It’s hard to tell day from night in prison.

Simple things like this cease to have meaning.

Time is broken up into blocks: exercise time, food time, sleep time.

I find that I enjoy the simplicity. The lack of distraction. It allows me incredible clarity of thought.

The urge to hang in my room like a giant, malevolent spider spinning dark webs out across the prison is strong.

Still, when the guards slide the door open with great clatter, I find myself springing to my feet and stalking up to them. One guard doesn’t look at me and tries quite obviously to ignore me. He’s got good instincts.

The other gives me a wink and a nod. I give him a smile. Good to know who your friends are.

I stride through the door with light steps. All around me, on higher and lower levels, doors are being opened. I see Benny down below and start to head for the stairs.

A few other inmates are doing the same.

It’s socializing time.

What a seriously ridiculous idea for dangerous human beings.

I walk slowly down the steps. As I reach the ground floor, I look around, appraising the room swiftly. There’s an old fellow on a chair in the corner of the room. He’s tall and thin with long grey hair.

The movement of the chair seems to be an act of rebellion—it’s the only chair not at a table and is half-hidden under the shadow of the stairwell.

So, that’s where all the fun happens, then?

I start to make my way there. Slowly. Got to work the room.

Men are so fucking easy.

No, that’s an oversimplification.

People are. You peg them—alphas or not. Then you break them or rule them.

All the guys in the room are eyeing me and displaying a wide range of reactions. Some are actively submitting, practically getting their bare asses out for me. I’m not against the games of domination, but honestly, if you have to take it to a level that extreme, I consider it somewhat of a detriment to character.

People should be threatened by your gaze. Your presence. Your aura.

I shouldn’t have to thrash someone physically to prove my domination. If I did, it would mean I wasn’t carrying my mantel of menace. Violence is fun for its own sake. But certain types of violence are dirtier than others.

I see Benny with some toughs over at a far corner. Those will be my guaranteed minions, then.

Benny gestures for me to join them, and I scowl at him—I know he’s looking out for me, and he wants me to head over to my crew for solidarity.

That’s not what I came out of my cage to do.

I came to find the head dog, whoever the fuck he might be, and force him to submit. I don’t want to own this prison based on my money or my status or how many boys I have under my feet.

I want them to fear me. I want to find the nastiest mother fucker here, the cunt that thinks he’s evil incarnate, and watch him bend under my will. Just because you’ve been locked in the big house, you think you know evil?

I’m smiling, wandering through the commons. People are sitting down to play cards or talk, watching me float through the crowd like a lunatic.

My truth is my deception.

Suddenly, I see a familiar face—well, a set of injuries familiar to my fists.

“Lummox!” I say with delight, stepping quickly over to the large man. He’s sitting quietly at a crowded table with his head down. His face is a fucking mess. I wonder if he just got out of medic. Both eyes are black, and his nose is a squashed red lump. I slap him hard on the shoulder, grinning like we’re old pals.

“How are you, my friend? Looks like that truck you ran into actually improved your looks! How’s it hangin? And I don’t mean the nose off your face, of course!” I stare into his eyes, a fake smile fixed on my face.

He sits frozen, looking right at me. The ridiculous fuck is practically trembling. Maybe he’ll wet himself. I start laughing at the idea. It’s so funny I can’t stop. I slap his shoulder again, bending over as the laughter pours out of me.

Benny and his crew all give a hearty laugh, just so everyone knows where they stand. It’s good that they obey, but I don’t need their support. I don’t want any fucker in this jail to think they can get the upper hand on me just because I don’t have my ‘boys’ nearby. I’m going to bend this place to my will single-handedly.

Lummox is shaking. A big guy stands up, and my laughter shuts off suddenly as I whip my pale eyes at the big dude.

“You got a problem?” The big guy growls at me.

I pat Lummox soundly on the shoulder.

“Several, in fact. None of which I assume you have the mental aptitude to understand. I’m just saying hello to an old pal here. We’re buddies, aren’t we, Lummox?”

“Yes, sir,” Lummox breathes the word out painfully.

“See? We’re good friends. Now you sit your cute little ass back down before the same truck Lummox ran into finds you.” I glare at him, all manner of humor gone. “Sit. Down!”

Lummox looks at his friend in panic. The guy looks between us, torn with uncertainty. Then he sits down. My smile comes right back like a lantern in the snow.

“Wonderful! Now we’re all friends here, aren’t we? It’s good to be my friend, you’ll find. Very good.”

I lean down and whisper in Lummox’s ear so my breath hits his cheek.

“And very unwise to be my enemy. You understand that, right?” I squeeze his fat shoulder.

He nods, terrified.

“Excellent!” I let go of Lummox’s shoulder and resume my walk, straight for the old dog under the stairs.

He’s got six boys around him, four younger, two older. They all look tough. One of them starts cracking his knuckles as I come near. Benny is furiously shaking his head, but I glare in his direction.

You don’t tell me what to do, fucker.

I lean casually on one of the metal chairs. How lovely that prisons have really shitty, breakable chairs. Inmates keep smashing them over each other’s heads, and it’s cheaper to replace them with a less sturdy version than it was to keep fixing up the inmates.

Health care is expensive, taxpayer money and all.

Old Dog looks up, smoke hanging out of his teeth. He’s cutting lines on a board. He’s showing me his cock—metaphorically. Publicly breaking the rules. His toughs hang close around him as our eyes meet.

“We gonna have a problem here?” I ask airily.

“I hear ya got money,” Old Dog takes a drag of his smoke with yellowed fingers. “If ya pay me off, I might put up with ya prancin’ around like a fucking princess in a tower. Whaddaya say, Jack?”

I feel the pleasant smile bleed off my face, oozing into a cold, toothy one, like ice running through my veins.

The cunt.

And I came here to be nice.

Without warning, I swing the chair up, first left, then right. As predicted, Tough Guy one and two lunge toward me and cop hard steel to the face. They go down as I swing the chair back and slam it at the old fucker, pinning him to the wall with the legs. The other toughs jump in, but Benny and his pals—and would you look at that, Lummox too—jump in and hold them down.

The old prick looks up, panicking. I know what he sees. Most of the guards have fucked off. The only ones that remain are on my payroll.

“Do you want to try that again?” I hiss at Old Dog. “Maybe start by calling me ‘sir’?”

He growls and tries to fight back, gripping my legs. I use my whole body to slam the chair against him again, and he groans as it cuts off his windpipe.

“You listen up, you old fucker. I don’t plan on being here long. Once I’m gone, you can continue being king of shit if you so desire. Until then, you answer to me every time you fucking move, you got that? Otherwise I might have to take…precautions.”

I’m enjoying the look of him struggling against the chair too much, and just watching him turn red and blue for a bit.

“Ah, boss,” Benny speaks up hesitantly. “If you’re plannin’ to kill him, now’s not the best time. You do as you like, though.”

I sigh, leaning on the chair. Reluctantly, I pull it back, give it a twirl, and sit down on it. I cross my legs and sit comfortably, as the old fucker coughs his guts out on his hands and knees. Someone hands me a smoke and lights it as I wait for Old Dog to recover.

I take a look around at my companions.

“Anybody got a chessboard?”