"Or maybe they'll just come at us harder with more people," Razor said pessimistically.
Nobody had a good answer to that possibility.
The cafeteria was a vast room that seemed deliberately designed to amplify human misery and suffering.
Fluorescent lights buzzed constantly overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow-green glow that made everyone look vaguely ill.
Long metal tables stretched in endless rows, bolted firmly to the floor to prevent them from being used as weapons.
The air smelled of industrial cleaner, old grease, and something indefinably rotten that Shuyin couldn't identify.
Hundreds of inmates filled the cavernous space, their orange jumpsuits creating a sea of color broken only by the dark uniforms of the guards stationed strategically along the walls, batons ready at their sides.
The noise level was overwhelming and oppressive. Shouting, harsh laughter, metal trays clanging together, chairs scraping across concrete floors. It pressed against Shuyin's skull relentlessly, making her head pound in time with her other injuries.
"Get your tray from the serving line," Tank instructed quietly, "Take whatever they give you without complaint. Don't complain about the food, don't ask for seconds or special treatment. When you're done getting served, move directly to our table. Just follow Blade and you'll be fine."
Shuyin nodded her understanding and joined the serving line with the other inmates.
The inmates standing ahead of her in line kept glancing back over their shoulders, whispering to each other while staring at her face. She caught fragments of their conversations:
"....threw her in the fighting pit her very first night...."
"...barely standing upright..."
"...wonder who she pissed off to deserve that..."
At the serving station, three inmates worked behind the counter, slopping food onto trays with mechanical efficiency and complete disinterest.
The woman serving Shuyin was painfully thin, with dead, emotionless eyes and extensive burn scars covering her arms. She dumped a large scoop of something gray and lumpy onto the tray, possibly oatmeal, possibly paste, genuinely impossible to tell. A single slice of white bread followed. A small carton of milk and a bruised apple that had seen better days.
"You look like absolute shit," the woman said flatly without emotion.
"Thanks for noticing," Shuyin managed to respond.
"Seriously though. You should be in Medical Infirmary getting treatment."
"Medical infirmary is completely full right now."
"Yeah, well." The woman moved on to serve the next person in line. "Try not to die before they can get to you. Paperwork's a real bitch when inmates die unexpectedly."
Shuyin picked up her tray carefully with her good hand, cradling her broken one protectively against her chest.
The tray was significantly heavier than she'd expected, and her arm shook visibly with the effort of holding it steady.
She followed Blade through the maze of tables, weaving between seated inmates. Eyes tracked their progress across the cafeteria. Conversations paused mid-sentence. The attention felt like a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders.
Blade led her to a table positioned in the back corner, strategically placed with a clear view of most of the cafeteria and both exit doors.
The positioning was clearly deliberate and tactical. Tank and Razor were already seated and waiting.
Shuyin carefully lowered herself onto the metal bench, moving as slowly as possible. The motion sent fresh agony shooting through her broken ribs, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying out.
The taste of blood, still present from her split lip, intensified in her mouth.
"Eat something now," Tank ordered, already shoveling the gray paste into her own mouth without hesitation.
Shuyin looked down at the food on her tray. Her stomach churned with nausea at the sight and smell, but she knew Tank was right. She needed calories desperately.
She needed strength. Her body had to heal somehow, and it couldn't do that without fuel.
She picked up the plastic spoon with her good hand and took a small, tentative bite of the gray substance.
It was quite possibly the worst thing she'd ever tasted in her entire life. Bland, gritty, with an aftertaste like cardboard that had been soaked in dishwater. But she forced herself to swallow it and took another bite.
"Good girl," Razor said approvingly. "That's the right spirit."
As Shuyin continued forcing down the terrible food, Tank leaned forward across the table, her voice dropping low enough that only their table could hear. "See that woman over there? Three tables over from us, facing our direction? The one with the red bandana?"
Shuyin carefully looked up from her tray, trying not to be obvious about it. She spotted the woman Tank meant, middle-aged, heavily muscular, with a bright red bandana tied around her head. Several other inmates sat with her at her table, all wearing similar red bandanas.