Jovan was halfway through his tray when the noise changed.
Somewhere down the hall, metal slid against metal with a weight that carried. The gates were opening.
Jovan glanced up just as the outer security doors groaned open.
A line of guards filed in first, batons out, eyes sharp. Then the transfers followed.
Twenty of them.
They came in shackled in pairs, orange and gray mixed together, boots scuffing the floor in uneven steps. Some looked bored. Some looked scared. A few looked like they were already measuring the room, checking groupings of each inmate and any subtle interactions between them.
D Block watched them like sharks pretending not to.
"Big group," someone muttered behind Jovan.
"Too big," another replied.
Jovan leaned back in his seat, cigarette burning slow between his fingers as his eyes moved from face to face. You could tell a lot from the way a man walked when he thought everyone was watching him. Most of the transfers avoided eye contact, a sign they didn't want trouble.
One didn't.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, hair slicked back like he was stepping onto a stage instead of into prison. Six-three, at least. He grinned openly as he scanned the block, teeth flashing white against his tan skin. When his gaze landed on a cluster of inmates near the card tables, he raised his chained hands and motioned to them that he'd play next.
A few prisoners scoffed.
Someone laughed.
"That guy's dead by the end of the week," a guard muttered.
The flamboyant one winked in response, as if he'd heard.
Jovan snorted quietly. His intuition told him this guy's mannerisms are a bit too fake.
His eyes kept moving.
The rest blurred together until...
One of them didn't fit.
Midway down the line, a man with messy dark hair and hollow cheeks walked with his head slightly tilted, as if listening to something no one else could hear. His eyes weren't darting or wide. They were bored.
He didn't look at the guards or anything in the room. Just up at the ceiling, counting the lights.
Jovan frowned, just a little.
The line stopped near the center of the block. Jefferson stepped forward, baton tapping once against his palm.
"Listen up," he barked. "These idiots are your new neighbors. Any trouble, any funny business, and you'll all be sharing lockup privileges. Transfers go where you're told. No exceptions."
The flamboyant man laughed outright.
Jefferson's eyes snapped to him. "You think this is funny?"
The man grinned wider. "Just happy to be here."
A ripple of uneasy chuckles passed through the block.
Jefferson scowled. "You won't be."
The transfers were split up after that, guards pushing them toward assigned cells, voices overlapping, order dissolving into the usual controlled chaos.
Jovan watched as the flamboyant one was shoved toward the far end of D Block, still smiling, still talking.
The quiet man passed closer.
For just a second, his eyes lifted.
They met Jovan's.
Nothing was said. No challenge. No curiosity.
Just certainty.
It was that calm, unshaken confidence that made Jovan take him seriously.
The guards moved the transfers along, funneling them toward their assigned cells.
Jovan sighed and stood, irritation settling into his shoulders.
Ace of Spades scooped the rest of the food off his tray before Jovan dumped it into the kitchen depository. He headed back toward his cell, scratching at his head.
Did they really need to give me a roommate again? So stupid.
"Jorm! You've got five minutes to clear that empty bunk!" a guard barked as he shoved Jovan toward his cell.
The baton struck his side for emphasis.
"A little to the left," Jovan said dryly, rolling his shoulders. "My muscles still need a workout this morning."
"Get to work, Jorm!"
Jovan hurried inside, sweeping books and magazines off his makeshift desk and onto his bed. Contraband vanished neatly into Ace of Spades' chest.
"All done!~" Jovan stepped back out, yawning.
He glanced at his new roommate.
A skinny kid. Barely twenty, if that. Pale. Shaking. Eyes darting like a cornered animal. Definitely not the fighting type. Not arrogant either.
"Hey," Jovan said. "What's your name? What're you in for?"
"Aren't you—not supposed to ask that?" the kid stammered.
"Kid," Jovan said flatly, stepping closer, "I'm not letting a child abuser or rapist sleep next to me without knowing. Tell me straight."
He loomed just enough to make the point.
The kid swallowed hard. "I—I'm Jericko. Convicted for a C-class B felony. Theft by deception."
Jovan studied him for a moment.
"Hm. Good," he said. "You didn't lie."
He flicked the last of his cigarette into the sink and crushed it out. The tension bled from his shoulders, just like that.
"I'm Jovan. If you need something, come to me. Set your bed up however you like."
He stepped back out into the block, eyes drifting across D Block again.
Twenty new inmates...
Jovan lingered near the rail, eyes tracing the movement of the block as inmates settled into new patterns. Guards barked orders. The noise slowly found its usual rhythm again.
"Excuse me."
The voice was calm.
Jovan turned.
It was the quiet man.
Up close, he looked even more unremarkable—average height, narrow shoulders, eyes half-lidded like he hadn't slept well in years.
"Yeah?" Jovan replied.
"I was told the D-Block trustee center is somewhere near the west corridor," the man said. "I don't want to bother the guards."
Jovan raised an eyebrow. "Trustee work? You don't look like the type."
The man shrugged lightly. "I prefer routine."
"It's past the showers," Jovan said after a moment, jerking his thumb down the block. "Second door on the left. You'll see a busted vending machine."
"Thank you," the man said. He turned to leave, then hesitated.
"One more thing."
Jovan looked at him again.
"I don't lie," the man said plainly. No smile. "If I say I'm going there, that's where I'll be."
Jovan studied his face, searching for sarcasm, or some kind of punchline.
There was nothing.
"…Good to know," Jovan said slowly.
The man nodded once, satisfied, and walked off toward the west corridor at the same unhurried pace.
Jovan watched him go.
"Trustee center, huh," he muttered.
[AI Art image]