Tom was a thief. He committed crimes in New York but ended up serving his sentence in the Virgin Islands due to some blunder by his lawyer. According to him, it was a great deal, because once he was out, he could easily pocket some cash from the wealthy folks there. His sentence was ten years, and he had already served two.

Tommy, in contrast to Tom, didn’t take pride in bragging about his crimes. He simply stated his charge as murder and left it at that. He had no interest in discussing how he ended up behind bars.

Unlike most prisons, where inmates are assigned various tasks, there seemed to be little work at Mammon Prison. It was as if this billionaire-filled Virgin Island had built a massive castle just to house them.

The second time Mo Zimu went out, he had the leisure to properly admire the fortress. It looked old but was well-maintained. The combined A, B, and C Block units were part of a flat-roofed building connected to the dining hall and the supply block.

On the left side of this structure stood the library, forming an L-shaped building along with the D Block cells and the infirmary. The warden’s office was housed in a spired section, its Gothic design adding to the imposing atmosphere.

Constructed from narrow bricks, the fortress had an aged exterior with exquisite detailing. Its towering spires gave it an eerie, fairytale-like appearance, almost out of place in such a grim setting.

When Mo Zimu remarked on this, Tom sneered, “What are you thinking? There’s no such thing as a fairytale in prison.”

If there was one thing that made prison life unbearable, it was the awful food. Meals consisted mostly of bread, potatoes, beans, or pasta, usually cold and hard to stomach, even when starving.

Once a week, there was meat on the menu, but newcomers and the weaker prisoners often didn’t get their share.

Tom had a decent job in the cafeteria, overseeing food distribution. When he saw Mo Zimu arrive, he gave him a sly grin and handed him a meal box.

Mo Zimu glanced briefly at the lump of pasta and knew it was stuffed. Ever since Tom had abandoned him during the bathroom incident, he had been trying to mend their alliance by treating him more kindly.

The chicken leg on top of the meal didn’t even make it to Mo Zimu’s mouth before Teabag snatched it away. He took one bite, spat it out, and tossed it into the meal box of someone next to him. “Tastes like crap,” he muttered.

Mo Zimu waited quietly for Teabag to finish his tirade before picking up his plate and preparing to leave. However, just as he started walking away, Teabag grabbed his arm. “Hey, Four Eyes, care for a private chat?”

Teabag’s gaunt, flushed face had a peculiar, eerie look to it. Mo Zimu replied softly, “I have an appointment.”

The men behind Teabag laughed. He smirked and said, “Let’s see who this lucky guy is.”

Mo Zimu scanned the dining hall and spotted someone sitting by the window. Looking straight at him, he said, “I have an appointment with Boss Ivan.”

“Damn it, thinking you’re all high and mighty just because you’ve got Ivan backing you.” One of Teabag’s men stepped forward to strike Mo Zimu, but Teabag stopped him, blocking his hand and saying flatly, “If Ivan’s the one who called him, we should respect the rules of first come, first served.”

As he brushed past Mo Zimu, he lowered his voice and said, “Four Eyes, don’t pick the wrong side. Ivan doesn’t cherish pretty little asses the way I do.”

Having said his piece, he strutted off with his crew, settling into their usual spot by the window. Though the dining hall was packed, the seats remained empty until they arrived.

Even after Teabag and his crew sat down, his cold, sinister gaze remained fixed on Mo Zimu.

Left with no other choice, Mo Zimu picked up his tray and headed toward Ivan.

As he approached, he listened to the group laughing loudly.

“Boss is something else. That’s the third rich lady visiting you this week…”

Sticks smirked lewdly. “Since she got you a Spyker C8, you should at least fuck her this weekend…”

Ivan flexed his solid biceps. “Not interested. Damn it, I got sentenced to twenty years, and she thinks a car makes up for it? A woman with tits but no brains, there’s no fun in screwing someone like that.”

Sticks added, “Maybe she just wants you to hit 300 mph on her…”

The group burst into wild laughter.

Mo Zimu stood quietly to the side, waiting. Ivan only turned to look at him once he’d laughed enough.

“I remember telling you that I’m not interested in your little ass.”

“I came to apologize,” Mo Zimu said, eyes lowered.

“Apologize? How?” Ivan asked with a chuckle.

“May I sit down?” Mo Zimu replied. “I have something for you.” He glanced at his tray-laden hands, signaling his inconvenience.

Ivan shrugged and gestured for Sticks to move over. Sticks reluctantly shifted aside with a disgruntled look.

Mo Zimu sat down, used his fork to fish out the chicken leg from the pasta on his plate, and skillfully deboned it with his knife and fork. He placed the neatly prepared chicken meat onto Ivan’s plate and said with a faint smile, “I’ll make sure to remember who the real boss is from now on.”

From across the room by the window, Teabag swore loudly, “Damn, who would’ve thought Ivan and that kid had a thing going on? That Four Eyes must have something special about him.”

Ivan stared at Mo Zimu for a long moment, then finally glanced down at the chicken leg on his plate. He stabbed a piece of it with his fork, took a bite, and said, “Chicken leg’s fine, I’ll eat it. But I don’t take free gifts from anyone. Let’s call this repayment for the shaving. Now, get lost.”

Mo Zimu seemed visibly disheartened. He murmured, “I have other skills…”

“Oh?” Ivan chuckled. “And what exactly are you good for?”

“I know computers…”

“Tsk tsk, if this were an office, that’d be a useful skill. But in here, a tight little ass is the most valuable thing,” Ivan said crudely.

“I… I also play the violin. I’ve performed at a music hall in Austria,” Mo Zimu replied.

“Wow, an artist…” Ivan smirked and shrugged. “Uncle Norton might appreciate that more. He’s the only one here who understands art.”

His comment drew laughter from the group, and Mo Zimu forced himself to chuckle along.

Lowering his head, Mo Zimu let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe I really am useless here. Sorry for disturbing you.”

Tommy passed by with a tray of stuffed food as Mo Zimu stood up. “Goodbye,” he said.

Just as he rose to his feet, Ivan suddenly grabbed his wrist. Mo Zimu flinched and instinctively tried to pull away, but he couldn’t move an inch.

Ivan studied his hand. “Hmm, you do have the hands of someone who reads and plays the violin…” His cold, ruthless gaze locked onto Mo Zimu. “Were you a top student?”

Mo Zimu winced as Ivan’s grip tightened painfully on his hand. Ivan pressed again, “Well? Were you?”

“…Yes,” Mo Zimu admitted.

“The kind with recommendation letters, right?”

“Yes… You’re hurting me,” Mo Zimu said, his voice strained.

Ivan let out a cold laugh. “Figures. You scream bookworm all over. Tell me, bookworm, have you ever heard of anyone buying their way into a gang with a chicken leg? Next time, bring something more valuable. Now get lost.”

He released his grip, and Mo Zimu quickly picked up his tray and caught up with Tommy.

Without turning his head, Tommy remarked, “Teabag’s a wolf, and Ivan’s a bear. Have you ever heard of someone inviting a bear into their house just to scare off a wolf?”

Mo Zimu replied calmly, “I’m not inviting him in. The bear won’t mind if I borrow its image for a while.”

Tommy and Mo Zimu found a quiet corner to eat. Not long after, a springy black man approached their table and slipped a note to Tommy.

Tommy discreetly opened it, then exhaled in relief. “Finish your food quickly. There’s a good show coming up.”

Following Tommy’s advice, Mo Zimu quickly shoveled down the pasta. Having endured many days of uneven meals during his time scraping together tuition fees, he wasn’t particularly bothered by how bad it tasted.

Not long after he finished eating, Tommy led him back to their cell block. They stood in the hallway, looking down.

Many inmates had gathered along the corridors, watching the commotion. Teabag’s expression was grim. Someone brought him a cup of tea, and he slapped the person across the face in irritation.

The air was thick with anticipation, as if everyone was preparing to welcome someone important.

Moments later, the first to appear was Sticks, greeted by a deafening uproar. Inmates banged on the bars in unison as he raised his arms in a triumphant gesture, as if he were a celebrity making an entrance.

Mo Zimu watched coldly as another figure entered, a young man with red-brown hair. It was the same person he had seen being gang-raped in the library earlier.

His face was deathly pale, fear written all over him.

Sticks turned and waved him over. “Come on, Maytag! Let’s see what that little ass of yours can do!”

A roar of laughter erupted from the inmates.

The young man’s face flushed red, his body trembling as he shouted at Sticks, “My name is Jacob, not Maytag!”

“Oh, my baby, please, spare us! Drop your pants already, Jacob!” Sticks raised his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender.

Suddenly, Jacob rushed forward. For a split second, a paring knife appeared in his hand.

“Oh no, no!” Tommy muttered under his breath.

Mo Zimu stared at the scene before him.

Jacob charged at Sticks, blade aimed straight for him, but at the last moment, he hesitated.

That brief hesitation was all Sticks needed. His arm swung out in a blur. A flash of red streaked through the air as blood gushed from Jacob’s throat in a violent spray. He staggered, choking on his own breath, then collapsed, hands clawing at his neck while his body convulsed on the cold ground.

“Shit,” Tommy muttered.

The inmates reacted like a pack of wolves catching the scent of fresh blood. Excitement crackled through the air, raw and feral. Whistles pierced the chaos, fists pounded against metal, and wild cheers rose in a deafening roar.

Even Tom whistled, a grin spreading across his face as he turned to Mo Zimu. “Welcome to Mammon Prison!”

“The fuck are you pigs making all this noise for?! Shut the hell up!”

Big Mouth Adolf appeared at the doorway, holding a baton. He roared, “You scum want solitary confinement? Is that it?!”

Mo Zimu suddenly ran to the railing and shouted, “Boss! Someone’s hurt here!”

Adolf circled Jacob’s twitching body and muttered, “Damn it, he’s done for.”

He snarled, lashing Sticks hard with his baton. “Clean this shit up! And don’t make me catch you screwing up a second time!”

Sticks endured the strike with a grimace and coughed, “It was an accident, Boss.”

“Accident, accident… There are plenty of ‘accidents’ in this prison every day. I just hope next time, it’s not you getting your throat cut.”

Adolf struck Sticks again, this time so hard that his thin, lanky body seemed to snap in half. He clutched his stomach and collapsed onto the ground.

Hands on his hips, Adolf tilted his head back and shouted at Mo Zimu, “Get back to your den, you yellow pig!”

Tommy and Tom quickly dragged Mo Zimu, who was gritting his teeth in anger, back to the cell. Tom panted before snapping,, “Do you have a death wish? Why the hell are you always looking for trouble?”

Tommy lowered his voice. “This isn’t over. Looks like we’re going again. A dead man’s kidney won’t do.”

“What did you just say?!” Mo Zimu sucked in a sharp breath.

Tom spread his hands in mock helplessness. “I told you this fish would get spooked.” He patted Mo Zimu on the shoulder. “You know why you got extra food? Because someone’s about to donate a kidney. Mammon’s biggest business is selling off live organs. It’s usually decided by drawing lots. Two blocks are picked to play the Hunter game, one as the hunters and the other as the prey. Since the hunters get to choose their targets, the chosen block always ends up being the ‘donor.’ Lucky us, this time it’s A and B Block.”

Mo Zimu stared at the two men before him, both acting as if this were just another ordinary day. His voice was barely a whisper. “This is a crime.”

“This is Mammon,” Tom said, his grin seeming cheerful, yet carrying an unmistakable trace of sorrow.

Just then, a black man appeared at the door to their dormitory. “Fish, come out. The boss of B Block wants a word.”

Tommy and Tom exchanged a glance and walked out into the hallway with Mo Zimu.

Teabag stood across the corridor, his twisted expression full of menace. From his lips came a cold sneer as he said, “It’s him, Ivan. According to the rules, the hunters choose their prey. This time, B Block’s choice is this little Four Eyes.”

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TN: Two advance chapters will be unlocked every week.