By Art Intelli

The moon cast a silver hue over the quiet suburban neighborhood. The only sound was the soft rustle of leaves in the cool night breeze. A figure in black leather slinked through the shadows, eyes darting to and fro. The biker thug, his face hidden behind a bandana, crept up to the back door of a modest house. He pulled out a set of lock-picking tools and set to work. Within moments, the door clicked open, and he slipped inside.

The interior was dark, but the biker’s night-vision was honed from years of experience. He moved silently, like a panther stalking its prey, unaware that he was the one being hunted.

Suddenly, a light flicked on, blinding him momentarily. He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to see a tall, imposing figure standing in the doorway, a gun trained on him.

“Freeze,” the cop commanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

The biker’s heart raced, but his instincts kicked in. He lunged forward, hoping to disarm the cop. But the cop was faster, sidestepping the attack and delivering a swift, brutal punch to the biker’s gut. The thug doubled over, gasping for breath.

“Thought you could just walk into my house and take whatever you wanted?” the cop snarled, dragging the biker to his feet and cuffing his hands behind his back. “You’re about to learn a hard lesson.”

The biker struggled, but the cop’s grip was ironclad. He was dragged down into the basement, where the cop forced him to kneel. The cop disappeared for a moment, then returned with a massive, heavy metal collar.

“Welcome to your new life,” the cop said with a twisted smile, locking the collar around the biker’s neck. The collar was connected to a thick chain, which the cop attached to a metal ring set into the concrete floor. The biker tugged at it, but it held fast.

“What the hell is this?” the biker demanded, his voice hoarse with fury and fear.

The cop leaned in close, his breath hot on the biker’s face. “You wanted to break into a cop’s house, huh? Now you’re going to be my guard dog. You’ll follow my orders, protect my home, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you off that chain someday.”

The biker’s eyes blazed with defiance, but the cop only laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said, patting the biker’s cheek mockingly. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

With that, the cop turned and left the basement, leaving the biker alone in the dim light, the weight of the collar pressing down on him. As the door slammed shut, the biker realized with a sinking heart that he was truly trapped, his fate now in the hands of the very man he’d sought to rob.

Metal would like to welcome the author, Art Intelli, to the Prison Library and thank him for his story — and his image!