THUD!
The solid, heavy impact hit everyone's hearts like a sledgehamr.
The veteran inmates watching the show burst into mocking, schadenfreude-filled laughter. Sa old style—the Shelby kid would always let his fists do the talking.
Under the trembling gazes around him, the prisoner who'd been shouting loudest monts before was now retching as he collapsed to his knees, his terrified eyes filled with agonized bloodshot veins.
Tiger looked down coldly at the prisoner at his feet and kicked the iron chain toward his mouth with casual brutality.
"Bite it."
"I... I..."
"I don't know..."
The prisoner trembled uncontrollably. He tried to explain, but his throat felt strangled. The oppressive presence from above was almost tangible—a weight that pressed down on his very soul.
Whether it was the gut-wrenching warning he'd just received or the force that had killed Jason with one punch—neither was sothing he could refuse.
The prisoner shakily opened his mouth, revealing blackened yellow teeth, and bit down on the rust-covered chain. The rough coldness and murky stench instantly flooded his mouth, coating his tongue with the taste of decay and despair.
He looked up at Tiger with pleading eyes.
"Please—"
Before the word could escape, Tiger viciously kicked the prisoner's jawbone. The sound of shattering bone erupted like a gunshot.
"Ahhhh..."
Along with the chain's clatter to the floor, the prisoner's piercing wail stabbed into everyone's hearts like a rusty blade.
"Aha! I love that move!"
"What a bloody coward!"
"Why don't you fight little Tiger!"
"Beautifully done!"
"Woohoo, son of a bitch!"
"That's the stuff right there!"
The veteran inmates covered their mouths and pumped their fists, their faces twisted with sympathetic winces as if feeling the pain themselves, yet their mouths showed no rcy—only mockery and delighted laughter.
Stepping over the scattered blood and broken teeth like he was walking through autumn leaves, Tiger cracked his neck and took a deep breath. The tallic scent of blood filled his nostrils—intoxicating.
Truth be told, he quite enjoyed these pieces of trash. Their terrified gazes brought him satisfaction. He loved fear, and his enemies' fear was his power.
"Actually, I'm a pacifist."
[This chocolate bean is really dirty.]
[Why doesn't he wash himself?]
Slling the blood filled with chaotic drug elents and bacteria, Venom complained with dissatisfaction.
As for Tiger's shaless self-praise, it had given up on comnting long ago.
"He'll never be clean," Tiger said flatly, his voice carrying the finality of a judge's gavel.
Ignoring the trash that had already fainted from pain on the ground, Tiger's amber eyes shifted toward another man who'd been spewing filth earlier. He walked over slowly, each step deliberate as a predator stalking wounded prey.
THUD!
"Ugh!"
Seeing another person collapse to their knees, the veteran inmates had completely forgotten about dinner. Instead, they watched with rapt excitent as Tiger prepared a spiritual feast for everyone.
They craved violence, craved blood, craved anything that could make their adrenaline surge through their veins like liquid fire.
"Trash. Bite it."
"No no no, please—"
"AHHHHH!!!!"
Hair-raising screams ca one after another, echoing off the concrete walls like a symphony of agony. The veterans' cheers grew louder and more frenzied with each cry.
Stepping over the ground now littered with wails and groans, Tiger finally showed a satisfied, sated expression—like a connoisseur who'd just finished a fine al.
He loosened his suit collar with practiced elegance, pulled out a pristine handkerchief from his breast pocket, and delicately wiped the blood from his fingertips as if cleaning wine from his lips.
Then he spat on the face of the person at his feet, dropped the handkerchief, and let it slowly cover the man's face like a burial shroud.
"Old Arse, they're all yours."
"Oh oh, of course, my sweetheart."
From the crowded group, a burly man dressed rather flamboyantly swayed his hips as he erged, the coquettish glances he threw at Tiger carrying hints of flattery and barely concealed desire.
"My God, these toothless little treasures will surely fetch a good price..."
"Sweetheart, you really are a good person."
"Of course. I've always been a good person."
Tiger looked at Old Arse with genuinely appreciative eyes—one professional acknowledging another.
Seeing that Tiger had finished his business, the veteran inmates finally ca forward to greet him like courtiers approaching a young prince.
"Haha, little Tiger, dear little Tiger! What brought you ho this ti?"
"Don't know..." Tiger sighed with genuine confusion.
He'd done quite a few things recently. Smashing rival faction bars with his brothers, crushing the pedophile principal's bones in front of the entire school, storming The Viper Gang's congressman's villa...
But he wasn't sure which specific incident had landed him here. They all blended together in a pleasant haze of justified violence.
"Haha!"
"You little bastard really are a natural-born bad seed."
The veteran inmates who knew Tiger all too well imdiately saw through him and burst into cackling laughter that echoed through the corridor.
"What's the situation outside? My n haven't shown up in ages."
Hearing a red-haired Russian Gang boss speak, Tiger glanced over with those indifferent amber eyes that seed to see straight through a man's soul.
"Nothing much."
"We swallowed up your territory. When you get out, I can let you take the Shelby na too."
"Oh! Damn! Tommy, that bastard!"
"Hey, you little shit, my gang's been radio silent lately too. Are you Shelby Family mbers—"
Amid the cursing and small talk, everyone entered the prison's central cafeteria, their voices echoing off the concrete walls like the chatter of demons in hell.
The prison's central cafeteria was housed in an abandoned industrial smokestack—a towering monunt to decay that stretched three hundred ters into the gray British sky. It was also the only place in the entire prison with natural light filtering down from above like God's forgotten grace.
The malicious prison administrators had, at so point, nailed a seventy-ter hand ladder to the wall, providing false hope of escape for restless prisoners. A cruel joke that never got old.
Of course, the result was predictable. Every day, so desperate fool would exhaust themselves at the ladder's seventy-ter endpoint—unable to go up, unable to co down, only able to keep shouting for help that would never co.
But in this prison's dictionary, there had never been positive words like kindness, salvation, or love. Those concepts had been murdered long ago.
The excited prisoners would only clap and shout to start betting pools, urging whoever was hanging up there to hurry up and fall, turning into minceat for their entertainnt.
Dinner was almost over now. Noticing more people arriving at the cafeteria, malicious gazes turned their way like searchlights seeking targets.
But when Tiger and his group swept back with even more evil, nacing looks—eyes that promised violence beyond imagination—these people hurriedly looked away, suddenly finding their shoes fascinating.
However, Tiger could still clearly sense the thick malice hanging in the air like fog. This malice felt almost tangible, wantonly assaulting everyone's minds and emotions, turning everyone into powder kegs ready to explode at the slightest spark.
"Haha, little Tiger, do you sll that?"
The Russian Gang boss twitched his nostrils like a hound scenting prey. In the stifling air, the sll of rancid oil mixed with swill created a bouquet that would make a corpse gag.
"There's actually fried fish today."
"Heh..."
Tiger pulled his lips into a smile that didn't reach his eyes—the expression of soone who'd seen too much to be surprised by anything.
He never held any expectations for British cuisine. Even from dozens of ters away, he could feel the food's dying resentnt, as if the fish had cursed their killers with their last breath.
Fortunately, the cafeteria kept a stove ready for him. Whatever he grabbed and stir-fried would be better than the fried fish dipped in swill these prisoners choked down.
[Oh, no matter how many tis we co here...]
[So bloody disgusting...]
Every ti it witnessed this filthy, chaotic cafeteria, Venom would beco listless, and its usually ravenous appetite would completely disappear—a feat that required truly spectacular levels of revulsion.
Flies buzzed around the swill in lazy, drunken circles, mixed with waves of stench that made the air itself seem poisonous. The bean paste served to prisoners had already started fernting, creating bubbles that popped with wet, obscene sounds.
Tiger walked past the line with the casual confidence of soone who owned the place.
The sour stench clinging to the prisoners penetrated his nostrils, stimulating every one of Venom's hypersensitive nerves. Most prisoners were painfully thin, seemingly carefully protecting their food bowls while actually casting greedy glances at others nearby—predators disguised as prey.
[Ugh...]
Venom now had the heart to slaughter this entire prison and put everyone out of their misery.
Seeing Tiger back ho again, many veteran inmates raised their hands in greeting like subjects acknowledging their returning king.
Their stay in prison was only temporary—only this little guy was a permanent resident. How could they not maintain good relations with the apex predator of their concrete jungle?
Tiger smiled. It was almost a pleasant expression.
He really was a good person, after all.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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