring over the city, the buildings and streets below shrinking as we ascend. The familiar landscape of New York disappears as we head out over the open water, the ocean stretching out endlessly beneath us.

“So, Liberty,” Pearl calls back to me, her voice clear through the intercom. “How are you feeling about heading to Frigid Rock?”

I hesitate for a moment, unsure how to answer. “A bit nervous, if I’m honest,” I admit. “But also... curious, I guess. This whole situation is unlike anything I’ve ever done before.”

Pearl chuckles softly. “I get that. Frigid Rock is... well, let’s just say it’s not the most welcoming place. But you’ve got grit, Liberty. I think you’ll do just fine.”

“Thanks, Pearl,” I reply, appreciating her confidence in me. “Have you flown to Frigid Rock before?”

“A few times,” she says, her tone casual. “It’s always a bit eerie. The place has this vibe, you know? Like it’s stuck in time, frozen in some kind of perpetual gloom. But it’s safe enough, as long as you don’t go wandering off on your own.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, trying to keep the apprehension out of my voice.

Dr. Reed leans forward slightly, catching my attention. “We’ve assembled a top-notch team to support you during the experiment, Liberty,” she says. “You’ll meet them all once we arrive. They’re some of the best in their fields, and they’re all fully briefed on your role and the objectives of the project.”

“That’s good to know,” I reply, grateful for the reassurance. “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

We continue chatting as the helicopter flies on, the mood inside the cabin surprisingly light given the gravity of what we’re about to do. Pearl shares a few more anecdotes about her flying experiences, peppering them with humor and wit, and I find myself relaxing a bit. But as we draw closer to Frigid Rock, the conversation dwindles, and the reality of our destination settles over me like a heavy blanket.

It’s mid-morning when we finally catch sight of the island. From the air, Frigid Rock looks like something out of a gothic novel—bleak, desolate, and foreboding. The ocean around it is choppy, the waves crashing violently against the jagged shoreline. The island itself is a mass of dark stone, rising up from the water like a jagged scar. There’s a thick mist hanging over it, giving it an almost otherworldly appearance.

“Welcome to Frigid Rock,” Pearl says, her voice lacking its usual cheer. “Home sweet home, right?”

I don’t respond, too focused on the sight below. The prison looms ahead, a hulking fortress of stone and steel, its high walls topped with barbed wire. The buildings are old, worn by time and the harsh weather, but they still stand strong, a testament to their grim purpose.

As we descend, the cold hits me like a physical force, the air sharp and biting. I can see the waves crashing against the rocky shore, sending up sprays of icy water that mist the air. The smell of salt is overwhelming, mixed with the damp, earthy scent of the island. It’s a place that feels hostile, unwelcoming, as if it’s warning me to turn back before it’s too late.

But there’s no turning back now.
Slave to the Mafia Prison Gang
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