Return From Prison

Ironclad Dominion

Three Years Ago

The sun was setting over the construction site, casting long shadows across the steel beams and cement blocks. Rys, a frail and slender young man dressed in a worn-out worker's uniform, hurried across the yard with a box of pizza in his hands. His face was lit up with a wide grin as he called out, "Bert! Dinner's here!"

He pushed open the large warehouse door and stepped inside, the aroma of grease and cheese filling the air. His smile faltered as his eyes landed on a horrifying sight: Bert, his closest friend, was sprawled on the floor, soaked in a pool of his own blood.

"Bert!" Rys screamed, dropping the pizza box and rushing to his friend's side. He shook Bert's lifeless body, desperate for any sign of life. His hands trembled as he noticed a wound on the back of Bert's head. Beside the body lay a blood-stained baseball bat.

Panicking, Rys grabbed the bat without thinking, staring at the crimson streaks on its metal surface. "What happened?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the entrance. Startled, Rys turned around to see his wife, Yasmine, standing in the doorway. Relief flooded him as he stumbled toward her, still clutching the bat.

"Yasmine!" he pleaded. "Help me! Bert's hurt—he's dying! We have to take him to the hospital!"

Before Yasmine could respond, another figure stepped out from behind her—a tall, confident man with an arrogant smirk. He wrapped an arm around Yasmine's waist.

Rys froze, his eyes widening in disbelief as the man leaned in and kissed Yasmine on the cheek.

"Arthur..." Rys muttered, his voice trembling with rage.

The anger inside him boiled over. Clenching the bat tightly, he charged toward Arthur, raising it high above his head.

Before he could swing, a commanding voice rang out. "Freeze!"

Rys stopped dead in his tracks, glancing around to see several police officers storming into the warehouse, their guns trained on him.

"Drop the weapon!" one of them ordered.

Confused and terrified, Rys lowered the bat and tried to explain. "Wait! This is a misunderstanding! My friend—he needs help! Bert's dying—"

"On the ground! Now!"

Rys hesitated, but the officers closed in, their weapons unwavering. He felt a sharp blow to his back, sending him sprawling to the floor. A knee pressed into his spine as cold handcuffs locked around his wrists.

"Please, listen!" Rys begged as he was hauled to his feet. "Bert is my friend! I didn't do this! I—"

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Chao," the lead officer said, shaking Arthur's hand.

"It's my duty as a responsible citizen," Arthur replied smugly, pulling Yasmine closer.

Rys's heart sank. "Yasmine... What's going on? Tell them I didn't do this!"

Yasmine stepped forward, tears streaming down her face. "How dare you talk to me like that, you murderer!"

"Murderer?" Rys echoed, his voice cracking.

"Yes!" she screamed, pointing at Bert's lifeless body. "You killed him! You were jealous, weren't you? You thought he was my lover, so you killed him in a fit of rage! And now, you tried to attack Mr. Chao when he stepped in to protect me!"

"No... no, that's not true!" Rys stammered, his head spinning.

"Take him away," Arthur said coldly, wrapping an arm around Yasmine as she feigned sobs.

As the officers dragged Rys out of the warehouse, he could still hear Yasmine crying—only to be replaced by the sound of laughter as the doors closed behind him.

.....

Rys sat in the cold, sterile interrogation room, his hands shaking as he replayed the events in his mind. None of it made sense. 'Why would Yasmine betray me? How could she accuse me of such a crime?'

The door creaked open, and a detective entered, carrying a file. He placed it on the table and sat down across from Rys, his expression grim.

"Mr. Vaughn, we have conclusive evidence against you," the detective said, opening the file to reveal crime scene photos and reports. "Your fingerprints were the only ones found on the murder weapon."

Rys's eyes widened. "No! That's not possible! I only picked up the bat after—"

"Save it," the detective interrupted. "The evidence speaks for itself. You'll be charged with first-degree murder."

Tears streamed down Rys's face as the weight of the accusation crushed him. No matter what he said, no one would believe him.

Days later, Rys stood in court, silent and defeated as the judge sentenced him to life imprisonment at Ironclad Dominion Prison, a place notorious for being a one-way ticket to hell.

As he was escorted out of the courtroom, he caught a glimpse of Yasmine and Arthur in the gallery, their smug expressions haunting him. Then he understood the truth—they had orchestrated this elaborate betrayal to rid themselves of him and pin the murder on his shoulders.

.....

Stepping into the foreboding gates of Ironclad Dominion, Rys's stomach churned with fear. He had heard the stories—this place was a hellhole where the weak didn't survive long. 'Is this where my life ends?' he thought, his heart pounding as he shuffled forward under the watchful eyes of hardened criminals.

The atmosphere inside was oppressive, the air thick with tension. As Rys walked, he accidentally bumped into a hulking inmate with tattoos snaking up his arms.

"Watch it!" growled the man, his eyes burning with hostility.

"I—sorry—" Rys stammered, but before he could finish, a fist slammed into his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air, and the next blow knocked him to the ground.

The other inmates erupted in cheers and jeers.

"Show him who's boss!"

"Teach the newbie a lesson!"

Rys curled into a ball, shielding himself from the relentless punches. Then, a deep, commanding voice cut through the chaos.

"What is happening here?!"

The room fell silent. The voice belonged to an older man who exuded authority despite his age. His presence alone seemed to command respect, and even the most unruly prisoners straightened up. Behind him were two towering men, his bodyguards, whose mere size deterred anyone from challenging him.

The attacker froze, backing away from Rys and lowering his head. The older man walked past without sparing Rys a glance, but as Rys clutched his ribs, he grabbed the man's leg.

"Help me…" Rys croaked, his voice trembling.

The man paused, his sharp eyes falling on the pendant around Rys's neck. He crouched down, inspecting it closely.

"What's your name?" he asked, his tone low and deliberate.

"R-Rys... Emrys Knox Vaughn," Rys managed weakly before he fainted.

A flicker of interest crossed the man's face. He gestured to one of his men. "Bring him to my cell."

....

When Rys woke up, he was lying on a surprisingly comfortable bed, bandages covering his wounds. The cell was unusually clean and orderly, a stark contrast to the grimy chaos he'd seen elsewhere.

"Am I in a hotel?" he murmured groggily.

A deep laugh startled him. He turned to see a burly man sitting by the door, while the older man—calmly eating yogurt—sat at a table.

"You're still in prison, kid," the older man said, not looking up.

Rys's heart raced as he remembered the beating. "P-please don't hurt me," he begged.

The older man chuckled. "Relax, Vaughn. We're not here to hurt you."

"Who are you?" Rys asked nervously, confused by the man's calm demeanor.

"Show some respect!" barked the burly man.

The older man raised a hand to silence him, leaned back, gesturing to himself. "They call me Uncle Kevin around here," his gaze fixed on Rys. "What's your connection to the prominent Vaughn family?"

Rys shook his head. "I-I don't have one. I grew up in an orphanage. The name's just a coincidence."

Uncle Kevin's eyes narrowed as he studied Rys. "Interesting…" He pointed at the pendant. "Where did you get that?"

Rys instinctively clutched the pendant. "I've had it since I was a baby. The orphanage said it was the only thing I had when they found me. They told me it might lead me to my real parents… if they're still alive."

A knowing smile tugged at Kevin's lips. He leaned forward, his interest deepening. "Do you want to become someone else?"

"What do you mean?" Rys asked, confused.

Kevin's gaze was piercing, almost predatory. "I'll turn you into a real man."

.....

True to his word, Uncle Kevin subjected Rys to grueling daily training. From martial arts like Krav Maga, Wing Chun, and Jiu-Jitsu to physical conditioning and mental fortitude, Rys endured relentless lessons in survival and discipline. Kevin also taught him the art of strategy and leadership, molding him into a man with both strength and wisdom.

After two years, Rys had transformed. His once frail frame was now muscular and imposing, his features matured and rugged. His long hair and beard gave him an intimidating, primal appearance. He was no longer the weak man who had entered the prison; he had become a force to be reckoned with.

Inside the prison, Rys's reputation as "The Beast" grew. He was a nightmare to those who dared to challenge him, dispatching opponents in seconds with unmatched skill.

.....

....

...

Present Day

As Rys walked out of the Civil Affairs Bureau, he caught his reflection in a nearby window. His long hair and beard gave him a feral, almost savage look. He sighed. 'I need a fresh start.'

He entered a nearby barbershop, where every head turned toward him. The barber froze mid-cut, accidentally shaving a bald patch on a customer's head.

The silence was palpable until Rys barked, "Hey, you!" pointing at the barber.

"Me, B-boss? Me?" the barber stammered.

"Yes, you. Give me a haircut. Make me look presentable," Rys ordered, his tone impatient.

"Y-yes, sir!" the barber stammered, rushing to comply.

Minutes later, as the barber finished his work, the room fell silent once again—not from fear but awe.

Rys's reflection revealed a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. His sharp eyes, chiseled jawline, and stylishly cut hair exuded power and sophistication.

"He's handsome," whispered one customer.

"Like a celebrity," another murmured, while a female customer almost swooned.

Rys smiled faintly as he paid for his haircut, his confidence radiating with his fresh look. As he turned to leave, the barbershop door suddenly burst open, and two men barged in, brandishing knives.

"Nobody move if you don't want to get hurt!" one of them yelled, his voice sharp and menacing.

"Everyone sit down! Hands on your heads!" barked the other.

The once-bustling barbershop fell into a stunned silence. Customers froze in their seats, fear etched on their faces. Unbothered by the commotion, Rys continued walking toward the exit as if nothing had happened, his calm demeanor unnerving.

The two women who had been admiring Rys moments earlier whispered to each other in terror once they saw Rys action.

"Oh no, he's walking right toward them!" one said, clutching her friend's arm.

"Is he crazy? He'll get himself killed!" the other added, her voice trembling.

"Hey! You! Stop!" shouted one of the intruders.

When Rys didn't respond, the man's face twisted into a smirk. He stepped in front of Rys, blocking his path, and spun him around. Before anyone could react, the man pressed the blade of his knife against Rys's neck.

"Nobody move, or this pretty boy gets it!" he declared, his voice dripping with malice.