Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Crisis Island, the toast of the incarceration world back when it had been built forty years ago. Walls of Stone and Steel that rose so high into the air you'd need a helicopter just to glimpse beyond 'em. Unless you manned one of the ten crows nest spaced along that ungodly tall wall- full stocked with lights to burn away your eyes and Machine guns to burn away your flesh. Not that it mattered, past the wall wasn't anything but a twenty mile swim in freezing water to the nearest patch of land. The actual prison... built like a castle, tall, imposing, thick rock and with the bare minimum of windows required. Prisoners were treated to cells with electrified bars, and just enough walking room that the toilet and beds weren't right next to each other. Most importantly though, everything was pristine, prison or not, it was kept up like a resort... the resort from hell, but that happened to be semantics.
Now though, it was run-down, those lights on the towers worked half the time and flickered even then. Electrified bars, more like static electrical bars now. Those stone walls... patched poorly with misshapen pieces that left small cracks. It was in poor shape; but Marcus Winston still patrolled the halls, checked the inmates and watched them like a hawk. It was his job, had been for 20 or so years. They hadn't been kind to him, his deep brown hair was flecked with gray, so to the stubble around his stiff chin. The only reason he was still as broad shouldered and muscled, was because these prisoners would end him just as soon as he was to weak to stop them; his 6'8" height would prove little if he didn't have the power to back it up.
He strolled along the woman's wing, Billy club strapped lovingly to his belt, radio on his hip, nestled next to his pepper spray...for the inmates without that killer instinct. He was to see his favorite, you see normally everyone thought they were innocent...but eventually got over it; but he had one that just seemed to not like the natural order and that...bothered him, annoyed him; and well, here on the Island...he didn't have to take that.
Now though, it was run-down, those lights on the towers worked half the time and flickered even then. Electrified bars, more like static electrical bars now. Those stone walls... patched poorly with misshapen pieces that left small cracks. It was in poor shape; but Marcus Winston still patrolled the halls, checked the inmates and watched them like a hawk. It was his job, had been for 20 or so years. They hadn't been kind to him, his deep brown hair was flecked with gray, so to the stubble around his stiff chin. The only reason he was still as broad shouldered and muscled, was because these prisoners would end him just as soon as he was to weak to stop them; his 6'8" height would prove little if he didn't have the power to back it up.
He strolled along the woman's wing, Billy club strapped lovingly to his belt, radio on his hip, nestled next to his pepper spray...for the inmates without that killer instinct. He was to see his favorite, you see normally everyone thought they were innocent...but eventually got over it; but he had one that just seemed to not like the natural order and that...bothered him, annoyed him; and well, here on the Island...he didn't have to take that.
