[ WP ] A company of multiple people is told one of them is a serial killer . In fact , EVERYONE is a serial killer , but no one knows that about any of the others .

Sergei shuffled down the narrow, austere hallway. Past the rows of rust-stained iron bars, his nostrils filled with the scent of bleach and stale sweat. This was a scene familiar to him at many times over the years, not yet 35, he had spent most of his adult life in institutions like this. The only punctuation being brief periods of freedom, characterized by the drug fueled brutality that was his life as an enforcer of the brotherhood. 
 
 The 80 ’ s were a time of plenty for the Lyubery, as long as you could stay out of jail. This was a discipline Sergei had never mastered, while his methods were famously effective, he had a reckless nature and a habit of lingering at the scene of his crimes, some of them the necessity of his work, many more of them were not..and so he was here. 
 
 This place was different, it felt different It sounded different, as they passed one narrow cell after another, there were no catcalls, no threats, no jeering, none of the usual mix of malice and graveyard humor with which long time inmates would greet the “ New meat ”. 
 
 500 hundred of the most vile criminals deemed too dangerous for any other prison in the Soviet Union, murderers and perverts, here they were, shaven headed, covered in the inked markings that told the stories of their allegiances and seniority. Cell after cell, each one lying or sitting on their bunk, eyes averted from the passage of their new neighbors, not a word, not a sound. 
 
 The only interruption of the silence, the echo of the large steel capped boots of the guard that walked Sergei and his fellow prisoners to their new cell assignments. In one hand, a rung of iron keys that may have been in use when Napoleon marched on Moscow, in the other a thick wooden club, the dark varnish notched and scarred with use, presumably both regular and enthusiastic. 
 
 One by one they were roughly, and silently corralled into single bed cells, not much wider than a grave, no privacy offered from the bars which swung shut behind them. 
 
 At the end of the long row was a cell, little bigger than the others, with a set of bunk beds pushed against one wall. Sergei was ushered in, but this time so was one other prisoner, “ prisoner 142, meet prisoner 381, enjoy your new home! ”, The guard bellowed and smiled as slammed the door and walked away without another word. 
 
 Sergei turned and looked at the other man, similar in most details, perhaps a little older. “ Sergei ” he said, offering no further information, “ Alexei ” the other man replied, he did not offer a handshake. They both turned and saw a crudely painted message, on the far wall of their new home, * ” I hope you like sharing with a serial killer. ” * 
 
 So this is what that half-wit guard had been smiling about, very clever. By warning Sergei ’ s cellmate about his * ” interests ” *, they had created a dilemma, either his new roommate would have to try to kill Sergei, or wait for the day when Sergei would kill him. No matter, a life sentence in penitentiary No.6 meant just that,..and Sergei did not like the idea of sharing anyway. 
 
 Without out a word, or any acknowledgement of the message, the other man, Alexei was it? Sat on the lower bunk. “ Good ” thought Sergei, this was an indication of status, he was weak, a coward hoping to show submission and so be spared. Likewise, in silence Sergei climbed onto the top bunk, and laid down as if to rest. He would wait, at night, when he was sure the other man was asleep, he would twist his bed sheet into a garrote, climb silently down, and wrap it around the man ’ s neck. 
 
 In the morning the guards would come, he would be beaten, and taken to solitary confinement. No matter,... at least there he could close his eyes in peace. 
 
 Alexei lay in the lower bunk, seemingly at rest, his mind turning over in confusion. What were they playing at?, was this a game?, Alexei Petrov, “ The Butcher of Moscow ”, the digger of 47 unmarked graves, sharing a cell with a common criminal, and that message, was it a warning to the other man? Alexei was always angered at not understanding the motivations of others... many things angered Alexei, it made no difference, as soon as it was dark he would seize the man from the top bunk and bash his brains out against the wall. 
 
 Dmitry Orlov sat tinkering with the tuning dial of an old black and white, portable television. He looked over at his colleague as he counted a large stack of Rubles, as he did so Vladimir looked up from his money, “ and what of you Dmitry, will you place a bet this time? ”, Dmitry smiled and shook his head, ” You are not a well man Vlad ”. Vladimir stood and walked to a control board on the wall and flipped the main switch that would turn out the lights in every cell on the block “ Well if you ever fix the reception on that old piece of shit, maybe I won ’ t have to make my own entertainment ”.
