"The task from above has come down."
The basketball game on the prison playground was in full swing, with prisoners hoarsely cheering or cursing their bets. Colin sat on a bench next to the fence, watching the distant game and casually talking to himself. At the other end of the bench, Beilu was buried in a book under the warm winter sun.
"What’s the plan?" Beilu’s voice was flat, cold, without a hint of emotion. The brown-skinned Gabonese had been in this prison for six years, and for him, the only meaning of life was to complete the ultimate task.
And this task had finally been assigned.
"There are two tasks. First, to take out that fat guy named Zhang Yuan. Second, during the fighting tournament, create a riot in the cell blocks based on specific instructions at that time." Colin lowered his head, constantly running his fingers through his brown hair, trying to smooth out a rebellious curl.
"That fat guy? If I remember correctly, you guys already signed him up as a fighter." Beilu frowned slightly. "Is there a time requirement?"
"No." Colin’s reply was straightforward. He spat into his palm and finally tamed that curl.
"Then I won’t bother unnecessarily. He won’t survive the fighting tournament anyway." Beilu’s eyes roamed over the book: "Or, I could just handle it during the riot."
"Whatever, but the higher-ups specified that the riot must occur in the cell blocks." Colin stood up. In the distance, Andre was leading a group of prisoners towards them. "Don’t underestimate that fat guy...he..." Andre was close enough that Colin shut his mouth and went to meet him.
"Sleepwalking? He won’t have that chance." Beilu scoffed and continued reading his thick book.
The book was "Redemption." A Gabonese Bible.
This devout believer looked at a passage on the page and slowly read aloud: "God says, the sins of humanity come from unending desire. When greed fills an unrestrained world, the world will be destroyed. Humanity will slaughter each other in the abyss of desire, placing themselves on an altar with blades and blood."
"The new world is coming."
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"Me? Fighting tournament?" Fatty was dumbfounded. "Boss, look at my frail physique, I’m as weak as a bean sprout. Are you sure you want me to join the fight, or do you just want someone to fight me?"
Andre tried hard not to meet the resentful eyes of the sleazy fat guy in front of him and said calmly, "This tournament concerns all of us. Everyone must work together to complete this challenge. You’re one of us, and you’re no exception." He opened his arms and hugged Fatty with a sincere gesture, whispering in his ear, "Taking requires giving. Now is the time for you to show your loyalty and bravery, my dear brother." Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn NovᴇlFɪre.ɴet
Andre’s meaning was clear. In Abnosk Prison, no one could lead a life of ease and disinterest. The peaceful life easily obtained outside was a form of taking here! To survive under the protection of a faction, you had to accept your duties. This proposition didn’t surprise Fatty; he had already heard about it from the increasingly loyal Tou’er and the Doctor.
However, Fatty’s usual practice was to push off responsibilities whenever possible, and if he couldn’t, he would make it appear as if he were taking on the burden reluctantly. Damn it, since he had to suffer, he might as well suffer openly. His habitual act of displaying extreme reluctance to gain others’ guilt or to make his achievements seem more valuable was a tactic he had often used as a Mechanic Soldier. Back then, every time the Logistics Team’s captain assigned Fatty a task, he felt as if he were committing a crime because of the pitiable look in this wretch’s eyes.
"Boss, I understand clearly, and I really want to fight for everyone!" Fatty declared passionately without a hint of shame. "But you know, I’m not strong by nature, with weak bones. Going down there to get beaten up would only embarrass you, right? How about this..." Fatty put on a desperate but reluctant look. "I’ll help set up the cheerleading team! I’m good at boosting morale. With my organization, our fighters will perform at two hundred percent! What do you think? If you agree, I’ll start gathering people for the Combat Baby Cheerleaders! I’ll personally be the captain!"
"Combat Baby Cheerleaders?" Andre really wanted to slap this shameless fat guy dead on the spot. With his pudgy physique, he dared to lead a group of men to form some Combat Baby Cheerleaders! As soon as this name spread, they’d be laughed at to death.
"The list has already been submitted. You should train more and be ready!" Andre decided not to waste any more words on this incorrigible scoundrel. "By the way, in this tournament, unless both the fighter and coach admit defeat, you can’t leave the ring even if you get beaten to death!"
"Damn it, who’s the coach?" Fatty asked resentfully.
"The coach is me!" Andre hugged Fatty sincerely once more and then turned to leave.
"Brother Yuan, what should we do?" The Doctor cautiously approached, pushing up his glasses to ask. The days with Fatty had been the happiest for him and Tou’er, free from constant fear of beatings and bullying, able to live a peaceful and respectful life in prison—something unimaginable before Fatty’s arrival. He sincerely didn’t want Fatty to be thrown into the fighting arena. After all, the participants were usually the most brutal prisoners in the prison. If he were put in the ring, there wouldn’t be anything left of him.