The noise in the cafeteria faded, leaving only the clatter of utensils and hushed whispers.
Thomas was like a hyena that had wandered into a pride of lions, putting on a show of ferocity to hide the fear underneath.
Leon sat in the corner, his fork idly pushing mushy beans around his plate.
His phone rested on his thigh, screen already unlocked, finger hovering over the record button.
The actor was in position.
Miller carried his tray straight toward the most central, most open table in the cafeteria.
That was Marcus’s territory.
Non-members of the King’s gang didn’t go near it.
Sure enough, before he got within ten feet, two large Black men rose to their feet and planted themselves in his path like walls.
“Get lost, kid.”
Miller stopped.
He looked at the two men, then shifted his gaze past them — to the “King” himself.
Marcus was using a dinner knife to leisurely cut a piece of low-grade Spam, unhurried, unconcerned.
“No one’s sitting here.” Miller’s tone had an edge.
The air in the cafeteria thickened.
The King hadn’t even gotten around to putting this newcomer in his place , and the newcomer was already challenging him on day one?
Marcus didn’t look up.
He speared the cut piece of meat, placed it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.
Like he was savoring something worth savoring.
Only after he swallowed, only after he blotted his lips with a napkin, did he lazily raise his head.
“You’re right.
Nobody’s sitting here.”
Marcus spoke.
“Kneel down and ask me nicely, I’ll let you eat here.”
Low laughter rippled through his men.
Miller’s face went dark red.
The veins in his neck stood up.
“What did you just say?”
“I said—”
Marcus stood.
His frame was enormous, and the shadow it cast swallowed Miller whole.
“You look soft.
Probably can’t fight for shit.”
He looked Miller up and down, slow and deliberate, like he was appraising something he could do whatever he wanted with.
“But that’s alright, kid.”
Marcus grinned, teeth white and gleaming, smile full of mockery.
“Tonight, shower time — I’ll show you something.
Give you an education.”
“Guarantee you’ll never forget it.”
The words landed like a brand.
There was no mistaking what he meant.
A sexual threat, out in the open, in front of everyone.
A dead silence fell over the cafeteria.
Every person in that room held their breath, waiting for the fuse to finish burning.
Leon’s finger pressed the record button.
“Go fuck yourself…”
Miller’s jaw worked, teeth grinding audibly.
He stared at Marcus, and every word came out through clenched teeth.
Then he said it.
That word.
The one that ended conversations and started wars.
It landed in the cafeteria like a gunshot.
Marcus’s smile disappeared.
One of his men snapped his foot up and kicked the nearest table.
CLANG!
Metal legs screamed against concrete.
The whole table flipped, trays and all , food and soup hitting the floor in a wet explosion.
The room detonated.
“Shit, they’re fighting!”
“Don’t fucking push me!”
“Who the hell just grabbed me?!”
Nobody could say who threw the first punch.
It didn’t matter.
The tables nearby cascaded into chaos, one after another, a chain reaction.
Inmates screamed, cursed, shoved, threw elbows.
Guards at the far end blew their whistles, barking orders that nobody heard and nobody followed.
Every set of eyes in the room went to the brawl.
Every set except two.
Marcus moved the instant the guards’ attention snapped toward the chaos.
Fast , faster than a man that size had any right to be.
Nobody saw where the weapon came from.
Just a brief flash of white.
A toothbrush handle, sharpened to a point.
Miller was still riding the adrenaline from the confrontation.
He never saw it coming.
Marcus closed the distance in one step.
His left hand seized the back of Miller’s neck and drove his head down, hard.
THWT!
Blade into flesh.
Miller’s whole body locked up.
His eyes went wide and glassy.
He looked down at his abdomen, at the blood already welling through his shirt, with an expression of pure disbelief.
Marcus didn’t stop.
THWT THWT THWT.
No expression on his face.
An emotionless butcher.
He worked the crude weapon in and out, once, twice, three times, driving it into Miller’s body without hesitation.
Blood poured over his hand.
Miller went limp.
Marcus let go, and he dropped , crumpling to the floor like something with all the structure taken out.
He convulsed, bloody froth at his lips, the fury and defiance draining from his eyes and replaced by something simpler: terror.
The whole thing took three seconds.
By the time the guards shoved through the crowd and reached them, it was done.
Marcus stood where he was, blood on his face.
He looked down at Miller once, then tossed the toothbrush handle into the overturned soup basin nearby.
The weapon sank and vanished.
His men closed around him immediately, shielding him, all of them shouting over each other at the incoming guards.
“Officer!
He started it!”
“He was talking shit!
He went after someone first!”
“We were defending ourselves!”
The scene was chaos.
Leon had already stopped recording.
He slipped the phone into his pocket, arranged his face into the right expression , shock, anger, appropriate alarm , and drew his baton like everyone else.
“Nobody move!
Get against the wall!
Down!
Now!”
He drove his baton into the iron bars, the impact ringing through the room, working in sync with the other guards to lock the room down.
The inmates, seeing the uniforms converge, folded , heads tucked, hands visible, dropping to the floor.
Leon’s eyes moved across Thomas Miller, face-up in a spreading pool of blood, already still.
Then over to Marcus, standing easy with three gun barrels pointed at him, utterly composed.
The corner of Leon’s mouth pulled up.
Clean work.
The King didn’t waste movement.
A perfect accident.
The warden and medical team arrived fast.
The area was cordoned off, every inmate marched back to their cells.
A white sheet went over Thomas Miller, and he was carried out.
The official finding would write itself: inmate provoked a confrontation with racial slurs, brawl erupted, victim stabbed by unknown party in the chaos.
Marcus’s men had surrounded the two of them the whole time, and the cameras hadn’t caught a clear shot of who actually did it.
The case would go unsolved.
Permanently.
Nobody was going to look twice at the Asian guard who happened to be nearby and helped restore order.
That night, Leon locked his dorm room door and sat on the edge of his bunk.
He opened the video.
Miller’s provocation.
Marcus’s humiliation.
That word.
Then the three seconds of blood and silence, caught clean on camera.
The image was sharp.
The audio was clear.
Shane would have no complaints.
Leon ran a quick encryption pass, packaged the file, and sent it to Shane’s private email address.
For the subject line, he typed one word:
[Result]
Then he deleted the video and the email from his phone, both of them, completely.
He moved to the window and lit a cigarette.
Outside: the prison’s high walls, the electrified fence, razor wire catching what little light there was.
Beyond that, the Georgia countryside , flat and dark and silent.
His phone buzzed.
Shane.
Leon looked at the screen.
Good work.
But I need time to pull the supplies together.
Leon smiled.
Shane was still honoring the deal.
That was all that mattered.
The rest could wait.
He thought for a moment, then typed back:
No rush on the supplies.
I’ve got two days before my vacation starts.
When the time comes , aren’t you at least buying me a drink first?
➤ Next: Shane’s Gratitude