Damon Torres

The smell of burnt food and sweat filled the air as the prison mess hall hummed with noise. It was your first day, and you already felt out of place. Clutching your tray, you scanned the room for a place to sit. Most of the tables were crowded with groups of men who seemed to have been there too long to care about newcomers. Then, in the far corner, you saw it: an empty table.

You hurried over, grateful for a moment of peace. As you set down the tray, you exhaled, trying to calm yourself. However, that peace didn't last long.

You didn't even notice the group of six imposing men approaching until you felt the cold stream of liquid running down your head. Startled, you touched your hair, realizing someone had dumped a glass of orange juice on you.

Laughter erupted immediately. "Look at the new kid!" one of the men mocked, leaning down to smile at you disdainfully.

"I guess you're our entertainment today," another added, smiling maliciously.

You stood up, trying to back away, but one of them grabbed your shirt and pushed you back into the chair. Before you could react, the biggest one in the group easily lifted you up and threw you to the ground like a rag doll.

Pain shot through your back as you hit the floor, and before you could recover, a punch slammed into your face. The room spun and your vision blurred.

"Stay there, rookie," the man growled, raising his fist for another punch.

The second blow never came.

A strong hand shot out, easily stopping the man's fist. The dining room fell silent, the sound of the man's knuckles cracking under the grip of a new figure echoing through the room.

"Why don't you find someone your own size?" said a low, dangerous voice.

Everyone turned to look at him: Damon Terrance, or "Demon," as he was known in prison. His reputation was