Jovan stood there for half a second longer than he should have, baton still raised, eyes fixed on the faucet where Dragon had vanished. The riot roared around him—shouts, metal clanging, guards screaming orders no one listened to—but that moment of quiet rang louder than anything else.
"Damn it…"
Dragon was gone.
He slowly glanced around, hoping to spot where he might exit the pipes.
That's when Jovan noticed a group of three cornering someone.
Jericko.
Three inmates peeled away from the chaos like vultures spotting something wounded. They moved fast, coordinated in the way predators were. One of them shoved Jericko hard into the bars, knocking the breath out of him. Another pressed in close, grinning as he flashed a stolen stun baton, blue arcs crackling at the tip.
"Easy," one of them laughed. "This one's scared."
Jericko's hands shook as he raised them, back pressed flat to the cold concrete wall. His mouth opened—but no sound came out.
Jovan moved.
He sprinted.
The first baton struck him across the ribs before he even reached them. Pain exploded through his side, sharp and electric, muscles locking as he slammed into one of the attackers shoulder-first. They both crashed to the ground.
Another hit followed—this time across his back.
Jovan grunted but stayed upright, teeth clenched as he swung his baton low and fast, cracking it against a knee. The man howled and went down, clutching his leg.
"Get him!" someone yelled.
The third inmate surged forward, baton raised, eyes wild.
Jovan barely blocked in time.
The shock ran through his arms like fire. His fingers spasmed, baton nearly slipping from his grip. Another blow landed against his jaw—hard enough to split skin.
Blood filled his mouth.
He spat red onto the floor and smiled.
"Jericko!" he barked. "Move!"
Jericko didn't.
He stood frozen, eyes wide.
Jovan took another hit because of it.This one caught him across the shoulder, dropping him to one knee. The baton buzzed against bone, pain blooming deep and ugly. For a moment, the world tilted.
Jericko saw it happen.Saw Jovan stagger. Saw blood drip onto the floor.And something inside him twisted—not fear this time, but guilt.
"Don't just stand there!" Jovan shouted, forcing himself back up, ducking a swing and driving his shoulder into one man's gut. "You have to fight back!"
Another baton slammed into his ribs. Something cracked.
Jovan staggered—but stayed standing.
"Some people are beasts," he growled through clenched teeth. "They only understand violence. If you don't fight back, you'll disappear. Little by little."
He caught a baton on his forearm. Pain flared white-hot.
"If you don't fight—"
A scream cut through the noise.
Jericko lunged forward.
It wasn't clean or strong.
His fist connected with the side of one inmate's head, snapping it sideways. The man stumbled, stunned more by the shock of resistance than the blow itself. Jericko stood there breathing hard, eyes wide, staring at his own trembling hand like it didn't belong to him.
The moment broke something.
Jovan surged forward, adrenaline burning away the pain, and finished it. A baton to the stomach. A knee to the ribs. The last attacker collapsed, gasping on the floor.
Silence settled around them.
Jericko slid down the wall, legs giving out beneath him. He sat there shaking, arms wrapped around himself, staring at nothing.
"I… never wanted this," he whispered.
Jovan leaned against the railing, chest heaving. He wiped blood from his split lip with the back of his hand and glanced down at the kid.
"Even if you were innocent," he said quietly, "learn to fight if you want to survive here."
Across the block, unnoticed by almost everyone, Kolf stood perfectly still.
Or rather—he should have been unnoticed.
Men ran past his position, bodies brushing within inches of him without a glance. Guards shouted orders that seemed to skip over his space entirely, voices bending away as if the air itself refused to carry sound there. Even the riot felt thinner around him, like he existed in a pocket carved out of the chaos.
Behind him, something unfolded.
A Stand emerged in silence—thin, angular, and faceted, its body formed from interlocking crystal shapes, each edge sharp enough to catch the light and fracture it. Its surface shimmered like glass submerged in water, colors bending and warping across its form.
Where its face should have been, there was only a smooth plane of crystal.
Two elongated hands rose slowly and pressed against where eyes would be, palms covering its own gaze.
As they did, the space around Kolf seemed to dim.
Presence drained away like a sound swallowed mid-echo. It wasn't invisibility. It was worse. The world simply stopped caring that he was there.
Jovan felt it like pressure behind the eyes.
His gaze slid toward that corner of the block—and stuck.
The effect resisted him, tugging his attention away, dulling the instinct to focus. But Jovan forced it, teeth grinding as his intuition screamed that something was being hidden, not absent.
For a split second, their eyes met.
Kolf's expression didn't change.
Then the gas hit.
Canisters clanged against concrete. White smoke bloomed fast and angry, burning eyes and throats alike. Men dropped to their knees, coughing, vomiting, clawing at the floor. Guards in riot gear surged in, batons swinging, boots crushing fingers that reached too slow.
"LOCKDOWN!" someone screamed. "LOCKDOWN!"
Jovan's vision was filled with tears along with everyone else in the block. Coughing sounded as riot guards ran in, dragging each prisoner back to their cells and closing the electronic locks.
...
Jovan sat on his bunk.
The cell door clanged shut.
He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke fill his lungs. Outside, prisoners occasionally coughed and retched as the aftershocks subsided.
Ace of Spades pulled out a few granola bars stored for snacks. Lockdown would probably not let them leave their cells today.
Jericko lay on his bed, turned toward the wall, breathing shallow but steady.
Somewhere else, a hand smoothed over a clean envelope.
The paper was thick. Expensive.
The name written on it was simple.
Priest.
The harvest is progressing well.
Fear is ripening faster than expected.
Block D provided excellent results today.
The hand paused.
Then continued writing.
[AI Art of Kolf]