THUD!
The solid, heavy impact hit everyone's hearts like a sledgehammer.
The veteran inmates watching the show burst into mocking, schadenfreude-filled laughter. Same old style—the Shelby kid would always let his fists do the talking.
Under the trembling gazes around him, the prisoner who'd been shouting loudest moments before was now retching as he collapsed to his knees, his terrified eyes filled with agonized bloodshot veins.
Tiger looked down coldly at the prisoner at his feet and kicked the iron chain toward his mouth with casual brutality.
"Bite it."
"I... I..."
"I don't know..."
The prisoner trembled uncontrollably. He tried to explain, but his throat felt strangled. The oppressive presence from above was almost tangible—a weight that pressed down on his very soul.
Whether it was the gut-wrenching warning he'd just received or the force that had killed Jason with one punch—neither was something he could refuse.
The prisoner shakily opened his mouth, revealing blackened yellow teeth, and bit down on the rust-covered chain. The rough coldness and murky stench instantly flooded his mouth, coating his tongue with the taste of decay and despair.
He looked up at Tiger with pleading eyes.
"Please—"
Before the word could escape, Tiger viciously kicked the prisoner's jawbone. The sound of shattering bone erupted like a gunshot.
"Ahhhh..."
Along with the chain's clatter to the floor, the prisoner's piercing wail stabbed into everyone's hearts like a rusty blade.
"Aha! I love that move!"
"What a bloody coward!"
"Why don't you fight little Tiger!"
"Beautifully done!"
"Woohoo, son of a bitch!"
"That's the stuff right there!"
The veteran inmates covered their mouths and pumped their fists, their faces twisted with sympathetic winces as if feeling the pain themselves, yet their mouths showed no mercy—only mockery and delighted laughter.
Stepping over the scattered blood and broken teeth like he was walking through autumn leaves, Tiger cracked his neck and took a deep breath. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils—intoxicating.
Truth be told, he quite enjoyed these pieces of trash. Their terrified gazes brought him satisfaction. He loved fear, and his enemies' fear was his power.
"Actually, I'm a pacifist."
[This chocolate bean is really dirty.]
[Why doesn't he wash himself?]
Smelling the blood filled with chaotic drug elements and bacteria, Venom complained with dissatisfaction.
As for Tiger's shameless self-praise, it had given up on commenting long ago.
"He'll never be clean," Tiger said flatly, his voice carrying the finality of a judge's gavel.
Ignoring the trash that had already fainted from pain on the ground, Tiger's amber eyes shifted toward another man who'd been spewing filth earlier. He walked over slowly, each step deliberate as a predator stalking wounded prey.
THUD!
"Ugh!"
Seeing another person collapse to their knees, the veteran inmates had completely forgotten about dinner. Instead, they watched with rapt excitement as Tiger prepared a spiritual feast for everyone.
They craved violence, craved blood, craved anything that could make their adrenaline surge through their veins like liquid fire.
"Trash. Bite it."
"No no no, please—"
"AHHHHH!!!!"
Hair-raising screams came one after another, echoing off the concrete walls like a symphony of agony. The veterans' cheers grew louder and more frenzied with each cry.
Stepping over the ground now littered with wails and groans, Tiger finally showed a satisfied, sated expression—like a connoisseur who'd just finished a fine meal.
He loosened his suit collar with practiced elegance, pulled out a pristine handkerchief from his breast pocket, and delicately wiped the blood from his fingertips as if cleaning wine from his lips.
Then he spat on the face of the person at his feet, dropped the handkerchief, and let it slowly cover the man's face like a burial shroud.
"Old Arse, they're all yours."
"Oh oh, of course, my sweetheart."
From the crowded group, a burly man dressed rather flamboyantly swayed his hips as he emerged, the coquettish glances he threw at Tiger carrying hints of flattery and barely concealed desire.
"My God, these toothless little treasures will surely fetch a good price..."
"Sweetheart, you really are a good person."
"Of course. I've always been a good person."
Tiger looked at Old Arse with genuinely appreciative eyes—one professional acknowledging another.
Seeing that Tiger had finished his business, the veteran inmates finally came forward to greet him like courtiers approaching a young prince.
"Haha, little Tiger, dear little Tiger! What brought you home this time?"
"Don't know..." Tiger sighed with genuine confusion.
He'd done quite a few things recently. Smashing rival faction bars with his brothers, crushing the pedophile principal's bones in front of the entire school, storming The Viper Gang's congressman's villa...
But he wasn't sure which specific incident had landed him here. They all blended together in a pleasant haze of justified violence.
"Haha!"
"You little bastard really are a natural-born bad seed."
The veteran inmates who knew Tiger all too well immediately saw through him and burst into cackling laughter that echoed through the corridor.
"What's the situation outside? My men haven't shown up in ages."
Hearing a red-haired Russian Gang boss speak, Tiger glanced over with those indifferent amber eyes that seemed to see straight through a man's soul.
"Nothing much."
"We swallowed up your territory. When you get out, I can let you take the Shelby name too."
"Oh! Damn! Tommy, that bastard!"
"Hey, you little shit, my gang's been radio silent lately too. Are you Shelby Family members—"
Amid the cursing and small talk, everyone entered the prison's central cafeteria, their voices echoing off the concrete walls like the chatter of demons in hell.
The prison's central cafeteria was housed in an abandoned industrial smokestack—a towering monument to decay that stretched three hundred meters into the gray British sky. It was also the only place in the entire prison with natural light filtering down from above like God's forgotten grace.
The malicious prison administrators had, at some point, nailed a seventy-meter hand ladder to the wall, providing false hope of escape for restless prisoners. A cruel joke that never got old.
Of course, the result was predictable. Every day, some desperate fool would exhaust themselves at the ladder's seventy-meter endpoint—unable to go up, unable to come down, only able to keep shouting for help that would never come.
But in this prison's dictionary, there had never been positive words like kindness, salvation, or love. Those concepts had been murdered long ago.
The excited prisoners would only clap and shout to start betting pools, urging whoever was hanging up there to hurry up and fall, turning into mincemeat for their entertainment.
Dinner was almost over now. Noticing more people arriving at the cafeteria, malicious gazes turned their way like searchlights seeking targets.
But when Tiger and his group swept back with even more evil, menacing looks—eyes that promised violence beyond imagination—these people hurriedly looked away, suddenly finding their shoes fascinating.
However, Tiger could still clearly sense the thick malice hanging in the air like fog. This malice felt almost tangible, wantonly assaulting everyone's minds and emotions, turning everyone into powder kegs ready to explode at the slightest spark.
"Haha, little Tiger, do you smell that?"
The Russian Gang boss twitched his nostrils like a hound scenting prey. In the stifling air, the smell of rancid oil mixed with swill created a bouquet that would make a corpse gag.
"There's actually fried fish today."
"Heh..."
Tiger pulled his lips into a smile that didn't reach his eyes—the expression of someone who'd seen too much to be surprised by anything.
He never held any expectations for British cuisine. Even from dozens of meters away, he could feel the food's dying resentment, as if the fish had cursed their killers with their last breath.
Fortunately, the cafeteria kept a stove ready for him. Whatever he grabbed and stir-fried would be better than the fried fish dipped in swill these prisoners choked down.
[Oh, no matter how many times we come here...]
[So bloody disgusting...]
Every time it witnessed this filthy, chaotic cafeteria, Venom would become listless, and its usually ravenous appetite would completely disappear—a feat that required truly spectacular levels of revulsion.
Flies buzzed around the swill in lazy, drunken circles, mixed with waves of stench that made the air itself seem poisonous. The bean paste served to prisoners had already started fermenting, creating bubbles that popped with wet, obscene sounds.
Tiger walked past the line with the casual confidence of someone who owned the place.
The sour stench clinging to the prisoners penetrated his nostrils, stimulating every one of Venom's hypersensitive nerves. Most prisoners were painfully thin, seemingly carefully protecting their food bowls while actually casting greedy glances at others nearby—predators disguised as prey.
[Ugh...]
Venom now had the heart to slaughter this entire prison and put everyone out of their misery.
Seeing Tiger back home again, many veteran inmates raised their hands in greeting like subjects acknowledging their returning king.
Their stay in prison was only temporary—only this little guy was a permanent resident. How could they not maintain good relations with the apex predator of their concrete jungle?
Tiger smiled. It was almost a pleasant expression.
He really was a good person, after all.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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