celin the gangster

Celin sat silently in the back of the armored van as it rumbled down the highway toward San-Jamb Maximum Security Prison. The metal cuffs around his wrists bit into his skin, but he barely noticed. His heart was heavier than his chains.

He had watched his entire family die.

His brother Melin, his father Felin, and his mother—all gone in seconds.

And now, the world believed he was the killer.

The gates of the prison opened with a mechanical groan, welcoming him into a world of concrete walls, steel bars, and ruthless rules. From the moment he stepped inside, Celin could feel the weight of the system crushing him. Inmates stared at him with suspicion or hunger in their eyes.

But not everyone was

After a few days of isolation, Celin was moved into general population. There, he met a small group of inmates who didn't act like hardened criminals. They were quiet, alert, and careful about who they talked to.

Eventually, one of them, a tall guy with tattoos all over his arms, approached him.

> "You don't belong here, do you?" he asked.

Celin narrowed his eyes. "Why? You do?"

The guy smirked. "Name's Tariq. We all got locked up by the same people… The Ballas. Framed. Set up. Silenced. Just like you."

Celin blinked in shock. He had never said anything about the Ballas.

> "How do you know that?"

Tariq leaned in closer. "Because I know Fedrick. And I know how the Red Cult hides its crimes. You're not alone, kid."

That night, Celin listened as Tariq and the others shared their stories. All of them were thrown in prison on false charges, after crossing the wrong people connected to the cult. Some had lost families. Others were betrayed by friends. All of them had one thing in common:

> They were survivors.

And now, Celin was one of them.

Meanwhile: Melin's Survival

Back in San-Jamb City, Fedrick had rushed Melin's barely breathing body to a private hospital—one owned by Red Cult insiders. The bullet had pierced deep, but hadn't reached his heart.

For days, Melin drifted in and out of consciousness.

When he finally woke up, Fedrick was there—dressed in black, sitting at his bedside like a mourning friend.

> "W-Where… am I?" Melin croaked.

Fedrick leaned in, a look of fake sorrow in his eyes.

> "You're safe now, Melin. But… I'm so sorry, son. Your father… Felin… he did something terrible."

Melin's eyes widened.

> "What?"

Fedrick sighed, putting on the performance of his life.

> "He… he killed your mother. And tried to kill me too. He snapped. I tried to stop him, but…"

Fedrick faked wiping a tear.

"You were caught in the crossfire. I saved you. I couldn't let you die."

Melin stared at the ceiling, weak, confused, and full of sorrow.

> "Why would he… why would my father do that?"

Fedrick gently placed a hand on Melin's shoulder.

> "He was sick, Melin. Angry. Dangerous. But you're safe now. I'll take care of you. Like a son."

Melin turned his face away and started to cry.

He cried like a wounded animal, like a sorrowful monkey in the rain, clinging to the last pieces of his shattered life—believing the lies, too broken to see the truth.

To Be Continued...