Larry Correia: Warbound

But no matter how nasty Rockville looked on the outside, it was nothing compared to the monotonous hard-labor hell that was life on the inside.

Been a long time. He’d never thought he’d be back here, certainly not as a free man.

At least this time he wasn’t here as a convict. He was here as a recruiter.

Jake Sullivan parked the car before the gatehouse and waited, feeling the eyes on him. The Special Prisoners’ Wing of the Rockville State Penitentiary didn’t get very many visitors. Cautious guards approached from both sides, polite enough, but carrying Thompsons and ready for anything. There was no such thing as a complacent guard at a facility where the average prisoner could have super strength or set you on fire with his mind. From what Sullivan knew, at least one of the gatehouse men would be deaf, and therefore immune to the manipulations of any Mouth trying to con his way through.

Papers presented, he waited while they triple-checked everything. It only took a few minutes. Of course they’d known to expect him. The Warden was thorough like that.

The gate was built solid enough to stop a bulldozer, and it took a good five minutes to get it open wide enough for his car to make it through. There was a second fence inside the first, this one made of wire, and he had to wait for that gate to be pulled aside as well. Originally they had kept attack dogs inside the wire, but had been forced to get rid of them after a Beastie had used them to maul some of the guards. After that they’d electrified the wire, until one day a Crackler had sucked up the extra voltage and used it to blow a hole in the main wall during an escape attempt. So now it was just a fence.

That was the thing about containing criminal Actives. You just never knew what they were going to come up with next. Rockville collected the worst of the worst, the most violent, dangerous, magically capable hard cases that a judge couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to just execute.

There was a loud clank as the main gate began to close behind him. A cold lump of dread settled in his stomach. He took a deep breath and waited for the guard to wave him through the secondary fence. He wasn’t the sort to get rattled easily, but Jake Sullivan had served six long years inside that wall. Just over there was the rock quarry where he’d spent thousands of hours doing backbreaking manual labor. He’d killed a lot of men inside these walls, all in self defense, but regardless, that sort of thing lingers with a man.

The gate closed like the lid on his coffin.

The Warden’s office was exactly as he remembered it, dusty and old-fashioned. Every flat surface held stacks of books and papers, most of which were about magic, all taken from the prison’s extensive library. Sullivan had read them all at one point or another. Since the Special Prisoners’ Wing was dedicated to holding Active felons, no expense had been spared in the collection of information about magic. The Warden was a scholarly man, not out of any sort of innate curiosity, but rather because his job required it. It took a keen mind to come up with defenses for all of the various ways his special prisoners could cause trouble, but the Warden took his job very seriously and was now something of an expert on the topic.

The last time Sullivan had been in this room was when he’d been offered J. Edgar Hoover’s deal for an early release, his freedom in exchange for using his own Power to help capture wanted Active criminals. Sullivan had jumped at the chance. Some of the other cons had called it selling out, but they were just jealous. Anything beat breaking rocks.

The Warden had greeted him warmly and waved the escort guards away. After all, the Warden had known Sullivan had enough respect for law and order to not be scared of him trying anything while he’d been a prisoner. So he certainly wasn’t about to worry about him doing anything now that he was a free man. Sullivan took a seat in a chair meant for a normal man, and it creaked dangerously under his extra mass.

“You’ve been busy since we last met,” the Warden said from across his wide desk. He was a squat, thick-necked, wild-haired fellow who always seemed to have the stub of a cigar clamped in one side of his mouth. In his six years here, Sullivan had never actually seen the Warden with a lit cigar.

“Yes, sir.” There was no need to be so deferential anymore, but old habits were hard to break. “It’s been eventful.”

“In addition to what I’ve read in the papers, I’ve heard a few rumors. They’re saying you’re responsible for exposing the OCI conspiracy and catching the bastards who tried to kill Roosevelt.”

He couldn’t exactly tell the Warden about how he was now part of a secret society that had saved the entire east coast from a Tesla superweapon. “I played a small part is all.”

The Warden leaned way back in his chair and chewed on his cigar. “Then that would mean my arranging your release was a good idea.”

It had been the Warden who had suggested to Hoover that Sullivan could be of some use in helping capture criminal Actives. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that they were friends, since the Warden was the man responsible for keeping him caged like an animal in a prison full of violent madmen, but once he’d understood Sullivan’s nature, there had been a certain level of respect. Plus, if the Warden had not allowed him access to the library, Sullivan would’ve gone crazy a long time ago. “I personally think it was a good idea. Can’t speak for anyone else.”

“Well, I do suppose it depends on who you ask. Some seem to think you’re a national hero while the rest say you’re a menace to society. I was a little worried about keeping my job when that whole Public Enemy Number One thing happened.” The Warden chuckled. “Luckily, nobody in their right mind would want my job.”

“Yeah, that was real amusing.” Being framed for an attempted presidential assassination and becoming the most wanted man in the country hadn’t exactly been a picnic.

“I imagine,” the Warden agreed. “For a few days there I was under the impression I might once again be able to enjoy your sunny company here at beautiful Rockville.”

There was no way the OCI could have taken him alive, but that went unsaid. Sullivan merely gave a noncommittal grunt.

“It isn’t often that I get to speak to one of our rehabilitated fellows. So, what brings you back to my fine establishment, Mr. Sullivan?”

“I made a request to the Bureau of Investigation.”

“Yes, I received the letter from Director Hoover. It was rather cryptic, but gave me the impression that you are working on a rather important project. He was clear that it wasn’t one of his projects, but something that could prove to be vitally important nonetheless.”

“It is.” Sullivan didn’t think that Hoover was entirely convinced as to the reality of the Enemy’s existence, but after his political victory over the OCI, Hoover had felt like he’d owed Sullivan enough to at least humor his request. Not to mention that the BI director was happy to have the volatile and now infamous Heavy Jake Sullivan go off someplace where he wouldn’t be able to talk to reporters anymore.

“I’ll admit, I am curious. So what’s the nature of this mysterious project of yours?”

Track down a horrible monster from outer space before it can send a message home to its daddy to come and destroy the whole Earth. “I can’t really say.”

“Hoover said you’d say that.” The Warden leaned forward suspiciously. “So what do you want from me?”

“Not what. Who.” Sullivan reached into his coat, pulled out the paperwork, already signed by a federal judge, and passed it over.

The Warden took it and read, disbelief growing on his face. “You can’t possibly be serious? This prisoner… Released? Why—”