The news crackled through the tiny radio in their makeshift cell, a distorted whisper against the backdrop of the ever-present drilling. “Early release…” the reporter’s voice faded in and out, “thousands of inmates…”
A stunned silence descended upon the five figures huddled around the radio. They were the Tunnel Tigers, a motley crew united by a shared desperation and a single, focused goal: escape. For months, their lives had revolved around the rhythm of the drills, the slow, agonizing progress of the tunnel that promised freedom.
“Looks like freedom found us instead,” chuckled Ghost, the wiry young man with a knack for electronics, the one who’d scavenged the radio from a discarded pile.
Big Sal, a bear of a man with a quiet anger simmering beneath the surface, just grunted. He’d been in the system longer than any of them, and the thought of leaving without a fight stirred something dark within him.
Across from them, their leader, Hawk, remained motionless, his face hidden in shadow. He finally spoke, his voice hoarse from disuse. “This changes nothing. The tunnel is almost complete. I won’t be a statistic, released back into a system that broke me.”
Hawk slammed the radio down, the defiance in his voice echoing in the cramped cell. The others exchanged uneasy glances. Escape had become their obsession, a lifeline in a sea of despair. The news of early release was a lifeline thrown from a different direction, a path untrodden and uncertain.
One by one, their eyes met Hawk’s, a silent battle of wills playing out. Finally, Ghost, the ever-pragmatic one, spoke.“Hawk, the world’s changed. Maybe there’s a chance this time.”
The tension stretched, thick and suffocating. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years, Big Sal rose.“You choose your path, Hawk. But some of us are ready to see what lies beyond these walls.” He turned and started towards the hidden entrance to the tunnel.
One by one, the others followed, their footsteps echoing in the musty air. Hawk remained alone, the silence a deafening roar in his ears. He looked at the half-finished tunnel, a monument to their shared desperation. Outside, a new dawn was breaking, casting a sliver of light into the cell.
Hawk closed his eyes, the sound of receding footsteps a slow, mournful dirge. He raised a hand, his fingers brushing the cool metal of a pickaxe. With a deep breath, he followed the others, not towards freedom, but deeper into the darkness, a prisoner of his own making.
Thousands of inmates to be freed as minister says prisons ‘on point of collapse’
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