"Fuck!!"
Johnson thrust brutally into the young man beneath him. Dark red blood spread across the dusty warehouse floor.
"Hey, Johnson. Even if you're pissed, don't kill him," Robert muttered from the warehouse entrance where he stood watch.
Johnson had always had twisted tastes. If not for the organization's orders, he might've been the first to come after Robert himself.
Come to think of it, the boy was unlucky. He'd killed just one man and been caught. Worse — he'd been sent to Hills. That sealed his fate.
What was his name again?
Didn't matter. Names weren't important for toys.
"Didn't you like him?" Robert asked. "You were the one who picked him."
Johnson scoffed. "Once you've seen the real masterpiece, would you still care about cheap copies?"
He shoved forward viciously. The boy's scream cracked the air.
"When you saw him in the shower, you didn't tell me you stayed soft."
Robert didn't answer.
He closed his eyes — and heat pooled low in his abdomen.
Damn it.
Why would God create a body like that?
To see it but not touch it — it was worse than the Trial of Saint Anthony. Temptation in human form.
The showers were divided into thirty open stalls. No doors. No privacy. When desire boiled over, men simply found partners and dealt with it. Eventually, no one reacted to the sounds anymore.
When Davis walked in with a white towel draped over his shoulder, a ripple of swallowed breaths passed through the room.
He stepped calmly into the stall beside Robert and turned on the water.
Steam rolled thick and white — a perfect disguise.
Robert did not look away.
His gaze traced every line of Davis's body.
Under the mist, pale skin flushed faint pink, deceptively harmless. Yet there wasn't a single scar on him.
Two possibilities:
No one had ever attacked him.
Or no one had ever managed to land a hit.
Robert's eyes drifted lower, lingering over sculpted muscle and the subtle rise of his chest. His breath caught.
When Davis finally looked up, their eyes met.
Robert immediately turned his own shower to cold.
Suddenly, a broad-shouldered Black inmate stepped into Davis's stall.
Ty.
Jackson's rival. Leader of the Black faction in Hills. Recently crowned prison bodybuilding champion. Rumor had it a single punch from him once shattered a man's skull.
No one with sense crossed Ty's crew.
"Wildcat," Ty grinned. "You did good yesterday. I like that."
Davis lowered his eyes briefly, studying Ty with an unreadable smile.
"Jackson won't forget that," Ty continued. "He'll come for you again. So let's be friends. Makes it easier for me to protect you."
The entire shower room had gone silent.
"Friends?" Davis's tone was light. "Sounds more like you're pitching something else."
Ty laughed. "You catch on quick. I've always liked Asian men."
Steam curled between them.
Davis's smile widened.
"I enjoy women with curves," he said lazily. "But men? Especially you? Even if you begged, I'd need ten bottles of Viagra."
The air snapped tight.
Ty's expression hardened. "You've got a death wish."
Robert watched closely.
He searched Davis's eyes for fear.
There was none.
Only disdain.
Then Davis inhaled deeply and raised his voice.
"All you degenerates who worship ass — listen up."
Heads turned.
"Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. Basketball court. Anyone who can beat me until I scream for mercy?"
He paused deliberately.
"I'll let him have me."
A heartbeat.
"I'm still untouched back there."
The shower room erupted.
"Ty! That's not fair!"
"You don't touch him now!"
"Tomorrow he's mine!"
Ty found himself drowned out by a pack of howling animals.
And in the center of the storm stood its architect.
Davis stepped out of the shower.
He didn't look back.
Back in the warehouse, Johnson was still venting his fury.
"Tomorrow," he snarled, "I'll teach Davis the rules of this prison."
The boy beneath him lay limp and silent.
Robert's jaw tightened.
Davis really was insane.
Did he enjoy provoking them?
He could have chosen protection — Johnson's or his own.
Instead, he offered himself as bait.
Did he really think he could take on twenty men?
Ty alone had explosive strength. In a narrow space, even Davis wouldn't be able to evade him.
And then it clicked.
Robert exhaled sharply.
Clever cat.
"…Johnson," he said quietly, "you're not going to that court tomorrow."
Johnson froze. "Even if I don't, someone else will."
Robert narrowed his eyes.
The temperature shifted.
"Are you defying me?"
The warning in his voice was unmistakable — like a lion assessing an intruder inside its territory.
And preparing to strike.
"You're insane… fine! I'm not going! Happy now?!" Johnson spat through clenched teeth as Robert walked away without another glance.
He cursed under his breath and resumed his rough rhythm, venting frustration on the trembling boy beneath him.
Inside the prison, most inmates believed Robert survived only because of Johnson's backing.
Very few knew who Robert truly was.
Those who insulted him always paid for it.
Everyone assumed Johnson handled the retaliation.
The truth was far quieter.
Robert watched from the sidelines, hands clean, letting Johnson clear the mess.
He had been an actor for a very long time.
An actor who never took a bow.
The next day, no one touched Davis.
They were patient.
After tonight, they believed, he would belong to everyone.
When night finally fell, anticipation thickened the air.
At exactly eight o'clock, the outdoor basketball court — usually dominated by Ty's group — was packed with inmates of every faction. The floodlights blazed down harshly, making those accustomed to the dim indoor corridors squint.
Inside his cell, Davis lay lazily on his bunk, propping his head on one hand. Half-lidded eyes. Relaxed posture.
Like a cat basking before a hunt.
Garcia, however, was too anxious to admire him.
"Davis, I heard what happened last night. You're not actually going, are you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Davis didn't even look concerned.
"My dear little chick, if I'm not worried, why are you? Beating twenty men is easier than beating a hundred."
"I… I'll go with you," Garcia stammered.
Davis arched a brow. "Not afraid?"
"I am. I can't fight. But… you helped me."
For a brief second, Davis's smile froze.
Then he exhaled softly, withdrawing his arm without drawing attention.
"Hey," he called toward Robert. "Keep an eye on him for me."
Robert gave a small nod. "No farewell."
Davis only returned a knowing smile.
On the basketball court, suppressed animal instincts strained against their chains.
Davis walked toward the center calmly.
To Garcia watching from the window beside Robert, that retreating figure somehow felt reassuring.
Later, Garcia would realize that was the moment his loyalty had been sealed.
The moment he would have willingly knelt to kiss bloodstained claws.
"Little bitch," Ty laughed, flexing thick arms. "Thought you'd hide in a toilet stall and cry."
In truth, most inmates feared Ty's influence. Only around a dozen challengers stepped forward. The rest intended to reap benefits afterward.
Still, those who did step up were no weaklings.
They formed a circle around Davis.
Jackson stood among them.
His eyes burned with hatred.
Davis glanced at him casually.
So the doctors managed to patch him up.
Impressive.
"Kill him!"
"Show him who rules Hills!"
Ty grinned. "Well? Who's your first opponent?"
Davis's eyes gleamed.
"All of you," he said lightly. "I've got somewhere to be later."
The circle froze.
Jackson roared first, charging like a bull.
"I wasn't planning to play fair anyway," Davis replied.
And then—
The floodlights went out.
Total darkness.
Jackson's heavy punch sliced through empty air as Davis leapt. Before Jackson could recover, a precise kick struck his throat.
He staggered back, choking.
A second blow cracked against his jaw.
His body twisted grotesquely before crashing to the ground.
Elsewhere in the dark—
"What the hell—?!"
Ty barely had time to curse before pain exploded between his legs. Rage overtook him; he threw a blind punch.
A different inmate screamed.
Confusion erupted.
Without sight, instinct took over.
In the blackness, everyone became an enemy.
Blood scent thickened the air.
Bones snapped.
Men howled.
The modern court devolved into an ancient arena.
After roughly ten minutes, the lights snapped back on.
Beasts vanished.
Inmates stood frozen in harsh white light.
"Damn animals," a guard barked. "All of you to solitary! And since you've got so much energy, your workload doubles!"
The guards had rushed in after noticing the blackout. While they ignored small fights, this scale couldn't be overlooked.
Bonuses depended on control.
Solitary meant a narrow dark box barely large enough to stand in. Minimal food. Occasional beatings.
Heads lowered.
Even the angriest among them did not dare challenge the guards.
"…Report… Davis… he's the one…" Jackson gurgled through broken teeth, blood filling his mouth.
The captain of the guards snorted.
Then he stepped forward—
And brought his baton down hard on Jackson's ribs.
Crack.
Again.
No one intervened.
Jackson's cries faded into wet silence.
"And where is he?" the captain sneered. "When I came, he was in the library reading. You think I'm blind? Insulting my intelligence amusing?"
He delivered one final kick to Jackson's face before leaving.
No one moved.
No one checked if Jackson still breathed.
The massive body lay under the night wind, growing colder by the minute.
And somewhere inside the prison—
Davis turned a page.