The 6 Men

Tonight's the night. The guards have been paid, and the cameras turned away from cell 11C. The men have been planning this ever since he walked into this prison and their power started to slip. They knew he was a threat to them, their grip on the cell block, and they knew he had to go. The clock struck one and their cell doors slid open. Six men from three different cells quietly crept out in their white undershirts and boxers. Each man tip-toed quietly across the cold, gray concrete with a shiv in their hand. Four of the men used a razor blade while the other two used sharpened screws riddled with brown rust. They all used their old toothbrushes for a handle because the guards promised them new ones by morning. They reached the stairs and slunk up one-by-one, careful not to make a sound. They reached the top and fell into a single-file line, all behind man number one. He was their leader and the most experienced in prison hits. His job was to go in and hold down the bedsheet, so their man couldn't move while he was being killed. Man number two followed close behind number one, and his job was to go around the "headboard" so he could get his neck and face. The men wanted to send a message to the rest of the prison of why you don't contest their rule. They wanted to show that they were still king and what would happen if anybody should happen to challenge that idea. They also wanted to make sure their man's family couldn't have an open casket at his funeral. Men numbers three and four were the main workers. Their job was to rip on his torso until they couldn't anymore. Neither of them had ever made a prison kill, and man number one wanted them to gain that experience. Man number five was tasked with the job at the end of the bed, which consisted with holding the guy's feet down and then stabbing his legs when he stopped flailing and squirming. The last man was man number six. His sole purpose was to stay outside the cell and keep watch. If he saw anything suspicious or wrong, he would lean into the cell and snap his fingers three times, letting the men know their cover was blown. Each of them had a purpose and knew what they had to do in order to get the job done. They walked in that order all the way up until they got to cell 11C. The time was 1:03 and the men waited outside the cell anxiously. They were all crouched down and breathing silently, but heavily. In two more minutes, it would be 1:05, the time they told the guards to open his cell. No words were spoken between the six men, but all their emotion was felt in the air. 1:04. Sixty more seconds until it was time for the hit. Every time they lifted their feet in nervousness, a dark gray imprint of their bare, sweaty feet was left on the cement. Each man was in for a different crime, and some had never killed anyone before. Men numbers one, two, four, and five were all killers at heart. All in for life because of the lives they took outside the prison walls. Man number three was in for drug charges and claimed to have never committed a murder before. Nobody knew if that was true, but he was about to, so they didn't care whether it was a lie or not. Man number six on the other hand, was different from the others. Once his ten years were up, he could get out and see his family again, something the others never had a chance at. He was fine with being on the lookout, because that meant he didn't have to ever truly get his hands dirty. He wasn't a killer like the others, and he never wanted to become one. The clock hit 1:05 and the door of 11C slid open. The smell of gas came flooding out of the cell, but the men thought nothing of it. They gripped their tools tight and rushed in, each man going to his respective position. The target's feet and bedsheet were held down and the killing commenced. His stomach was hit first, followed by his neck, face, and legs. It was going just the way they planned until man number two told them all to stop. He had to tell them a couple times before they listened and did what he said. They were all pissed off and angry at him for messing up the hit, especially man number one. Things almost got physical between the two, but that all stopped when man number three ripped off the bedsheet and revealed who was under it. A fully clothed mannequin wasn't their target, but it was what they had just been stabbing in the dark cell. Suddenly, the cell door buzzed and slammed shut. On the outside, stood man number six. Alone, with a guard's lighter in his hand and his future in his mind. He knew the gang's power over the prison was slipping and it wouldn't last his remaining ten years. They wouldn't be able to provide him with the same safety he joined for anymore, and he couldn't risk that. He was a father and a husband, not a killer like them. He had a future and was willing to do anything to protect it. The five men inside could be heard pacing and arguing, trying to figure out their next move. They cursed and called for man number six, but he never answered them. Suddenly, they all stopped talking and turned their heads toward the chow hole when it slid open. No man got out another word before it happened. In the blink of an eye, man number six ripped his thumb down on the lighter wheel, grinding it against the flint and igniting the flame. He told himself he wasn't a killer as he tossed the lighter in and slammed the chow hole shut. He told himself he wasn't a killer like them; he was just a father and a husband doing what he had to do to stay those things. He told himself he wasn't a killer, as he listened to the five men's screams and cries while they burned to death in cell 11C.