Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1: The Target’s Walk
The yard stank of sweat and rust.
Marcus stepped through the metal door.
His orange jumpsuit hung loose on his shoulders, but his muscles coiled beneath it.
The number 1433 was stitched in bold white across his chest.
He walked with his head low, his eyes scanning the concrete rectangle.
Twenty paces ahead, a group of inmates stood in a loose crescent.
At the center, Viktor.
Bald.
Beard thick as gravel.
His arms crossed over a barrel chest.
He was forty-three years old.
He’d been inside for fourteen years.
Everyone knew his name.
Next to Viktor, a younger man.
East Asian.
Black sleeveless jumpsuit with a white number “1” on the chest.
His hair was styled, clean.
His face was empty.
That was Jin.
No one knew what he was in for.
No one asked.
Marcus kept walking.
His throat was dry.
He passed the basketball hoop, the rusted chain-link fence, the benches where the older inmates sat.
Two of them were watching.
Derek, on the left.
Average build, a salt-and-pepper beard, eyes that didn’t blink.
Roy, on the right.
Muscular, bald, arms folded.
They didn’t move.
“Hey, 1433.”
The voice came from behind.
Marcus stopped.
He turned slowly.
Viktor was already three feet away.
His shadow swallowed the sunlight.
“You know what day it is?” Viktor asked.
Marcus said nothing.
“It’s initiation day,” Viktor said.
He smiled.
His teeth were yellow.
Jin stepped forward.
In his hand, he held a bucket.
A rusted metal bucket.
The kind used to mop floors.
The bottom was dented.
The handle was missing.
“This is for you,” Jin said.
His voice was soft.
Almost polite.
Marcus looked at the bucket.
He looked at Jin’s eyes.
They were cold.
No emotion.
“Put it on yourself,” Viktor said. “Make it easy.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
He could feel the eyes of the yard on him.
The other prisoners-twenty, maybe thirty of them-had stopped their conversations.
They were watching.
Derek, on the left, shifted his weight.
His expression was unreadable.
Roy, on the right, tilted his head.
A faint smile touched his lips.
“I’m not putting that on,” Marcus said.
Viktor laughed.
It was a deep, grinding sound. “You think you got a choice?”
Jin took another step.
The bucket was at waist level.
He held it with both hands, like an offering.
“Prisoner 1433,” Jin said. “You are marked.
Accept it.”
Marcus’s heart pounded.
His palms were sweating.
He remembered the whispers in the mess hall last night.
Target.
Red X. They’re coming for you.
He’d thought it was just talk.
It wasn’t.
“Why?” Marcus asked.
Viktor stepped closer.
His breath smelled of cheap coffee. “Because I said so.”
The circle of inmates tightened.
Two men moved behind Marcus, blocking his retreat.
No one spoke.
The only sound was the wind through the razor wire.
Marcus looked at Jin again.
The kid’s face was blank.
A professional.
“Last chance,” Viktor said.
Marcus didn’t move.
Viktor nodded.
Jin lifted the bucket.
The metal caught the sun.
A flash of orange and rust.
Then everything went dark.
The bucket settled over Marcus’s head with a dull clang.
The world turned black.
The smell of rust filled his nostrils.
The metal was cold against his scalp.
He could feel the rim pressing into his collarbone.
He froze.
“There,” Viktor said. “That’s better.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
It was a low, ugly sound.
Marcus’s hands hung at his sides.
He didn’t lift them.
He didn’t try to remove the bucket.
He just stood there, breathing slow, feeling the weight of it.
Jin stepped back.
He folded his arms.
His eyes tracked Marcus’s every twitch.
Viktor walked around him.
The sound of his boots on concrete.
Left.
Right.
Behind.
“See that, 1433?” Viktor said. “You’re nobody now.
You’re a number with a bucket on your head.”
Marcus said nothing.
His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached.
He could hear the other inmates shifting.
Someone coughed.
Someone else whispered.
He couldn’t make out the words.
“What’s the matter?” Viktor said. “Cat got your tongue?”
A shove.
Marcus stumbled forward.
His hands flew out to catch himself.
He hit the concrete with his palms.
The bucket rattled but stayed on.
“Crawl,” Viktor said.
Marcus didn’t move.
“I said crawl.”
Another shove, harder.
Marcus fell onto his side.
The bucket tilted.
He could see a sliver of light at the bottom edge.
A crack of gray concrete.
A pair of boots.
“You’re not getting up until you crawl, 1433.”
Marcus’s breath quickened.
He thought of his daughter.
The last letter she sent.
Daddy, when are you coming home?
He’d folded it into his shoe.
He could feel the paper pressing against his arch.
He thought of the man who put him here.
The judge.
The jury.
The lies.
He thought of the target.
Somewhere in the crowd, Derek watched.
He hadn’t moved from his spot on the bench.
His arms were still crossed.
His beard was still scratchy against his collar.
He glanced at Roy.
Roy gave a subtle shake of the head.
Don’t get involved.
Derek understood.
Jin stood six feet away.
His black sleeveless jumpsuit was spotless.
The number “1” seemed to glow.
He watched with the patience of a predator.
“I’ll make it simple,” Viktor said.
He crouched down.
His voice was close to Marcus’s ear. “You crawl across the yard.
All the way to the gate.
Then I take the bucket off.
You go to your cell.
No more trouble.”
Marcus’s hands were flat on the concrete.
His knuckles were white.
“Or,” Viktor continued, “I stomp your head until the bucket caves in.”
Silence.
The wind blew through the yard.
A piece of trash skittered across the ground.
Marcus lifted his head.
The bucket shifted.
He could see Viktor’s boots again.
The laces were untied.
“Tick-tock,” Viktor said.
Marcus’s right hand moved first.
It wasn’t a crawl.
It was a push.
He shoved himself up onto one knee.
The bucket wobbled.
He reached up with his other hand, grabbed the rim, and pulled.
The metal screeched.
He got the bucket to his shoulder.
Then he ripped it off.
Sunlight flooded his eyes.
He blinked.
The yard came back into focus.
Viktor was towering over him, mouth open.
Jin had already taken a step forward.
Marcus stood up.
He dropped the bucket.
It hit the ground with a hollow clang.
“Wrong choice,” Viktor said.
He threw a punch.
It caught Marcus in the ribs.
A crack.
A ghost of pain.
Marcus bent forward.
Viktor pulled back for another.
And Marcus’s eyes went black.
Not from the bucket.
From rage.
‘The blood roared in Marcus’s ears.
He straightened up.
His ribs screamed.
He ignored them.
Viktor’s fist was still pulled back.
He stopped when he saw Marcus’s eyes.
“What’s that look?” Viktor said. “You got something to say, 1433?”
Marcus’s chest heaved.
His hands were fists at his sides.
“I said,” Viktor repeated, “you got something to say?”
“Yeah,” Marcus said.
His voice was gravel. “I got something.”
Viktor grinned. “Then say it.”
Marcus stared at him.
The yard was silent.
The other inmates leaned forward.
“You’re pathetic,” Marcus said.
The grin vanished.
“You need a kid with a bucket to make you feel tough,” Marcus continued. “You need a crowd.
You need a number on my chest to remind yourself you’re still a man.”
Viktor’s face reddened. “You’re dead, 1433.”
“You already said that.”
Jin stepped closer.
His black jumpsuit was silent.
His hands were loose at his sides.
“Enough talk,” Jin said.
His voice was flat. “The bucket goes back on.
Then the lesson continues.”
Marcus turned to him. “You know what your number means, kid?”
Jin didn’t answer.
“Number 1,” Marcus said. “That means you’re top dog in here.
But you’re not the one giving orders.
You’re just the muscle.”
Jin’s eyes narrowed.
A flicker of something.
Anger.
Pride.
“Careful,” Jin said.
Viktor laughed.
It was hollow. “Listen to him.
Talking like he’s not the one with a target on his back.”
“Who put the target?” Marcus asked.
No one answered.
The silence stretched.
A bird called somewhere beyond the fence.
The razor wire hummed in the wind.
Derek shifted on the bench.
He cleared his throat.
“Viktor,” Derek said, his voice low. “Maybe this is enough.”
Viktor spun around. “Who asked you?”
Derek didn’t flinch.
His beard was thick.
His eyes were steady.
“No one,” Derek said. “Just saying.”
Roy, on the right, stayed silent.
His arms were crossed.
His expression was stone.
Viktor turned back to Marcus. “You think you got friends in here?
Look around.”
Marcus looked.
The inmates were still watching.
Some had their arms crossed.
Others had their hands in their pockets.
No one moved to help.
“You’re alone,” Viktor said.
Marcus’s throat was dry.
He swallowed.
“Put it on yourself,” Jin said again.
He held up the bucket.
The rust flaked off in the sunlight. “Or I put it on you.”
Marcus looked at the bucket.
He looked at Jin’s cold eyes.
He looked at Viktor’s smirk.
He didn’t move.
“Last chance,” Viktor said.
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
His hands were shaking.
He thought of his daughter’s letter.
He thought of the judge.
He thought of the lies that put him here.
He thought of the target.
He took a breath.
Then he spoke.
“No.”
Viktor’s smirk twisted into a snarl.
“Wrong answer,” Viktor said.
He nodded at Jin.
Jin lifted the bucket.
The bucket descended again.
Marcus tried to block.
His arm came up.
Jin’s knee slammed into his kidney.
He buckled.
The bucket dropped over his head.
The metal kissed his scalp.
The world went black.
Darkness.
The smell of rust and old dirt.
The sound of laughter.
It started small.
A chuckle from the left.
Then a snort from the right.
Then a wave of it, spreading through the yard like fire.
“There we go,” Viktor said.
His voice was loud. “Now that’s a real prisoner.”
Marcus stood still.
His hands were at his sides.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
He could feel the metal rim pressing into his collarbone.
The bucket was heavy.
It smelled like vomit and grease.
“Look at him,” Viktor said. “Standing there like a statue.”
Another voice from the crowd. “He looks like a mushroom.”
More laughter.
Marcus’s fists clenched.
“What’s the matter, 1433?” Viktor said. “You gonna cry in there?”
Marcus said nothing.
His breath was fogging the inside of the bucket.
The air was hot.
Stale.
He heard footsteps.
Viktor’s boots.
Left.
Right.
Circling.
“You know what happens to marked men in here?” Viktor said. “They break.
They always break.”
A shove.
Marcus stumbled forward.
His arms flailed.
He caught himself on the concrete with his palms.
The bucket rattled.
“Get up,” Viktor said.
Marcus pushed himself to his knees.
“Crawl.”
Marcus didn’t move.
A kick.
The bucket clanged.
The sound echoed like a gong.
Marcus’s head snapped back.
His neck ached.
“I said crawl,” Viktor said.
Another kick.
Harder.
The bucket dented inward.
The metal pressed against Marcus’s temple.
He fell onto his side.
The laughter grew louder.
He heard Jin’s voice, soft and calm. “He’s not crawling, Viktor.”
“He will.”
Marcus’s hands were flat on the ground.
His knuckles were scraped.
He could feel the grit of the concrete under his palms.
He heard Derek’s voice, low and distant. “Viktor, that’s enough.”
“Shut up, old man.”
Footsteps.
Viktor’s boots stopped in front of Marcus’s face.
“Last chance, 1433.
Crawl to the gate.
Or I start stomping.”
Marcus’s breath quickened.
He could see nothing.
Only blackness.
Only the rust smell.
Only the sound of his own heartbeat.
He thought of his daughter’s face.
He thought of her smile.
He thought of the target.
He thought of the red X.
Slowly, he pushed himself up.
Onto his knees.
Onto his feet.
The bucket stayed on.
He stood.
Viktor laughed. “Good boy.
Now crawl.”
Marcus didn’t move.
“I said crawl.”
Marcus’s hands were shaking.
His whole body was shaking.
Then a voice.
Not Viktor’s.
Jin’s.
“He’s not going to crawl, Viktor.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Look at his hands,” Jin said. “They’re shaking.
But they’re not open.
They’re fists.”
Viktor grunted. “So?”
“So,” Jin said, “he’s not broken yet.”
The laughter died.
Marcus could feel the eyes on him.
Even through the bucket, he could feel them.
Viktor stepped closer.
His voice was a whisper.
“Then we keep breaking.”
A fist slammed into Marcus’s ribs.
He grunted.
His knees buckled.
The bucket clanged.
He stayed standing.
CHAPTER 2: Taunts and Shoves
‘The punch to his ribs echoed inside the bucket.
Marcus gasped.
The air was hot.
Stale.
His knees hit concrete.
The impact shot up his shins.
Viktor laughed.
It was loud.
Hollow.
“There we go,” Viktor said. “That’s the look I wanted.”
Marcus stayed on his knees.
His hands were flat on the ground.
The grit dug into his palms.
“Get up,” Viktor said.
Marcus didn’t move.
A boot connected with his shoulder.
He toppled sideways.
The bucket scraped against the concrete.
The sound was sharp.
Metallic.
“He’s down,” someone in the crowd said.
“Leave him,” another voice muttered.
Viktor ignored them.
He circled.
His boots made a steady rhythm.
Left.
Right.
Stop.
“You think you’re tough, 1433?” Viktor said. “You think that number on your chest means something?”
Marcus breathed.
Each breath was shallow.
His ribs ached.
“I got news for you,” Viktor continued. “That number means nothing.
You’re nothing.”
Jin stepped closer.
His black jumpsuit was silent.
His face was unreadable.
“The bucket stays on,” Jin said. “Until he learns his place.”
Viktor grinned. “Hear that, 1433?
You got a teacher now.”
Marcus’s fingers curled into fists.
He pushed himself up.
Onto his knees.
Onto his feet.
The bucket stayed on.
“Look at that,” Viktor said. “He’s standing again.”
“Pathetic,” Jin said.
Viktor stepped forward.
He shoved Marcus hard.
Marcus stumbled back.
His arms flailed.
He caught himself against the fence.
The chain link dug into his back.
“Standing’s not enough,” Viktor said. “I want you crawling.”
Marcus said nothing.
Viktor shoved him again.
Marcus’s head hit the fence.
The bucket rattled.
“You hear me?” Viktor said.
His voice was inches away. “Crawl.”
Marcus’s throat was dry.
He swallowed.
“No.”
Viktor’s fist connected with his gut.
Marcus doubled over.
The bucket pressed against his chin.
He tasted blood.
“Crawl,” Viktor repeated.
Marcus shook his head.
Another punch.
This time to the kidney.
Marcus’s legs gave out.
He slid down the fence.
His back scraped against the chain link.
He landed on his knees.
The crowd murmured.
Derek’s voice cut through. “Viktor, that’s enough.
You made your point.”
“Stay out of this, old man,” Viktor said.
“You’re going to kill him,” Derek said.
“That’s the point.”
Jin stepped between them.
His eyes were cold.
His voice was flat.
“The bucket comes off when he crawls,” Jin said. “Not before.”
Marcus’s hands were on the ground.
His knuckles were white.
His whole body trembled.
Jin lifted his foot.
He placed it on the side of the bucket.
He pushed.
The bucket tilted.
The metal pressed against Marcus’s ear.
The world tilted with it.
“Crawl,” Jin whispered.
Marcus’s breath quickened.
His heart hammered.
He thought of his daughter.
He thought of her small hands.
He thought of the red X.
He didn’t move.
Jin kicked the bucket.
The clang was deafening.
Marcus’s head snapped back.
His vision blurred.
The bucket rang like a bell.
The laughter returned.
“Look at him,” Viktor said. “Just sitting there.”
“Like a dog,” someone added.
“Not even a dog,” Viktor said. “A dog would fight back.”
Marcus’s hands shook.
Viktor stepped closer.
He grabbed the rim of the bucket.
He lifted it slightly.
Light flooded in.
“One more chance,” Viktor said.
His face was inches from Marcus’s.
His breath smelled like coffee and contempt. “Crawl to the gate.
Or I put you through the fence.”
Marcus stared at him.
His eyes were red.
His jaw was tight.
“Go to hell,” Marcus said.
Viktor’s grin vanished.
He dropped the bucket.
Darkness returned.
The first kick landed on Marcus’s thigh.
The second on his ribs.
The third on his shoulder.
Marcus curled into a ball.
The kicks kept coming.
The crowd was silent now.
Only the thuds.
Only the grunts.
Derek stood up.
Roy grabbed his arm.
“Don’t,” Roy said.
“He’s going to kill him,” Derek said.
“That’s not our fight.”
Marcus heard them.
Their words were distant.
Muffled.
He heard Viktor’s voice. “You still think you’re tough?”
Marcus didn’t answer.
He heard Jin’s voice. “He’s not even moving.”
“He will,” Viktor said.
Another kick.
Harder.
Marcus’s vision went white.
Then black.
Marcus came back to the sound of his own heartbeat.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The bucket was still on.
His ribs were on fire.
His leg throbbed.
He was on his side.
The concrete was cold against his cheek.
“Wake up,” Viktor said.
A boot nudged his shoulder.
“Wake up, 1433.”
Marcus opened his eyes.
Darkness.
Only darkness.
“I said wake up.”
Viktor’s fist slammed into Marcus’s ribs.
A grunt escaped Marcus’s lips.
His body arched.
Pain shot through his chest.
“There we go,” Viktor said. “He’s alive.”
Marcus gasped.
His lungs burned.
His ribs screamed.
“Get up,” Viktor said.
Marcus didn’t move.
“I said get up.”
Another punch.
This time to the stomach.
Marcus coughed.
Bile rose in his throat.
“Not so tough now, are you?” Viktor said.
Marcus’s hands twitched.
He pushed himself up.
Onto his elbows.
Onto his knees.
The bucket stayed on.
“Look at him,” Viktor said. “Like a dog on its knees.”
The crowd murmured.
Some laughed.
Others stayed silent.
Jin’s voice cut through. “He’s stalling.”
“I know,” Viktor said.
He grabbed the bucket.
He yanked it up.
Light flooded in.
Marcus blinked.
His eyes adjusted.
He saw Viktor’s face.
Smirking.
Sweating.
He saw the crowd.
Rows of orange jumpsuits.
Blank faces.
He saw Derek.
Standing.
His hands were fists.
He saw Roy.
Sitting.
His expression was stone.
He saw Jin.
Standing to the side.
His arms were crossed.
His eyes were cold.
“Look at me,” Viktor said.
Marcus looked at him.
“You want to know who put the target on your back?” Viktor said.
Marcus’s throat tightened.
“I did,” Viktor said. “I picked you.
I marked you.
And no one is going to save you.”
Marcus’s hands curled into fists.
“You think you’re the first?” Viktor said. “I’ve broken men stronger than you.
Bigger than you.
Meaner than you.”
Marcus said nothing.
“You’re nothing, 1433.
Just a number.”
Viktor stepped back.
He rolled his shoulders.
“Now,” Viktor said. “Let’s finish this.”
He raised his fist.
Marcus watched it.
His breath slowed.
His vision cleared.
Time slowed.
He saw Viktor’s knuckles.
Rough.
Calloused.
He saw the veins in Viktor’s forearm.
He saw the slight twist in Viktor’s shoulder before the punch.
Viktor’s fist connected with Marcus’s ribs.
A grunt.
Marcus’s knees buckled.
He dropped hard.
The concrete scraped his palms.
The bucket sat a few feet away.
Upside down.
Dent-riddled.
Marcus stared at it.
“Get up,” Viktor said.
Marcus didn’t move.
“I said get up.”
Marcus’s breath was ragged.
His ribs screamed.
He thought of his daughter.
He thought of her smile.
He thought of the red X.
He thought of the target.
He put his hands on the ground.
Slowly, he pushed himself up.
His legs shook.
His arms shook.
His whole body shook.
But he stood.
Viktor’s smirk returned.
“Good,” Viktor said. “Now stay down.”
He raised his fist again.
Marcus watched it.
The fist came down.
Marcus didn’t flinch.
The punch landed on his jaw.
His head snapped to the side.
His legs gave out.
He crashed onto the concrete.
The world spun.
He heard Viktor’s voice. “That’s it.
Stay down.”
Marcus’s eyes were open.
He stared at the sky.
The clouds were white.
The sun was harsh.
He heard footsteps.
Viktor’s boots.
Walking away.
He heard Jin’s voice. “He’s done.”
“Yeah,” Viktor said. “He’s done.”
Marcus’s hand moved.
His fingers scraped against the concrete.
His knuckles scraped raw.
He pushed himself up.
Onto his elbow.
Onto his knees.
The crowd went silent.
Viktor stopped walking.
He turned.
Marcus was standing.
His legs wobbled.
His face was bloody.
His eyes were clear.
He looked at Viktor.
“I’m not done,” Marcus said.
Viktor’s face twisted.
He charged.
‘Marcus saw Viktor charging.
He braced.
The impact slammed him backwards.
His head hit concrete.
Stars exploded in his vision.
Viktor’s knee pressed into his chest. “You just don’t know when to quit.”
Marcus gasped.
His ribs cracked.
He tried to move.
Viktor pinned him.
“Jin,” Viktor said. “The bucket.”
Jin appeared.
The rusted bucket was in his hand.
His face was cold.
“No,” Marcus said.
His voice was a rasp.
Jin didn’t hesitate.
He lowered the bucket.
Darkness swallowed Marcus again.
The metal rim pressed against his throat.
The air inside was stale.
Hot.
Viktor’s voice came through. “There.
That’s better.”
Marcus’s hands were pinned under Viktor’s weight.
He couldn’t move.
“You wanted to fight?” Viktor said. “Now you fight the dark.”
Jin’s voice was flat. “He’s still breathing.”
“Not for long,” Viktor said.
The weight lifted.
Viktor stood.
Marcus heard his boots scrape concrete.
“Get up, 1433,” Viktor said. “If you can.”
Marcus’s breath quickened.
The bucket trapped the sound.
His own breathing echoed in his ears.
Loud.
Rattling.
He pushed his palms flat.
He lifted his chest.
The bucket tilted.
He got to his knees.
“Look at that,” Viktor said. “He’s trying.”
“Pathetic,” Jin said.
Marcus’s hands clenched.
His knuckles popped.
The metal rim bit into his neck.
“Crawl, 1433,” Viktor said.
His voice was close.
Taunting. “Crawl to the gate, and maybe I let you breathe.”
Marcus shook his head.
The bucket rattled.
“No?” Viktor said. “Then stay in the dark.”
A kick hit his shoulder.
He toppled sideways.
The bucket scraped concrete.
“You think you’re a man?” Viktor said. “A man doesn’t wear a bucket.
A man fights.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
His teeth ground together.
“But you’re not a man,” Viktor continued. “You’re a number. 1433.
That’s all you’ll ever be.”
Marcus’s breathing deepened.
Inhale through the nose.
Exhale through the mouth.
The air was thick.
He smelled rust and sweat and blood.
“I said crawl,” Viktor repeated.
Marcus didn’t move.
Viktor’s voice rose. “Crawl, you piece of shit!”
Marcus’s hands curled into fists.
His nails dug into his palms.
He felt the heat rising in his chest.
The anger.
The rage.
“You hear me?” Viktor said. “Crawl!”
Marcus’s muscles tensed.
His thighs quivered.
His core tightened.
He thought of his daughter.
Her laugh.
Her small fingers wrapped around his thumb.
He thought of the red X on his door.
The target on his back.
He thought of the bucket.
The darkness.
The laughter.
The kicks.
The silence of the watchers.
His breath quickened.
Shallow.
Rapid.
“Last chance,” Viktor said.
Marcus’s hands moved.
He gripped the rim of the bucket.
His fingers found the bends.
The dents.
“What are you doing?” Jin’s voice was sharp.
“Let him,” Viktor said. “Let him try.”
Marcus pulled.
The bucket lifted an inch.
He felt the resistance.
The metal groaned.
He pulled harder.
The bucket refused.
His arms shook.
Sweat dripped down his temples.
“Pathetic,” Viktor said.
Marcus stopped.
He let the bucket settle.
He heard Viktor’s laugh. “That’s what I thought.”
Marcus’s chest heaved.
His eyes were wide in the darkness.
He saw nothing.
Only black.
But he felt.
He felt the target on his back.
The weight of the number.
The weight of every kick.
Every punch.
Every insult.
He felt his daughter’s absence.
He felt the rage.
It was hot.
It was alive.
It was waiting.
Viktor’s voice came again. “Crawl, 1433.
Crawl like the dog you are.”
Marcus’s hands tightened on the bucket rim.
His teeth clenched.
His heart hammered.
The darkness pressed in.
But inside the darkness, something shifted.
The rage stopped being heat.
It became cold.
Determined.
Marcus’s voice came out.
Low.
Gravelly. “I’m not your dog.”
Viktor laughed. “Then what are you?”
Marcus didn’t answer.
He breathed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he waited.
Marcus’s muscles tensed.
His fingers curled under the bucket rim.
He found the weak points.
The dents.
The rusted edges.
Inside the bucket, his eyes squeezed shut.
Then open.
He saw nothing.
But he heard everything.
Viktor’s mocking voice. “He’s thinking about it.
Look at him.
Frozen.”
Jin’s flat tone. “He’s done.
Let me finish it.”
“No,” Viktor said. “I want him to crawl first.
I want him to beg.”
Marcus’s breath slowed.
His heart rate dropped.
He felt the target.
He felt the number 1433 burned into his chest.
He felt his daughter’s hands.
He felt the red X.
The rage turned to fuel.
He roared.
The sound ripped from his throat.
Raw.
Broken.
Loud.
It echoed inside the bucket.
The metal vibrated.
He yanked.
The bucket resisted.
The rim dug into his neck.
He yanked again.
Harder.
The metal screamed.
Viktor stepped back. “What the-”
Marcus’s arms bulged.
Veins stood out.
His shaved head pressed against the bucket’s interior.
He roared again.
This time, the metal bent.
The rim warped.
It twisted.
It snapped free.
Marcus ripped the bucket off.
Light flooded in.
He stood.
The bucket clattered to the concrete.
He stood in the yard.
The sun was harsh.
The air was fresh.
He saw Viktor’s face.
Eyes wide.
Mouth open.
He saw Jin.
Backing up.
Hand reaching into his sleeve.
He saw the crowd.
Derek and Roy.
The watchers.
All staring.
Marcus’s chest heaved.
His jumpsuit was torn.
Sweat and blood soaked the orange fabric.
The number 1433 was smeared.
Red.
Raw.
Viktor’s smirk returned. “Look at you.
You broke my bucket.”
Marcus’s eyes locked on Viktor.
His voice was low. “I broke your bucket.”
“You’re going to pay for that,” Viktor said.
“No,” Marcus said. “You are.”
Viktor lunged.
Marcus sidestepped.
His fist connected with Viktor’s jaw.
The impact was solid.
Viktor’s head snapped back.
He stumbled.
Marcus didn’t stop.
He grabbed Viktor’s throat.
His fingers found the windpipe.
He squeezed.
Viktor gasped.
His hands clawed at Marcus’s wrist.
“You wanted a fight?” Marcus’s voice was ice. “Here it is.”
He slammed Viktor onto the concrete.
The crack was loud.
Viktor’s head bounced.
Blood spread from his nose.
Marcus didn’t release his grip.
He knelt over Viktor.
His knees pinned Viktor’s shoulders.
“Who put the target on my back?” Marcus demanded.
Viktor choked.
His eyes bulged. “You… you think you’ve won?”
“Who?” Marcus squeezed harder.
Viktor’s face turned red.
Then purple.
Jin moved.
Marcus saw it in his peripheral vision.
Jin’s hand came out of his sleeve.
A shank.
Silver.
Sharp.
Jin lunged.
Marcus released Viktor’s throat.
He rolled.
The shank cut air.
Marcus scrambled to his feet.
His ribs screamed.
His legs shook.
But he stood.
Jin faced him.
The shank low.
His eyes cold.
“Back off, kid,” Marcus said.
Jin didn’t answer.
He lunged again.
Marcus caught his wrist.
He twisted.
The shank clattered.
Jin’s arm bent.
He grunted.
His face twisted.
Marcus held him.
His grip was iron.
“You’re fast,” Marcus said. “But you’re not smart.”
He shoved Jin away.
Jin stumbled.
Fell to his knees.
The yard was silent.
Marcus looked at Viktor.
Still on the ground.
Blood pooling.
He looked at Jin.
On his knees.
Empty-handed.
He looked at the crowd.
Derek’s mouth hung open.
Roy’s eyes were wide.
Marcus reached down.
He grabbed the shank.
He pointed it at Viktor.
“You tell me who put the target on me,” Marcus said. “Or I carve your number on your face.”
Viktor’s eyes darted to the guard tower.
Marcus followed his gaze.
A shadow moved behind the glass.
Marcus’s smile was thin. “I see.”
He didn’t kill.
He dropped the shank.
He grabbed Viktor’s arm.
He twisted.
The snap echoed.
Viktor screamed.
The sound cut the silence.
Marcus stood up.
The guards were running.
Whistles blew.
Marcus raised his hands.
He looked at the tower.
He smiled.
This was only the beginning.
CHAPTER 3: Guards Arrive
‘The whistles cut the air.
Sharp.
Insistent.
Close.
Marcus stood still.
His hands were raised.
The shank lay at his feet.
Blood dripped from his split knuckles.
Viktor writhed on the ground.
His arm bent at the wrong angle.
His screams turned to wet gasps.
Guards poured through the yard gate.
Four of them.
Then six.
Their boots slapped concrete.
“On your knees!” a guard shouted.
Marcus dropped slowly.
His knees hit the ground.
The impact sent a jolt through his cracked ribs.
“Hands behind your head!”
Marcus obeyed.
His fingers laced behind his shaved head.
The number 1433 stretched across his chest.
A guard grabbed his collar.
Yanked him backward.
Marcus’s head tilted up.
“Don’t move,” the guard hissed.
Marcus didn’t.
He watched Jin being dragged away.
The kid’s face was pale.
His eyes were wide.
He looked back at Marcus.
A mix of fear and hate.
Roy stepped forward. “He started it.”
The guard turned. “Shut up.”
Derek grabbed Roy’s arm. “Don’t.”
“Viktor’s arm is broken,” a guard said.
His voice was flat.
Professional.
“Get the medic.”
“Someone get the medic!”
Another guard knelt by Viktor.
He pressed a cloth to Viktor’s bleeding nose.
Viktor whimpered.
The guard looked at Marcus. “You did this?”
Marcus didn’t answer.
“Answer me.”
“I defended myself.”
“Defended yourself?” The guard’s jaw tightened. “You broke his arm.”
“He put a bucket on my head.”
The guard’s eyes flickered.
He glanced at the bucket.
It lay dented on the concrete.
The rusted metal glinted.
“That’s yours?” the guard asked.
“Was,” Marcus said. “Jin brought it.”
“Jin?”
“The kid in black.”
The guard looked at Jin.
He was already cuffed.
Being led past the gate.
“Get him processed,” the guard ordered.
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
Another guard grabbed Marcus’s arm.
He was hoisted to his feet.
His ribs screamed.
He bit back the pain.
“You’re going to the hole,” the guard said.
“I know.”
“No visitors.
No calls.”
“I know.”
The guard pushed him forward.
Marcus stumbled.
His legs were weak.
The adrenaline was fading.
He walked past Derek.
Past Roy.
Past the other prisoners.
They stared.
No one spoke.
Marcus reached the gate.
He looked back.
Viktor was being carried out on a stretcher.
His arm was bent.
His face was a mess of blood and tears.
Their eyes met.
Viktor’s voice was barely a whisper. “You’re dead.”
Marcus didn’t reply.
He turned away.
The guards led him into the corridor.
The door slammed shut.
Darkness again.
But this time, he chose it.
He smiled.
The cell was cold.
Concrete walls.
Concrete floor.
A steel cot bolted to the wall.
A thin mattress.
A single blanket.
Marcus sat on the edge.
His hands rested on his knees.
His knuckles were raw.
Dried blood caked the cracks.
He flexed his fingers.
Pain shot up his wrist.
He didn’t care.
The cell had no window.
No light.
A single bulb in the ceiling buzzed.
It flickered.
He stared at the wall.
Hours passed.
Or minutes.
Time was a fog.
He heard footsteps.
Distant.
Growing closer.
A slot in the door slid open.
A guard’s face appeared.
“Food.”
A tray slid through.
A plastic cup of water.
A piece of bread.
A scoop of gray mush.
Marcus didn’t move.
“Eat,” the guard said. “You’ll need your strength.”
“Who sent the order?” Marcus’s voice was hoarse.
“What?”
“The target.
On my back.”
The guard’s face hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
The guard stared.
His jaw tightened.
“You’re in the hole, 1433.
No questions.
No answers.”
“Just answers,” Marcus said. “One answer.”
“Eat your food.”
The slot slammed shut.
Marcus looked at the tray.
He didn’t touch it.
He thought of Viktor’s eyes.
The fear.
The pain.
But also the defiance.
Viktor knew something.
Someone was pulling strings.
Someone with access.
Someone with power.
The shadow in the guard tower.
Marcus closed his eyes.
He saw his daughter’s face.
He saw the red X on the door.
He saw the bucket.
He saw Jin’s cold eyes.
He saw the shank.
His hands tightened into fists.
The pain was good.
It kept him awake.
He opened his eyes.
He reached for the bread.
Tore a piece off.
Chewed slowly.
The mush was cold.
Salty.
He ate anyway.
He drank the water.
It was lukewarm.
Tasted like plastic.
He set the cup down.
The bulb buzzed.
The silence pressed in.
He lay back on the cot.
The mattress was thin.
The springs dug into his back.
He stared at the ceiling.
The bucket was gone.
The target was gone.
But the war was just beginning.
Someone had marked him.
Someone had ordered the humiliation.
Someone had wanted him broken.
They failed.
Now they’d try again.
He could feel it.
The next move was coming.
He just had to be ready.
His eyes closed.
Sleep came slow.
But it came.
And in the dark, he dreamed of fire.
‘The isolation cell was smaller than Marcus’s.
Six feet by eight.
A concrete slab for a bed.
A steel toilet without a seat.
Jin sat cross-legged on the floor.
His black sleeveless jumpsuit was clean.
The white number “1” stood out against the fabric.
He stared at the wall.
His fingers traced a pattern on the concrete.
A circle.
A line through it.
The target.
The door’s slot slid open.
“Visitor,” a guard said.
Jin didn’t move.
“You hear me?
Visitor.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.
Stand up.”
Jin rose.
His movements were fluid.
Controlled.
The guard opened the door.
Two more stood behind him.
“Hands behind your back.”
Jin complied.
The cuffs clicked.
He was led down a narrow corridor.
Past empty cells.
Past a flickering light.
The visitation room was small.
A glass divider.
A phone on each side.
On the other side sat a man in a gray suit.
Clean-shaven.
Late fifties.
Cold eyes.
Jin sat down.
He picked up the phone.
“You failed,” the man said.
“The situation changed.”
“Viktor’s arm is broken.
The target is in the hole.
The plan is ruined.”
“The plan was never fragile,” Jin said. “It was a test.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “A test?”
“We needed to see if he’d break.
He didn’t.”
“So now what?”
Jin leaned closer.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Now we apply pressure from inside.
His daughter.
The house.
The red X on the door.”
“You want me to move on the family?”
“No.
Not yet.
Just let him know we can.”
The man paused.
His fingers drummed the table.
“And Viktor?”
“Viktor is weak.
He’ll talk if they put him in interrogation.”
“So?”
“So I need you to ensure Viktor stays silent.
A transfer.
A deal.
Whatever it takes.”
“That costs.”
“The price was already paid.”
The man’s jaw tightened.
He nodded once.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.
Send a message to Derek.
Tell him to keep watching.
Tell him the next move is his.”
The man hung up.
Jin placed the phone down.
He sat back.
The guard opened his door.
“Back to your cell.”
Jin stood.
He walked without resistance.
In the corridor, he passed a guard with a clipboard.
“Inmate 1433.
Marcus,” Jin said. “Which block?”
The guard looked up. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“None of your business.”
Jin smiled.
It was cold.
Empty.
“Everything is my business.”
He continued walking.
The cell door slammed shut.
He sat back on the concrete floor.
His fingers resumed the pattern.
Circle.
Line.
The target was still alive.
But the hunt was far from over.
The yard was quiet.
Prisoners moved in small groups.
Voices were low.
Eyes kept darting to the spot where Viktor had fallen.
Derek leaned against the far wall.
His arms were crossed.
His beard was unkempt.
Roy stood beside him.
His bald head glistened with sweat.
“He’s in the hole,” Roy said.
“Three days minimum,” Derek replied.
“Viktor’s in the infirmary.
Arm’s broke in three places.”
“I heard.”
Roy spat on the ground. “Jin got moved to isolation too.
Separate block.”
“That’s good.”
“Good?” Roy turned. “You call this good?
The whole yard saw it.
Marcus took the bucket, took the hits, then snapped.
Broke a man’s arm.
Disarmed a shank.
That’s not good.
That’s a statement.”
Derek said nothing.
“You know what happens next,” Roy continued. “Someone’s going to try to take him out for real.
The boss isn’t going to let that slide.”
“The boss?” Derek’s voice was flat. “You mean the guy in the suit?”
“I mean whoever put the target on Marcus.
You saw the X on his cell door.”
“I saw it.”
“Then you know.
This isn’t over.
It’s just starting.”
Derek looked at his hands.
They were calloused.
Scarred.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Nothing.
That’s the point.
Don’t get involved.
Stay neutral.”
“Neutral gets you killed.”
“Getting involved gets you killed faster.”
Derek’s eyes met Roy’s. “You think Marcus survives this?”
“I think he’s smarter than Viktor.
Stronger too.
But that doesn’t matter.
Out here, strength only counts if you have backup.”
“He doesn’t.”
“No.
He doesn’t.”
Roy pushed off the wall. “I’m going to the chow hall.
You coming?”
“In a minute.”
Roy walked away.
His boots scraped the concrete.
Derek stayed.
He watched the gate where Marcus had been dragged out.
The bucket still lay near the center of the yard.
A guard had kicked it aside.
Now it rested against the fence.
Derek walked over.
He picked it up.
Rusted.
Bent.
A dent where Marcus’s head had been.
He turned it over in his hands.
A prisoner nearby looked at him. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Derek set the bucket down.
He walked away.
But in his mind, he saw Marcus’s face.
The look of a man who had nothing left to lose.
That was dangerous.
And Derek knew that danger was coming his way.
He just wasn’t sure if he’d stand with it or against it.
CHAPTER 4: The Knife Fight
‘The yard held its breath.
Marcus stood over Viktor.
The big man’s blood pooled on the concrete.
Then Jin moved.
He circled left.
His steps were silent.
His eyes never left Marcus’s back.
Derek saw it first.
“Marcus,” Derek said.
His voice was low.
Urgent. “Behind you.”
Marcus turned.
Jin was ten feet away.
His hand slid into his sleeve.
The shank appeared.
It was six inches of sharpened steel.
Wrapped in black tape.
The blade caught the sun.
“You think it’s over?” Jin asked.
His voice was calm.
Flat.
The voice of a man who had done this before.
Marcus didn’t answer.
He watched Jin’s feet.
The way he shifted his weight.
The way he held the blade low.
“You broke Viktor’s arm,” Jin said. “That was stupid.
Now I have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Finish the job.”
Jin lunged.
The blade arced toward Marcus’s ribs.
Marcus twisted.
The steel grazed his jumpsuit.
A thin line of red appeared on his side.
The prisoners gasped.
Jin recovered fast.
He brought the shank back.
Stabbed again.
Marcus caught his wrist.
The metal stopped an inch from his throat.
They stood locked.
Jin’s face inches from Marcus’s.
The younger man’s breath was even.
Cold.
“You’re strong,” Jin said. “But strength doesn’t stop steel.”
Marcus didn’t blink.
He twisted Jin’s wrist.
Jin grit his teeth.
He didn’t drop the shank.
“Let go,” Marcus said.
“No.”
Marcus twisted harder.
The joint popped.
Jin’s fingers loosened.
The shank clattered to the ground.
Jin’s eyes went wide.
Just for a second.
Marcus kicked the blade away.
It skittered across the concrete.
A prisoner in the crowd bent down.
Picked it up.
Slipped it into his pocket.
Jin stepped back.
His wrist hung at an odd angle.
“That’s two,” Marcus said.
“Two what?”
“Two men I’ve broken today.
You want to be the third?”
Jin’s jaw tightened.
He said nothing.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Who sent you?”
Jin stayed silent.
“The man in the suit.
Who is he?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth.
He pays.
I work.
That’s the arrangement.”
Marcus’s hands clenched into fists.
“You put the target on my door?”
Jin nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you crossed someone.
Someone with money.
Someone with power.
Someone who wants you dead before trial.”
Marcus’s breath came heavy.
“What trial?”
“Your trial.
The one you don’t know about.
The one that’s going to put you away for life.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed.
“I haven’t been charged with anything.”
“You will be.
That’s the plan.
The target was to keep you scared.
To make you talk.
To make you flip on the wrong people.”
“I don’t know any people.”
“You know the DeMarco crew.”
Marcus’s face went pale.
“I did time with them.
Five years ago.”
“Exactly.
And you kept your mouth shut.
That made you a liability.”
Marcus stared at Jin.
The younger man’s face was unreadable.
But his wrist hung broken.
His shank was gone.
“You’re just a messenger,” Marcus said.
“I’m a soldier.”
“No.
You’re a pawn.”
Marcus turned away.
He walked to the bucket.
Picked it up.
Held it in his hands.
Then he turned back to Jin.
“Tell your boss something for me.”
“What?”
“The target is gone.
I’m not afraid anymore.
And if he wants to come at me, he better bring more than a shank and a bucket.”
Marcus dropped the bucket.
It clanged on the concrete.
The yard was silent.
Jin cradled his wrist.
He looked at the ground.
Derek watched from the wall.
His hands were shaking.
Roy stood beside him.
“This isn’t over,” Roy whispered.
“No,” Derek said. “It’s just beginning.”
The shank lay in the dirt.
Marcus picked it up.
The tape was warm.
The blade was still wet with his own blood.
He pointed it at Viktor.
The big man was on his knees.
His broken arm hung at his side.
Blood dripped from his nose.
“Please,” Viktor said.
“Please what?”
“Don’t kill me.”
Marcus laughed.
It was hollow.
Broken.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Then what?”
“I’m going to make you talk.”
Marcus crouched down.
The shank hovered near Viktor’s throat.
“Who put the target on me?”
Viktor’s eyes darted.
He looked past Marcus.
Toward the guard tower.
A shadow moved behind the glass.
“No one,” Viktor said.
“Wrong answer.”
Marcus pressed the blade against Viktor’s neck.
A bead of blood appeared.
“I’ll ask again.
Who?”
“The man in the suit.
I don’t know his name.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants you dead.
Or scared.
He said if you talked to the feds, you’d never see your daughter again.”
Marcus’s hand trembled.
“My daughter?”
“Yes.
The red X on your door.
That was a message.
The next one goes on her school.”
Marcus’s vision went red.
He grabbed Viktor by the throat.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where does he meet you?”
“The warehouse.
On Edison Street.
He comes every Friday.”
Jin stepped forward.
“Don’t,” Jin said.
Marcus looked at him.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make this worse.
You break him more, you go to solitary.
You go to solitary, you can’t protect your family.”
Marcus’s grip tightened.
Viktor gasped.
“Let him go,” Jin said. “You’ve made your point.”
Marcus looked at Viktor.
The man’s face was purple.
His eyes were bulging.
Marcus released him.
Viktor collapsed.
He coughed.
Gasped for air.
Marcus stood.
He looked at the shank in his hand.
“I should kill you both.”
“But you won’t,” Jin said.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not a killer.
You’re a survivor.
There’s a difference.”
Marcus’s jaw clenched.
He dropped the shank.
It hit the concrete with a clatter.
“Get him to medical,” Marcus said.
Jin nodded.
He helped Viktor stand.
The other prisoners parted.
They watched in silence.
Derek walked up to Marcus.
“That was stupid.”
“What?”
“Letting them live.
They’ll come back.”
“I know.”
“So why?”
Marcus looked at Derek.
His eyes were tired.
Broken.
“Because if I kill them, I become them.
And I’m not ready for that.”
Derek said nothing.
“Besides,” Marcus said. “I need them alive.
They’re the only way to find the man in the suit.”
“You’re going after him?”
“When I get out.
Yes.”
Derek shook his head.
“You’ll never make it.”
“Watch me.”
The guard whistles blew.
Two guards ran into the yard.
They grabbed Marcus by the arms.
“You’re coming with us.”
Marcus didn’t resist.
He looked back at Derek.
“Tell my daughter I love her.”
“I don’t know your daughter.”
“Find her.
Please.”
Derek’s eyes softened.
“I will.”
Marcus was dragged away.
The yard emptied.
The bucket lay near the fence.
The shank was gone.
Jin watched from the infirmary door.
The man in the suit.
The warehouse.
Edison Street.
The game had changed.
‘The holding cell was cold.
Concrete walls.
A single bulb buzzing overhead.
Marcus sat on the steel bench.
His wrists were cuffed.
The cuts on his side had stopped bleeding.
The door opened.
Two guards dragged Viktor inside.
His broken arm was in a makeshift sling.
His face was swollen.
They shoved him onto the floor.
“Five minutes,” the guard said. “Then you both go to solitary.”
The door slammed shut.
Viktor looked up.
His eyes were red. “You’re dead.”
Marcus didn’t move.
“You already said that.
I’m still here.”
Viktor spat blood. “The man in the suit.
He’ll find you.
Even in the hole.”
Marcus stood slowly.
The cuffs clinked.
“Who is he?”
“I told you.
I don’t know his name.”
“You know his face.”
Viktor’s jaw tightened.
“Describe him.”
“Tall.
Thin.
Gray suit.
Always wears sunglasses.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants you to flip.
He wants you to testify against the DeMarco crew.
If you don’t, your daughter dies.”
Marcus’s hands clenched.
The chains rattled.
“How does he know about my daughter?”
“He’s got people on the outside.
Cops.
Lawyers.
The whole system is bought.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“Where does he meet you?”
“The warehouse.
Edison Street.
Fridays at midnight.”
“Who else is there?”
“Just him.
And his driver.”
Marcus crouched down.
His face was inches from Viktor’s.
“If I find out you’re lying-”
“I’m not lying.
I swear.”
Marcus stared into his eyes.
Viktor didn’t blink.
“One more thing,” Marcus said.
“What?”
“The shadow in the guard tower.
Who was it?”
Viktor’s face went pale.
His eyes darted to the small window high on the wall.
Outside, a shadow passed behind the glass.
A guard?
Or someone else?
“I don’t know,” Viktor whispered.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not!
I’ve seen him up there before.
Always watching.
Never talks to anyone.”
Marcus’s heart pounded.
“The man in the suit.
He has people inside the prison.”
Viktor nodded.
“The tower guard is his.”
Marcus stood.
He looked at the window.
The shadow was gone.
“You’re a dead man,” Viktor said.
“We’re all dead men,” Marcus replied. “The only difference is when.”
He turned to the door.
“Guard!
We’re done.”
The door opened.
The guard looked at Viktor on the floor.
“Get up.”
Viktor struggled to his feet.
Marcus walked past him.
“One more thing,” Marcus said.
Viktor stopped.
“Tell your boss I’ll be at the warehouse.
Next Friday.
Tell him to bring a bigger gun.”
Viktor’s eyes widened.
Marcus smiled.
It was cold.
Hollow.
The guard pushed him forward.
The cell door closed behind them.
CHAPTER 5: The Price of Silence
The yard was empty now.
The bucket lay on its side near the fence.
The shank was gone.
Derek stood with Roy by the wall.
“He’s in the hole,” Roy said.
“I know.”
“He’s not coming back.”
“He is.
He’s got a reason.”
Derek looked at the guard tower.
The shadow was still there.
“Who’s that?” Derek asked.
“Who?”
“Up there.
The tower guard.”
Roy squinted.
“That’s Miller.
Why?”
“He’s been up there all day.
Never moves.”
Roy shrugged. “He’s a guard.
That’s his job.”
Derek didn’t answer.
He remembered Marcus’s words: The shadow in the guard tower.
Something was wrong.
Back in the holding cell, Marcus was being processed.
The guard unlocked his cuffs.
“Strip.”
Marcus removed his jumpsuit.
His body was covered in old scars.
New bruises.
The guard handed him a new orange suit.
Number 1433.
“Put it on.”
Marcus dressed.
The guard pointed to a door. “Through there.
Cell 7.”
Marcus walked.
The cell was small.
A concrete slab for a bed.
A steel toilet.
He sat down.
The door closed.
The silence was heavy.
He stared at the ceiling.
His daughter’s face appeared in his mind.
Sarah.
Seven years old.
Red hair.
Freckles.
He hadn’t seen her in six months.
The man in the suit knew about her.
That meant she was in danger.
Marcus’s hands shook.
He closed his eyes.
But sleep didn’t come.
Hours passed.
The light never turned off.
Then the door opened.
A guard stood there.
“You’ve got a visitor.”
Marcus stood.
“Who?”
“The warden.”
Marcus’s heart raced.
He followed the guard down the hall.
The warden’s office was at the end.
Inside, the warden sat behind a wooden desk.
A man in a gray suit stood by the window.
Marcus stopped.
The man turned.
He was tall.
Thin.
Sunglasses.
“Sit down, 1433.”
Marcus didn’t move.
“I said sit.”
Marcus sat.
The man walked around the desk.
He took off his sunglasses.
His eyes were cold.
Blue.
Empty.
“You’ve caused a lot of trouble.”
“You put a target on my door.”
“I needed your attention.”
“You threatened my daughter.”
The man smiled.
“I did.
And I’ll do it again if you don’t cooperate.”
Marcus’s hands gripped the chair.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to testify against the DeMarco crew.
In exchange, you get witness protection.
Your daughter gets a new life.”
“And if I refuse?”
The man’s smile faded.
“Then your daughter gets a funeral.”
Marcus’s body went cold.
He looked at the warden.
The warden stared at the wall.
“He’s with me,” the man said. “Everyone is.”
Marcus’s breath came heavy.
He stood.
“I have one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I want to see my daughter.
Face to face.
Before I testify.”
The man considered.
“One hour.
Supervised.”
“Agreed.”
Marcus extended his hand.
The man shook it.
His grip was cold.
Dry.
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
The man walked to the door.
“Oh, and 1433?”
Marcus looked at him.
“Don’t try anything stupid.
I’ll be watching.”
The man left.
Marcus sat back down.
The warden spoke.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“He’ll kill you after you testify.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Marcus looked at the warden.
“Because if I don’t, my daughter dies.
And I’d rather die than let that happen.”
The warden said nothing.
Marcus was led back to his cell.
The door closed.
He lay on the concrete slab.
His mind raced.
He had one hour with Sarah.
Then he would testify.
And then the man in the suit would try to kill him.
But Marcus had a plan.
He reached under his mattress.
His fingers found the shank.
The one he had hidden earlier.
He smiled.
The war wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
‘The cell door swung open.
Two guards stood in the corridor.
One held a set of shackles.
The other carried a clipboard.
“1433.
You’ve got a visitor.”
Marcus stood slowly.
His hand brushed the mattress.
The shank was still there.
He didn’t reach for it.
“Hands out.”
He extended his wrists.
The steel cuffs clicked shut.
Cold.
Tight.
The guard with the clipboard checked his name. “Marcus Hayes.
Warden’s orders.
You’re being transferred to the visitation block.”
Marcus nodded.
His throat was dry.
He followed them down the hall.
Past the cells.
Past the common area.
Derek leaned against the wall near the water fountain.
Roy stood beside him.
Derek’s eyes met Marcus’s.
A silent question.
Marcus gave a tiny shake of his head.
Not now.
Roy stepped forward. “Where you taking him?”
“None of your business,” the guard said.
Roy’s jaw tightened.
He stepped back.
The guards led Marcus through a metal door.
A long corridor.
Then another door.
A small room.
A table.
Two chairs.
A window with bars.
Through the glass, he saw her.
Sarah.
Seven years old.
Red hair.
Freckles.
She held a stuffed rabbit.
His heart cracked.
The guard unlocked the handcuffs. “You have ten minutes.
Don’t touch her.
Don’t pass anything.”
Marcus walked to the table.
He sat down.
Sarah’s eyes were wide.
She didn’t smile.
“Daddy?”
Her voice was small.
Fragile.
“Hey, baby girl.”
She pressed her hand against the glass.
He did the same.
“They said you were sick.
That’s why I couldn’t see you.”
Marcus swallowed. “I was sick.
But I’m getting better.”
“When are you coming home?”
He looked at her.
The man in the suit’s words echoed in his head.
Testify.
Or she dies.
“Soon.
I promise.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
She almost smiled.
Behind her, a woman sat in the corner.
A social worker.
She watched the clock.
Marcus leaned closer to the glass.
“Sarah, listen to me.
No matter what happens, you stay with Grandma.
You don’t go anywhere else.
Understand?”
“Why?”
“Just promise me.”
“Okay, Daddy.
I promise.”
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The social worker stood. “Time’s up.”
Sarah’s hand stayed on the glass.
Marcus pulled away.
The guards grabbed his arms.
They cuffed him again.
As they led him out, he glanced back.
Sarah was crying.
He closed his eyes.
Back in the corridor, he felt the shank still hidden under his mattress.
He had one chance.
The guards stopped at the door to the block.
Another guard stood there.
Miller.
From the tower.
“Change of plans,” Miller said. “He’s going to solitary.”
The two guards exchanged looks.
“Warden’s orders?”
“Warden’s orders.”
Marcus’s heart pounded.
They turned him toward the isolation wing.
Halfway down the hall, Miller stopped.
He pulled out a knife.
“The man in the suit sends his regards.”
Marcus didn’t flinch.
He looked at the guards on either side.
They didn’t move.
They were in on it.
Marcus smiled.
“You think I didn’t see this coming?”
He reached into his jumpsuit.
His fingers found the second shank-the one he had taped to his inner thigh.
He pulled it out.
The guards froze.
“Drop the knife,” Marcus said.
Miller laughed.
“You’re cuffed.
What are you going to do?”
Marcus shifted his weight.
The cuffs were loose.
He had been working them for days.
He snapped his wrists apart.
The chain broke.
Miller’s eyes widened.
Marcus lunged.
The blade sank into Miller’s shoulder.
A scream.
The other guards reached for their batons.
But Marcus was faster.
He spun.
Kicked the first guard’s knee.
The bone cracked.
The second guard swung.
Marcus ducked.
Drove the shank into his thigh.
Blood sprayed the walls.
Marcus stood in the corridor, breathing hard.
Miller lay on the floor, clutching his shoulder.
“Tell your boss,” Marcus said, “I’m coming for him.”
He dropped the shank.
It clattered on the concrete.
He raised his hands.
“Call the warden.
Tell him 1433 is ready to talk.”
The guards stared at him.
Whistles blew in the distance.
Marcus smiled.
It was cold.
Hollow.
The war was just beginning.
They threw him into a new cell.
Concrete walls.
No window.
A single bulb.
No mattress.
No toilet.
Just a drain in the floor.
Marcus sat against the wall.
His wrists were raw from the new cuffs.
They had double-locked them this time.
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
He stared at the ceiling.
The bucket was gone.
His mind drifted back to the yard.
The rusted metal.
The laughter.
The weight of it on his head.
He remembered Viktor’s voice.
Crawl, 1433.
He remembered the shank.
The blood.
He remembered Sarah’s hand on the glass.
His hands trembled.
He forced them still.
The target on his back-the number 1433-was still there.
Printed on his jumpsuit.
A constant reminder.
But the real target was gone.
The man in the suit had shown his hand.
Miller was injured.
The guards were compromised.
Now the warden would come.
And Marcus would make his deal.
Hours passed.
Maybe a day.
Time was meaningless.
The door opened.
The warden stood there.
His face was pale.
“You’ve made a mess.”
Marcus didn’t move.
“I’m not here to apologize.”
“Miller is in the infirmary.
The other guards are talking.
Internal affairs is sniffing around.”
“That’s your problem.”
The warden stepped closer.
“The man in the suit wants you dead.
He’s offering fifty thousand to anyone who does it.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
The warden’s jaw tightened.
“Because I have a daughter too.”
Marcus looked at him.
“You’re not like him.”
“No.
I’m worse.
I’m a coward.”
Silence.
“I want protection for my family.
And I want to testify.”
The warden nodded.
“I’ll make the call.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The bucket.
I want it destroyed.”
The warden frowned.
“Why?”
“Because that’s what he used to break me.
I want it gone.”
The warden nodded again.
He left.
Marcus sat alone.
Minutes later, he heard a crash from the yard.
Metal against concrete.
Then silence.
The bucket was gone.
He closed his eyes.
He thought about Jin.
The cold-eyed kid with the number 1 on his chest.
He had never spoken again after the fight.
He thought about Viktor.
Broken arm.
In the hole.
He thought about Derek and Roy.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
The prison was a powder keg.
And Marcus had just lit the fuse.
He opened his eyes.
The light buzzed above him.
He smiled.
Not because he was free.
Not because the war was over.
But because for the first time in six months, he had a plan.
And the man in the suit had no idea what was coming.
The target was still on his back.
But now, the hunter was hunting.
Marcus stood.
He paced the small cell.
Five steps one way.
Five steps back.
He had to survive.
For Sarah.
He touched the cold wall.
Somewhere out there, the man in the suit was watching.
But Marcus was watching back.
The war was just beginning.
And Marcus intended to win.
‘
