CHAPTER 161: PUTA LOCA

Marianna, seated on the lower bunk, stared blankly into space, murmuring, "I will kill her," every few seconds like a broken prayer. Her voice was soft but unwavering—obsessive, looped, mechanical.

A loud crack echoed through the cell block as a female guard slammed her baton against the bars.

"Marianna Allen."

No response.

The guard’s brow furrowed. "Hey, you deaf or just playing psycho again?"

Still nothing.

With an irritated snarl, the guard struck the bars so hard the steel vibrated, the sound ricocheting down the hall and silencing the low hum of murmured conversation from nearby inmates.

Marianna jolted upright. Her head snapped to the guard, eyes wide and bloodshot like a startled animal’s.

"You have a fucking visitor, crazy bitch," the guard barked. She pulled out a jangling ring of keys, her fingers expertly flipping through them until one clicked into place.

The cell door groaned open.

"Turn around. Hands behind your back," she ordered.

Marianna obeyed slowly, a crooked smile forming as she turned. "Is it her? Did she finally come?" she asked, voice lilting. "My daughter?"

"Shut it, crazy bitch."

The guard roughly grabbed her arms and shoved her forward. Marianna’s head clipped the edge of the upper bunk with a thunk. She didn’t even flinch. The cuffs clicked tight around her wrists.

As they marched down the corridor, Marianna hummed a tuneless melody under her breath, her steps uneven, her smile too wide.

They reached the visiting area. The guard unlocked a separate door and shoved it open with a metal screech.

"Try anything, and I’ll strap you in the restraint chair ’til your organs start failing. Got me?" the guard hissed.

Marianna tilted her head, smile growing eerie. "Who is it? Is it Myra? My daughter? Did she finally come?"

The guard rolled her eyes. "Nutjob," she muttered, then shoved her inside and slammed the door behind her.

The visiting room was dim, lit only by a single flickering bulb overhead. It cast a yellowish, sickly glow over the space like a dying sun. Marianna stumbled forward, still cuffed, her eyes flicking wildly around the room.

Then they landed on him.

A man in a suit sat at the metal table. Looking every bit neat, polished, and civilized. He stood as she entered, gesturing to the seat across from him.

Marianna scowled. "Who the hell are you? Where’s my daughter? Why hasn’t Myra come to see me?!"

The man sat back down calmly, folding his hands on the table. "I was sent by Mrs. Ephyra Allen," he said smoothly. "She asked me to deliver something to you."

He slid a tablet across the table with one finger.

Marianna’s face twisted. She surged forward, slamming her cuffed hands on the table. "Where the hell is my daughter?! I don’t want to watch some goddamn video! I want Myra! What did that bitch do to her?! What happened to my daughter?! Bring Myra to me!"

The man didn’t flinch. He waited for her to run out of breath. Then, with maddening composure, he said, "If you want to know where your daughter is, you’ll take a seat and watch what’s on the screen."

Marianna stood frozen for several seconds, her chest heaving, lips trembling.

Then, slowly, she lowered herself into the chair, glaring at him like a feral dog ready to bite.

He gave her a single nod and slid the tablet the rest of the way across the table.

Marianna snatched it up. The screen blinked awake. With a single swipe, it unlocked.

The video began instantly.

Myra. Bound to a metal bed. Her mouth gagged. Her body shook violently. Lke bristled rope, wrapped tight around her limbs, cutting into her skin. Blood gleamed wet and red. Something glinted off-screen—a scalpel?

The footage didn’t flinch. It showed everything.

The screaming was muffled, but the pain—raw, animalistic—spilled out of every frame.

Marianna’s smile slipped.

"No... no..." she whispered.

The video panned slowly to reveal the face of her tormentor.

Ephyra.

Expression calm. Hands gloved. Surgical. Detached.

"Stop it..." Marianna rasped, gripping the tablet so hard her knuckles blanched.

But the video didn’t stop.

"You’ll get through more than four," Ephyra’s voice said coolly, as she pressed a cold compress to Myra’s open wound.

Marianna let out a choked sound—something between a sob and a growl.

She looked up at the man, who was watching her with blank professionalism.

"Make it stop," she begged, her voice cracking. "Make it stop, please..."

The man leaned forward slightly. "Ephyra said to tell you... this is only the beginning."

Marianna snapped.

She screamed and threw the tablet at the wall. It hit with a sharp crack, shattering the screen.

She lunged across the table, eyes wild, teeth bared.

The guard outside burst in, baton raised, and Marianna was wrestled to the ground, shrieking curses and clawing at the air.

But over the chaos, the man remained seated, unbothered. He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his suit.

He didn’t look at Marianna again as the guards dragged her out, frothing and howling.

He simply said, "You wanted your daughter. You got her."

Then he left the room.

Marianna exploded.

Screaming, kicking, overturning the metal chair with a crash, she slammed herself against the table and then into the walls. Her voice ricocheted off the concrete like a feral animal’s wail. The guards were on her in seconds.

"Down!" one shouted.

She bit. She thrashed. She clawed like her skin was on fire.

One of them pulled a stun baton from his belt and jabbed it into her side.

Crack!

Electricity surged through her. Her body convulsed violently, and her knees buckled. She hit the floor hard, spasming, her screams turning to a gurgled sob.

"Shut her up!" the second guard barked.

Another jolt. Another crackle of electricity. And then silence—except for her ragged, wet breathing.

They dragged her limp, twitching body back down the corridor like a sack of broken bones. Her wrists and ankles were raw from the struggle, eyes glassy, lips muttering something unintelligible.

The cell door screeched open.

They threw her in like trash.

"Try that shit again," one of the guards spat, "and you’ll spend the next week strapped to the floor like a dog."

The door slammed shut behind them.

Alone now, Marianna lay crumpled on the cold floor. And then the dam broke.

She wailed.

Screamed until her throat was raw.

Punched the hard concrete floor, the air. Over and over. Her hands split open, skin tearing, blood smearing across the concrete. She didn’t care. Couldn’t feel it. Her entire body vibrated with grief and fury.

"Myra..." she sobbed. "My baby..."

"Shut the fuck up!" her cellmate growled from the top bunk. A thick accent, tired and angry. "Christ, woman, some of us worked all fucking day. You think you’re the only one who’s fucked in here?"

Marianna didn’t answer. Just screamed louder, punching the floor again, her blood mixing with her tears.

That was it.

A heavy thud as the cellmate dropped from the bunk, bare feet slapping the floor. She crossed the small space with the aggression of someone who hadn’t slept in three days and had no patience left for theatrics.

She stopped just in front of Marianna, crouching low, nose to nose with her.

"Listen, puta loca," she hissed, grabbing Marianna’s jaw roughly, digging her fingers in. "You scream one more time, I’ll shut your damn mouth for good. You understand? I’m tired. I haven’t slept. And you’re playing telenovela loca in my fucking cell. Cállate!"

Marianna was laughing and crying all at once, trembling. Her bloodshot eyes glinted with something dark and deranged.

She reached out slowly, hand shaking, and—

RIP.

With an unhinged screech, her fingernails raked across the woman’s face, drawing blood. Red lines bloomed instantly.

The woman howled, stumbling back, hand pressed to her cheek.

"You crazy bitch!" she shrieked—and then she lunged.

Marianna didn’t run. She met her head-on, snarling, tackling her to the floor with a wild cry. They rolled. Fists flew. Hair yanked. Teeth bared.

Marianna got the upper hand first—straddling the woman, slamming her head into the floor again and again, screaming something about her daughter, about Ephyra, about revenge.

But her cellmate was bigger. Meaner. And way too familiar with prison fights.

With a guttural roar, she flipped Marianna over and straddled her. She pounded fists into her face, ribs, anywhere soft or breakable. Blood spattered the wall. Marianna tried to fight back, but she was already drained, already half-broken. She took the hits, teeth gritted, laughing through the pain.

The cell door clanged open again.

Guards stormed in.

"Off her! Now!"

The cellmate raised both hands in surrender, panting, her face scratched but victorious. Marianna lay beneath her, bloodied and dazed, mouth twitching in a ghost of a smile, her eye already swelling shut.

"She touched me first," the woman said flatly, stepping back. "I got witnesses."

The guards dragged Marianna up off the floor like she weighed nothing.

"You really don’t know when to quit, huh?" one of them muttered.

Marianna’s head lolled to the side, her bloody mouth curling wider.

"Tell Ephyra," she rasped, voice like gravel, "this isn’t over."

The guard snorted. "You think she cares?"

But Marianna just started laughing again—harsh and broken.