January scrubbed the floor, her mind stuck on the mysterious phrase "B3 Experiment." No matter how she turned the words, they made no sense. Just then, the door creaked open. Thinking it was the guard, she quickly resumed cleaning. But when she glanced up, she froze.
A stranger stood there, their face hidden under a hoodie. January couldn't tell if they were male or female.
"Who are you?" she asked, confused.
The figure didn't answer. They turned and shut the door, disappearing as quietly as they'd arrived.
"Okay, that was strange," January muttered.
Almost immediately, the door swung open again. The guard marched in.
"Did you go out?" he demanded, watching her scrub the floor.
"What do you think? Check the CCTV footage yourself," January shot back.
"I heard the door shut," the guard said, eyeing her suspiciously.
She opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off. "Focus on your work. You have few minutes left."
January hurried, scrubbing harder. By exactly 7:00 PM, she was done. Mrs. Avery appeared instantly and escorted her back to her cell. Outside, the sky had darkened slightly, the sun dipping below the horizon. January stole a glance at the emerging stars, they reminded her of nights under the bridge, her only comfort.
At her cell, Mrs. Avery and the guard lingered outside.
"Lights out at 9," Mrs. Avery said, walking away.
"Have a good night's rest," the guard added, locking the door.
January blinked, surprised by his unexpected kindness. "The people here are full of surprises," she muttered, sinking onto her bed.
January lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Memories of her parents washed over her, days when life was simple, and happiness felt effortless. Her mother would meticulously pick out her school clothes, and they'd eat breakfast together as a family, laughing over silly jokes.
Her parents had showered her with love, giving her everything she needed but never spoiling her with excess. That life vanished eight years ago.
She remembered being enrolled in combat classes at just eight years old, during summer breaks. It was as if her parents knew they'd leave her one day, preparing her for survival. Even so, she never imagined losing them at ten.
Back then, she'd had friends. They'd played, laughed, and shared secrets without a care. But her favorite moments were training sessions with her instructor. He'd taught her to fight fiercely and drilled wisdom into her: "Strength isn't just fists, it's here," he'd say, tapping her temple.
Those skills had kept her alive on the streets. Hunger, sickness, loneliness, she'd endured it all by clinging to one truth: Survive. Get stronger. Trusting no one made it harder, but prison? This was worse.
She knew the people hunting her had orchestrated her arrest. Why else would Ethan walk free while she rotted here?
Exhausted, January sat up and shuffled to the small table. A Bible, a notebook, and a pencil sat there, untouched.
"This prison is really something else," January sighed, picking up the Bible. Her parents had read it to her as a child, and sometimes she'd flipped through it herself. They'd believed fiercely in God, and so had she, until their deaths snuffed out that light.
Somehow, she believed they were in a better place. The world was cruel and evil, after all. Maybe one day, that lost light in her life would return.
She opened the Bible, its pages thin and familiar. Beside it lay a pencil and notebook. She scribbled down memories she wanted to forget—street nights, hollow hunger, faceless men hunting her.
Then the alarm blared. Lights-out. She closed the book, tucked the notebook under her mattress, and lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling until sleep swallowed her.
The next morning, a loud alarm jolted January awake. The prison door clanged open. "Get up! the guard shouted. She scrambled to her feet. "Out now!" January rushed into the hallway, joining other prisoners shuffling toward the courtyard for morning exercise.
They jogged to the far side of the prison compound, where a dusty field stretched under the gray sky. A stern woman in a tracksuit ordered them into a circle for calisthenics. After an hour of grueling drills, they were marched back to freshen up before breakfast.
January collected her tray of watery oatmeal, a bruised apple and sat at the same table as the day before. Violet slid in across from her.
"Look who we have here, January the champion," Violet said, smirking.
January laughed weakly. "Hi, Violet. Did you sleep well?"
"Like a log. You?"
"Barely. That instructor this morning… she was way too harsh."
"Welcome to prison. Most staff are like that, wicked and cold. Guess that's how they're trained to treat 'criminals' like us," Violet said, rolling her eyes.
"Still feels wrong," January muttered, poking her oatmeal.
"Not everyone's innocent, though. See that woman over there?" Violet nodded toward a hulking inmate. "Heard she kidnapped a whole family. So yeah, they gotta be strict."
"I guess,"January said.
A figure in a hoodie slipped into the cafeteria, sitting alone at the farthest table. January stiffened, it was the same person from yesterday.
"Who's that?" she whispered, nodding subtly.
"Oh, right—Rule Four: Stay away from him," Violet hissed.
"Him? But this is a women's prison!"
"Check the rulebook they gave you. No one goes near him, and he doesn't bother anyone. Just… ignore him."
"How's he even here?"
"No clue. But trust me, breaking that rule's worse than pissing off the guards."
"Do you know how long he's been here?" January asked, eyes lingering on the hooded figure.
"No clue. He was already here when I arrived," Violet said.
January glanced at the hooded figure, then back at her food. She was the type of girl who broke rules, the kind you'd warn not to do something, only for her to make it her mission to defy it.
As if reading her mind, Violet grabbed her arm as she was about to stand. "I know your type. Just, Don't."
"Even Pink, with all her hotheadedness, hasn't dared to break that rule. If you breathe near him, it won't end well," Violet warned.
"I think he might have answers. I saw him yesterday… in the white building. You know, I was asked to clean the room I messed up, when I was taken for a test," January said.
Violet's eyes widened. "You saw him? What test?"
"Mrs. Avery said all inmates go there for extra tests when they arrive."
"No, we didn't go there. We've never even been inside. We only hear rumors. Wait, you went there? And he was there?" Violet asked, confused.
January nodded, suddenly wishing she'd stayed quiet.
"Something's definitely not right," Violet muttered.
"Why would Mrs. Avery lie?" January wondered. "If he was there… he must know about the B3 Experiment."
Violet shook her shoulder. "You listening? I asked what the white building's like."
"It's just… white," January replied flatly.
"I'm doing it," January said abruptly, her chair screeching as she stood.
"Do what?" Violet hissed, reaching for her arm.
"Defying the rules." January shoved her chair back, already striding toward the hooded figure's table.
"January, don't!" Violet lunged to grab her, but January dodged, weaving through the crowded cafeteria.
"JANUARY, NO!" Violet's shout cut through the noise, but January didn't look back.