Mandi Grogan

"You're gonna be okay," Mandi assured herself, her voice a soothing murmur in the stark confines of her cell. The echo bounced off the cold concrete walls, bringing no comfort.

The metal door slammed shut behind her, the finality of it making her heart sink. She took a deep breath, inhaling the stale, antiseptic air of the prison. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the dull gray surfaces. The place smelled of fear and despair, a scent she knew she'd grow accustomed to. But it wasn't just the physical confines that bothered her. It was the injustice of it all. Mandi had been on the wrong side of the law more times than she cared to count, but this time, she was certain she'd been set up.

Her thoughts swirled with the faces of those who had played a part in her conviction. The judge, with her smug grin and dismissive wave, sending her to this hellhole without a second glance. The district attorney, her former lover, who had turned on her faster than a snake strikes. And her so-called defense attorney, who had done more to aid the prosecution than to save her skin. Twelve female jurors had condemned her, their eyes filled with accusation. And the detectives, who had fabricated evidence and **** witnesses to testify against her. The list grew longer with every step she took down the dimly lit corridor, her rage simmering just beneath the surface.

Mandi's eyes narrowed as she surveyed her new surroundings. Prison wasn't a foreign concept; she had been here before. But this time was different. This time, she had been wronged. As she was escorted to her cell, she took note of the guards' routines, the layout of the place, and the faces of the inmates who stared at her with curiosity and wariness. Information was the currency here, and she intended to gather it all.

In the corner of her cell, she found a worn notebook and a stub of a pencil. Mandi sat on her bunk, her thoughts racing. With meticulous care, she began to write the names of those who had betrayed her. Each name a new line, each line a promise of retribution. As she wrote, her hand grew steadier, and a plan began to form in her mind. **** wouldn't come immediately, but it would come, and it would be sweet. She had time, and she had skills—skills that had made her infamous in the criminal underworld. Skills that would serve her well in this new chapter of her life.

Mandi quickly learned the social hierarchy of the prison. She made allies with those who could help her and kept a safe distance from those who could not. Her reputation preceded her, and whispers of her past exploits spread like wildfire. The inmates knew she wasn't to be trifled with, and the guards kept a wary eye on her. But Mandi was patient. She knew that in a place where power was a game of chess, she had to play her moves wisely.

Days turned into weeks, and she used her time to gather intel. She listened to the conversations that floated through the bars, piecing together snippets of information that painted a picture of the prison's inner workings. She studied the routines, the weaknesses, and the opportunities that could be exploited. And she worked on her physical strength, turning the meager gym equipment into a fortress of endurance and skill.

Mandi's first opportunity came in the form of a shiv, crafted from a sharpened toothbrush and hidden in a rolled-up sock. A new inmate, fresh meat with a mouth that hadn't yet learned to stay shut, had been spreading rumors about her. It was time to set the record straight. In the shower, when the guards' eyes were elsewhere, she approached the girl, her expression cold as ice. The girl's eyes widened in terror as she realized what was happening. Mandi whispered her warning, her voice as sharp as the makeshift weapon, "You talk about me again, and I'll make you eat your own tongue." The message was clear, and from that day forth, the rumors ceased.

Her next move was more strategic. One of the guards, a burly woman with a sadistic streak, had been known to smuggle in contraband for the right price. Mandi had been watching her closely, waiting for the perfect moment to make her approach. She waited until the guard was alone in the laundry room, surrounded by the cacophony of industrial machines. "I know what you're up to," Mandi said, her voice low and menacing. "And I want in." The guard looked her up and down, weighing her options. Recognizing the danger Mandi posed, she agreed to a partnership, and Mandi had her first piece of the puzzle.

With her newfound access to the outside world, Mandi began to work on the next phase of her plan. She needed information, and she knew exactly who to get it from. She had a few contacts on the outside that still owed her favors. Using the contraband phone the guard had provided, she made a call, her voice a low growl of determination. "It's time to settle some scores," she said, before giving a list of names and specifics about their roles in her frame-up.

The response was swift. Within days, she had the dirt she needed on each player in her twisted game of ****. The detectives had been paid off by a rival gang to pin the robbery on her. The D.A. had been promised a promotion. Her ex-lover had been promised protection. And the jurors? They had been threatened or bribed, their lives and families held in the balance.

Mandi's thoughts grew darker with each piece of the puzzle that fell into place. She lay on her bunk, the notebook open beside her, as she plotted her moves. Each name had a plan now, a way to make them pay for their betrayal. The guards, the inmates, they were all just pawns in the grand scheme of things. But they were pawns she could manipulate. The only piece of the puzzle she did not have was who had been behind setting her up. However she would get the information once she had escaped.

Her first step was to get out of this hellhole. She had studied the blueprints of the prison, smuggled in a piece at a time with the guard's help. She knew where the weak points were, where the cameras didn't watch, and where the guards were the most lax. The escape would be daring, but she had done more daring things before.

One moonlit night, Mandi waited until the guards had done their final round and the prison had settled into a rhythm of sleep. She expertly hacked the lock on her cell door and headed to the laundry to get a guards spare uniform.

The guard had left it there as per their agreement, a silent nod to the power dynamics that had shifted. Dressed in the ill-fitting uniform, Mandi moved through the shadows, her heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. She knew that if she was caught, it would be game over, but the thrill of the challenge only fueled her determination. She headed to the machine shop to get a pair of wire cutters.

Her plan was simple but risky. She would cut through the fence in the least monitored area and slip away into the night. The wire cutters were heavier than she had anticipated, their cold metal biting into her palms as she gripped them tightly. She had timed it perfectly; the moon was setting, casting long shadows across the prison yard. The guards' flashlights danced in the distance, but none shone in her direction.

Mandi moved swiftly and silently, her eyes adjusted to the low light. She reached the fence and took a deep breath before starting her work. The sound of the snipping wire seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness, making her nerves tighten with every cut. Sparks flew as she severed the last strand, and she paused, waiting for the alarm to blare. But the night remained eerily quiet. She had made it this far without a hitch.

With the fence breached, she slipped through the gap, the cold metal scraping against her skin, a painful reminder of her freedom slipping away. The ground outside was wet with dew, the grass cool beneath her feet as she sprinted away from the prison walls. The darkness was her ally, swallowing her up as she vanished into the surrounding woods. She had studied the terrain from the exercise yard, and now her knowledge paid off as she navigated through the dense foliage with unerring precision.

Mandi had stolen a set of keys from the unsuspecting guard, and as she reached the edge of the woods, she found the dirt bike she had hidden there, a beacon of freedom amidst the trees. She straddled it, her heart pounding as she turned the key and the engine roared to life. The sound seemed to echo through the night, and she waited for the inevitable shouts of pursuit. But the prison remained eerily silent, the guards none the wiser.

With a grin that was both terrifying and exhilarating, she sped off into the night, the wind in her hair, the engine's roar a sweet symphony of liberation. The bike's headlight cut through the darkness as she followed a path she had meticulously mapped out over weeks of stolen glances. The stars above were her guide, the thrill of the escape coursing through her veins like fire.