Backstory
Ba'al had only just returned from leave.
Leviathan narrowed his eyes and glared at him for the sudden remark.
"Hey. Eyes on the job. A691 over there is about to die."
「Aaaagh!! Fuck!!! Kyaaaah!」
"She won't die from that. Look — her vitals and body heat are holding steady."
"Oh~ so they are. Someone actually holding out at [MAX]? Impressive. Heh heh."
"Anyway… who did you hear that from?"
"What? That you screwed A479's little sister?"
The question came back around, and Leviathan felt his neck go stiff. He let out a long sigh, set the cell management system to automatic, and turned fully toward Ba'al.
Then he poured another cup of roasted coffee and handed it over — the wordless ritual they always fell into when they talked.
"Good coffee."
Ba'al took the cup and grinned. From that expression alone, Leviathan could tell the man wasn't after the truth — he was just needling him. Ba'al already had the information. His face said he was certain.
"Tch—"
Prison Island was one of the last places rumors ever reached. Information was deliberately restricted so the inmates could be properly controlled, which meant even the guards and staff heard less than almost anyone else.
And yet Ba'al, who had been off-island, already knew this much. That meant someone had been spreading the story on purpose.
"So who was it? Who ran their mouth?"
"Who else? Manager Choi Hyun-ah at HQ. Who else would it be?"
"Ha… A129… that bitch is really…"
The answer came immediately. In truth, Leviathan had already guessed before he heard it. Ba'al had only been back a day, and if he'd picked it up while he was still on the mainland, the culprit was obvious.
"Yeah. Well. You're right. I… rushed things a bit."
"Oh~ but you know, right?"
"I know. I won't do anything on my own. That's the first principle of being a guard — the one you taught me."
"And the guy who knew that still got that obsessed with A479?"
"Heh heh. Tell me about it. Ah~ maybe this coffee ought to be booze instead."
"Training liquor has to be logged before you use it."
"Yes, yes~ as if you wouldn't."
Sipping their coffee, the two of them turned their eyes to the CCTV. On the screens, four suffering inmates thrashed and writhed.
Women who had come all the way here because they couldn't overcome their masochistic nature. And the two men watching them — men who had clawed through every difficult procedure just for the chance to torment them — both felt, in that moment, that they weren't normal either.
"Ah. Right. By the way, I heard Asmode's going before the disciplinary committee. That true?"
"Yeah, it is. Not long ago, Asmode-nim… I mean, that noona almost killed one of our inmates…"
"A691? Wait — didn't that get wrapped up already? Inmate to solitary, Asmode docked on her evaluation?"
"That wasn't the only one. There was another incident while you were on leave."
"Why? What happened?"
For Ba'al, who still hadn't heard, Leviathan laid out the whole affair: how, during training, Asmode had ordered A713 — Nayoon — to perform cunnilingus; how Nayoon had felt pleasure from it and been punished; how the excessive punishment had driven some of the inmates to resist; and how, in the end, Asmode had choked Nayoon by the throat.
"…Well, the control room was watching the whole time, so she couldn't have actually killed her. But the collar logs showed the grip force hit the danger threshold. So under the employment rules, noona became a disciplinary case."
"Whoa~ once it goes that far, there's no saving it. Trying to kill an inmate? She's lost it."
"Holding that line is the single most important skill a guard has. She fell short. Anyway, after the next guard meeting she's supposed to report to HQ."
"Then Asmode's getting replaced for sure."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. When someone blows it that badly, the minimum is a desk reassignment. They never get to stay a guard. Especially not here — safety comes first."
"Yeah… that tracks."
Talking about safety while watching women being tortured was almost funny, but both of them nodded.
Unlike what the inmates felt, every facility on Prison Island was built around their safety and management. The brown lumps they ate for breakfast were engineered to keep the mouth clean even without brushing, packed with balanced calories from all three major nutrients. They also contained painkillers, insulating agents, and regenerative compounds for internal organs and muscle tears — a safety measure always fed to them before severe torture sessions.
The enemas were designed so that gut-healthy compounds would absorb through the rectum. The evening pills were filled exclusively with proven drugs from Alisea Lombe — Waltz Production's main sponsor and one of its subsidiaries. Vitamins, health enhancers, menstrual suppressants, side-effect preventives, even omega-3 and collagen supplements. Beyond that, the full daily ration of beef, chicken, pork, and vegetables was simply compressed into pill form and issued by measured dose.
The recovery agents released into the cells. The drying cycles for hygiene. All of it existed for the inmates' safety and for torture that could be sustained.
And while the training and torture were vicious, and the executions carried a real risk of death, every single method had already been validated at the Waltz Production Laboratory on the mainland. Of course, they hadn't been tested on people already broken down over long periods the way the inmates were — but most of the lab staff had themselves served Grade A sentences, some for a year, some for as long as three. That made the reliability high.
Zero inmate deaths, even under those brutal conditions. A myth. If anyone ever learned how many lab personnel had died behind that myth… it would have become a social scandal.
But those people had made the same choice the inmates had. The torture devices, the programs, the execution methods — they had built them, and they had offered their own bodies as test subjects. The company had given them every possible support, and at times had even stepped in to restrain them when a challenge went too far. The dead were truly few.
And even when someone did die, the company told the families the full truth and did everything it could to ease the grief of those left behind.
In a company like that, a guard who had dared try to kill an inmate with her own hands…
"Who do you think the next Asmode will be?"
"No idea. Hopefully someone with experience."
A guard who had committed an unforgivable act had to leave. Knowing that, Ba'al and Leviathan calmly sipped what remained of their coffee.
Stop… please, just stop.
How many times had she blacked out?
Her vision was a blur. The tears that had burst free were dried and crusted at the corners of her eyes — and even that stung. Current must have arced that way too; every blink sent a fresh spike of pain.
"Uh… uhh… aaah… uh…"
Her throat was completely gone. Not even a moan would come out anymore, let alone a scream. And still she couldn't close her mouth.
— Ziiiiiiiiiiing
That sound again. The electric whine brushing past her ear made her flinch and shudder.
Not that. Please don't come again. No — if it has to come, then at least let it be a weaker stage. Please. Please!
"Ghk!! Ah… aaaagh!!"
From a throat already raw, a scream tore free, scraping what was left of her vocal cords. She could taste blood in her neck. Hours of this, and her body still hadn't adapted. The moment current flowed, it convulsed and had to endure.
"Aaaagh!— Ah… khehk…! Kuh… uuh… hurghk… ah…!!"
Her trembling head dropped. Her gaze fell to the floor. Burst capillaries and pooled tears meant she couldn't see properly anyway. She had no idea what stage the electric torture was on, whether the machine was even working right. Only one thing was certain: it wasn't over.
— Ziiiiiiiiing— click.
"Kyahk… haah. Haah. Ha… haah."
The current cut out again. How many times now? Her tingling fingertips still carried residual charge even after the signal stopped. Proof of that: her nipples hurt. Swollen from the shocks, or burned by the heavy current — she couldn't tell. They felt as if someone had sliced them open a thousand times with a knife. When the voltage spiked hard enough, beads of blood would form.
And still, after shocks that strong, the spores gripping her nipples hadn't let go.
"Ah… ahh… uh…"
The writhing of the spores layered over the electric torture made it impossible to take the pain as pure pain. It hurt — and a strange arousal twisted through her body even harder. She felt like she was boiling.
Electric torture… it was nothing like the movies and dramas. It wasn't just thrashing and screaming. At the higher stages, the body locked up so hard she could barely breathe.
Right… those people on screen never really got tortured. The thought left her newly, bitterly aware of how different her own real situation was.
"Haah. Haah. Uh. Uuh…. Hauh…"
A long time passed — far longer than the triangular wooden horse. Maybe that was why. The longer the merciless hours dragged on, the frailer her body became.
— Drip. Drip…. Drip.
"Huuuh… uh…"
Between her legs, urine she had lost control of in the pain trickled down. Residual current still in her body made her flinch at even the smallest shift of air. Her sweat-soaked prison uniform was filthy beyond recognition for something she'd put on that morning. In a state where her mind felt ready to leave her… she stared only at the floor.
Her brain felt like it would burst. She couldn't hold on like this anymore. Should she just bite her tongue? Just die?
But… right now she didn't even have the strength to bite her tongue. Mouth hanging open, drooling… she was so far gone she was thinking of things she couldn't possibly do.
How much time had passed? How much longer did she have to endure?
— Chiiiiiiiiiiing—
"Aaaaaaaagh!!! Kyaaaaaaah!! Aaaaagh!!"
Just as she clung to that empty hope, the current poured in. Her hair felt like it was standing on end. From a throat already ruined, she screamed as if coughing up blood. It was the worst pain she had ever felt. The current felt like it would shred her body to pieces. She thrashed her head side to side in agony, then gave even that up. Her body wouldn't move. The only twitching left was pure reflex.
Ah— aah.
"Gnnnngh! Grk…"
She felt foam form at the corners of her mouth. Her head swam, and her eyes closed.
Ah— is this it? Is this death?
Her body no longer answered her will. Her eyelids wouldn't open. Darkness swallowed her vision, and with the sensation of her brain burning inside her skull, she slowly lost consciousness.
…To die like this.
Ha—
My life was ordinary.
Nothing special. I went to school, liked snacks, and — right — I think I did a bit of sports too. The change came with my parents' deaths.
They passed just before I entered university. But for all how young they were, the deaths themselves weren't unusual. My mother had always been frail with a chronic illness, and my father belonged to a military organization that specialized in overseas deployments — a dangerous profession. The only unusual part was that both of them died in the same year.
My sister and I had always known a day like that would come. Fortunately, they had prepared thoroughly for that future, and neither of us had to worry about food or shelter at least until we could stand on our own. If we'd wanted, we could have finished university without ever working a single part-time job.
But neither my sister nor I wanted that kind of life. We weren't especially close as sisters, but we were alike in our own way, and both of us tried to find our paths quickly. She chose marriage. I went into design. Fast career decisions.
But maybe I rushed it. I don't know about my sister, but I always carried doubts about my choice. Something… just wouldn't catch fire. Design was the field I'd believed I was good at. But the industry was full of people far better than me, and once I hit the ceiling of my talent, even the fun I'd first felt was gone.
It was a hard life. Especially when things went badly at work, I would think it might be better to just live in a daze somewhere like a prison.
And even though it was a ridiculous fantasy, I sincerely searched things like how to go to prison, prison life, women's correctional facilities — trying to escape reality.
Then one day, a mail arrived like spam and caught my eye.
Waltz Production — Prison Island
No explanation. Just a single video attached. Normally, the right move was to ignore a mail like that. But that day, for no good reason, I wanted to open it.
In the 2050s, after the internet revolution had blurred even the concept of spam, I clicked out of sheer curiosity — just to see what kind of idiots were sending this.
Without knowing that one mail would change my entire life.
I…
— Click.
Pressed it.