Chapter 33: First Arrival at the Bunker Prison
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
John and Coraci’s temporary assignment would last only a month or two. Once the demon hunters group sent in permanent guards, they would be free to leave.
The Bunker housed creatures from all over the world. Prisons for monsters were rare and kept highly secret — on average, most countries didn’t even have one. Its management system resembled a hospital more than a prison. Just as each doctor or nurse had their own assigned patient beds, every guard in the Bunker was responsible for a specific sector. The number of guards could never fall short — after all, these inmates couldn’t be kept under control with firearms alone.
Rumor had it that Carolyn had a particular interest in the Bunker, but the Association refused to let her go. While there were creatures that appeared female among the inmates, there were no actual women — no need for female human guards to care for them. As a result, all prison guards were men, and there wasn’t even a women’s restroom in the facility.
The driver who brought Coraci and John spent the trip recounting strange and curious stories about the Bunker: the eight-legged man who had broken every leg, the werewolf who fought a boar-man, the wizard who told fortunes for the other inmates, and the ten-centimeter-tall miniature man who got stuck in his hamster house because he’d gained too much weight.
“Why would a ten-centimeter creature commit a crime? What did he do?” John asked from the backseat with tinted windows.
“Stole valuable jewelry. They’re very good at it,” the driver replied, glancing back at him. “There are plenty of your kind in the Bunker — some are guards, some are inmates. You won’t have to worry about being lonely.”
That afternoon, the car drove past several undeveloped lots, wound around hills, and entered a tunnel. They didn’t emerge on the other side of the mountain; instead, the driver took a side road to the first checkpoint for identity verification before heading toward the Bunker.
The roadways twisted like a maze, far more complicated than a subway system, with checkpoint after checkpoint. The massive oval tunnel ended in a wide parking area where the driver stopped. Beyond the metal barrier at the far end lay the Bunker itself.
Monster prisons had multiple gates, each marked with magical sigils and guarded by stationed personnel. The warden awaited them in the reception room beyond the third gate. They had been told in advance that the warden’s name was Russell — almost certainly not his real one. Few members of the International Demon Hunter Society ever used their true names.
The guards in the Bunker looked like well-trained attack dogs — nothing like the laid-back staff at the Association. But the warden was another story entirely.
They smelled coffee before they even reached the door. Inside, Mr. Russell had brewed himself a pot and was sitting at the far end of the table, holding an ice pack to his forehead. His wrinkled, baggy suit hung loosely on his small, wiry frame; his wrists were as slender as a girl’s. At first glance he looked like a teenager who hadn’t grown up yet, but on closer inspection, he was simply slight of build — at least thirty-five, and far more worn-down than most men his age.
One hand held the ice pack, the other pressed to his stomach. He cast a tired, sideways glance at them as they entered.
“Please…have a seat,” he said weakly.
The guard who had escorted them asked, “Mr. Russell, should I get you some stomach medicine?”
Russell gave a feeble wave of his hand. The guard nodded and left.
Coraci and John introduced themselves and shook his limp hand.
“Forgive me for asking, Mr. Russell — are you injured?” Coraci asked, eyeing the bump on his head.
Russell let out a long sigh. “I don’t sleep well. Bit of a nervous condition. I have no energy during the day, and I fell on the stairs.” He looked fragile enough to shatter into pieces at any moment — about as far as one could get from the usual image of a prison warden.
The guard returned with the medicine. After taking it, Russell slumped to the side, still holding his stomach, while the younger guard took over the briefing.
“You should already be familiar with the basics of the Bunker. I won’t go over all of it again. You needn’t worry — ‘a prison sector can’t be left without a guard’ is a hard rule in the Demon Hunter Society, which is why we’ve temporarily assigned you here. In truth, we can handle things. You won’t be required to take on dangerous tasks. The Bunker’s guards are strong enough to keep things in order.”
John silently thought: In the movies, the more confident they sound, the more trouble there will be. That’s how you end up with alien labs thinking their glass cases are totally safe.
“We’ll place you in sectors with fewer extremely violent inmates, as well as areas with mostly female creatures,” the guard continued. “Many of them are here for economic crimes or petty theft. They aren’t dangerous. After all…um, forgive my bluntness…but you both look rather…delicate.”
John and Coraci exchanged a brief, knowing glance, then both looked toward the warden — half-draped over his chair — who was probably the most delicate living being in the entire Bunker.
“There is one thing you should know,” the guard went on, leaning forward with a serious expression. “Tonight, a new inmate will be transferred here. He’s…unusual. A former hunter, arrested for excessive violence, racial prejudice, and repeatedly harming innocents without remorse. You can imagine — since he’s a hunter, the monsters in the prison won’t be fond of him.”
“I get it,” John said with a nod. “Like in crime novels and movies — ex-cops in prison are always targeted by the other inmates.”
“Yes. It’s dangerous, but by the rules, he must serve his sentence. We’ll keep an extra eye on him, and we hope you’ll help if necessary.”
The Bunker’s cell blocks were unlike anything in human prisons. Creatures close in size to humans lived in standard cells — two to four inmates per room, just like in an ordinary prison. Those too large for standard cells were kept in reinforced solitary cells. Smaller beings, or ones with unstable forms — like gilomorphs — were kept in containers that were like pet carriers and lined up by the dozens in large rooms.
The guard dorms sat between the third and fourth gates, with two-person rooms that felt like ship cabins. The doors were thick, with heavy internal bolts, and both the door cores and the walls were reinforced with magical herbs and powdered silver for added protection.
“This place doesn’t seem to have anything too dangerous,” John said in their room, studying the sector map. “Shapeshifters, werewolves, bloodkin… and a few evil human wizards. That’s about it.”
Coraci was unpacking his suitcase and arranging his magical tools. “You know why? Because anything too dangerous has already been killed. They’d never get the chance to hurt anyone in a prison.”
John realized what he meant. In human society, many countries and regions had abolished the death penalty, so the most violent criminals were left to stew in prison, continuing to lash out. The monster world was different. Some creatures were executed on the spot; the truly powerful ones were never captured. Only those whose crimes didn’t merit death — and who had fallen into a hunter’s hands — had the chance to serve time and repent.
“I hope our assigned sector doesn’t have any gilomorphs,” Coraci sighed. “The last thing I want is to run into the Simeons. John, how about we go for a walk?”
“A walk?”
“Say hello to the Guard Captain, meet a few people. These underground rooms don’t have windows — I’m feeling a little boxed in.”
John remembered Coraci’s claustrophobia. “Are you sure you’re okay? These rooms seem pretty cramped. You shouldn’t have agreed to come.”
“I’ll be fine. The rooms aren’t tight enough to make me short of breath — it’s more of a psychological thing. If I’m exhausted after a long day’s work, I’ll probably fall asleep before I even get the chance to feel uncomfortable.”
When they left the dorm, the sound of chatter and laughter grew louder as they walked down the hall. It was coming from the guards’ recreation room.
The Bunker’s dormitory section had several rec rooms — the only place where there was an internet signal; there was none in the dorm rooms. In this particular room, some guards were watching DVDs, while a few sat on couches, heads bent over their phones.
In one corner, five or six tall, broad-shouldered young men had gathered around a table, listening intently to one of them speak.
“And then, you see a spiral staircase,” a blond young man said. “What do you do next?”
John and Coraci had seen his photo before — this was Volvo, reportedly a werewolf, though no one knew why he was named after a car. He was going to be their temporary boss.
Their shift hadn’t started yet, and he seemed to be in the middle of a game with the others. The guards were calling out things like, “I move forward cautiously while searching,” or, “Do I see any magical aura?”
John leaned toward Coraci. “What are they doing?”
“Playing some kind of role-playing board game. Looks like they’re in the middle of something. See? Volvo’s about to spring something on them.” (Note 1)
No sooner had Coraci spoken when Volvo exclaimed excitedly, “The ground trembles beneath your feet! The spiral staircase begins to collapse from the middle! You have one round to act!”
“I’ll cast Flight!” one guard called out.
“The stairs are shaking, so make a Concentration check first!”
“I have no idea what they’re doing,” John muttered.
“I don’t really get it either,” Coraci said. “It’s some sort of adventure game — you go on quests, save kingdoms, fight monsters.”
“Don’t they see enough monsters in real life?”
After about ten minutes, the noisy group took a break, getting up for coffee or the restroom. Volvo peeked over the cardboard screen on the table, his eyes bright. “Hey! You must be John Lockland and Deville Coraci!”
The other guards closed in. Most members of the Demon Hunter Society were young and physically fit, but the prison guards here needed to be even more robust in both body and mind. They were all tall, thick-set, their tight crew-neck T-shirts stretching over solid muscle. Standing together like this, they gave off an almost tangible sense of pressure.
Volvo stepped forward, grinning broadly, and pulled both John and Coraci into bear hugs. His exuberance reminded John of a Clade dog, though werewolves were based on humans, not canines.
“I’m Guard Captain Volvo of this sector — welcome aboard! You must be John, right? I heard you’re a vampire?” he asked — while looking directly at Coraci.
Coraci spread his hands toward John. “My partner here is. I’m Coraci.”
Volvo gave them a surprised once-over. “Oh — sorry! You just look more like a vampire. Dark hair, lean build, dress shirt and slacks… And you—” he glanced at John. “You’re in a jacket and jeans. I didn’t expect—”
“What exactly do you think vampires look like?” John asked. He had never imagined a werewolf could be this cheerful; he’d assumed they’d be brooding and vicious.
Volvo shrugged. “Like in the movies — dress shirts, neat hair, elegant vibe. I’m not saying you’re not elegant,” he added quickly. “I just thought vampires would have more of that distant, troubled look, you know? Extra appealing to the ladies.”
“What, do you think we sparkle in the sunlight too?”
“Hahaha! Yeah!” Volvo roared with laughter, clapping John on the shoulder. Coraci silently thankful that he was human — at least he didn’t have to endure such an overenthusiastic smack.
“I’ve been totally ignorant,” Volvo went on, slinging an arm around John’s neck. “Those movies also say werewolves fall in love with babies — I’d never. It’s all nonsense. They got werewolves all wrong, the same way they got vampires wrong…” (Note 2)
John shot a pleading look at Coraci, who returned a look of “sorry, you’re on your own”.
This was because Coraci was surrounded by a different cluster of guards and bombarded with questions: “Are you really the Bluebeard Coraci?”, “Layla, the hunter you wrote, is amazing — she’s my favorite woman ever!”, “Is it true you actually resurrected a lizard?” and more.
John’s mind conjured an oddly charming image — Coraci standing there among the burly guards, like a cat hemmed in by a circle of eager sled dogs sniffing him from all sides.
“Hey, John,” Volvo clapped him on the shoulder again, pulling his attention back. “I don’t discriminate against you at all, so don’t feel any pressure.”
“Why would I feel pressured…?”
“Because you’re a vampire, right? Aren’t you scared of me? Although, I thought he was the vampire earlier…” Volvo glanced at Coraci. “Don’t worry — I know your Association folks don’t like working here. We’ll keep you two safe.”
A small alarm clock on the table buzzed — shift change time. John and Coraci were shepherded out of the rec room, surrounded by guards chatting nonstop about their assigned zones, daily routines, and handoff schedules.
After all, the Bunker wasn’t a real prison. The guards’ uniforms were a mess — some wore jackets, some didn’t, and others strolled around in sweatpants and slippers.
John and Coraci didn’t have uniforms, just badges and keycards. Their biggest difference from the official guards wasn’t their clothes but their expressions. The big guys walked with their chins high, exuding toughness, while John and Coraci kept glancing around nervously, faces full of worry.
“Is that a cat-woman?” John whispered. “How can they keep her locked up with that big guy?”
Coraci leaned close to his ear. “They’re ‘Stalkers’. Both from the same species. The ‘cat-woman’ form is the adult one. The tall one is still a year or two from maturity — she hasn’t shed yet.”
“She’s not a woman?”
“There are no female ‘people’ here. Stalkers don’t have genders.”
As they passed one cell, a low male voice called out, “Guard, I hear that pervert’s coming here?”
The cell had double bars: the inner layer was ordinary metal etched with runes, while the outer layer was sharp triangular pillars coated in mithril. A man with thick brown curls and a heavy beard on his chin peeked out.
Volvo stopped and studied him. “Does he concern you?”
“Of course,” the man chuckled. “I’m looking forward to meeting him. Trust me, Captain, I won’t give him a hard time. Just want to catch up.”
Murmurs came from inside the cells. Volvo waved the guards to focus on their duties and ignore the inmates.
“I’ll show you the rest of the place, then you can head to your posts,” Volvo told John and Coraci as they left the block. “That was Hayden, my kin. Watch yourself — he’s sly and pretty influential among the prisoners.”
“Who’s ‘that pervert’?” John asked.
“The prisoner coming in tonight. We call him ‘Driftwood’. He used to be a hunter. I guess the warden mentioned him?”
“Don’t you investigate his real name?”
“Maybe someone will investigate. But in the hunter world, it doesn’t matter — as long as you catch the man himself.”
Volvo patted John’s back and steered him around a corner.
John glanced back, feeling uneasy. He was used to moving side-by-side with Coraci, whispering observations and plans. He didn’t want to leave Coraci alone among this crowd of unfamiliar hunter guards, but he couldn’t exactly push away the enthusiastic werewolf Guard Captain either.
Just then, a faint voice came from a nearby cell.
“Mr. Mike, Mr. Jenny… has the warden’s rash cleared up yet?”
The voice was high-pitched and timid — a girl’s voice.
Coraci turned to the cell. A “young woman”, barely twenty, leaned against the wall. Her pale blond hair flowed down past her ankles, and she was small and slender, dressed in a white, off-shoulder sundress.
Two pairs of oval-shaped rubies adorned her delicate collarbones — one set on each side — and two more at the ends of her shoulders. Deep inside the rubies lay black cores.
The guards turned toward the cell. The young man called Jenny sighed. “His rash is gone, but the stomach trouble’s back.”
“When will he get better? My wings hurt so badly — only he can heal me.”
“Warden Russell says he’s willing to help you. But he’s allergic to you. The rash isn’t serious, but he needs a few days to rest.”
Coraci stepped closer. “Turn around. Let me see your wings. Maybe I can help.”
She nodded and turned away. White wings folded behind her, the feathers brushing through the golden cascade of her hair.
She looked just like an angel from a religious painting.
Author’s Note:
Note 1: The Guard Captain is basically running the game — acting as the DM, leading the guards through a D&D campaign…
Note 2: They’re making fun of the famous Twilight series — though I think that’s obvious enough without explanation.
All of this is just for fun, no offense intended toward the original works, please understand =3= By the way, I really like the actress who plays the daughter of the main couple~
And of course, that prisoner isn’t actually an angel… what kind of creature she is will be revealed later.
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