Detention Island

Hello!

This is slightly different to all the in-character RP I’ve seen. It bases around an island, funded internationally for maximum security, and is where the deadliest, disgusting and most cynical live. Notorious gang members and leaders have seen their time here, as well as international criminals, fraudsters, rapists, serial killers, and so on.
The Islands are owned by Great Morstaybishlia, and is called Detention Islands, hence the title.

The large island:

Is home to the prison itself sat at the centre. There is a strip of land, called ‘Nobodies Home’, encircling the whole complex, about 3 miles wide. At the other side of the ‘Nobodies Home’, sits a giant wall, encircling ‘Nobodies Home’, strategically placed so that it is impossible to climb over, dig under, or blow up; unless under certain, almost impossible circumstances.
There is sadly, only one way out. That one way being a heavily guarded and regulated door, maintained by at least 50 servicemen around the clock.
This is not to say that exiting this complex is impossible, if you are a prisoner.
On the other side of the heavily regulated door/passageway to the outside, sits a large militarised town, known for security and trade. It’s a giant coincidence that the towns military armoury only sits a block away from the door.
To add, every single person in this town (minus elderly) owns a sidearm or a blade that would not exceed five inches. The firearms would range from pocket pistols to light SMG’s. To make things worse, every single person within the inner parts of this town has military training to some extent, and will not hesitate to shoot a runaway prisoner, be that in the leg to between the eyes. The outer section of the town is generally like any other.
Other parts of the island include:
Several ports. Land dedicated to agriculture; which is about 70% of the land outside of the giant wall. This land is sparsely populated, and amongst residents you’ll find pleasant farm homes and broad thick accents. They’re generally not remotely interested in you or the people looking for you (that’s to say you get out there in the first place).

The small island:

Is home to the only way out of the area, an airport and a dock. This airport is monitored and very secure, flights aren’t very common. The occasional flight, maybe a few a week from Auroran countries and lesser from countries in other regions of the world. The dock and village surrounding is not as secure and an easier escape, if you ever find yourself in that position. Large, industrial trade ships dock here, delivering funded supplies, delivering prisoners (this ship is extremely regulated and proven impossible to escape from during your journey to the prison) and weaponry. You’ll find about 80 soldiers live in this village and maintain its security.
You will also find a hospital on this island. The hospital is the only place you may ever find yourself outside of the hospital (by non-aggressive means) in any case that cannot be challenged by the prison doctors, a qualified 20 man team.

There’s a third island, which only holds a lighthouse and 4 residents. It’s completely de-militarised and a good temporary safe haven for escapees.

The Prison:

The prison is a ginormous complex, called Dog Post Prison. It’s capable of housing a whopping 30,000 residents. The population of all the islands at the 2015 census was 5,402, which includes 1,370 members of staff and civilians working at Dog Post Prison. The population does not include prisoners on site, which has currently 6,421. The prison dates back four centuries to 1642. The prison is split into 6 areas, all identical, encircling the middle area, which hosts to where the officers sleep at night. In this centre, there is a large watchtower, which is a brilliant vantage point.
In each and every area you will find that it is separated into 6 cell blocks, which encircle around a big canteen and a secure office for guards. (Food is generally the same weekly cycle of cheap food.)
For the sake of confusion, we wont be split around the prison, only split around one of these cell blocks in one of these areas. In some cases, you may be moved to a different cell block, but this is rare and only for punishment/re directory/removal from another inmate. If this is not too serious, within a week you will be moved back to the previous block. If it is, you will be trialled depending on what you did.

Moral of the story:

You most likely wont get out.

Here is the complex plans, colour coded as so that;
The black circle being the giant wall.
The interior Star Wars style (badge) complex in the centre being the complex.
White being the Island land.
Light blue being the ocean.
Red being the inner town; the militarised zone.
Purple being towns.
Orange being ports. The port on the largest is not where shipping routes enter and exit, and nor is the one parallel on the small island. They’re more fishing ports and the ferry dock.
Grey being roads, the biggest and most important on the island (note there is cobblestone laid paths and routes around the prison but is not worth showing).
Blue stripy line from port-to-port being the route that the ferry takes daily.
Dark green on the big island being a sewage plant.
Light green being the hospital.
The black strip on the small island is the airport.
Finally, the city like badge on the smallest island is the lighthouse complex, which includes the residents home and owned land.


THIS IS OPEN TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE! You are an inmate and you’re told daily you will die here.


(Location of Islands with neighbouring countries and territories.)
[spoiler]

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Thanks and enjoy!

[spoiler]I unconsciously typed “Salty McGee was, by all intents, a very undesirable fellow. He was in on several counts of murder and robbery-” Before I even started thinking lmao[/spoiler]
Irene Kalypsen woke up to the same routine. Wake up too early. Eat too little breakfast. Take too short a shower. Brush too few teeth.

She was one of the rougher inmates, and had earned a reputation as the resident bad girl, much to the dismay of any guards unfortunate enough to be assigned to her. Her trial was being perpetually postponed by her ex; who’d bullshitted a plot to get her back for cheating. Irene was the first to admit, her commitment issues weren’t admirable. But locking someone up in an international prison seemed a bit much.

At any rate, the rest of it is history. The ex cried foul, she was booked for theft, drugs, assault, the whole enchilada, then another larger enchilada on top of that enchilada, the second enchilada being that she had been involved with a Gradean exchange student. The issue went to higher and higher courts, before becoming a brief international spectacle, and landing her, not in Emberwood or even Gradea, but in this lovely little limbo she now existed in.

As a super bonus, Gradea has lately ceased to be a sovereign nation. So, chances were, she was gonna die in here. A very long, boring death. Bored to death, possibly. She’d toyed with the idea of breaking out, and had a tiny stash of accrued loot stored discreetly within her cell. Nothing exceptional; just a knife from the canteen, a few wiry metal scraps, and a single AAA battery.

So. Just daydreams. At least, until today…

[spoiler]OOC: Lurin Vorolov’s crime was torturing, raping, and killing 120 people over a period of 10 years (1990-2000). He was found out when detectives determined what his M.O. for kidnapping was: Females between the ages 20-30 years old, from families with an income between 40,000 and 50,000 Credits per year, all within the former Kostuvastan. Lurin is known to have abused his wife and son, and Lurin was the breadwinner with an income of 45,000 Credits a year. His wife was also 25 years old, and was born in Tula, Kostromastan. Lurin was accused of breaking and entering, beyond third degree murder, sexual harassment, torture, and kidnapping. He was sentenced to 1100 years to The Detention Islands in a maximum security cell. [/spoiler]

Lurin Vorolov, ancestor of Kostuv Ruler Rorin Vorolov, woke up in his make-do bedroom on the outskirts of Irkutsk, Baykalia. He got out of his bed and went to his kitchen to make some scrambled eggs, eggs being the only thing left in his fridge. His family was God knows where, and he knew the cops were on their way to take him to the most infamous prison on Urth: The Detention Islands. Lurin had successfully fled from the police for sixteen years, but, growing weary of running, decided to stop fleeing law enforcement, accepted his fate, and stayed at his temporary living quarters long enough for the cops to find out where he was.

“POLICE! OPEN UP!” The cops were here.

Lurin put his half-eaten breakfast down, walked up to the door, and opened it. Lurin greeted the police with an obviously sarcastic, “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

Not even entertaining what Lurin said, one of the cops said, “You’re surrounded. If you come with us, and you don’t resist in any way, you might get a better cell in that hellhole. I’d take the deal, considering.”

Lurin didn’t respond, and followed the police officers’ orders, and entered the cop car. It was an hour’s drive to the Irkutsk International Airport. From there, Lurin would be forever stuck on The Detention Islands for the rest of his life, never to see his family ever again.

On the small island, chained up, Lurin was escorted from the Prison Complex’s airport, and crossed to the Prison via a small delivery ship.
(OOC: Awaiting Map to determine where Lurin goes)

The two guards on each side of Dante Knox held a firm grip on his arms as they guided him through the halls of Detention Islands’ immense prison. Once or twice Dante tripped, forcing the guards to have to pick him up from falling. The deeper into the prison the group went, the more lightheaded Dante felt. Ever since he was a boy back in Fortuna he has hated closed in spaces. It was probably one of the reasons he loved the sea with it’s seemingly unending expanse of water for him to travel freely and to do whatever he wanted. Too bad it was from the sea that the Staynes plucked him out from due to piracy.

Ever since Fortuna became a dictatorship, Dante took to the high seas. It was here that he and his crew decided to take to pirating as a way of income. For a few years Dante and his men had their fun taking control of ships, setting up ransoms, and stealing and killing however they wanted whenever they wanted. However that came to a halting stop after being captured by a Staynish ship due to a failed operation in the Caven Sea. From there he, the last survivor of his crew, was sent to one of Urth’s most secure prisons to spend the rest of his life rotting behind bars.

After a couple more turns, Dante and the two guards finally reached their destination; Dante’s prison cell and new home. Once the door was opened, one of the guards shoved Dante into the cell, sending Dante off balance. He caught himself by grabbing hold of the bed as the door closed behind him.

“Hey, bring your hands here,” one of the guards ordered. Dante looked down at his wrists and remembered he still had his cuffs on. Hesitatingly, Dante made his way to the door, put his hands through a slot in the door, and waited as the guard removed the cuffs. After a couple seconds Dante was cuff free and allowed to sit on the bed.

“Make yourself at home, you’ll be here awhile,” The other guard said before closing the slot, washing Dante in darkness. He sighed deeply, turning towards the far end wall where a small slit was letting in natural light. He could not tell what time it was, but he did know that on the other side of those walls was the ocean, his real home.

“Well, this is what I get for being a pirate…”

(OOC: I was wondering when something like this would happen. Why not give them IDs?)
A ferry, owned by the Tretridian Justice Commission (well known for accidentally causing the collapse of the First Republic and sparking controversy over Prime Minister Wilson signing paperwork) sailed through the sea. Two guards stood in front of a cell, with notorious criminal Bradford Williams, AKA Prisoner #718316 (which I will regularly refer to him as) sitting inside in an black and white striped prisoner uniform with legcuffs and handcuffs on. He was sentenced to life on the isolated rock for murdering 14 people over 1 year. Suddenly the ship halted as it was secured to the docks. An officer opened the cell containing Prisoner #718316 and pulled him out. Tretridian police escorted Williams to the secure gate, where the prison guards open it and the police let him go, as the prisoner was the prison guards’ problem now. The guards pushed him in a tiny cell, removed his restraints, and shut the cell. He looked through the iron bars and the tiny (somewhat OOC: 1 square decimeter, because I like the metric system) window to outside. His bed was extremely uncomfortable, and he had a hard time standing in the small space between his bed and the toilet and the tiny curtain-separated shower that was only slightly larger than he was.

Gregori Grigoryev, one of the head crime bosses of the Sem’ya (the Strataric mob), sighed. This was not his week.

After finally being nabbed by those government sons of curs, he thought it was the end for him. But instead of being executed like a common criminal, the General Secretary elected to send him to this prison. Maybe to not make him a complete martyr, maybe because he feared outright war with Sem’ya. To be honest, Gregori didn’t know and didn’t much care. He had little hope of ever escaping, and wondered if he would die from sheer boredom.

Of course, he didn’t broadcast these thoughts to the four guards escorting him. “Do you have any Zyr on you?” Gregori smirked. “I’m parched.”

He was rewarded with a firm whack! to the back of his head with a rifle butt. “No talking,” the guard said.

Gregori made a slight shrugging motion. He hadn’t expected much more.
As they walked down a corridor, he looked around at the various other prisoners in their cells. Daring another comment, he nodded. “Real messed up bunch you have here.”

Again, he felt the rifle smack him. “You’ll fit right in.” the same guard sneered.

With his head now stinging something awful, Gregori made no further comment.

Several minutes later, the guards stopped abruptly. “We’re here,” one of them said, and he was thrust into his cell. As he turned, he saw the door slam with a loud clang and one of the guard’s lock it.

As the guards started to leave, Gregori took note of his abuser’s nametag. Just in case they ran into each other again.

Looking around his cell, he nodded thoughtfully. It was sparsely decorated, as he expected, with little more than a table in bed.
It wasn’t as though this was undeserved, at least in the mind of the average citizen. He had killed people in cold blood for his agendas. He’d also had quite the gambling ring, the very act of playing being a five year Strataric prison sentence. Of course, those were just the tip of the iceberg.

That being said, he never expected to get caught, despite the risky game he was playing. I suppose he should just be thankful that he was alive.

I do wish I had a Strataric cigar, though, he thought.

Her prison uniform had a little flag on it, broadcasting where she was from. All the inmates did, perhaps as a means to help everyone kill each other just a little bit faster. Being that she was from Emberwood, everyone expected her to be kind, or diplomatic. Fuck that. She was about three seconds from strangling several people at any given time during the day.

However, today’s newbies had quite a spread to them. Different than the usual batches of Staynish high-level offenders, she saw flags from Fortuna, Tuvaltastan, Stratarin, Tretrid. Maybe she could use their help against that stupid gang of guards that always picked on her…

Pearson woke up face down on a grimy metal floor stained with dried blood. He groaned and rolled onto his side, memories of violence, assault and gunfire ungratefully returned to his mind. He remembered he was a Norograd Armed Resistance member, and that the Axdel Mil-Pol had stormed his hideout, leaving no survivors but him and destroying his terrorist cell.

“Damn, it all to hell” Pearson Exclaimed loudly, earning himself a sharp electrical shock from a nearby guard.
“Quiet prisoner” Spoke the guard threateningly, curiously he had a strong Staynic accent. “No more from you, or I knock you into coma next.”

F*cking degenerate, he thought to himself, slouching back down on the floor of the container and quickly falling back to sleep as he felt horribly groggy. However it was only a few minutes before he was awoken again and dragged out of the truck and handcuffed by and several burly guards, who began pushing him rather violently into a tall, ominous cell block. They drove him through a string of winding corridors for what seemed like an eternity, enduring constant jabs, kicks and swings from his guard escorts.

“Welcome to your temporary castle princess!” jived one of the guards, as they finally arrived at a minuscule single bedded jail cell.“Now have a nice time here and do try to stay out of trouble, or I’ll have to spank you!” He continued in a mock parental voice, before shoving Pearson strangely carefully into the cell and slamming the bars shut behind him.

“Well isnt this F*cking paradise” he mumbled, glaring at the group of guards as they strode purposefully away from the cell. Least I aint’ dead, that’s what usually happens to terrorists, He thought, recalling yet more gruesome and unpleasant memories of the Mil-Pol assault…

John McVerna was a South Staynese born pirate, who liked terrorising shipping routes in the Southern Auroran Sea. He had a tally tattooed on his upper chest, which pointed out the ships he claimed with his old team. He was confined to his cell, where he has served for an already 11 years with another 24 to go. A door slammed shut abruptly across the corridor.
“Shut the fck up you cntf*ck.” He groaned and banged his head backwards to the wall several times. Before he knew it, a few guards turned back around and one banged a gun on the door.
“Silence little boy or I’ll do it myself.” The guard proposed. It was very apparent he had a Staynic accent from the mountains.
“Hey, you one of those Staynes right?” John questioned, trying to find a weakness.
“Yes mate, and you failure, go back to being a fetus, you do yourself a favour.” The guard groaned to the others laughter as they walked away. John walked up to the reinforced door and kicked it 23 times whilst screeching furiously.

Wow, it’s like a whole multicultural rainbow in here. Irene watched from the shadows as man after man was tossed into the facility.

One sniveling little man sporting an Emberwood patch on his arm walked past and tried to grab her and sneered, “Hey baby. I see you’re from the Coast too, why don’t you and me do it the national wa-” when she grabbed a handful of the “#899023” on his jumpsuit and swung him with all her strength headfirst into the concrete wall behind her.

She continued to stand where she was with the man still crumpled next to her, panting from the brief effort. Violet, I miss home.

Joe looked around the yard at all the other prisoners. “Look at all the scum and villainy of the Urth just walking around,” he said to his posse in his native language.

A posse that consists of the other Dragonian criminals on Detention Island. With his connections, Joe was able to bribe and blackmail his way into getting his countryman into the same cell block.

Seeing a commotion over to the side that peeked his interest he notices a female prisoner toss a male convict into the wall head first via his balls. “Ha ha ha ha, will you look at that,” he laughs and motions to his posse, “that Lil’ filly got sum spunk,” he pauses for a moment as blood starts to rush southward to a certain part of his anatomy in his excitement. “I like her!” he exclaimed while getting up and adjusting himself.

“Ryan,” he started, as he moved and grabbed his cell-mate, “I do believe I’m in need of your bitch services,” he said with a cruel laugh as he pulled Ryan back towards their cell block. Ryan just followed like the good sub he was.

His posse laughs and makes rude gestures and innuendos as two of them follow behind as Joe’s bodyguards. Both of them thinking; “free show” they leer.

Watching the Dragonian leave, Gregori shook his head with some slight contempt.
I have a bad feeling about him, he thought.
The Emberwood woman intrigued him, though. He had met his fair share of people from that nation, but not once met an aggressive one. I’m going to keep an eye on her,he thought.
He looked around the courtyard. “Crime really does take all types,” he muttered aloud. This was the most mismatched group of people he had ever laid eyes upon. Gregori had already decided to try and ally with the Tuvalt and to try and avoid the South Staynish man.
Walking over to the Tuvalt, he called out, “Greetings!”

After taking his cuffs off, the prison wardens escorting Lurin shoved him within the prison confines. Looking around, Lurin noticed a crowd in what he assumed was the chow hall. He managed to see a woman slamming a man into the concrete floor. A co-ed prison? What the hell were they thinking when they made this place? Lurin decided to respect the woman’s distance, as he did NOT want to get on her bad side. She obviously had been here for quite some time. He also noticed a man approaching the same woman that had bashed the other guy’s head in. The guy was from Dragonia, and was very, very buff. Lurin couldn’t decide who was more likely to win, since the Emberitian was definitely capable, yet the sheer apparent strength of the Dragonian could potentially overpower the Emberitian’s-
“Greetings!”
Lurin snapped out of his ponderings, and realized a man from Stratarin was approaching him at an alarming pace. Lurin braced himself for his first fight. (OOC: A fight that wasn’t actually going to happen)

Williams was standing at the edge of the yard, sizing up the other inmates and punching anyone who came nearby and thinking, “They are all such [expletive].”

Gregori noticed that the Tuvalt had tensed, as though expecting combat. Slowly, with an almost lethargic motion, Gregori raised his hands slightly in a non-threatening motion.
“My intent is not to fight you, friend,” he said, smiling slightly. “It’s merely to make your acquaintance.”

Seeing the Stratarin man conveying peaceful gestures, Lurin lowers his guard slightly, but just in case, kept a slight defensive posture. Nonetheless, Lurin, almost by habit, shakes the man’s hand. (Politeness was ingrained into his psyche by his parents, and this wasn’t the typical “Say please and thank you” kind of training. It was just as rigorous as the Tuvalt boot camps, since Lurin was going to be the next King. Well, looks like all that training went to waste.)
“If you didn’t know already, my name is Lurin Vorolov. What is yours?”

“Call me Gregori.” he replied. Glancing around the courtyard, he turned back towards Lurin. “What are you in this place for, my tall friend?”

Still skeptical of the man, Lurin replied, “I killed a bunch of women. What about you?”

Gregori raised an eyebrow at Lurin’s crime. “I am… was… the leading crime boss of the Strataric mob.” He looked regretful for a moment. “When the new minister of law enforcement cracked down on organized crime like no man had done before him, I was their first target.”

“I got caught when I wanted to get caught. I was a bit bored of running from law enforcement, so I decided to see what prison was like,”

“It’s not like I have a life to go back to anyway, so why not start anew?” Lurin thought to himself.