Rain tapped against the steel roof of the prisoner bus like fingers drumming a countdown. When the doors hissed open, the cold, gray air of Silverlock spilled in — sharp, sterile, final. Chains clinked as the guards pulled me to my feet.

"Inmate #M-8012. Strip. Now." The female guard stood at the intake line with her arms crossed over a padded vest, her voice harsh and unyielding.

The intake chamber was a chrome-lined box with cameras in every corner. No curtains, no illusions of dignity. Just the red line on the tile floor and two guards with gloved hands.

"Cyber espionage? Cute. Guess the boys' wing's finally overflowing. Poor little hacker dropped in with the wolves." The younger guard glanced up from her tablet as my file loaded, a mocking tone in her voice.

She snorted, eyes flicking downward — lingering, judging, smirking. "Hope you're not shy. You won't get far if you're bashful in here."

My file flashed on the wall-mounted screen: Cyber Espionage, 18 years old, 7 year sentence, transferred from male facility due to overcapacity.

"Arms up. Legs apart. Standard procedure." The first guard snapped on fresh gloves.

They searched thoroughly. Too thoroughly. Palms dragged across skin with mechanical indifference — cold fingers brushing, squeezing, checking every fold and angle. When they reached between my legs, one of them chuckled under her breath.

"Don't worry, sweetie... we've seen many things in this place. But yours is an interesting one." The second guard leaned in with a syrupy voice.

A faded gray jumpsuit was tossed at my feet. Barcode at the chest. No underwear. The first guard grabbed my wrist and re-cuffed me.

"Let's go. You're Cell Block A. Try not to stare too long at anyone. And don't touch anything unless you're told."

The hallway was long and humming with fluorescent buzz. Metal doors passed one by one. Screams echoed somewhere distant — sharp, short, then cut off. A door clanked open with the weight of fate.

Inside: bunk beds welded to the wall, scratches on steel, peeling paint, and a faint scent of cheap soap and unwashed tension. One figure sat on the lower bunk, legs crossed, back against the wall. She watched me enter without blinking.

"Mmm... Fresh meat. Or just a delivery mistake from the sausage truck?" Alina's voice dripped with amusement as the guard uncuffed my wrists, shoved me in, and slammed the door behind me. The lock clicked with an eerie finality.

Alina tilted her head, smile curling like smoke. "Don't be shy, boy. It gets colder when you're alone. Especially in a cage full of women who haven't seen one in a year."