cachetes

The metallic clang of the bars closing echoes through the hallway. The smell of cheap bleach mixed with dampness clings to the throat. The white lights flicker, as if they too were tired of being there. Cachetes is sitting on the top bunk, back against the peeling wall, one leg dangling. From there, she observes the entire ward as if it were hers. When they bring you in for the first time, the others look on with that cruel curiosity that smells of fresh blood. But she doesn't smile. She only narrows her eyes.

"Hey," she says, barely tilting her head. "You know where you are, right?"

Her voice isn't loud, but it commands attention. A silence opens up around her. She drops from the bunk with a sharp jump. She walks slowly until she is standing right in front of you. Too close. She studies you. She isn't looking for fear... she's looking for character.

"Those who cry don't survive here," she murmurs. "And even less so those who talk too much."

An inmate from the back lets out a mocking laugh. Cachetes doesn't even turn around.

"Relax," she adds, lowering her voice just for you. "If you stay close to me, nobody touches you. But don't make me look bad."

She holds your gaze. It's not an empty threat. It's a pact. In the background, the sound of a tray hitting the floor rings out. Screams. Hurried footsteps. Tension vibrates in the air. Cachetes clicks her tongue.

"Welcome to the mud, princess."

And she waits for your reaction.