chapter 6 Phantom in the shadows

The sun beats down on the prison yard, bathing it in a warmth that feels out of place in such a hostile environment.

Owen is sitting alone on a weathered bench, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He's not here to enjoy the sunlight.

His gaze is locked onto Jasper, the right hand man of the Boss, standing a short distance away with three of his gang's lackeys. They are talking quietly, occasionally glancing around, their casual demeanor failing to mask the weight of what they're about to do.

Owen watches, his fingers brushing the cold, stolen gun hidden beneath his shirt.

He'll make his move. His reign is about to take its first step.

After a brief exchange, Jasper glances around, mutters something to his men, and leads them toward the far side of the yard.

Owen waits, letting them gain a little distance before standing.

Then, with a flicker, he vanishes, his footsteps silent as he follows them at a measured pace.

The group walks secretly, and slips into the laundry room, one of the least patrolled areas in the prison. The air inside is heavy with the stale smell of detergent and damp fabric. Fluorescent lights flicker weakly above, casting jagged shadows across the cracked tiles and rust-streaked machines.

Inside, a guard is waiting. He's tall and wiry, his uniform too clean, his stance rigid with nervous energy. In his hand, he is clutching a small, black pouch.

"You're late," the officer says, his voice low and sharp as he glares at Jasper. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to sneak this shit in here? I'm taking a big risk for you and your boss."

Jasper raises his hands, smirking. "Relax, officer. You think it's easy for us to slip away unnoticed? We've got eyes on us too."

The officer doesn't seem amused. His eyes flick toward the door, his voice dropping even further. "Just take it and go. And tell your boss he better keep his end of the deal. I'm not doing this for free."

Jasper steps forward, reaching for the pouch. He pulls it open and inspects the contents: small, tightly wrapped packets of white powder. He sniffs one, a grin spreading across his face.

"Good stuff. Don't worry; we'll make sure you're taken care of. Our guy will have the cash for you outside."

The officer snorts, adjusting his uniform. "Yeah, well, you better keep it that way. Now get out of here before someone—"

"Indeed, good stuff." Owen whispers.

The officer freezes mid-sentence, his eyes darting around the room. "Who's there?" he snaps, his hand instinctively dropping to his gun.

Jasper and his men stiffen, their smug confidence replaced with confusion and unease.

"Come out!" the officer barks, his voice rising. "I said, come out!"

Owen stays silent for a moment, letting the tension build. Then he speaks again, his voice low and cold: "I'm here. And I need you to die."

The officer pulls his gun, aiming wildly at the empty air. "Show yourself!"

Owen doesn't hesitate. The stolen gun feels steady in his hand as he raises it, aiming directly at the officer's head.

BANG.

The gunshot is deafening, echoing off the walls. Blood sprays across the nearest machines as the officer collapses, his lifeless body crumpling to the floor.

For a moment, no one moves. Jasper's men stare in horror at the fallen officer, their breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. One of them stammers,

"What the... what the fuck just happened?"

Jasper snaps out of his shock first, his voice low and urgent. "Shut up! Don't panic! We need to get out of here!"

Then Owen whispers again.

"This is my prison now," he says, his voice loud enough to cut through the ringing in their ears. "And anyone who defies me will be shot dead."

The flickering light overhead dims, plunging the room into a momentary darkness. When it brightens again, Owen is already moving, slipping out of the room before the men can react.

Then, the sirens blare, filling the prison as guards rush toward the laundry room, their boots thundering against the floors. Owen, still invisible, navigates the chaos with ease, slipping past the first wave of armed officers.

Inside the laundry room, the guards burst in, shields raised, guns drawn. The sight that greets them stops them in their tracks: the officer's body sprawled on the floor, a gunshot wound to his head, blood pooling beneath him.

The lead guard steps forward, his voice sharp and commanding. "Secure the area! Search every corner. I want whoever did this found!"

Without wasting a second, the officers burst out and begins searching.

The lead officer stay behind. He kneels by the body, his expression grim. His hand brushes against the black pouch lying on the ground. Picking it up, he opens it, his jaw tightening as he takes in the contents.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath. "You never knew when to stop, did you?"

Shaking his head, he pockets the pouch. "I'll do this one last favor for an old friend," he murmurs walking out of the room.

Jasper and his men are running, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Their breaths are ragged, their eyes wild with panic.

"What the hell was that?" one of them hisses, glancing over his shoulder.

Jasper doesn't answer immediately. His mind is racing, trying to piece together what just happened. Finally, he snaps, "I don't know! Just keep moving!"

But their luck runs out when a team of guards rounds the corner ahead, their guns drawn.

"Freeze!" one of the guards shouts. "On the ground, now!"

Jasper hesitates for a fraction of a second, but the sight of the guns leaves him with no choice. He drops to his knees, his hands raised. The other men follow suit, their faces pale and terrified.

The guards move in quickly, forcing them to the ground and cuffing their hands behind their backs.

They check them thoroughly to seize the weapon, but they find none at them.

Then,

Jasper and his men are dragged into the warden's office, their faces bruised and their clothes disheveled. The warden, a stern and beautiful woman with sharp features and piercing eyes, stands behind her desk, her arms crossed.

"Well?" she demands, her voice cold and unyielding. "What happened?"

Jasper hesitates, his mouth dry. "We were... making the deal," he admits, not that he has a choice now.

"But something... someone... was there. We didn't see him, but he shot the officer. And he said he was taking over."

The warden's eyes narrow. "Taking over what?"

"P- prison."

"So, a ghost, is taking over the prison, is that what you're telling me?"

"It's the truth!" Jasper insists, his voice rising in desperation. "He said anyone who defies him dies!"

The warden doesn't flinch. Her expression remains unreadable as she turns to the guards. "Take them away," she orders. "I don't care what story they're spinning. Lock them up in the punishment chamber."

"Noo, please. Not the confinement. Please."

But Jasper and his men are dragged out and the warden's gaze hardens. "Double the patrols," she tells her officers. "And find the weapon, and investigate this ghost person as well if it's real. I want answers."

From a shadowed corner of the yard, Owen watches the chaos unfold with a faint smirk. The guards are in disarray, the gang has been put on a tight watch by the guards, and his message has been delivered to the warden as well.

The reign of the phantom has taken his first step.