A Brain Repository with Some Sense (｀д′)f
Not particularly sophisticated, won't rehash the original plot—mainly written for the lads to enjoy comfortably.
Pure slice-of-life power fantasy.
Finally, cheers for the support.
Please substitute any "TM" in the text directly with the English "f**k." Looking for suggestions on what abilities you'd like to see.
"Go on in, Tiger."
"Oh, right..."
Facing this child shackled with heavy-duty criminal restraints, the prison guard's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something.
However, when Tiger turned around and fixed those deep, indifferent eyes on him—eyes that seemed to look straight through a man's soul—the guard ultimately chose silence. He could only sigh helplessly before closing the iron door with a resounding clang.
The rusted, heavy iron door stirred up a cloud of choking dust, cutting off the line of sight between the two men like a curtain falling on a stage.
"Don't cause trouble..."
A murmur drifted from outside the cell door. The guard had finally spoken his mind.
But immediately after, he let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh and quickly walked away from the cell entrance, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
"God almighty, how could that be possible?"
"This is a Shelby..."
"I must be losing my bloody mind."
Yes, don't let the kid's size fool you—he was a key member of Surrey's largest crime family. A criminal that ordinary prisons like Newcastle and Portland had flat-out refused to house. Left with no choice, the prison administration could only place him in this dreaded maximum-security facility.
As a guard, he'd lost count of how many times Tiger had been brought here. This wasn't supposed to be his place, yet for this kid, it seemed like coming home...
The cell was exceptionally quiet.
Tiger lay on the hard cot, staring at the pitch-black ceiling before slowly closing his eyes. Though the conditions here were crude, they brought him the most familiar sense of security. Being in this dark, dimly lit environment felt like returning to the underground octagon of his previous life—where violence was honest, and survival was earned.
Unfortunately, he couldn't enjoy this comfortable environment for long. In a couple of days, his brothers would probably get him out on parole again. They always did.
[Why won't you let me eat that chocolate bean? Then we could keep having fun outside!]
A rough, raspy voice suddenly echoed in the room. Tiger's brow furrowed, and he snapped impatiently:
"Shut up!"
"Every time I get dragged in here, it's because of your stupid gluttony!"
[I'm gluttonous!?]
[Damn it! Tiger Shelby!]
[This isn't just my responsibility!]
[You're the one who gets intoxicated by the thrill of crushing those chocolate beans every single time!]
[Every time we get caught, it's the same bloody thing!]
[Every. Single. Time!]
Venom shot back with explosive fury, its voice reverberating inside Tiger's skull.
[You obsessive, crazy bastard!]
[Damn it, you're more evil than any symbiote—you rotten piece of work!]
Seeing that Tiger didn't want to engage, it even extended a small, grotesque head from the back of Tiger's neck, staring at his evasive eyes with rows of needle-sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light.
"Shut up. I'm a good person!"
Tiger immediately closed his eyes, unwilling to expose his embarrassed anger, letting Venom continue its incessant chatter. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but some lies were necessary for sanity.
Bzzzz—
After what felt like an eternity, the electric bell rang in the corridor, finally interrupting Venom's endless babbling.
It immediately let out an excited shriek, waking the drowsy Tiger.
[Chow time! Chow time!]
[Bastard, get up!]
[I can't wait to see those lovely~ delicious~ little chocolate beans!]
Though Tiger wouldn't allow it to expose the symbiote's suffocating, disgusting appetite in public, this didn't dampen its drooling anticipation for the feast ahead.
Ignoring the annoying urging in his head, Tiger rolled over and sat up. The cell door opened with a rusty groan as he dragged his heavy shackles into the dimly lit corridor.
British prisons at the end of the 20th century were far from having the comprehensive regulations of the future. This maximum-security facility was particularly chaotic—bodies were carried out daily, and questions were rarely asked.
These hardened criminals harbored a deep contempt for law and morality, viewing them as constraints on human nature—or dismissing them entirely. In their eyes, prison could confine their bodies but never their desires and souls.
The craving for violence and chaos tormented them like a curse while simultaneously bringing them supreme pleasure. To protect society's public order, the prison administration chose to ignore the conflicts among most of these scumbags who hadn't been sentenced to death, quietly watching these filthy demons destroy each other.
As a result, the locks here weren't on the outside of the cells but on the inside—only the prisoners themselves could open them. It was a system that bred its own twisted form of natural selection.
In the vast corridor, the heavy dragging of chain balls echoed like a death march.
As Tiger moved toward the central area, the flickering yellow lights were gradually swallowed by darkness—this was a zone even the guards avoided. The air grew thicker, more oppressive, heavy with the scent of unwashed bodies and barely contained violence.
More and more prisoners filled the corridor. Every inmate who emerged from their cells carried wary, vicious gazes, meeting any ambiguous stares with hostility that could ignite at any moment.
When they spotted an unfamiliar little guy in the crowd, some of the newer prisoners immediately perked up with predatory excitement.
As Tiger passed several inmates, a filthy, greasy arm suddenly reached out from behind, trying to grab his shoulder.
Tiger sidestepped the attempt with fluid grace, his fierce, cold eyes immediately turning toward his pursuer—but this didn't deter the approaching threat.
"Aha!"
"Let me see!"
"What sweet little thing do we have here!"
Raspy, disgusting laughter filled with chaos and recklessness echoed through the space. Like a stone thrown into still water, ripples of attention spread as everyone in the corridor turned to look.
Seeing entertainment brewing, most veteran prisoners showed mocking expressions—they knew better. Only the newcomers clapped and shrieked, their bloodshot eyes filled with destructive desire.
Though Tiger wore shackles, he wasn't in prison garb. His tailored suit looked extremely expensive, the fabric catching what little light filtered through the grimy windows. Beneath his neat black hair were amber eyes like works of art, utterly captivating yet utterly cold.
Like encountering an exquisite doll, everyone wanted to tear Tiger to pieces—to see what lay beneath that perfect surface.
"Go for it, Jason! Haha!"
"Look at that tender little face!"
"Look at that body!"
"Haha, what an enticing figure!"
"I bet this kid's got solid muscle under those clothes."
"Hurry up and rip his shirt off!"
"Damn it, Jason, you hear that? Tear his clothes off so we can see!"
Sharp whistles and filthy words poured forth endlessly, echoing off the concrete walls like a chorus from hell.
"Yeah... haha!"
Jason stared with drooling eyes, his tongue flicking restlessly in his mouth like a snake tasting the air.
"Come on, sweetheart, let me see you—"
Before he could finish, a vicious punch sent him flying into a rust-stained cell door.
CLANG!
The sound rang out like a bell tolling. Amid the shocked stares around him, Jason crashed heavily to the ground and fell silent, only blood slowly trickling from his nose and mouth, pooling on the filthy concrete.
The corridor's clamor stopped abruptly, as if someone had cut the strings of a marionette show. Some veteran inmates watching the spectacle burst into appreciative laughter and applause.
"Haha, welcome home, little Tiger!"
"Bloody Shelby Family!"
"Tell me, little Tiger!"
"How many did you take down this time?"
"Please don't tell me it was my gang?"
"Next one's gonna be..."
Tiger coldly flipped off the crowd with practiced indifference, no longer bothering with these insufferable bastards. He walked toward the prisoner who'd been shouting the loudest, his movements predatory and deliberate.
The heavy shackles with their chain balls scraped harsh sounds against the floor, yet his stride showed no trace of their weight. Each step was measured, controlled—the walk of someone who'd learned that violence was just another language.
Only then did the new prisoners understand.
This soft-skinned kid—why he wore the shackles reserved only for murderers.
"Shit! Shit!"
"He's looking at me!"
"Oh, no no no..."
In the darkness, frantic retreating footsteps mixed with desperate, regretful curses as grown men scrambled away from a teenager who moved like death itself.
Tiger smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression.
He was home.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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