The following day, the gates of Fuckas Prison groaned open with a grating, mechanical screech that resonated through the sterile, concrete corridors. Dahmer Lukas walked directly into the high-security visitation sector, his boots clicking rhythmically against the polished linoleum floor. He was completely unburdened by his corporate armor; he walked into the facility without wearing any masks on his face nor the suit, leaving his remarkably handsome face on full display to the guards and the surveillance lenses. His sharp, flawless jawline, pale complexion, and piercing silver eyes were entirely bare, radiating a chilling, natural authority that required no visor to command the room.
He took his seat behind the reinforced glass partition of the maximum-security booth, his long fingers interlocking on the cold metal counter as he waited.
