chapter 7: the price of freedom

Chapter 7: The Price of Freedom

The prison yard stretched before them like a graveyard waiting to be filled. The moon cast pale light over the cracked concrete, highlighting the worn bodies of the men who dared to dream of escape. The night air was thick with the scent of sweat and rusted metal.

Rin stood in the middle of it all, his face unreadable. He had spent days observing the guards, the movement of prisoners, the schedule of the watchtowers. Every detail had been stored in his mind like pieces of a puzzle, forming one single path to freedom.

Hudson, swaying slightly, wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Hope this ain't another one of your tricks, kid."

The youth, a lean boy with sharp eyes, crouched beside Rin. Unlike Hudson, he wasn't just following orders—he was watching, studying Rin in the way a hunter watches another predator.

"Shut up and move," Rin said.

They crept along the side of a rusted fence, heading toward the escape point. Three other prisoners ran ahead, oblivious to their fate. Rin had picked them specifically—men who were desperate, careless, and expendable.

"Guards! Over there!" a shout rang out.

The three prisoners panicked, bolting for cover. The floodlights snapped on, their beams slicing through the night like knives.

The first shot cracked through the air.

A scream. Then another.

The men fell one by one, bullets tearing through their flesh. One twitched violently before going still. Blood soaked the ground beneath them, dark pools glistening in the artificial light.

Rin didn't stop moving. He dragged the youth by the arm, slipping through the narrow opening behind a storage shed. Hudson stumbled after them, his breath heavy with alcohol and adrenaline.

They were safe—for now.

The youth jerked his arm free. "You set them up."

Rin turned to face him, his expression cold.

"They were a distraction," he said simply. "The more bodies the guards had to focus on, the less they looked for us that's what your thinking right but no we will get bailed out of here tommorow cause this world follows a certain rule called trade of repentance were you gain freedom from an act of good "how do you know of this when you just came three days ago"Hudson asks out of curiosity R" I read newspapers"

The youth's fists clenched. "They were alive. And now they're not. That doesn't bother you?"

Rin sighed. "You don't get it, do you? You think escape is about luck? About running fast? No. Escape is about control. I control who gets out of here. I control who the guards shoot at. That's why we're alive, and they're dead."

The youth stared at him, the fight in his eyes dimming.

Hudson gave a dry chuckle. "Told ya, kid. Cold as ice."

Rin didn't respond. He had no time for arguments. He had already set his next move in motion.

The cell boss, The Hound, had ruled this prison for years. His word was law, his presence enough to make grown men kneel. His body was built for war—scarred, muscled, every inch of him a testament to survival.

Rin walked into his den without hesitation.

The room smelled of sweat, alcohol, and something more vile beneath it all. A single candle flickered on a crate-turned-table, casting twisted shadows across the walls. Stolen goods lay scattered across the floor—cigarettes, makeshift weapons, coins from a world long forgotten.

The Hound sat in the center, carving a piece of wood with a jagged knife. His dark eyes lifted as Rin entered, gleaming with amusement.

"You must have a death wish, boy," The Hound growled. His voice was like gravel crushed under heavy boots.

Rin didn't stop walking until he was close enough to see the sweat glistening on the boss's forehead.

"I'm here for your seat," Rin said.

The Hound laughed. A deep, guttural sound that echoed through the small room. "You? Kill me? You ain't even got a weapon, brat."

Rin smirked. "Who said I need one?"

Before The Hound could react, Rin tilted his head back and spat a tiny glass vial onto the ground.a chemical engine made for him

The glass shattered.

A thick, greenish gas erupted from the floor, curling into the air. The Hound inhaled before he could stop himself. His body jerked, muscles locking up as the poison seeped into his bloodstream.

"What… the… hell…?" The Hound's hands trembled, his breathing shallow. His knife slipped from his grasp.

Rin moved fast.

He ducked low, dodging the sluggish swing The Hound attempted. His dagger was in his hand in an instant, the blade flashing in the dim light.

The first stab went into the side of the ribs, where it would puncture the lung.

The second slid between the collarbone and neck, where the arteries were unprotected.

The third was just for insurance.

The Hound gasped, choking on his own blood. He staggered backward, gripping his wounds, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Rin stepped forward, grabbing the dying man by his collar. "Who do you answer to?"

The Hound's breath was ragged, but his lips curled into a weak, bloody smile. "T-The… Xander family…"

Rin's grip tightened. The Xanders…? That's not good.

The Hound's body went slack. He was dead.

Rin let go, wiping his blade clean.

The Xander family was not just some street gang. They were an empire. A name whispered in the dark when people spoke of the underworld. If The Hound had been working under them, then this wasn't just a simple power grab—he had just declared war.

The door creaked open.

Maus, the infamous Escaper, stepped inside. His sharp eyes scanned the scene before settling on Rin.

"You run the show now," Rin told him.

Maus shook his head. "Not interested. This place is a cage. I only deal in open doors." He turned away. "But you? You just made a powerful enemy. Hope you're ready."

Rin exhaled slowly. Ready? No. But prepared? Always.

Fi

With The Hound dead, the prison's balance of power had shifted. But Rin knew this was just the beginning.

The Xanders wouldn't let this slide. They would send someone—maybe a killer, maybe a message. Either way, Rin had just made himself a target.

And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.

Because if there was one thing he thrived on, it was playing a game no one else could win.