The Light in the Dark

Jamie's head spun with memories as the blade pressed against his skin, his mind filling with images from his life—the scrounging, the fights, his struggles for a scrap of food. He gazed upward, eyes tracing the faint lines in the ceiling as time itself seemed to freeze. He imagined the life he wished he'd had, filled with dreams that had once been so bright, so possible. Tears stung his eyes as thoughts flooded in: What if I'd had a different beginning? What if I'd been luckier or listened to the people who wanted to help me?

He let out a shaky sigh, feeling his body grow heavier. So, this is it, he thought, and as his vision blurred, a soft light began to shine in the distance. Images filled his mind—people laughing, children playing, everyone full and happy in a world without hunger or pain. The vision grew clearer, brighter, so vivid he almost reached out for it.

SMASH!

A loud crash snapped Jamie back into reality, and suddenly the blade at his throat was gone. His body felt light again as he staggered backward, bumping into something solid. Turning, he saw Kenjo towering beside him, clutching a foldable chair with clenched fists. Kenjo's eyes darted to Jamie's, worry etched in his face. "A-are you alright, Jamie?"

Jamie stammered, "Th-thank you, Kenj—"

Suddenly, three men charged at them, cutting off Jamie's words. Kenjo swung the chair, smashing it into one's face and sending him reeling back. Jamie clenched his fists, covering his wound with one hand while wiping away his tears with the other, preparing to fight. Another guy lunged toward Kenjo, only to be met by the brutal impact of the chair crashing down on his head. Kenjo's strikes were relentless, taking down the attackers with devastating precision. Jamie stayed close, listening, tracking the footsteps in the darkness. His fists flew with a sharp jab, a cross, and then a brutal hook, each punch landing cleanly despite the blackout.

All around them, chaos reigned—pained shouts echoed, and bodies collided in the darkness. Amidst the melee, Jamie's fists connected, his punches slicing through the air with deadly accuracy. Kenjo swung his chair in wild, sweeping arcs, hitting anyone within reach.

Not far away, Shika sat calmly in his cell, spinning a pencil between his fingers as he watched four of his high-ranking men with icy detachment. A battered gang member staggered into the cell, blood trickling down his face. "I-I Shika, Jamie and some big guy are…they're beating us to a pulp."

Shika's fingers stilled as he broke the pencil with a sudden snap. He turned his gaze to the gang member, and without a word, grabbed the man's head, slamming it into the wall, leaving him crumpled in a heap on the floor. One of Shika's men stepped forward hesitantly. "Shika…shouldn't we do something?"

Shika ignored him, walking past the bleeding gang member, his eyes narrowed as he strode toward the cells that housed the new recruits. Bursting in, he glared at two trembling men. "Where are the others I sent?" he demanded, his voice a deadly whisper.

The two men, shaking, managed to stammer out, "They…they already went after Jamie…but they haven't come back."

In the background, the sounds of battle still raged—screams, crashes, and relentless chaos. Shika's glare deepened, and with venomous calm, he hissed, "Jamie was supposed to die tonight. I suppose no one here can do their damn job."

Before he could make good on his threat, the lights flickered back on. Shika and his followers returned to their cells, fury etched across Shika's face as he glared into the chaotic mess around them.

Exhausted, his body battered and weak from hunger, Jamie fought until Kenjo dragged him back into their cell, hoping to avoid further suspicion. They collapsed on their bunks as police flooded the cell block, shocked at the destruction. Injured prisoners were rushed to the infirmary, while others were dragged away to solitary confinement. The warden arrived soon after, frowning as he scanned the cell block. By the time he checked on Jamie, he found him fast asleep, his breathing deep and even, as if he'd been resting all night.

The night passed, and though Jamie's body screamed in pain, he endured the hunger and exhaustion. Morning came, and when the cells finally opened, few prisoners rushed toward breakfast. Jamie and Kenjo walked in silence, surveying the nearly empty cafeteria. They ate quietly, savoring the meager meal before returning to their cell, only to find it had been ransacked. A note lay on Kenjo's bed: You chose the wrong side, Kenjo.

In the yard later, they spotted Shika's gang, standing far off, watching them. Jamie and Kenjo took seats, feeling the heavy, menacing stares directed their way. Kenjo's mind raced, thoughts churning as he tried to think of a way to resolve this nightmare.

Later that night, as the prison prepared to shut down for lights-out, Kenjo snuck to Shika's cell. Shika's men stiffened, but Shika waved them off, eyes narrowing as Kenjo approached.

Kenjo's voice trembled as he pleaded, "Shika…please, let Jamie live."

Shika sneered, his eyes cold and mocking. "Are you an idiot? I'll kill that bastard myself. And if you keep standing in my way, I'll put you down, too. Your only chance to stay alive, Kenjo, is to join me."

Kenjo hesitated, looking down, then nodded. "Fine," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The plan was set: Kenjo would lure Jamie into the yard at night, using a small gap in the ventilation as an route. Hours later, under cover of darkness, Kenjo led Jamie to the yard.

As they neared the edge, five shadows emerged—Shika and his men. Kenjo's footsteps slowed, his gaze averted as Shika's cold, cruel smile gleamed in the moonlight, eyes fixed on Jamie, ready for the trap to be sprung.