Friday.
Heavy rain. Humidity: 78%. Temperature: 22°C. Pressure: 1093 hPa. Air quality: moderate. UV index: moderate.
The cafeteria's big screen flashed a rolling weather forecast.
Rain and wind severely affected operations in the fields and mines. Flooding, cave-ins, landslides—danger lurked around every corner. There were no sick days here, no weather exemptions. Everyone was expected to clock in and out on time, no matter what.
After the live forecast, the hourly predictions followed. Starting at noon, the rain was expected to taper off.
Outside the weaving workshop, a long line had formed.
A very long line.
Each worksite had a hard cap on the number of workers allowed in. Once the maximum was reached, the scanner shut down automatically.
Those who didn't make it in had to choose another worksite.
But all job sites had the same latest clock-in time: 8:00 a.m.
If you didn't make it to the next location before 8:00, you lost a full hour of points—whether you were one minute late or fifty-nine, the penalty was the same.
Many hadn't even eaten breakfast yet.
It was only 7:00 a.m., and prisoners were already filing into the weaving hall.
Those near the end of the line had no idea how many people had already entered. Even if they knew the limit, they couldn't tell if they were still within range.
The atmosphere was getting tense.
Impatience simmered. Voices rose.
A fight broke out—it looked like someone tried to cut in line.
Zhang Chi was almost at the front.
Ten people left.
Nine…
Eight…
Seven...
Then five people walked over from the direction of the cafeteria.
They didn't bother going to the back—they walked straight to the front of the line.
Cutting.
The first person in line didn't say anything. But the third did—he stepped forward to argue.
Cutting to the very front pushed everyone back five places. No one knew when the scanner would shut down. No one wanted to be forced into the fields or, worse, the mines.
Especially the mines.
For hybrid-bloods, that was the only option.
Far more dangerous than the fields.
The argument quickly turned into a beating.
One-sided.
Voices murmured in the line:
"Those are Judge's people…"
"They always do this…"
"Idiot. Shouldn't have challenged them."
"Must be new."
"He's done for. Just wait for Sunday. His body's going to turn up."
Then came the cold, mocking laughter.
The guy who had been third in line—wearing a green badge—was dragged out.
Not dead, but bruised and bloody.
He couldn't even reclaim his original place.
Zhang Chi glanced at him—he looked familiar. Maybe she'd seen him last time in the mines.
But she couldn't remember his number.
The five newcomers scanned in one by one.
Two minutes passed.
The person who had been first in line stepped up, holding out his wristband to the scanner on the right side of the door.
Beep. Access granted.
Badge scan—approved.
Next person.
Beep. Access granted.
Badge scan—approved.
Then the third—
He raised his wristband. Everyone up front was watching.
But no matter how he swiped, the scanner stayed silent.
His face turned pale.
The loudspeaker crackled to life:
"Notice: Maximum capacity reached."
"Notice: Maximum capacity reached."
"Notice: Maximum capacity reached."
Three times.
The green light on the scanner went out.
For a split second, the crowd was silent.
Then it exploded into chaos.
Zhang Chi stood frozen as the crowd dispersed around her, flowing backward.
She stared at the scanner and silently counted—
Damn.
She could've made it in.
Outside the mine, wild grass grew in thick patches.
Rainwater carried stones downhill.
The heavy iron gate clanged loudly in the wind.
Clumps of mud slid down the mountainside, splashing into pits and turning them into murky sludge.
The tunnels twisted deep into the mountain, vanishing into darkness.
The sky was a dull, leaden gray—like a heavy blanket suffocating the air. The more you moved, the harder it was to breathe.
Working deep in the mines was extremely dangerous.
There were no signs, no reliable landmarks.
It was said that the deepest tunnels held underground rivers… and aquatic creatures.
They'd gone over this repeatedly in class.
Everyone tried to stick close to crowded areas near the entrances—safer, though there was no room to slack off.
Where there were people, there was chatter.
After a while, someone asked,
"Who is the Judge?"
Most of the group had ended up here after failing to get into the weaving hall that morning.
Many were new.
They hadn't even realized rainy days required arriving early to secure a spot.
The moment the question dropped, the chatter stopped.
All background noise hit pause.
The dripping of water in the cave became crystal clear.
The one who asked froze, realizing he'd said something wrong.
He thought of the green-badge prisoner who'd been beaten that morning, shivered, and lowered his head like nothing had happened.
People slowly turned away.
Then someone said,
"The Judge isn't a person."
Everyone looked up.
Their helmet lights turned toward the speaker, spotlighting him like a celebrity on stage.
His face was lost in the glare, but his ID tag was clearly visible: 012.
"Shit," 012 muttered, covering his eyes. "Turn those off."
Click. All the headlamps went dark.
The mine was swallowed in darkness, lit only by 012's weak, flickering beam.
"Dammit," he muttered again. "Okay, turn a few back on."
After some fiddling, the lights stabilized. The commotion drew more prisoners from deeper in the tunnels—Zhang Chi among them.
"Anyone here from Sanjin City?" 012 asked.
No one answered.
He nodded. "No wonder."
012 explained: The Judge wasn't a single person, but the largest crime syndicate in Sanjin City, part of the Silver Republic.
For decades, the government had been trying to purge them.
They'd arrested many—mostly serious offenders—who were sent straight to Trash Island.
But the Judge had deep roots.
They'd even infiltrated the justice system itself.
Every time a crackdown came, someone in power tipped them off.
Instead of weakening over time, the Judge grew stronger—swallowing up smaller gangs and turning Sanjin into one of the most notorious cities in the Republic.
881 raised a hand.
012 nodded. "Speak."
881 asked, "If they've been caught and sent here, how are they still the biggest gang?"
012 leaned on his mining pick, one foot propped on a large rock. He gave a wry smile.
"Those guys weren't the real ones—they were scapegoats. No one rats out the top brass.
Trust me, gangs are way scarier than the government."
He paused.
"But there was one time… a few years back, during a change in government. The Judge took a big hit. Lost a lot of top operatives. Almost wiped out."
"But then…"
"The mayor, council members, the police chief who led the raids—"
"They all died."
"Shot. Poisoned. Kidnapped. Bombed. Including their families."
"As far as I know—not a single survivor."
"That's a real gang. Sanjin is completely under the Judge's control."
"Anyone who crosses them ends up the same."
The government is supposed to protect citizens' rights and maintain order.
But when even the state's violent apparatus can't stand up to organized crime—
Then crime becomes the state.
It becomes your spiritual parent—hovering over every head.
From birth to death, from the food you eat, the school you attend, the street you live on, the shop you buy from, the job you take, the shows you watch—
You are always under its shadow.
Instability becomes normal.
And all you can hope is—
That you're not next.
No one spoke for a long time inside the cave.
Zhang Chi asked, "Why are they called the Judge?"
"What's that?" 012's voice almost cracked.
"I mean, why is that gang called the Judge?"
012 was speechless. "...How the hell would I know? It's not like they invited me to their founding ceremony."
Zhang Chi: "..."
The Class Monitor chimed in, "But this isn't Sanjin City."
The Judge ruled Sanjin—but this wasn't Sanjin. This was Trash Island.
012 scoffed. "They've got reach."
The Class Monitor blinked. "...?"
"It doesn't matter if it's the reform camp or the outside—by that, I mean the real Trash Island—they've got people everywhere. Organized, disciplined. Compared to them, we're nothing but scattered strays. No one who messes with the Judge walks away clean. Like that idiot this morning? I guarantee he won't live to see Monday."
"Why not?" 881 asked instinctively.
012 gave a half-smile. "Because Sunday is Free Activity Day."
On Free Activity Day, murder wasn't just permitted—it was rewarded.
By noon, the rain had started to ease up. Sunlight crept cautiously through thick clouds, casting golden rays over the fields, the flowerbeds, and the rain-soaked rooftops. A breeze rolled across the land. Young grass swayed as it pushed up through the mud, and the air was thick with the scent of earth and trees.
Rain still trickled into muddy pits.
"Squelch—squelch—squelch…"
Shoes sank into wet soil, lifted, then fell again.
The outdoor work teams began heading to the cafeteria.
Before entering, every prisoner was required to wash off their shoes in the communal shower area—apparently, the warden had an obsessive cleanliness streak. He rarely visited inmate housing or the production sites. Most of the time, he stayed in the office building or the cafeteria.
And those two places had to remain spotless, 24/7.
Some inmates even took full showers there.
The cafeteria's soap and body wash were way higher quality than anything in the dorm showers—scented with gauntide blends of sandalwood, vetiver, bergamot… restrained, elegant, cold. Rumor had it the warden personally chose them.
The showers were divided into two types: shared and private. They had separate entrances.
The line for the private stalls stretched long.
The communal ones? No wait at all.
Prisoners came out one by one, towel-drying their hair, all carrying the same faint, indistinguishable scent.
Like pets.
Wearing clothes bought by their owner, reeking of their owner's favorite body wash, locked in their owner's house.
Except these pets weren't cute.
They were disgusting.
Zhang Chi averted her eyes from one inmate who was shamelessly scratching his ass on the way out.
By 12:30, the line for private stalls had dwindled.
She was up next.
Unlike the communal showers, the private ones were behind a closed door. Inside, the stalls were partitioned, but the unspoken rule was: don't wait directly outside.
No one wanted to be ambushed.
It was a widely accepted, strictly followed custom: maintain your distance.
Whenever someone came out, the next person would go in.
Footsteps approached from inside.
The door lock clicked—
The door opened. Zhang Chi froze.
It was that musclehead from 503.
Wearing nothing but boxer briefs, he almost grazed the top of the doorframe. His upper body was completely bare—huge biceps and traps. Zhang Chi's head barely reached his chest. From her angle, all she could see were slabs of pectorals and abs about to burst out of their skin.
Not just a double-door fridge.
More like a double-door iron gate.
His left wrist held his clothes. On the back of his hand was a prominent red stamp.
High on his right forearm: a tattoo of a scales of justice.
Their eyes met for a second as he brushed past her without a word.
Zhang Chi didn't shower. She only washed the mud off her shoes and rinsed her hair—it was full of sand and rain, all tangled together. When she came out, there weren't many people left.
The musclehead was still there.
Standing by the door.
From farther away, the contrast between him and the rest of the inmates was stark. His upper body was so developed that it made his head look tiny in comparison. His bone structure was long, and no matter how you looked at it, his lower body just couldn't match the proportions of his upper body. Compared to everyone else, he looked… too massive. So massive it was almost unhuman.
A single word popped into Zhang Chi's mind—
Kangaroo.
An upper body with no muscle-growth limitations.
A human kangaroo.
"082."
Zhang Chi had already taken a few steps away before realizing he was calling her inmate number.
She turned.
The musclehead crossed his arms, a smirk playing at his lips as he looked at her.
"You want something?" Zhang Chi faced him directly, one hand behind her back, already forming a fist—after these past few days, she had almost mastered the art of gathering power from stillness.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Relax. I'm here to help."
"Help me?" Zhang Chi said coolly. "You seem to have forgotten what you said last time."
"What, still holding a grudge?" he said. "Petty much?"
Zhang Chi was starting to lose patience.
He lowered his arms. "You ever heard of the Judge?"
Zhang Chi narrowed her eyes slightly.
His smirk widened. "Guess that means you have."
He leaned in just a little.
"You want in?"