Chapter 15: The Heart of Frigid Rock

The heavy iron door of the main building creaks as it swings open, revealing the cold, damp interior of the prison. We are now venturing out of the research facility areas and into the prison itself - the real Frigid Rock. I can feel the chill in the air seeping through my jacket as Captain Hayes gestures for me to follow him. Two prison wardens flank us, their batons swinging at their sides, their expressions unreadable.

“Welcome to hell, Professor,” Captain Hayes says, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls. He’s a sight to behold, tall and commanding, his chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes making it hard not to stare. His uniform is perfectly pressed, the dark fabric hugging his muscular frame, and I can’t help but think that at least there’s some eye candy on this desolate island.

“Thanks,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light, though my nerves are starting to show. “So, where do we start?”

He gives me a small, almost imperceptible smile before nodding toward the dimly lit corridor ahead. “I’ll give you the full tour. It’s important you understand the layout of the prison and how things operate around here.”

We walk down the corridor, the walls lined with thick, reinforced steel doors. Each door has a small, barred window at eye level, offering a glimpse into the dark cells beyond. The air is thick with the scent of salt and damp, a constant reminder that we’re surrounded by the unforgiving ocean.

“The prison is divided into several key areas,” Captain Hayes begins, his tone all business. “We’ve got the rec room, the laundry, the canteen, the medical wing, solitary confinement, and the exercise yard. Each area serves a specific function, and you’ll be spending time in all of them during the course of your research.”

We reach the first stop on our tour—the rec room. It’s a large, sparsely furnished space with a few battered sofas, a couple of worn-out tables, and a television mounted high on the wall. The floor is scuffed, the walls stained with years of grime, and the whole place has a distinct odor of sweat and old cigarette smoke.

“This is where the inmates spend their free time,” Hayes explains. “It’s also where most of the fights break out, so we keep a close eye on it. The cameras are positioned to cover every angle, and there are microphones hidden in the walls to pick up on any conversations that might be of interest.”

I glance up at the corners of the room, spotting the tiny, nearly invisible cameras. “You monitor everything?”

“Every inch of this place,” Hayes confirms. “It’s all recorded and reviewed. Nothing goes unnoticed.”

We move on to the laundry, a dimly lit, humid room filled with industrial-sized washers and dryers. Inmates are hunched over the machines, sorting through piles of dirty clothes. The noise is deafening, a constant thrum of machinery that makes it hard to think, let alone speak.

“The laundry is one of the few places where the inmates can work,” Hayes explains, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. “It’s not glamorous, but it keeps them occupied. And it’s another place where tensions can run high, especially when rival gangs are forced to work together.”

I nod, taking it all in. The sheer size of the place, the oppressive atmosphere, the constant undercurrent of violence—it’s overwhelming.

Next, we head to the canteen, a large, sterile room with rows of metal tables and benches bolted to the floor. The smell of food—if you can call it that—hangs in the air, a mix of overcooked vegetables and something vaguely resembling meat. The room is empty now, but I can imagine it filled with inmates, the noise and tension palpable as they jostle for space and eye each other warily.

“This is where the inmates eat,” Hayes says, gesturing around the room. “It’s also where a lot of deals go down—smuggling, intimidation, the usual. We keep it under constant surveillance, but there’s always something happening just out of sight.”

As we walk through the canteen, I can’t help but notice the scratches on the walls, the marks left by countless shivs and makeshift weapons. It’s a grim reminder of the violence that permeates every corner of this place.

We continue on to the medical wing, a stark contrast to the rest of the prison. It’s clean, almost sterile, with bright fluorescent lights that make everything seem even more clinical. The beds are lined up in neat rows, each one equipped with monitoring equipment and restraints. There’s a small office at the far end where a weary-looking doctor is poring over charts.

“The medical wing is where we treat injured inmates,” Hayes explains, his tone flat. “It’s also where we conduct any necessary psychological evaluations. The staff here are some of the best, but it’s a tough job. A lot of these guys have serious mental health issues, and the isolation only makes it worse.”

I shiver involuntarily, the cold seeping into my bones as we leave the medical wing and make our way to solitary confinement. The corridor leading to solitary is darker, narrower, the air heavier with an almost suffocating sense of dread.

“Solitary confinement is reserved for the most dangerous inmates,” Hayes says, his voice echoing off the walls. “It’s a last resort, but sometimes it’s the only way to keep the rest of the population safe.”

We pass by a series of small, windowless cells, each one containing a single metal bed bolted to the floor. The doors are thick, solid steel, with only a small slot for food to be passed through. The silence here is oppressive, broken only by the occasional clink of metal as an inmate shifts in their cell.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the wave of anxiety that’s threatening to rise. This is real. This is where I’ll be working, where I’ll be living for the foreseeable future. It’s not just a research project anymore—it’s a descent into the heart of darkness.

Finally, we reach the exercise yard, an open space surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire. The ground is rough, uneven concrete, and there are a few rusted weight benches scattered around. The sky above is a dull, leaden gray, and the wind whips through the yard, carrying the scent of salt and decay.

“This is where the inmates get their fresh air,” Hayes says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Not that there’s much of it. But it’s better than being locked up all day.”

As we step into the yard, I notice the inmates gathered in small groups, each one clearly delineated by their affiliations. Hayes points them out one by one, giving me a rundown of the gangs within the prison.

“Over there, you’ve got the Aryan Brotherhood,” he says, nodding toward a group of men with shaved heads and tattoos covering their arms. “They’re one of the most violent gangs in the prison. Highly organized, extremely dangerous.”

I watch as they exchange a few words, their eyes cold and calculating. There’s a hardness to them, a ruthlessness that makes my skin crawl.

“Next, you’ve got the United Blood Nation,” Hayes continues, pointing to another group, this one made up mostly of African-American inmates. “They’re heavily involved in the drug trade within the prison. They’ve got a strong hierarchy, and their leader, King, is not someone you want to mess with.”

King is a massive man, his arms as thick as tree trunks, his expression one of barely contained rage. He locks eyes with me for a moment, and I quickly look away, not wanting to invite any attention.

“And over there, you’ve got the New Mexican Mafia,” Hayes says, indicating a group of Hispanic inmates clustered near the wall. “They’re involved in everything from extortion to smuggling. Very tight-knit, very dangerous.”

As we walk through the yard, the inmates begin to take notice of me. Lewd comments are thrown my way, the kind of vile, disgusting things that make my skin crawl and my stomach turn. I keep my head high, refusing to show any sign of weakness, but inside, I’m shaking.

“They haven’t seen a woman in months, some of them years,” Hayes says quietly, his tone almost apologetic. “They’re going to test you, try to get a reaction. Best thing you can do is ignore them.”

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest as I force myself to keep walking. This is all part of it, I remind myself. Part of the job, part of the research. I can’t let them get to me.

Finally, we reach the far side of the yard, where a group of men are lifting weights, their bodies rippling with muscle. They’re not like the others—there’s a cold, calculating precision to their movements, a sense of discipline that sets them apart.

“These are the Sevens,” Hayes says, his voice taking on a note of respect. “They’re one of the most powerful gangs in the prison. They’re all former members of the Russian mafia, and they operate with military precision. Their leader, Sevastyan Mikhailov—everyone calls him Sev—is one of the most dangerous men in this place.”

I follow his gaze to the man in question, and the moment our eyes meet, it’s like a jolt of electricity shoots through me. Sev is shirtless, his body covered in tattoos, each one more menacing than the last. His dark hair is damp with sweat, and his bright blue eyes are locked onto mine, filled with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.

He’s lifting a massive weight, the muscles in his arms and chest straining with the effort, but his gaze never wavers. There’s something terrifying about him, something

that makes every instinct in my body scream to run, to get as far away from him as possible. But at the same time, there’s something magnetic about him, something that draws me in, makes it impossible to look away.

“He’s dangerous, Professor,” Hayes says, his tone low and serious. “Very dangerous. You’d do well to keep your distance.”

I nod, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Sev. He’s watching me, his expression unreadable, but there’s a darkness in his gaze, a promise of violence that sends a shiver down my spine.

Finally, I force myself to look away, my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve seen enough. I’ve seen more than enough.

“Let’s get you to your quarters,” Hayes says, his voice gentler now. “You’ll need to get settled before we begin the first phase of the project.”

I nod again, my throat tight with fear and something else I can’t quite name. As we walk away from the exercise yard, I can still feel Sev’s gaze on me, like a weight pressing down on my shoulders. It’s only when we’re out of sight that I finally let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

This place is dangerous. More dangerous than I could have ever imagined. But I’m here now, and there’s no turning back.

As we reach the building where I’ll be staying, Hayes gives me a small smile, his eyes softening just a fraction. “You’ll be fine, Professor,” he says. “Just remember to keep your head down, follow the rules, and stay out of trouble.”

“Thanks, Captain,” I reply, my voice a little shaky. “I’ll do my best.”

But as I step into my new quarters and close the door behind me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just stepped into a lion’s den. And the lion is watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike.