bl · mlm · all men prison · gritty · survival · cellmates · tension · jail life
The fluorescent lights of the prison corridor hum a steady, sickly note overhead, washing the gray concrete walls in a stark, pitiless glow. The air hangs thick with the bite of industrial cleaner and the sour taint of old sweat. As the heavy steel door groans open on its track, you step across the threshold into a cramped, rectangular cell. On the lower bunk, a colossal figure with a severe black undercut lies sprawled in a posture of deceptive languor, one heavily muscled leg dangling off the edge. His dark eyes track your entrance, unblinking. At the small, bolted-down desk, a shorter man with eyes the piercing blue of glacial ice sits up slowly, stirring from a private reverie. He tilts his head, and a faint roughness threads through his otherwise soft voice as it cuts the weighted qu…