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🕑 Added 2025-06-19 16:30:52 +0000 UTCChapter 131: Let 'Em Fight, Let 'Em Fight!
This was when the Romans, utterly exhausted physically and mentally, first started considering the possibility of a truce between the two sides.
He realized that after the big showdown, the "spellcasting battle," with the Maroni family, the losses on both sides were simply too much, ridiculously huge.
This wasn't like the usual back-and-forth skirmishes, where you'd hit one of my warehouses, and I'd trash one of your casinos. No, the price of this "spellcasting battle" often meant losing core family members, along with temporarily shutting down a major, highly profitable illegal industry chain belonging to the family. The Maroni empire was a bit smaller than Falcone's, so after this kind of exchange, while Maroni's remaining strength quickly waned, Falcone's losses were significantly greater than Maroni's.
Business, both sides' businesses were shot. If it weren't for the fact that Wayne Enterprises, Harvey, and Gordon had been helping both factions clear out the tendrils of other gangs trying to creep into Gotham, maybe Gotham City would be in a full-blown gang war right now.
But that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Because the territory and manpower controlled by the gangs were being confiscated by the justice system, and Wayne Enterprises is a superpower giant with both the capability and the willingness to take over. So, its current actions looked less like helping out and more like guarding its food bowl.
Falcone wanted to talk peace, to at least stand as equals rather than suffer mutual destruction. He figured now was the time, while the two gangs still had a strong grip on Gotham, still retained most of their strength, and still had a chance to recover after calling a ceasefire.
However, some people didn't want the two sides to stop just yet.
Inside Wayne Manor, the fire in the fireplace blazed brightly. By the fireplace, a conversation was underway.
"Word from the informant says Luigi and Falcone might be arranging a meeting to talk peace."
"Peace? Should we let them?"
Harvey flipped the coin in his hand with interest, looking over at Bruce.
"Now?" Bruce shook his head. "Not the right time. We need them weaker, so we can get a firm grip, then pull in those key figures deeply tied to them, replace them, and really let Gotham get a full blood transfusion."
"Got it."
Gordon, holding a cup of black tea, watched the two talking and couldn't help but speak up.
"I don't know why you're willing to put so much effort into cleaning up Gotham's environment for us – so much of your Gotham City Reconstruction Plan is long-term investment. Wayne Enterprises is going to be spending a huge amount of money in the short term."
"Long-term investments bring long-term benefits," Bruce replied. "You might not know this, but I heard the gangs in Gotham have been busy studying law recently – even they have that kind of foresight."
"Oh, I know – and it's wild! I've been in Gotham for so many years, first time I've ever seen anything like it. Harvey, what you've pulled off lately is a bit beyond my imagination."
"Dog eat dog happens because they wanted to bite each other in the first place." Harvey tossed the coin high into the air. "Without Alberto as our ace in the hole, our plan probably would've just ended here."
"Even if it ended here, it would still be astonishing," Gordon shook his head. "Speaking of which, when did you two get so chummy?"
"Since the last time, after I heard about Dr. Thomas Wayne – I used to have some opinions about Mr. Bruce, but since Christmas, I've started learning to set aside prejudice and look objectively at this 'playboy' who's trying to make Gotham better."
Wayne raised an eyebrow. "Harvey, I can hear you."
"Haha, my bad – anyway, it's still not the right time to play the Alberto card, right?"
"Definitely not."
"So, which card do we play?"
All three pairs of eyes turned towards the one sitting nearby, munching on cookies and sipping tea.
"...Why are you looking at me?" Cody washed down his pastry with the tea. "I just came for the snacks, is there something in this for me?"
"The wiretap was your help," Harvey chuckled. "This card, that's your credit."
Cody grabbed another small cookie and popped it into his mouth. "Don't really get you riddle guys. Wanna play cards? I'm awesome at 'picking up sticks'."
"Sofia."
In the office, Falcone pushed a court summons across the desk to his daughter.
"They're coming for you now, my Sofia."
"Dad, I'm not scared of them." The tall Sofia showed no fear at her father's words. "I've been to prison before, going again isn't a big deal."
"Sofia, you are very brave." A look of relief appeared on Falcone's face. "In that case, how about you do one more thing for me that wasn't finished before?"
Sofia leaned down and answered the Roman, "Father, anything. Just command it, and I will do it for you."
"Good, very good." The Godfather gently patted Sofia's shoulder. "In that case, go kill someone for me."
"Who?"
"Maroni – Sal Maroni."
Sofia's body stiffened.
"Yes, Father..." she said. "But Sal Maroni helped us deal with Harvey Dent. Maybe he can still be our ally."
"Betraying her own father, betraying her own family, to form an alliance with a sworn enemy?" The Roman smiled faintly, without humor. "First time I ever knew Sal Maroni was that kind of character."
Sofia fell silent instantly.
At this moment, the Godfather reached into his drawer and took out a small audio player. He pressed the play button, and the voices of a man and a woman immediately came out.
"I went to prison for you, Sal."
"I didn't squawk and complain like a duck, and I didn't ask you for anything in return. And when the cops found me, I didn't say your name."
"I missed you, Sal – every night I was locked up, I thought about you."
"Sofia, you need to know, I don't trust Falcone, and I don't trust Harvey Dent. I agreed to this whole thing because of you."
The conversation ended there.
"I kept wondering how my reliable, dependable daughter managed to talk Sal Maroni into this, and got him to go after Harvey Dent in court like that, in public. In my mind, her gun is fast, but her tongue isn't exactly silver-tongued – that day, I was fully prepared to hear the news of Maroni's death."
"Father..."
"I never thought the Falcone and Maroni families could produce a Romeo and Juliet – Sofia, you wanting Sal Maroni alive, was that really because he could be our ally?"
Facing the Roman's interrogation, Sofia was speechless, only lowering her head further.
"I originally thought this war shouldn't continue. It seems I was wrong."
Falcone waved his hand, his expression cold and hard. "Go, Sofia. You go to prison and reflect for a good long while too. When the two families have settled who the winner is, that's when you come out."
"I'm going to let Maroni know he can't steal the Falcone family with such shameless tactics!"
Chapter 132: Stay Away From Me!
Maybe war isn't a good thing, but upon receiving that recording, both Falcone and Maroni instinctively made up their minds.
"I'd rather fight this out to the bitter end than have my daughter/son hand my family over to our sworn enemies after I'm gone."
As for the two families tying the knot?
That was an issue both sides unanimously agreed to keep off the table. The reason is right there in the name: they're "sworn enemies." Of course, burying the hatchet would be the best way to preserve both families' power, but right now, neither side wants a ceasefire.
Even with a head-for-a-head strategy, Falcone was confident he could wipe out the Maroni family completely, and he was sure it was the most effective method at this point. After everything wrapped up, he, as the winner, would take it all. The Maroni family, on the other hand, had absolutely no expectation, nor did they want, Falcone to show them any mercy in the end. After all, the Roman's beloved youngest son was the culprit behind the shooting of the father and son, and the fury from key family members being slaughtered had awakened Luigi's bloodlust.
One side believed they could win, the other absolutely refused to lose. This led to the two factions falling back into a state of war. Harvey, Gordon, and Bruce's plan slowly advanced. Batch after batch of officials and some wealthy individuals with frequent ties to both families began climbing the ranks in various departments with the backing of their respective sides, trying to fill the power vacuums. But just as quickly, they landed in jail under attack from the opposing side, in a constant loop.
And that's exactly why Police Commissioner Gordon has been swamped lately, running himself ragged. He'd been sleeping at the precinct for a solid week. He'd wake up and just keep slogging through paperwork, never getting a chance to head home.
"Commissioner Gordon, the jails in Gotham are packed."
"I know, I know, Duke." Commissioner Gordon, with his bedhead, shoved aside the mountain of files on his desk, revealing deep dark circles and bloodshot eyes. "No, I gotta find a way to get back to the Manor sometime. I ran out of that flower tea he gave me before he left."
Officer Duke listened to Gordon mumbling to himself, a little confused. "What flower tea?"
"Nothing, nothing... How many spots do we still have in our jails?"
"Commissioner Gordon, are you awake? I told you, all the jails are packed."
"Ugh, I really should just go home and crash... I mean, there's gotta be some room, right? How about adding a few more beds to some of the cells?"
"Commissioner Gordon, when I say 'packed,' I don't mean it as a figure of speech. I mean it literally."
"?"
That day, the photo on the front page of the Gotham Gazette showed inmates crammed into cells almost like a rush-hour subway, alongside tense, armed correctional officers keeping watch.
At Wayne Manor, Bruce looked at the photo in the paper and fell silent himself.
"As you can see, Mr. Wayne," Commissioner Gordon sighed, taking another sip of his flower tea. "To be honest, I'm already considering finding some inmates with less serious offenses to work as correctional officers – I've never seen Gotham's jails this full in my life."
Bruce thought for a moment and understood what Gordon was getting at. "You want Wayne Enterprises to convert some empty buildings into emergency private prisons?"
"I know Wayne Enterprises hasn't done that kind of business before, but these inmates really need somewhere to go. Let them work under supervision in a private prison to earn time off their sentences, or let them spend money while they're inside – at the very least, it can all feed back into Gotham's development. This money could become funding for Wayne Enterprises' Gotham construction projects."
Commissioner Gordon paused, then continued, "I only have one request: the prison planning needs to involve me, Harvey, and you. We want to make sure the inmates in this prison have the living conditions of normal prisoners: edible food, beds they can sleep in, clothes they can wear."
"What if the money I make from the prison isn't used for building up Gotham?"
"You're the most likely person to use the money for Gotham. Handing the inmates over to you is definitely better than giving them to those publicly traded prison companies whose only goal is profit."
Bruce thought about it and nodded.
"Your request is reasonable, Commissioner Gordon," he said. "I agree."
Gotham City seems to be doing better lately.
The reason for using "seems" is that job opportunities in Gotham have absolutely exploded recently, skyrocketing, surging! But these jobs were all created due to one specific demand.
Private prisons.
Although Wayne's buildings can accommodate a large number of prisoners, supervising this many inmates naturally requires a substantial workforce. And it's precisely because of the sheer number of inmates being locked up that the demand for "correctional officers" has gone through the roof.
It sounds pretty wild, but this is Gotham, so it doesn't seem all that strange.
All in all, most of the funds Bruce had originally planned to invest in Gotham will temporarily go towards building the prisons. The only comfort is that with the money in place, things aren't difficult. Wayne Enterprises' construction crews are incredibly efficient, and the buildings temporarily converted into prisons can hold things down for a while, buying time for the larger, formal prisons to be built later.
At the same time, a large number of ordinary Gotham citizens have eagerly applied for and joined the correctional officer ranks. After completing training, they officially started work as part of the prison staff. Wayne Enterprises is paying $40 an hour for the job, which is a huge contrast to most private prisons that desperately cut costs and push down correctional officer wages.
As for the prisoners inside, to maximize their contribution to Gotham, District Attorney Harvey helped Bruce do a little planning.
"Starting today, you are members of the Gotham... uh, Gotham Temporary Correctional Facility. Everyone listen up, get your number tags, and don't wander into someone else's cell."
Inside the temporary prison, a man in a correctional officer's uniform was shouting at the inmates. He had gaunt cheeks, fierce eyes, and a hint of something particularly cunning and cold about him. Almost every inmate who saw him would instinctively rein themselves in a bit at first glance.
Of course, looks can only scare off the small fries. The real big shots won't be intimidated by a face.
"Calamity... Calamity..."
"Holy cow, it's Cody, Mad! I don't wanna be in here, I wanna switch prisons! I wanna switch prisons!"
"Boss Maroni ended up in the hospital because of him! During the trial that day, he just looked at the boss, and then the boss got shot three times!"
"Carmine even dared to buy photos from him... Ugh, I was such an idiot! Why didn't I stop him back then... Now even Sofia is in jail."
That's right, the big shots had all heard of Cody's infamous reputation. Never mind that he looked sinister; even if he seemed harmless, this group of powerful figures would still shout out that line with looks of pure terror.
"Stay away from me!"
Chapter 133: Wanna Upgrade Your Cabin, Boss?
Cody paid no mind to the prisoners' murmuring and commotion.
"Alright, alright, settle down, no need to make a fuss," he said into the megaphone. "Everyone listen up. Sentences under one year, stand on the left. Sentences under ten years, stand in the middle. Sentences under fifty years, stand on the right. Sentences over fifty years, you're coming with me."
The inmates immediately stirred. There were too many people here who originally belonged to the two big families. Seeing familiar family members, they were already figuring out how to form cliques and gangs. Hearing they were going to be separated, with the upper, middle, and lower ranks of the families about to be split up, they couldn't help but feel a bit disgruntled.
"Hey, you idiot up on the stage! Look here!"
At this moment, a prisoner in the crowd suddenly dropped his pants and flipped a rather unusual middle finger at Cody.
Immediately, the already unhappy inmates burst into raucous laughter all together.
"Mitt Courtney." Cody said calmly. "I know you were already a troublemaker in the Maroni family, orphaned, no ties, no baggage. But you're still living on Earth. You have a girlfriend, right? She lives at..."
Mitt's smile instantly vanished. "You son of a bitch! If you dare touch her—"
"No, that's not how we operate. However, her email will receive a partial selection of your daily prison footage tonight. In fact, your family members, or any family members connected to all of you, will receive a copy of this footage. So I suggest you watch your words and actions – Mitt, your little public exhibition is going to reach her very soon."
Mitt's face instantly went green then pale. At this moment, he felt like just exploding on Cody.
"You don't need to worry about this behavior being against the law, because I didn't enter this prison as a correctional officer."
As he said this, Cody flashed a sunny smile.
"I entered the prison as an inmate myself, just carrying out some management duties. So even if my sentence is a bit longer, I don't mind. It just means I get to spend more time with you guys."
"Of course, you can also choose to purchase our value-added services, like deleting the clip of you just now – this service is worth one hundred dollars, multiplied by your sentence of thirty-six years, you only need to pay me three thousand six hundred dollars."
"Or if you think that's not worth it, you can choose the probation service. I'll keep your exhibition history, but won't send it out. If you mess up again next time, then this punishment will be triggered along with the next one. Note, you only get one free chance per month for this. The next time will cost fifty dollars, the time after that multiplied by your sentence, the time after that multiplied by your sentence again, and so on."
At this point, most of the prisoners in the facility were instantly aghast. If calculated by these rules, how much punishment would the inmates going with Cody face?
A small number of inmates with shorter sentences, however, showed delighted expressions, as their shorter sentences meant the cost of making mistakes in prison would be lower for them.
"By the way, fighting and bullying in prison will result in collective sentence increases and fines. If you mess up too much, it'll mean you'll basically be staying in here forever."
"If you don't have money, that's okay too. The prison will arrange labor reform for each of you. You'll get a certain amount of compensation, not much, but enough to meet your normal living expenses and have a bit left over. And you don't have to risk your life. In other words, just clock in and do your job."
"I'm clocking in at 8 AM—"
"Shut up, Mitt!"
His fellow family members nearby quickly grabbed him and covered his mouth. While they had saved up some money, they absolutely couldn't afford the chain reaction Mitt was causing.
Cody shrugged. "Finally, there are the hardcore types, who think they have nothing to lose, or that they're rich and powerful, so they don't want to participate in labor reform and still want to step all over others. For people like that, we'll let you enjoy the treatment of heavy-sentence inmates with sentences over fifty years. Every time you resist the prison's normal arrangements, you'll spend a week in the same kind of prison environment they're in."
At this moment, one prisoner couldn't help but ask, "What other differences are there in the treatment between light and heavy offenders?"
"Well, to put it simply, if you don't see those first batch of heavy offenders with long sentences paying to get back into the normal prison next week, it's likely because they took the easy way out, not because they're particularly tough."
It's a joke. Poor people don't have money anyway. The main business of Wayne Private Prison is you guys – high-ranking officials, powerful figures, wealthy elites, top crime bosses – who committed serious crimes and made a killing through illegal means. If the living conditions in the heavy-sentence prison could make you resist paying for an upgrade, then you'd be this (gives a thumbs up), and Gotham's 'Iron Triangle' would be this (points thumbs down).
Sal Maroni was also contracted into the Wayne Private Prison.
He didn't run into Cody, but in his section of the prison, someone else was announcing the same prison rules to the inmates – that person was Poison Ivy.
Her methods were much cruder. A bunch of troublemakers who dared to act tough with her were all injected with her plant toxins, forcing them into a year-long state of... impotence. When they learned the specific effects of these toxins, the entire group of inmates fell silent, quietly listening to her instructions.
"Your toxins last for a year, but I'll resupply them next year, and the year after. The toxins won't stop until you get out of prison – it's not like you're supposed to have sex lives in prison anyway."
Perhaps these prisoners should consider themselves lucky that rape is forbidden in Wayne Prison, otherwise, unable to be "keys," they could only become natural "locks" inside.
He wasn't entirely sure what the situation was like in the heavy-sentence prison, but the moment he heard you could pay for an upgrade, he had already sized up this prison.
Just a profit-making institution, he thought. I'm Sal Maroni, I'm rich and powerful, I can do anything here.
It's worth mentioning that his sentence was no longer thirty years at this point. During the back-and-forth war between the two major gangs, they had exposed a lot more evidence and crimes about each other. Luigi watched helplessly as his son's sentence went from thirty years to seventy years, and then kept climbing to a hundred and nine years, and it was still increasing. He was basically numb by now.
Let it climb, so what? I have a son, don't you have a daughter? You have a lot more family members than I do.
So, Maroni was now truly a heavy-sentence inmate. With a bit of curiosity and trepidation, he and a group of other high-ranking individuals were taken away and brought to the heavy-sentence prison.
And it was precisely because of this that when he saw the guards leading the twenty inmates, including himself, to a damp, dark space about twenty square meters with mold growing on the walls and water dripping, his state of mind wavered slightly.
He thought he just saw two small creatures with tentacles crawling under the three-tiered bunk beds.
Chapter 134: Why Doesn't He Just Mug People?
This morning marked Maroni's first day in the joint.
"Wake up! Everybody up! It's five-thirty!"
"People who get up at this hour are rising stars! Pillars of the nation! They're like walking encyclopedias! Mortals descended from heaven! They're the beacons of hope in urban novels! The absolute best in slang! Dragons among men in martial arts stories! Disciplined souls who examine themselves thrice daily! They're..."
Every sentence was yelled loud and clear, each one a jolt to the inmates' groggy nerves.
Waking up on the three-tiered bunk, Maroni felt aches all over. This was the first time in his life he'd slept in a sardine-can environment. The smell of sweaty feet, the hard-as-rock bunks, the competing snores that sounded like thunder, the sounds of passing gas, the grinding teeth. Everything, everything, was a massive obstacle to achieving the simple feat of "falling asleep."
Turns out, rich or not, prisoners in the joint all sleep the same.
But actually, during the first half of the night yesterday, none of the inmates had been asleep. The correctional officers didn't stop them from talking in low voices at night, they just warned them that every hour of conversation would cost them ten bucks – ten bucks multiplied by the duration of their sentences. Everyone had to pay, even if only two people in the whole cell were talking.
Yet, that still couldn't stop their need to vent. The truth was, before getting locked up, they were all privileged big shots living the good life, and now they were controlled inmates, prisoners. Ever since they got here, they'd had a million gripes to air. As for the thousands of dollars docked from each of them overnight – that kind of thing didn't seem so important right then.
"Think we can break out? If we could just get out..."
"What are you, nuts? Batman's out there! Can you guarantee you won't get snagged and dragged back? Get busted again and you're stuck here for a week, mandatory!"
"Man, if I just kept running..."
"Then you'd end up in Arkham. Didn't you hear what Poison Ivy said? You wanna hang out with those psychos who kill people on a whim? Scarecrow, Mad Hatter, Joker, and Calendar Man are all in there right now. You wanna give it a shot?"
"Geez, I swear to God—"
Just then, an inmate on the lower bunk tapped his bed frame. "Look on the bright side. At least that creepy wheelchair guy, Catwoman, Penguin, and Freeze – the one who tanked GothCorp before – those guys didn't get tossed into the asylum. Otherwise, Arkham would be even more of a zoo."
"What are you talking about? That creepy wheelchair guy is totally in with Batman! The moment Batman shows up, he vanishes. I even wonder if that creepy wheelchair guy is just Batman dressed up, just to satisfy his twisted habits."
"I think Catwoman's in deep with them too. Maybe Batman, her, and that creepy wheelchair guy formed some kind of alliance."
"Guys, are we really gonna sit here and talk about this Marvel Comics kind of stuff? We're adults, respectable adults."
"Then what should we talk about? How to upgrade our cells? That Ivy bitch, that... female dog, said we have to stay here for three days before we can upgrade – damn it, she actually calls this an 'upgrade'! Have you ever heard of a constantly billed upgrade service?"
"Ugh, a hundred bucks a month, multiplied by our sentences. My starting rate is ten thousand a month, every! single! month! Seriously, do they think they're selling presidential suites? Why doesn't Bruce Wayne just mug people?"
"Mugging is illegal. This is legit."
"I don't friggin' wanna pay!"
"Then he can legally apply to the court for forced execution. Don't forget, he can just categorize these deductions as your living expenses in prison, and the court isn't exactly on your side right now."
"What's there to say? Who here doesn't like making money?" An insurance company boss who'd been lying on the third bunk and hadn't participated in the conversation suddenly sneered. "If we had this kind of opportunity, who wouldn't make more off it than Bruce Wayne?"
"Well, can't argue with that. Bruce, that idiot, actually had a smart moment for once."
"I wish he'd just stay as clueless as usual. At least he'd dock me less cash."
Just then, a voice suddenly sounded from outside the cell door.
"Gentlemen," he said. "I'm not entirely sure what's going through your heads, but it's already one in the morning, and you gotta be up at five-thirty tomorrow. You don't have much rest time left – though, if you guys wanna keep chatting, I don't mind. Money talks, after all."
Maroni's heart skipped a beat.
So he lowered his voice and said to the person outside the cell, "Hey, kid, let me ask you something. You wanna make some money?"
"Sure do."
The cell instantly fell silent. Everyone exchanged glances. Even if they couldn't get out, being able to bribe a correctional officer was enough to give them a significant amount of freedom.
"Alright, there's an opportunity right in front of you now, all you gotta do is grab it—"
"All I gotta do is grab this opportunity, get indicted, and tossed in a cell to be your bunkmate." The correctional officer shook his head. "Plus, I'd get fined, any money I made would be gone – you probably can't imagine how tight the surveillance is on officers here. I'd love to know who designed this place."
"Mr. Maroni, I recognize your voice. You're a big deal in Gotham. So let me give you a little friendly advice: You might wanna stop trying to find loopholes and just pay for the upgrade. Even if you ran, your old man would just send you right back. A lot of people in Gotham know by now that Luigi is... a little... unhappy with your love life."
Upon hearing this, everyone immediately turned their gaze to Maroni on the lower bunk. Gossip is human nature.
Maroni stayed silent – damn it, the thing with Sofia got out.
He remembered what Luigi had told him the other day when he came to visit.
"Sal, those two traitors are heading to jail. That idiot Harvey thinks I'm really letting them off the hook – find a way, have someone take care of them inside."
He hadn't expected that in the few days between that conversation and today, those two could still sell him out to his dad one more time.
"Two more pieces of advice. First, just follow the prison schedule, muster calls and labor are important. Second, Mr. Vernon and Mr. Jenkins also ended up in jail. You can pay the prison to apply for a ring match. If the reason is reasonable, the prison will let you settle personal grudges while wearing protective gear."
Maroni's eyes immediately lit up.
Interrupted like that, nobody was in the mood for chatting anymore. And so, after enduring half the night on the hard, cold bunks and thin blankets, everyone finally drifted off to sleep amidst the corner drips, the mildew smell of the room, the occasional scurrying dark little creatures, and the pitch-black darkness.
Calling it passing out would probably be just as accurate.
Chapter 135: A Carefully Prepared Breakfast
When the distinct wake-up call blared, most inmates didn't want to get out of bed. Some couldn't even fully open their eyes. The stiff beds they'd loathed just last night, along with the paper-thin mattresses, suddenly felt like heaven right then.
Just then, that devilish voice over the intercom started up again.
"Alright, my prisoner friends, if I may be frank, you might be able to afford the fines for sleeping in, but you might not be able to handle the chain reaction that follows. That includes missing roll call, missing today's labor detail, not getting any time off your three days for room upgrades, and the malnutrition that comes from skipping mealtime."
"And one more thing – the doors won't open until everyone in the room has made their bed and is dressed. Otherwise, the cell doors will only open automatically after breakfast time is over."
"Alternatively, you could just choose to keep sleeping together – good luck with that."
Listening to the broadcast, the few inmates who were still halfway conscious remembered what that guard had told them last night.
"Just stick to the prison's schedule. Both roll call and labor are important."
"Holy crud! Hurry, hurry up! If we miss roll call, we'll have to tough it out in here for a whole day for nothing!"
About half a minute later, the prison immediately got lively. Inmates startled awake by the broadcast started yanking their buddies out of bed. Some even began yelling and slapping each other silly.
"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up... What the hell are you waiting for, wake up! Wake up, now!"
"Idiot, stop hitting him! You hit Ned again and he won't wake up at all!"
"Why the heck are you hitting so hard, you're a judge!"
"What? You can't even fold a blanket? Just fold it any old way!"
The sky outside was still pitch black and gloomy at this point, but the entire prison suddenly became a hive of noise. Everywhere the guards went, the inmates were a frantic mess. It was pure pandemonium. This level of hustle and bustle, this vibrant energy, didn't really feel like a prison – it was more like a subway during the morning rush hour.
Dong dong dong—
A bell rang out from the intercom. It was six o'clock, and the bell rang six times. After the ringing stopped, the guard's voice followed, sounding from outside the cells.
"I can't be bothered to bang on the steel doors with my baton. The truth is, the prison's main punishments for you guys are fines and adding time to your sentences. If you don't want to be dragged out of your bunk one morning and told you're busted, then get your brains working and remember the prison orientation you got – everyone fall in line in thirty seconds! Get out of your cells!"
Maroni, wearing his orange jumpsuit, ran a hand over his cool, smooth shaved head. They'd shaved it before they came in to prevent them from hiding tiny blades or other sharp objects, and it also took care of some hygiene issues.
For the first time in his life, he was just one face in the crowd, even though he was Sal Maroni. He was powerful and rich, ruthless and decisive, with connections everywhere. But once he put on that jumpsuit, he blended into the mass of other inmates wearing orange. There was nothing special about him anymore.
"Niles Spencer?"
"Here."
"Josh Hammond."
"Here."
"Salvatore Vincent Maroni."
"Here."
He answered the guard's roll call almost automatically, then angrily clenched his fists. He hated this state of following rules and felt the humiliation of being broken in.
A few moments later, after roll call was finished, the guards led them toward the mess hall – although to most of the inmates, the scene reminded them of sheep being herded by a shepherd.
Everything here made them intensely uncomfortable. They were so used to the glitz and glamour outside, the unrestrained freedom, the ability to do whatever they wanted. Now, even the slightest restriction made them feel a strong sense of dissatisfaction.
"Good morning, friends."
As the prisoners lined up to get their food, a familiar voice came over the intercom. Most of the inmates didn't react much, but when Maroni first heard that voice, his hair immediately stood on end, and his face went pale with panic. At that moment, for the first time, he began to doubt if he'd ever make it out of this prison alive.
"I'm your chef this morning. Or rather, I'll actually be your chef for all three meals every day from now on. Maybe you recognized my voice, maybe you didn't – it doesn't matter. Just remember one thing – from now on, there will be no other cooks in this prison except for me. So please eat well. Today's food standard will be the eternal standard for the mess hall here from this point forward."
Maroni listened, trembling, to what Cody said over the broadcast, feeling a mix of happiness and worry. He was happy because he knew Cody's cooking skills were definitely top-notch; he was worried because the person speaking over the broadcast was Cody, so while the food itself might not be lethal, his very presence was quite lethal.
With that thought weighing on him, he went to the window, got his tray, and sat down at a table in the mess hall.
Then... then what?
Sitting at his table, Maroni looked confused. He painfully pounded his head, feeling like his brain matter was churning and rolling just like his stomach acid.
There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and his throat felt like it was burning.
How did he get to his table?
He... he seemed to have forgotten what he ate this morning.
No, it wasn't that he forgot; his brain had automatically blurred the memory of breakfast to protect him.
"Morning... this morning I ate..."
He held his head, searching his mind with all his might, and finally recalled that painful memory.
An orange-yellow paste – it was cornmeal mush.
"My carefully researched and cooked cornmeal mush. On the outside, it looks like a ten. In fact, it tastes like a ten. The texture going down your throat is still a ten. But its ingredients are one hundred percent pure, authentic corn! Don't doubt it, this is ten-flavored cornmeal mush! To achieve this taste, I specifically spent several days researching, guaranteeing you infinite surprises, ha!"
The colorful, viscous liquid in the cup – it was juice.
"Pineapple, watermelon, apple, bitter melon, milk, soy sauce, salt, MSG, spicy pepper soup... Just like the cornmeal mush, this is also a masterpiece juice I've carefully prepared. There are no inedible seasonings inside. Every fruit is guaranteed fresh, every seasoning is guaranteed sanitary. Its components are absolutely healthy, absolutely nutritious. You absolutely don't need to worry about the kitchen's hygiene quality."
Something made from materials he couldn't identify – it was toast.
"Staple bread. This one wasn't cooked by me personally, so it's nothing new. Please don't worry, its taste is perfectly fine, absolutely identical to all the bread you usually eat. Perhaps, it will become your favorite food."
"However, there's one thing I should mention. This is bread made from insect powder."
(End of Chapter)
