Roll call ended without ceremony the next morning after lockdown.
No body was found.
That somehow made it worse.
The guards moved through D Block with the same bored efficiency as always, eyes sliding past bruises and dried blood still staining the concrete from yesterday's riot. Questions went unanswered. Requests were ignored. When someone shouted about investigations, Jefferson didn't even look at him.
"Clean it up," was all he said.
By mid-morning, trustees were already scrubbing the floors.
Too fast.
They worked around scorch marks, dried puddles, dents in the walls—signs that should have been preserved as a crime scene. Evidence. Due process for the dead. Instead, it was all being erased.
Jovan watched it happen, tapping his fingers in annoyance.
That wasn't procedure.
Even in prison, murder was still a crime. Even here, people were supposed to have some shred of dignity.
Not this time.
By the time the canteen opened, D Block was wound tight.
Nobody talked much. Trays clattered louder than usual. Eyes darted—watching shadows, watching each other. Even the card tables sat empty.
Jovan stood in line, scanning the room.
Jester blocked the cafeteria doors, arms spread wide, back pressed against the metal frame. The same greasy smile stretched across his face, but there was something sharper behind it now.
Calculation.
"Hold up," Jester said lightly. "Nobody eats yet."
A few inmates scoffed.
"Move, Jester."
"You don't run shit."
Jester raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax. Just hear me out."
Guards stood nearby.
They didn't intervene.
That was all the permission he needed.
"You all noticed it, right?" Jester continued, voice carrying. "Two deaths. Three days. One burned alive. One drowned."
A murmur rippled through the block.
"And what did the guards do?" Jester asked. "Nothing. No investigation. No questioning."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming.
"That tells us one thing."
The silence thickened.
"They don't care if we die."
Someone swallowed hard.
Jester smiled wider. "Which means if there's a psycho in here killing people, we stop him ourselves. Simple."
Jovan felt it then.
The shift.
"So here's what we do," Jester said. "We talk. Everyone says where they were last night. Who they were with. If you've got nothing to hide..."
"...you've got nothing to fear," someone finished weakly.
A few uneasy laughs.
"And then?" someone asked.
Jester tilted his head. "Then we vote."
The word landed heavy.
"If we get the right guy," Jester said calmly, "the killings stop."
Jovan's jaw tightened.
This wasn't a solution. It was panic dressed up as logic.
But that was exactly what made it dangerous—because everyone here felt like they were taking control again.
The circle formed slowly. Thirty-eight prisoners.
No one wanted to be first.
Eventually, a man stepped forward and muttered something about playing cards until lights-out. Another vouched for him. Then another. And another.
Most stories blended together—groups, routines, witnesses. Easy alibis.
The problem was the loners.
Dragon spoke when it came to him, loud and unapologetic.
"I was in the yard shooting hoops," he said. "By night, I'm dead tired."
A few nodded.
A few didn't.
His history didn't help him. Whispers followed as he stepped back.
Then Oreo's cellmate was shoved forward.
Suspicion hit him immediately.
Last person seen with Oreo. Only one there at night.
He stood in the center, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. His eyes darted from face to face like he was searching for an exit that didn't exist.
Jester tilted his head, voice calm.
Too calm.
"Start simple," he said. "Where were you after lights-out?"
The man swallowed. "In my bunk."
"Alone?" someone asked.
He hesitated.
"…Yes."
A ripple of murmurs.
Jester raised a hand. "What time did you turn in?"
"I—I don't know. After count. Like always."
"Did Oreo come back with you?" another voice pressed.
"Yes."
"So you saw him alive," Jester said gently. "What was he doing?"
The cellmate wiped sweat from his forehead. "Nothing. He laid down. We didn't talk."
"You didn't argue?" someone asked.
"No!"
"You sure?" a man near the railing said. "I heard yelling."
The cellmate shook his head too fast. "Not us."
Jester leaned in. "Then help us understand something."
He gestured vaguely.
"Oreo drowned in his own cell."
The man's breath hitched.
"You're telling us you slept through that?"
"I... there wasn't, there was no water when I went to sleep!"
A sharp laugh cut in.
"So the water just showed up after you closed your eyes?"
More laughter followed—nervous, ugly.
"I didn't do anything!" the cellmate cried.
"Then why didn't you wake up?" someone shouted. "A man dies three feet from you!"
"I'm a heavy sleeper!"
Jester nodded slowly, as if weighing it. "Heavy enough to sleep through splashing? Choking? Kicking?"
The man opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was when someone shoved forward from the back of the crowd.
"Bullshit."
The voice was rough with old resentment.
A man with a crooked nose and a scar down his cheek pointed at him.
"I saw them arguing yesterday," he said. "In the yard."
"You're lying!" the cellmate snapped.
"Oh?" the man sneered. "Calling me a liar now?"
"He owed Oreo money," the man went on. "A lot."
"That's not—!"
"And I was the last one to see Oreo alive," he continued, louder now. "He was heading back to the cell. Said he was tired."
He jabbed a finger.
"Your cell."
The murmurs grew louder.
"So let me get this straight," the man said, spreading his arms. "Oreo comes back. You argue. He ends up drowned. And you just… slept through it."
He scoffed.
"What do you expect us to believe?"
He turned to the crowd.
"Ghosts?"
The word hung there.
Someone laughed.
Someone else didn't.
Fear curdled into anger.
Jester didn't smile—but he didn't stop it.
The cellmate's knees buckled.
"I didn't do it," he whispered. "I swear. Redman just wants me dead."
No one answered.
The voting finished.
Dragon's name came up again and again—but so did the cellmate's.
By the end, it wasn't close.
The decision wasn't announced.
It just… happened.
Hands grabbed him.
He screamed.
Jovan moved instantly.
"Stop—!"
Arms locked around him. A blow hit his ribs. Someone yanked him back.
"Let him go!" Jovan roared.
Too many bodies.
The screams turned wet. Dull. Final.
The guards watched.
Too calmly.
Jovan's heart sank.
There was nothing left to save.
When it was over, the body barely looked human.
Jester wiped his hands on his pants, breathing hard. His smile wavered—but stayed.
"There," he said softly. "We might've killed the psycho."
No one cheered.
Jovan stared at what was left on the floor.
This was cruel and twisted game and now everyone in D block was a participant.
He glanced at the apathetic guards, ate his food quickly, and left for the yard.