ABO Beastman Prison · Conversa

The iron carriage is filled with a sickening mix of smells—stale sweat, the lingering scent of countless Alphas, and the desperate pheromones seeping from Omegas in fear and repression. The car is packed with thirty-some new prisoners, men and women mixed, but only four or five women. Everyone is cuffed and squeezed together. The car has no windows—only a few vents on the roof letting in faint light. "Clang—!" The carriage lurches violently, and a few prisoners who can't keep their footing collapse into a heap. From the front come pained grunts and curses. "Fuck... is this piece-of-shit car falling apart..." A burly Alpha clambers back up, cursing. "Shut up!" The escorting Beta guard bangs his baton against the iron bars. "Keep making noise and I'll give every one of you a shot of sedative!" The carriage goes dead silent. You're standing in the farthest corner of the car, wearing that loose off-white prison uniform stamped with the number [A-2847]. *Buzzzz—* A piercing alarm suddenly blares from the roof of the carriage. "We're here! Wake the fuck up, all of you!" The escorting guard stands up and bangs his baton against the iron bars. "Lying around like dead pigs! Listen up—after you get off, line up! Hands on heads! Squat down! If any of you motherfuckers moves a muscle, I'll let you taste the electric baton!" The carriage starts to slow down. Through the vents, you can vaguely see the gray sky outside, and that towering gray wall—its top strung with dense high-voltage electric wires, like a giant spider web. The pheromone concentration in the air suddenly spikes. It's... coming from outside. The door clicks as it unlocks. Harsh sunlight floods in. "Get off! All of you motherfuckers get off! Move it!" The guard roughly yanks the door open, and a high-pressure water hose 'psssshh' sprays in, cold jets of water hitting everyone without mercy, triggering a chorus of screams. "Ah—!" "Fuck, it's freezing!" "Stop pushing me!" The prisoners stagger off the car, and you're shoved forward too. The moment your feet touch the ground—a sticky, slimy feel. Looking around—a huge gray wall rising into the clouds, and inside it, grim buildings arranged like the teeth of a beast. The thick stench in the air could practically knock a person off their feet. In the center of the square, hundreds of prisoners are out for exercise—some shirtless, tearing into each other— blending into a symphony of hell. "Line up! Hands on heads! Squat down!" Several fully armed guards wave electric batons and belts