Chapter Four.

*Elisha's POV*

IGNEON SYSTEM; PLANET CREMATORIA.

I held my breath whilst squeezing my eyes shut as I sat still on a rusting stool with Sybil standing hunch backed behind me, trimming. The endless strands of dead-ends fell to the floor in dull, brown rings. When she had finished, she placed down the stiff, rusting scissors and gently pulled my hair away from my face to plait it neatly and tied off the end with a piece of string. I admired how clam, skilful and focused she is.

I stare blankly at the front of the three-by-five meter barred cell, two long tattered blankets have been clipped and/or tied onto the bars to keep the inside of the cell private. Well, as private as a cell can possibly be inside a triple-max slam where the inmates – all dangerous – are free to wonder around twenty-three hours of the day without any guard supervision.

The walls beside and behind me were created by sharp jagged rocks, a gentle glow projected shadows across the floor and highlighted the dangerous edges. Above the sound of hot air hiding and the occasional creaking of metal stairs as inmates began to wake to the heat, the comforting sound of gently snoring rattled the air; deep sleep was a necessity to the human survival and it is now something I can only salvage on the darkest of days so I spend the nights in and out of gentle naps whilst running my rough, worn-down fingers through the silk-like silver hair of the young child who sleeps soundly tucked into my muscular arms – he now sleeps alone due to the timing of my haircut – with his body laid across mine with his head tucked into the nape of my neck with his cheek resting on the section of my chest above my heart. I cradled him gently as he is the smallest and most fragile human within these prison walls. This was not down to the fact he was a child but because he is considerably underweight due to the lack of minerals he recieves in his diet but also because, he is dying.

Cancer, I presume but with no trained doctors and the guards not giving two shits, I cannot find any ways to help him, all I can do now is make sure he eats well and then, just do the stomach twisting job of waiting for him to pass on.

As he slept, his small snores echo around the dense rooms interior before funnelling out through the thin makeshift wall and out into the open space beyond the room to mix with the snores of the still sleeping inmates. The sleeping child is named Hans; the women stood behind me plaiting my hair, Sybil, is his mother. I don't have any family here, as can be expected, but Sybil I have known my entire life, she helped deliver me the night my mother went into labour. The night my mother died but Sybil took me under her wing and raised me as she would her own. As she would with Hans.

Unfortunately, like myself, Hans is bounded to this hell until the day we die or until we can think of some ingenious plan to escape; which has only ever been achieved once before by a extraordinary young boy I used to know.

"Elisha?" A soft yet stern voice asks through the makeshift wall, the brown curtain that acted as a door was pulled back revealing a middle aged women called Dakota. She was very tall, maybe five-foot-six with a thin frame, her willowy limbs lacked muscle but she suited it. Her short brown hair was cut short like a boy and pushed back from her face showing off her sharply featured face with narrow blue eyes.

"Morning Sybil," Dakota whispers being extra careful not to wake Hans beside the entrance. "Harrison is requesting your presence at the Glade. Something about a new inmate working."

I roll my eyes, "Yeah okay." I thank Sybil, kiss Hans forehead and leave with Dakota.

Sweat gathers aggressively on my chest, forehead and armpits, the temperature was easily in its hundreds and I wore snug fitting trousers with various rips in the legs and a dark green tank top. Dakota and I scurried down two metal stairs to the ground floor covered with rocks which have fallen from the ceiling, dry sand and creators that released very hot vapour rising violently. We walked passed four men already working in the Pit, we entered a small corridor concealed in the right hand corner. Hidden in the back right hand corner passed three cells was a place the inmates called the Glade, it was a room the size of a average classroom with a hole a meter deep, the purpose was for gambling. Next to the Glade down another concealed corridor was a small equipment room which was nothing more than two abandoned cells with the barred wall dividing them was missing merging it into one to house harnesses, rope, goggle, safety pads, welding torch's and other important equipment need to keep the rusting metal frame that made up the stairs of the slam from crumbling.

Inside the cell, Harrison stood against the back wall surrounded by six other inmates giving them a short list of jobs each for today's. I gave Harrison a friendly nod as he notices us at the back of the group.

"– you lot who know your jobs, off you go." Harrison orders, five out of the six inmates grab the gear they need and leave the room, Dakota and I move aside into a corner to the inmates can slip passed us without pushing. Harrison then informs Dakota she is not needed to stay with me and suggests she grabs the gear needed and I would be joining her shortly.

After Dakota collects the equipment she leaves giving me a worried glance but I gave her a reassuring smile in return. Harrison is not in anyway a harm to me, he has pulled me out of plenty of fights because he was afraid I might go to far. Harrison is far too cleaver as well to get into any fights at his age of fifty-five.

"Elisha." Harrison smiles faintly before gesturing to the figure hidden in the darkly lit corner of the call, "This is Wyclef."

The man removed himself from the dark corner, not that it was a problem for me, I could see him perfectly fine in the dark. He was very well build, no fat was noticeable just solid looking muscle with tanned skin over-top, his hair was buzz-cut short, his eyes were narrow indicating mixed heritage with a crooked nose – probably broken – and he wore long, non-fitted trousers with a loose fitting tank top similar to mine except his was camouflaged.

"Wyclef this is Elisha, she is going t –"

"– what the hell is up with your eyes?" Wyclef interrupted sneering.

I raised my eyebrows out of sheer habit. I wasn't really a shock Wyclef was curious about my eyes, despite how his voice came across. I received that question a lot when I was growing up and especially from new inmates. My eyes were not coloured with a pupil like the other people here, my eyes were pale, fluorescent purple with no pupil central of my eyes; I do not see in colour, instead I see in purple. The darker the lighting in a room, the sharper the image I can see is but the the brighter a room is, the brighter the image becomes and I am unable to see it. Effectively, my vision only allows me to see in the dark which is lucky as I am inside a underground prison which is dimly lit all the time.

Harrison coughed awkwardly to regain our attention, "As I was saying: Elisha, I would like you to keep an eye on Wyclef, just for today." He does not ask me, he tells me sternly.

My heart speeds up as Wyclef's jaw drops open almost hitting the floor in disbelief that a teenage, especially one as small as me, will be in charge of a grown adult but I do not get angry at Harrison, it isn't his fault, no doubt the orders were passed down from Ceryll or as he prefers to be called 'The Guv'. I would very much love to inform you how it came to be he is the Slam Boss but he has been incarcerated longer than I have been alive and the question never aroused curiosity in me.

I sighed deeply before nodding, "Right," I say bluntly, "What jobs has he got?" I ask.

Harrison tapped his foot against the stone ground as his eyes glazed over, "Something simple." He mumbles to himself, "Rubbish duty." Harrison then declares after three minutes of careful thinking.

I nod, simple enough. "Grab the litter picker." I tell Wyclef guesting to the piece of equipment that had a handle on one end with a claw on the other connected by a long pole. He obeys. "And the bin-bag." I said, a little nicer then before, guesting to the basket with backpack straps. Wyclef obeys again.

We walked passed the Glade and walked down the corridor to enter the Pit. I jumped off the small ledge to land on the stone floor with various craters, tin cans and pieces of scrap. Wyclef followed me juggling the equipment he had gathered, I turned to face him as he asks that he is doing because Rubbish Duty was far to vague.

"Your job is to clean up the slam, starting here, the sweeping through first, then second and so on." I say, "Couldn't be similar. Once you've finished, the conveyor belt over there" – gesture to the steadily moving contraption – "And the rubbish will be taken to the cleaning guards."

Wyclef nodded, "What do you do?" he asks.

"Maintenance," I smile jerking my thumb towards Dakota who is securely clipping the harness to a rope that looped through a small grapple wheel on the roof of the slam and then trailed back to the floor. "Last thing we want is the slam collapsing." I joke. Wyclef huffs and begins to pick up small shards of metal, he muttered harsh words under his breath such as 'stupid little cow'.

I turned sharply once I'd climbed back onto the ledge, "Don't be sour. Every newbie has to do rubbish duty,"

Wyclef's body shuddered at the word 'newbie' declaring this was not his first time being incarcerated, I ignore his cold gaze and walked over to Dakota who smiled devilishly before handing me a welding torch and goggles.

"Ready?" She asks as I slip the dry goggles over my eyes and hooked myself into the harness gripping the cold welding torch.

"Let's get this over with." I say bluntly as Dakota begins to turn a large wheel that wound the rope in hoisting me up into the air. Four of us hang from the ceiling in total, each of us with a section of the metal structure to keep intact. I remove my silver zippo lighter from my back pocket and flick the flame to life before holding it in front of the gas releasing nozzle.

The heat gradually rises throughout the passing time. Irritating sweat breaks out uncontrollably and violently on my face, I foolishly rubbed my bare forearm and hand across my face with good intentions of trying to release my body from the stickiness without thinking about the thick grease that was clustered on the surface of my skin.

The roaring flame melts the weak metal gradually allowing me to reposition it slightly and re-weld it back into place. I am unaware of the time but I know when it is breakfast time when Dakota calls up from the ground floor below to inform me and luckily I was finished because if not I would still be dangling from the ceiling like a spider whilst Dakota collected her tin and ate happily whilst I continued to work.

I turned off the welding torch and dropped it into the capable hands of Dakota, as my stomach rumbled angrily I decided to follow my usual routine not to wait for Dakota to lower me to safety. I undid the bolt on the clip connecting my harness to the rope, once unbolted I turned the clip onto its side an guided out through the loop releasing myself.

A masculine gasp erupted from the ground as I was weightless for several seconds, my body was already arched backwards, my legs followed the motion swiftly. My legs shook on impact with the floor radiating throughout my entire body but I didn't stumble. Dakota swore at me.

I removed the harness and returned it along with the goggles and welding gun before returning to the Pit to follow the line forming through the thin corridor that lead to the dinner hall, which like the rest of the facility, wasn't worth having, no one socialized here, instead we retrieve our food and adventure off too wherever they wish to eat, whether it be alone or in the company of others.

Dakota was lined up three people in front of me. The man distributing the food was a middle aged man named Pharrell, his sandy blonde hair matched his gently tanned bronze skin, his large blue eyes were more than captivating and with a row of perfectly straight teeth, I wonder how he ended up in a place like this. His sentence is life, like everyone else here but he has only been incarcerated two years, maybe less.

Pharrell shook the can beside his ear, "Beans," he revealed to the man in front of Dakota. He took the can with gratitude and wondered off.

Dakota stepped forward to smile brightly at him. Like before, he shook the can beside his ear, "Carrots and peas." he reveals to her. She cocks an eyebrow at him before opening the can to reveal carrots and peas, she gasps with amazement, the man behind her coughs loudly, she jerks before apologising and moving aside.

Three more people where given food before I was positioned at the front of the line, Pharrell flashes me a rather charming smile before picking out a can from one of the two boxes at his feet, he shakes it intently.

"Soup." he reveals.

I smile brightly as he hands me the can, our fingers brush against each other lightly sending an electric charge up my arm. He shakes two more cans beside his ears before handing them to me. One for Hans; one for Sybil.

"Some kind of fruit and beans with sausages." he tells me. I thank him and exit the dinner to give Sybil and Hans their breakfast clutching mine as I return to the Pit.

"Are you going to the Glade?" Dakota asks me through a mouthful of food.

I nod following her lead, Ceryll was already in the hole smiling cunningly as I enter. He beckons me forward and asks if I am in the betting pool, I nod without hesitation before retreating back to Dakota who engulfed her food quickly.

"I cannot believe it! You're Scarlett Harlot." a voice piped up from beside me. Dakota's eyes narrowed angrily as she grips the man collar – who turns out to be Wyclef – and slammed him against the metal bars of a cell forcefully enough to move the bars slightly. Wyclef looked taken back from the response, beans still in hand and non spilt, Dakota has the man pinned up by the throat using her forearm, veins began to reveal themselves on Wyclef's forehead as the strong arm slowly restricted his airways.

"Listening to me," Dakota snarled viciously, "I know ten ways to kill someone with a spoon, would you like to find out one?"

I sighed heavily wiping my brow. Scarlett Harlot was Dakota's criminal name, she was an interesting killer no doubt about it. When she was free she worked as a Harlot – a prostitute – and seduced rich men, once back at their home or a hotel room, she would kiss them, her lips laced with position that was fast acting and very effectively in killing the brain cells making the victim forget simple action, such as breathing. Dakota waited for her victims to die before taking whatever they had on them: wallets, jewellery, watches. Anything that could fetch a fine piece.

Wyclef apologised multiple times before Dakota released him allowing his body to flop to the floor like a lead-weight to his knees, clutching his throat gasping for precious air. We ignored him and gripped her elbow before shoving out way to the front at the edge of the hole to watch Ceryll gamble away his breakfast for what looked like a box of chocolates.

He won.

"Elisha," he gleamed eyeing up my can of unopened food. "I bet you...your can of food."

I raise a brow, "Okay," I say jumping into the hole opposite him, "But if I win, I get your can of food."

"Deal." he replies wickedly holding out his hand, I shook it gripping it tightly making him wince.

I chuckle slightly. "You're on old man." the crowd gasp in mock surprise. Trash talk was never my strong point and luckily Ceryll doesn't respond.

Inside a chipped metal cup between us was three regular dice. The idea of the game was to roll a 4-5-6 to automatically win. The second highest you can roll is called a Trips: the rolling of three identical numbers – the higher, the better. And the worst roll is called a Point: the rolling of a pair and another number which establishes the singleton as a point. A lower point beats a high point so 1-1-3 is better than 6-6-2.

"Ladies first," Ceryll smiles offering me the cup containing the three dices." Two rolls each."

I declined his offer, "Age before beauty," I tease whilst insisting he goes first for reason I cannot fathom. Ceryll covers the top of the cup with his rough palm, shook the cup violently in all directions before angling the cup to pour out the dices.

5-5-5. The crowd erupts in fakes gasps. I collected the dices back up into the cup, covered the top and shook it before tipping the dice onto the uneven stone floor. 3-3-1, I tried to hide my aggravated sigh as Ceryll smiles smugly collecting the dice and repeated the same simple gestures. His next dice numbers were 4-5-4. Ceryll released a triumphant sigh as my guts twist as I am aware of the loss I am facing.

"You need a miracle. Otherwise, you don't eat." Ceryll reminds me slyly.

I growl defensively and collect the dice, rattle and shake before pouring the dice from the inside of the cup. The dice rolled away from me to stop at Ceryll's feet, his face dropped and the colour washed away as he stares up at me, I lean forward to study my score that decides whether I eat breakfast today or not.

4-5-6

The crowd erupts in a echo if distant cheers, a sigh of relief releases itself from the back of my throat. Dakota smiles somewhat proudly at me I smile sympathetically at Ceryll before escaping the hole clutching mine and what was Ceryll's cab of unopened food.

A warm fuzzy feeling radiates from the pit of my stomach as I slyly exit the Glade as two other competitors duck into the hole, one betting cigarettes and the other bearing alcohol in a small metal flash.

I climbed two metal staircases quickly, walked passed the large wall soaked with water and hidden by a thin steam waterfall that is created by accident by a faulty pipe but it served a good purpose not to use the inmate showers.

Sybil sat quiet as a door-mouse outside of the cell in a wooden rocking chair, sewing tattered clothing back together. Despite not turning her head to acknowledge me, her ears twitched like a cats would as they reacted to the gently noise of my feet crushed small granules of rock. I removed the can originally belonging to Ceryll from underneath my arm and handed it to her. She turned her head slowly and took it from me gently, her crystal blue eyes never broke contact with my jade green eyes as her gentle gaze was thank you enough. Crematoria was no place for weakness, if you show begin to show any of the to show any of the signs. They will eat at you until you crack permanently.

I pull back the blanket from the doorway of the cell and enter in search of a spoon. Hans slept silently as all ways. I took a seat on the stool before cracking open the can and pulled the lid allowing the sweet smell of vegetable soup rise into my nostrils. I shovelled my food into my mouth hungrily, a little too quickly than deemed healthy or lady-like but I guess that is one of the marks Dakota has imprinted upon me as she lives by a very simple and rather great rule of: if you don't eat fast, you don't eat at all. And to make herself feel comfortable with it, she normally add, you never know on the end.

When I'd finished my can the heavy rush of feet echoed through the dense air, outside the cell voices hissed with excitement. Loud bangs began to sound outside like drums as metal mugs hit the metal bars of cell walls or balcony railings. I rushed out of the door to stand outside of the cell staring at the Pit from the second floor balcony.

"What's happening?" I ask Pharrell who was stood next to me. Too close for me to feel comfortable.

"New inmate." he replies, "The usual introduction."

I rolled my eyes and leaned my forearms on the metal to study the man hanging from the thick rope with heavy cuff bounding his wrists together as he dangles a meter or so below the guard's communication-and-security office above the Pit. His skin was tanned perfectly with a muscular dome bald head, his arms are ripped with large, tense muscles as they are bound above his head. His eyes were covered with blackout goggles hiding the true identity colour of his eyes. His strong facial features appeared strangely familiar to me but no matter how hard I studied him, I couldn't pinpoint where I have seen such a magnificent bone structure and muscle definition before unless...no...it cannot be.

My body straightens up in a awkward jolt before my head snapped back to look at Sybil who was leant forward in her seat with the on her face as if she had seen a ghost and from that simple look of pure shock horror, I knew instantly who this man was.

His name escaped my lips, lower than a whisper, "Richard..."