By midnight, Ngọc Lam limped back to her cell, her neck and arms bruised, her collarbone covered in bite marks that were bleeding, her clothes in tatters. The guard roughly pushed her inside like a discarded rag after use. The prisoners who were sleeping were disturbed by the sound of the door opening and complained; a middle-aged woman shot up and yanked her shirt up: "Oh, look at this! Surely the officials took good care of you all night?". The laughter erupted chaotically.

That night, she dreamed of a child with big eyes that looked just like hers. It cried out "Mommy!" in Hạnh's arms. Thành stood nearby, smiling coldly, and the child cried even louder. Ngọc Lam whispered through her tears: "My child... Are you calling for me?". She clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms. Blood oozed out, but in that nightmare, she felt no pain.

The next morning during labor, despite suffering from a high fever, Ngọc Lam was still forced to wash clothes for the old prisoners. The cold water was piercing, her hands chapped. An elderly prisoner sitting beside her whispered: "Living here, you must know how to lower your head if you don't want to find a new support to survive." Ngọc Lam did not respond, but in her heart, the flame of hatred blazed fiercely. Thành had pushed her into this hell. Hạnh had stolen her child. They would pay in blood.

She looked through the bars, where sunlight filtered in feebly. A thought flashed: "When I get out of here, I will not only get my child back... I will destroy everything they hold dear!". In those once innocent eyes, only the darkness of someone who has nothing left to lose remained.

The prison sewing workshop smelled of moldy fabric and sweat. The sewing machines rattled like the labored breaths of the imprisoned. Ngọc Lam sat huddled in a dark corner, her chapped hands trembling as she held the needle and thread to mend a torn prison shirt that had been ripped by the guard last night. Suddenly, a shadow stretched out long on the damp cement floor.

"Newcomer?" — a deep, hoarse female voice rang out. Ngọc Lam raised her head, meeting the sharp gaze of Bạch Phượng. The woman wore a prison uniform but carried herself like a queen of the jungle, her hair cut short to reveal a long scar that ran from her temple down to her neck. Her right hand was tattooed all over with a black dragon, her nails painted a deep red like dried blood. Clearly, no one in prison was allowed to wear makeup, let alone paint their nails, but perhaps she was an exception. Not only her nails, but her whole body also emitted a strong perfume; perhaps she intentionally sprayed a lot to overpower the foul stench of this prison.

Bạch Phượng sat down beside Ngọc Lam, the heavy scent of cigarette smoke hitting her face. "I know you used to be an accountant for a big company. Very good..." — she chuckled softly, a chilling laugh. "But now you are just a worm in the ground. If you want to live, you must know your place."

Ngọc Lam leaned back, her back against the damp wall. "I... I don't understand what you're saying."

Bạch Phượng slowly drew a crumpled piece of paper from her shirt. It was a bank statement of a high-ranking official, containing hundreds of billions in corrupt money. "Those hungry dogs out there need someone who can draw letters. You can make fake documents for them, right?" — Bạch Phượng pressed her tattooed finger against Ngọc Lam's forehead. "In return, I'll give you the right to breathe in this rotten place."

On a rainy afternoon, Ngọc Lam was dragged into an old storeroom by two unfamiliar female prisoners. Bạch Phượng stood behind the door, her cold gaze signaling. On the table lay a pile of receipts and documents waiting for signatures. "If you do well, from tomorrow on, no one will touch a single hair on your head." — Bạch Phượng threw her a gold-plated pen.

Ngọc Lam took the pen, her hand trembling. The first forged signature, the ink smeared on the paper like blood. Images of Thành and Hạnh appeared, mocking her. She gripped the pen tightly, the final stroke violently tearing the paper apart. She had plunged into the devil's game.

Bạch Phượng led her into an underground network. Every time she completed a set of fake documents, the guard would send something into Ngọc Lam's cell — sometimes it was a milk blanket, sometimes a child's vest, sometimes a newspaper with a picture of her son that Hạnh had taken to a birthday party. "Tear your heart apart, and only then can you become strong."— Bạch Phượng looked at her with an unusual sympathetic gaze, as if she too had swallowed thousands of shards into her belly.

One night, Bạch Phượng led Ngọc Lam to a hidden corner behind the kitchen — where there was a altar for the malevolent spirits with the tablet of her deceased daughter. "They use my child to force me to be their henchman. But they forget that..." — The woman lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around her face, cold as a vengeful fairy. "Every mother can become a demon to avenge her child."

According to the documents she handled, Ngọc Lam was becoming increasingly skilled. The ghost contracts and the fake withdrawal receipts from her hands left the officials behind her well-fed. In return, she learned more about her son's information. The first time she heard about her child, she choked up when she was able to listen to a recording of the boy's cries, along with a confession that sounded like remorse from the caretaker at the Thành household: "The boy's name is Minh... Ms. Hạnh forced me to give him sleeping pills all day because he cried for his mother's milk... The boy is only awake during family parties or their social gatherings." — her voice choked.

Ngọc Lam bit her lip until blood ran down her neck. She looked into the broken mirror in the communal bathroom — her face had changed, her deep-set eyes gleaming with a mad spark. "Hạnh... do you dare use my child as... an accessory?" — she whispered, her hand tightly gripping the blade hidden in her sleeve.

One day, Bạch Phượng thrust a USB drive containing a video of Thành bribing the police chief into Ngọc Lam's hands. "If you want to survive, you must kill your past with your own hands." — She bared her teeth in a smile, revealing a yellow fang. "Either you, or them." But Ngọc Lam did not expect that she had informed the warden about the USB. When they stormed in to search, she hid it in a moldy piece of bread — the only thing she was allowed to eat that day. The woman watched everything from afar, her eyes lighting up, smirking: "Very good. Now you know how to survive in this hell on earth."

In the darkest corner of the prison, Ngọc Lam smiled for the first time. The laughter echoed with a wailing cry like a demon, sending shivers down the spines of the other prisoners. In her hand was a list of those who had ruined her life: Thành, Hạnh, the bribed judge, the police chief... Each name crossed out with fresh blood from the cut on her finger.

A female warden stood behind Bạch Phượng and patted her shoulder in warning: "You are nurturing a demon." — Bạch Phượng only looked straight at Ngọc Lam with a satisfied gaze.

"No, I am just forging a sickle for those who deserve to die."

The shadows of the two women cast on the wall like two coiled serpents, preparing to spit venom into the world that had suffocated them.