Chapter 3

"He submitted a transfer request himself? To Block Three?"

In the warden's office, Warden Webster exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, his fleshy face contorting into a cold sneer mixed with mockery.

Hagis Baird stood ramrod straight in front of the large mahogany desk, his face so gloomy it could drip water. "Yes, sir. But this punk has been way too cocky lately, acting like he doesn't give a damn about you or me. Actually, we don't need to go through all this trouble. Just give me the word, and I can get some guys from outside to..."

"Shut up, you idiot!"

Webster slammed his palm on the desk so hard the cigar butt in the ashtray jumped. He jabbed his finger at Baird's nose and cursed: "What do you think this is? That riot in the yard the day before yesterday—you really think it was just inmates fighting over territory? Use that pig brain of yours and think!"

Baird froze at the scolding, not daring to respond.

"That was the Gulf Cartel dropping a full five million dollars on the Preventive Police Department for a deliberate purge targeting the Tijuana and Juarez cartels!" Webster's eyes were sinister as he stared coldly at him. "Five million dollars! That's enough money for those bureaucrats up top to turn this whole prison inside out! Things are tight right now. If you dare cause any obvious trouble at this critical moment, I'll be the first to pull my gun and shoot you!"

Baird swallowed hard, cold sweat beading on his forehead. "Understood, sir. Need to keep it low-key."

"At least you're not completely stupid." Webster pulled open a drawer, took out a transfer order already stamped with the supervisor's red seal, and tossed it over casually.

The order traced an arc through the air and landed at Baird's feet.

"You know exactly what kind of killer drug lords are locked up in Block Three. In less than six months this year, nine guards have already died at the hands of those dealers." Webster leaned back into his leather chair, pulling at the corner of his mouth to reveal a cruel smile. "Since Daniel wants to play hero, let him go to Block Three tomorrow as deputy warden. As for how long he survives in the hands of those lunatics, that's up to God's will."

...

Block Two, Office No. 2.

"Bang!"

The solid wood door was shoved open violently, slamming against the wall with a dull thud.

Baird strode in with a fake smile and slapped the transfer order down on Daniel's desk with a sharp "smack."

"Congratulations, Daniel. You're moving up—Deputy Warden of Block Three, officially starting tomorrow." Baird leaned forward with his hands on the desk, his eyes flashing with undisguised malice. "Do a good job there. Hope you live to a ripe old age."

Daniel sat in his chair without even lifting an eyelid. He casually reached out and pulled over the order with its fresh ink smell, his eyes scanning the bright red stamp.

Phase one of the plan—complete.

Watching Daniel's calm demeanor, as if everything was under his control, Baird felt like he was punching cotton. He'd wanted to see this punk begging in despair, but instead got complete indifference.

"We'll see about this!" Baird snorted viciously, turned and strode out of the office, slamming the door hard with a "bang."

The moment the door closed, Casare jumped up from behind his desk in the corner like he'd been electrocuted.

"You're crazy! Daniel, you've really lost it!" Casare rushed over in a cold sweat, slamming his hands on the desk, his voice trembling. "That's Block Three! It's hell in Highland Prison! It's full of psychos and monsters who kill without blinking! In the first half of this year alone, nine guards died in that block!"

He stared hard at Daniel, his eyes filled with deep fear, as if Daniel was already a dead man. "Have you forgotten how our classmate Quim Lucas died?! Just for looking at a drug lord the wrong way, he was dragged into an alley after work, had all four limbs hacked off while alive, and was stuffed into an oil drum like garbage! Go to Block Three, and you won't even know how you died!"

Daniel slowly stood up and gripped Casare's trembling shoulder with his hand.

His palm was as steady and powerful as an iron clamp, the overwhelming pressure instantly pinning Casare's panic in place.

"Casare, all you're afraid of is death." Daniel looked down at him with emotionless eyes, his voice flat but carrying a bone-chilling coldness. "But why have you never thought about making them die instead?"

Casare's pupils dilated sharply, his lips moved, but he was too shocked to make a sound.

"My father got seven ribs broken trying to catch a thief and died in the street. He had a sense of justice, but justice couldn't save him, and your weakness can't save you either." Daniel patted Casare's pale cheek, his tone ice-cold. "Anytime, anywhere, you have to climb up. When you're just a bottom-level nobody, even if you kneel and beg for mercy, no one will listen to what you say."

Daniel pulled his service pistol from his holster and slammed it down on the desk with a "smack."

The cold metallic sound echoed through the office.

"Drug dealers are human too. Humans bleed, and a bullet to the head will kill them just the same." Daniel sneered. "They're not afraid of the law, not afraid of God, but they're definitely afraid of bullets!"

Looking at the cold gleaming gun on the desk, then at Daniel's eyes full of ambition and killing intent, Casare swallowed hard. Somehow, under this powerful oppressive force, the fear in his heart was actually suppressed a bit.

Daniel holstered his gun and changed into casual clothes. "Let's go, shift's over. Let's get a drink."

...

Night, the market outside the prison.

The place reeked of cheap perfume, tar from low-grade tobacco, and the stench of urine everywhere.

Several beat-up transport trucks were parked by the roadside, and truckloads of scantily clad women were herded out like cargo. The ones with some looks were lined up to be taken into the prison to serve the drug lord bosses who still ruled inside; the leftovers stayed in the outside market to entertain the cheap guards looking for thrills after their shifts.

"Hey, officer~"

A woman with big waves and bright red lipstick swayed over, her ample chest nearly pressing against Daniel.

"Ten pesos each, second round half price. You can do whatever you want, guaranteed to blow your mind till dawn..." The woman threw an extremely suggestive wink at Casare nearby.

Casare, still badly shaken from the office earlier, felt the alcohol mixing with the decadent hormonal atmosphere of the market. His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably, his eyes showing some interest.

Daniel glanced coldly at the woman and subtly pushed away the hand on his shoulder. Messing around in this place, catching syphilis would be lucky.

He casually pulled twenty pesos from his pocket and stuffed it into the woman's cleavage. "Take good care of him, don't bother me."

"No problem, big boss!" The woman's eyes lit up. She grabbed the still-dazed Casare and half-dragged him toward a dark alley nearby.

Daniel stood in place, about to turn and leave this filthy place, when the corner of his eye suddenly caught a familiar figure.

Hagis Baird.

Wearing an inconspicuous black mandarin collar jacket, he was pulling his cap low and sneaking toward the abandoned wasteland at the edge of the market.

Daniel's eyes sharpened, the laziness in his posture instantly vanishing. Like a black panther silently stalking its prey, he melted into the shadows and followed soundlessly.

At the end of the wasteland sat a scrapped half-trailer.

Baird looked around cautiously, then quickly ducked inside. There were no lights in the trailer, but by moonlight, you could see a burly, hard-faced stranger already sitting inside.

Daniel pressed against the trailer's metal siding, holding his breath. The next second, a strange, imperceptible glow flashed in the depths of his right pupil.

A cold information panel instantly unfolded on his retina:

[Target]: Mill Baird

[Identity]: Core member of the Baird crime family

[History]: Began participating in serious criminal activities at age 11.

[Bounty]: 6,000 pesos

[Current Mission]: Kill Miguel Ramirez of Block Two, Highland Prison.

[Crime Points]: 900 points!

900 points! Plus a huge bounty of 6,000 pesos!

Daniel's lips slowly curved into a cruel, excited smile in the darkness. These two fat sheep had practically delivered themselves as gifts.

He pressed his ear against the cold metal, and the lowered voices inside the trailer came through clearly.

"The family's leaving this job to you. Miguel Ramirez has to die—this guy alive is seriously affecting our business on this line." Mill said coldly.

"Don't worry, he's in my block. I've got a hundred ways to kill him and make it look like an accident." Hagis paused, then his tone suddenly shifted, becoming extremely venomous. "But before that, I need you to kill someone for me too."

"Who?"

"Daniel Kenneth Murphy! Some punk guard who doesn't know his place." Hagis spat out the name through gritted teeth.

A disdainful snort came from inside the trailer.

"I thought it was someone important. That's nothing." Mill casually pulled out a folding knife and scraped his nails. "I don't care who he is—mess with the Baird family, and he'll be dead in the streets soon enough, with no one to even collect his body."

"It's a deal. Kill him!"

Outside the trailer.

The night wind blew across Daniel's resolute face. He slowly drew his service pistol, his thumb gently flicking off the safety with a silent "click."

"Dead in the streets?"

Daniel murmured softly, his deep blue eyes flashing with a trace of violent killing intent in the darkness.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing."