7:34AM, WENTWORTH PENITENTIARY, ENGLAND
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Christopher Gallo was sitting silently in his dank, desolate cell, staring blankly at the notches in the concrete wall. He slowly reminisced on all the events that had happened in his life, the events that had left him in the situation he was in now.
He'd been a gangbanger, Christopher remembered, a lowly little runt that had just started out. He was just 21 but he'd lost count of the amount of times he'd gotten into scraps and brawls (possibly due to his multiple concussions) with kids all the way back to when he was four years old. Getting into the mob wasn't necessarily hard for Christopher considering his uncle was the head honcho, the Don of the prestigious Gallo crime family. Christopher could remember himself strutting around like a peacock, gloating about all the alleged power he had by being the Boss's nephew.
Like he gave a crap about me, Chris chuckled. The last time he'd seen his uncle was when his uncle had pointed the barrel of his gun to his head after a failed drug shipment, his finger placed unwavering on the trigger. Christopher could remember his fear, his voice growing hoarse as he helplessly pleaded for his uncle's mercy. He remembered looking up into his uncle's eyes and seeing nothing back, an icy, hollow stare that penetrated into Chris's soul. He had no doubt that his uncle would've killed him if the Feds hadn't arrived, watching as his uncle hopped into his blacked out Benz and skidded off, leaving him to blame for the drugs and the dead bodies that'd been left at the crime scene.
Christopher remembered himself not resisting as the armoured personnel threw him to the fooor and cuffed him, screaming at him to remain silent and promising that he would never see anything but the inside of a cell for the rest of his life. One year, six months, three weeks and four days later in the present day, Christopher chuckled to himself, an unnerving, spine-chilling laugh so disconcerting that it woke his cell mate up from his slumber.
"What'cha doin' there after lights out, 'True-Blue'," the man asked, referencing Chris's old nickname from his time in the Mob. Chris turned around slowly, revealing an inconspicuous necklace with a luminescent black orb that had been hidden inside of his sweaty palms. The man observed the necklace with a strange awe, marvelling at the jagged red veins that seemed to vibrate on the surface of the object, pulsing like a beating iron heart.
"I'm happy you're awake, Ronald. That means that this part is SO much easier..." Chris laughed as he brought the orb closer to his cellmate's face. Ronald Harper had never been a good man while he was alive: he was a convicted paedophile, guilty of dozens of cases of sexual assault and abuse on not only grown women but also premature girls. Christopher felt that he was carrying out justice in a way as he felt Ronald's life force being sucked out of him, travelling through the gem and into himself.
There was a dull thud as the husk that was Ronald's body dropped from his bunk, rolling to rest at Christopher's feet. Christopher grinned maniacally as he snapped his fingers and the corpse disintegrated into a swarm of tiny ant-like creatures and scurried through the tiny crevices in the floor and walls. Ronald's life force wasn't the strongest considering he was in his mid-70s but it still gave Christopher a rush of newfound energy.
It worked, he thought as he marvelled at the power of the seemingly innocuous trinket in his palm. He'd been given it from an elderly looking prisoner who claimed he was a shaman, the man emphasising with Chris's plight and promising him the artifact could help him seek vengeance on the people who'd wronged him. All Christopher had had to do was first kill the man who'd assaulted the shaman's great-granddaughter. With his task completed, Christopher Gallo was a new man, a man with a single mission to hunt and destroy the lives of those that betrayed him.
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