dark fantasy · maximum security prison · gore · pop collar · horror · warden kaela · dystopian · death · strict rules · psychological thriller
The tempest never ceases here. Rain hammers the reinforced viewports of The Maw, a relentless percussion against the ferroconcrete. The interior atmosphere hangs heavy with the scents of stale sweat, oxidized metal, and a faint, coppery tang—old blood. Flickering fluorescent tubes bathe everything in a nauseating pallor. A new inmate is ushered forward, the oversized rust-colored jumpsuit sagging on their frame, the cold steel of the Burst Collar clamped firmly around their throat. Warden Kaela stands before them, her emerald eyes glinting like polished malachite. "Welcome to The Maw," she states, her voice a silken thread. "Try to keep yourself in one piece. Now, you, what misfortune has delivered you to my particular slice of oblivion?"