After endless days swallowed by silence and nights drenched in agony, regret, and the kind of hopelessness that rots a man from within, the long-dreaded day finally arrived.
Today was the D day. It was judgnt day.
It ca not like salvation for Matt and his cohorts, but like the grim reaper waiting to take their soul to the great beyond.
Matt had been waiting for this day ever since he surrendered himself to the law.
He knew what his fate would be—death by lethal injection—and unlike the others, he welcod it with open arms.
Like a hopeless man, he craved the numb embrace of the afterlife, even if it ant rotting in hell, as long as he could reunited with the family he wrongly believed were dead.
With just ninety minutes left until the closed-door court session that would seal his doom, Matt sat hunched on the icy floor of his cell, his face buried in his knees.
His mind wandered, not to his cris or sins he had committed, but to the angelic face of his daughter—frozen in mory right before death tore her away.
Then ca the usual taunting—the jarring clang of a tal baton striking his cell door.
"Visitors… maggot."
The venomous voice of the prison warden lashed at him like a whip, as cruel and lifeless as always.
Matt slowly lifted his head, his once-proud features now worn and hollow, sagging like a starving man's. His voice cracked as he croaked, "What visitors?"
Everyone who'd once cared for him was either locked up, dead, or had abandoned him long ago. His elder brother had disowned him. His mother had disappeared into the shadows of disgrace. And his so-called friends? Either rotting in their own cells or buried six feet under. Sourced directly from MV6LEMP6YR.
"Do not test my patience maggot. Stand up and face the wall!" the warden barked again, pounding the bars with renewed fury.
Matt sighed wearily. Even now, frail and drained, he was still treated worse than a war criminal. He was offered no ounce of dignity or pity.
With trembling limbs and bones that felt like glass, he obeyed, rising to his feet like a man already dead, each movent aching with finality.
"Legs apart and hands behind your back. Now!" the command ca again, as sharp as a whip.
Again, Matt complied.
The sound of keys rattling and tal grinding filled the cell. Then ca the harsh grip of the warden's hands on his weak body—binding him in cuffs and shackles.
Afterwards… silence.
No further instructions. No usual threats or manhandling.
Matt was about to speak when he felt it—a shift in the air, cold and unnatural, like death itself had crept into the room.
The cell temperature dropped, a suffocating chill flooding his bones. Then, the rhythmic click of polished shoes echoed behind him.
Sothing—or soone—ominous had arrived.
Matt's heart thudded. He didn't dare move. Only one na clanged inside his skull like a death bell: Don.
He knew Don was in the sa prison. He knew the man had sworn vengeance ever since the bloodbath at his club.
Maybe Don had finally bribed his way to this mont—maybe this was the end.
Matt closed his eyes, surrendering to fate.
Then a strangely familiar voice shattered the silence.
"How does it feel to be broken… to beg for death?"
Matt flinched. That voice... it couldn't be.
"B-B-Blaze…?" he stamred, turning slowly—dread chilling his blood.
And there he was, Blaze.
Eyes burning like fire and jaw clenched with fury that could scorch the earth.
"You thought you could wipe out and my family like pests?" Blaze growled, his tone thunderous and poisonous.
"You and your dogs thought you could bury us?"
Matt's eyes darted to the open cell door—then widened in horror at the sight of his elder brother, Gregory, glaring at him like he was a disease.
Blaze stepped closer, his voice tightening.
"I gave you a chance, Matt. I let justice deal with you the first ti. But no, you had to join forces with Don. You tried to kill my wife, my unborn child and even my mother. You ruined Gregory's life. You even had the nerve to blackmail him after murdering his wife."
Matt dropped to his knees, his entire fra quaking. "I'm… I'm sorry…"
"Sorry?!" Blaze's voice erupted like a bomb, filling the cell with wrath.
In one explosive move, he grabbed Matt by the throat, yanked him up, and slamd him against the wall.
"You think sorry will undo the lives you destroyed? Will it bring back the won you made widows? The children you made orphans?!"
His fingers tightened around Matt's neck, veins bulging in restraint as he fought the urge to snap his bones.
"Please..." Matt croaked, his hands flailing.
"You finally get to feel it, Matt. The loss. The betrayal. The despair. You thought you were a grandmaster at the ga? Well, I played your board. I flipped every piece, turned your allies against you… I burned it all down."
Matt gasped, his eyes bulging. "W-What?!"
"That's right," Blaze hissed. "The attacks… your ho… your alliances… your empire—I orchestrated all of it. And now, checkmate."
Matt collapsed like a puppet with cut strings as Blaze let go, crumpling to the floor.
"Kill ," he rasped, barely a whisper, tears crawling down his face. "Please… finish it."
"This is just the beginning of your nightmare in life."
Blaze turned and walked away without sparing maths a second glance or rcy.
As silence reclaid the cell, Gregory stepped in. Still and silent. He held an urn—delicate yet heavy with consequence.
Matt looked up, wheezing. "Brother…"
Gregory's eyes were dead. His soul unreadable. No love. No hate. Just the final nail in the coffin just as he had done a while ago to Desmond.
"Our mother is dead," he said, voice as dry as ashes. "She wanted you to have a piece of her."
He opened the urn and tipped it gently—letting a stream of her ashes fall on Matt's head.
Matt scread. A broken, soul-wrenching sound. The kind that rips through the spirit.
"No… no…!"
Gregory leaned in, his voice cold and final.
"I hope you rot in hell, brother."
Then he spat on Matt's face… and walked away forever.
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