Chapter 19: The First Day of the Experiment
I jolt awake, my heart racing as the sound of waves crashing against the jagged rocks outside my window yanks me from the depths of sleep. The room is dark, save for the faint light filtering in through the thick curtains, and the bed beneath me feels as unforgiving as the concrete walls of this prison. The sheets are rough, the mattress stiff, and the cold has seeped into my bones, making it clear that Frigid Rock isn’t just a name - it’s a reality.
For a moment, I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. Today’s the day. The first real day of the experiment. My heart hammers in my chest, my mind spinning with all the things that could go wrong. I’m filled with a sense of dread, but there’s no turning back now. I made my choice, and I’m here to see it through, no matter what.
With a groan, I force myself out of bed, my feet hitting the cold floor with a jolt that sends a shiver up my spine. The bathroom is small, utilitarian, with harsh fluorescent lights that flicker on as I flip the switch. I splash cold water on my face, hoping it will wake me up and clear the fog from my mind. The mirror above the sink is cracked, the reflection distorted, but it’s enough for me to see the tension in my face, the worry etched into my eyes.
“You can do this, Liberty,” I whisper to myself, my voice barely audible over the hum of the fluorescent lights. “You’ve come this far. You can do this.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the nerves twisting in my gut. I’ve faced challenges before, obstacles that seemed insurmountable, and I’ve overcome them. But this feels different. There’s an undercurrent of danger here, something that lurks beneath the surface, waiting to drag me under if I’m not careful.
I pull on my clothes - a simple black turtleneck, a pair of dark slacks, and my most comfortable flats - practical and nondescript, the kind of outfit that says I’m here to work, not to be noticed. But even as I dress, I can’t shake the feeling that no matter what I wear, I’ll never blend in here. This place is a world unto itself, and I’m an outsider, a trespasser in a land of shadows.
The walk to the main building is brisk, the cold air biting at my cheeks, turning my breath into puffs of white mist. The guards fall into step beside me, their heavy boots crunching against the gravel without a word. Their presence is a constant reminder of the danger that looms around every corner, the ever-present threat that comes with being surrounded by the most dangerous men in the world. The sky above is a dull, oppressive gray, the clouds hanging low and heavy, threatening to unleash a torrent of rain - or maybe snow. It’s hard to tell in this bleak, unforgiving landscape.
Captain Hayes is waiting for me outside the main building, his posture as rigid as ever, his expression a mask of professionalism. He gives me a curt nod as I approach, his sharp eyes flickering over me in that way that makes it clear he’s always assessing, always calculating.
“Ready, Professor?” he asks, his voice steady, though there’s a hint of something else there, something that might be concern. Maybe he’s worried about how I’ll hold up today. Or maybe he’s worried about what might happen if I don’t.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. But I’m not sure I’m fooling anyone, least of all myself.
“Good,” Hayes says, turning on his heel and leading the way inside. The guards follow us, their boots echoing against the concrete floors like the footsteps of doom.
The briefing room from yesterday has been transformed into a makeshift command center, with monitors lining one wall, each displaying different angles of the prison - cells, hallways, common areas. The team I met yesterday is already gathered, their faces set with grim determination. There’s a palpable tension in the air, like everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the experiment to go off the rails in some unforeseeable way.
Hayes moves to the center of the room, his presence commanding attention. “Today’s the first phase of the experiment. Professor Lockwood will be observing the inmates during their morning routine. This is purely observational - we’re not introducing any variables yet. The goal is to establish a baseline.”
I take my seat at the head of the table, my hands resting on the cool metal surface. I can feel the eyes of the team on me, waiting for me to take the lead. It’s a strange feeling, being in charge of something so… immense. The weight of responsibility presses down on my shoulders, but I square them, push back the doubts gnawing at the edges of my mind, and focus on the task at hand.
“Let’s begin,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel.
The screens flicker to life, and I’m immediately drawn into the world of the inmates. The cameras catch every detail - their faces, their interactions, the subtle shifts in their behavior. It’s fascinating and horrifying all at once, seeing them like this, stripped down to their most basic instincts, reduced to survival in its purest form.
On one screen, a group of Aryan Brotherhood members gather in the corner of the yard, their heads bent together as they speak in low, conspiratorial tones. There’s an edge to their conversation, a sense of something brewing beneath the surface. On another screen, a pair of Bloods are playing cards at a table, their expressions guarded, their eyes flicking to the doors every few seconds, as if expecting trouble. The tension is palpable, a constant undercurrent that thrums through the air, threatening to snap at any moment.
And then there’s the Sevens. Sev’s gang. They’re in the weight yard, as usual, lifting impossibly heavy weights, their muscles rippling under the strain. Sev is at the center, shirtless, his skin slick with sweat, the black ink of his tattoos stark against the pale expanse of his chest. His face is a mask of concentration, but there’s something else there too - an intensity that makes it hard to look away.
He’s not just working out. He’s watching. Observing. Even as he lifts those massive weights, his eyes are always moving, always taking in his surroundings, always aware. It’s like he’s in control of everything around him, even when he’s not saying a word.
“Sevastyan Mikhailov,” I murmur, more to myself than to anyone else. The name feels heavy on my tongue, filled with dark history and violent secrets. The weight of it lingers in the air, a constant reminder of the danger he represents.
“He’s their leader,” one of the team members, Dr. Sterling, says, leaning forward to peer at the screen. “The Sevens follow his lead without question. He’s a tactical genius, they say. Cold, calculating, and completely ruthless.”
“But there’s more to him, isn’t there?” I ask, my eyes glued to the screen. “He’s not just a brute. There’s something deeper.”
Dr. Sterling gives me a sidelong glance, as if weighing whether to agree. “Perhaps. But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.”
I nod, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Sev than what we see on the surface. There’s a complexity to him, a depth that draws me in, makes me want to understand what drives him, what made him the way he is. I watch as he sets down the weights and wipes the sweat from his brow, his gaze cutting across the yard, sharp as a blade. He’s looking for something... or someone.
And then, as if sensing my thoughts, he looks up, straight at the camera. Straight at me. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. It’s like he knows I’m watching, like he can see right through the camera, right through the screen, and into my mind. My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, I can’t look away.