"The meatball is mine."
The cell boss laughed.
"You just got here. Too much grease in your system—I'm worried you'll mess up your stomach. Gotta tough it out for a few meals first. Ease into it, get it?"
River Ward smiled as well.
"It's fine. I'm not afraid of diarrhea. I've eaten worse outside. Do me a favor—give the meatball back."
"No can do."
The boss puffed out his chest.
"As cell leader, I'm responsible for your health. If you get sick, that's trouble for Night City—and trouble for President V, right?"
At the mention of V, River's smile vanished.
"What I don't get is how you people can steal someone else's food and still act so damn righteous."
"Why?"
The boss raised a fist the size of a cast-iron pot.
"Because of this."
"I see." River nodded.
"So whoever's fist is harder gets to take other people's food."
"Exactly. That's how it works. Learn fast, brother."
"Got it."
River straightened up.
"Then you don't eat either. Let's compare fists. Loser goes hungry."
"Heh—looks like I misjudged you yesterday."
The boss set his tray down and stepped forward.
"Didn't expect you to be the type who goes all-in. Fine. One condition—when there's blood, we tell the guards it was an accident. Clear?"
River shrugged.
"No problem. Depends on you."
"Bakayaro!"
The boss roared and charged.
River struck first—one brutal front kick straight into the chest.
The boss flew backward, smashing into the flimsy bunks with a deafening crash.
Before he could recover, River grabbed his head and slammed it into the ground.
Bang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
The underlings hesitated—advancing, stopping, retreating.
Those who submit to violence will always submit to greater violence.
River finished by stepping on the boss's hand—hard.
A sickening crack echoed as the bones shattered.
Only then did River stop, amid the man's howls.
He adjusted his prison uniform, looked around calmly, and said:
"Anyone else not satisfied—come together."
The inmates stared at their leader twitching on the floor and hurriedly backed away, hands raised.
River didn't pursue them.
He looked down at the boss.
"Listen carefully. New rule. For three days, you don't speak. You don't eat. Break either rule—and I'll rip off your hand cannon and turn it in as scrap."
Then he turned to the rest.
"Eat."
The inmates nodded frantically.
One quick-thinking man brought River's tray back—his original meatball returned, plus two extra meatballs added as tribute.
River frowned and tossed the extra two back.
"From today on, everyone eats their own food. Nobody steals from anyone. Got it?"
"Got it!"
The inmates answered in unison, most of them visibly grateful.
River didn't realize he'd just gained a massive amount of respect.
He only glanced at Reed and Alex.
One was still doing push-ups.
The other was still asleep.
River rubbed his temples.
Then he had an idea.
After finishing his meal in a few bites, he called a guard.
"Report—someone's injured."
The guard looked at the blood-soaked boss and went pale.
"Shit. Who did this?"
"I did," River said, raising his hand.
"Well, damn."
The guard sneered.
"Trying to establish dominance? Set up your own mountain, huh? Fine—I'll grant your wish. Take him away."
River was cuffed and dragged out.
Some inmates grew nervous.
"He'll be fine, right?"
"What could happen? Electronic solitary, maybe. Fighting's usually a week max. Old rules."
"Then when River comes back, he's our new boss."
"Why the hell?"
"You said it yourself—rules. Beat the boss, survive electronic solitary, and you're the new cell leader. The whole prison recognizes it."
"Tch. If he even survives. Might come back piss-soaked on a stretcher."
"We'll see."
River Ward was indeed taken to solitary.
There, he was fitted with a special braindance restraint headset.
Inside the simulation, time was heavily modified—one minute outside equaled one full day inside.
This was electronic solitary confinement.
Punishment without delaying tomorrow's labor—one of Night City's signature correctional methods.
But before execution, approval from the warden was required.
The guard submitted the report.
The warden slammed his desk.
"Breaking another inmate's arm? That River Ward is vicious. Bring him to me—I'll discipline him personally!"
The headset was removed.
River was escorted to the warden's office.
Along the way, a guard chuckled.
"You're screwed. The warden's infamous—black-hearted and heavy-handed. He's got a torture room full of equipment. No one's ever cleared it. Know when to fold. No shame in it."
River felt oddly warmed.
"Thanks."
"No need. I bet you won't last an hour. If I win, I'll give you three cigarettes."
River: "…Give my gratitude back, asshole."
The warden was a grotesquely obese man with gorilla-like cyberarms and a face carved entirely from malice.
"Good luck," the guard said as he left. "Remember—one hour. Fold if you have to."
The door closed.
Guards outside shook their heads.
"Should've behaved. Trying to be a leader… now he's in the warden's hands. Dead or crippled."
But in reality—
"Ah, sorry, sorry! Come, sit—make yourself at home. I've got Centzon Tequila, top shelf. Have a drink to calm your nerves."
When the top has preferences, the bottom follows.
President V liked Centzon Tequila.
So everyone else did too.
River considered his mission and shook his head.
"Much appreciated, but I'll pass. Hard to explain going back reeking of alcohol."
"Explain what?"
The warden waved it off.
"I'll say you're critically injured and transfer you to medical. Consider it a vacation. Come on—drink with your brother."
Unable to refuse, River agreed.
He wasn't a rookie anymore. He knew social drinking was part of survival. As long as the big picture stayed clean, small compromises didn't matter.
They drank.
The warden praised River's courage and predicted a meteoric rise.
River praised the warden's experience and called him a pillar of Night City.
Mutual flattery flowed as freely as the tequila.
When the bottle was empty, River made his request.
"I need a strict chief guard."
The warden didn't ask why—only how strict.
"The kind who doesn't treat inmates as human."
"Done. He'll be here tomorrow."
River added, "Not an act. I need someone who truly doesn't see inmates as people."
The warden chuckled.
"Relax. Night City's law enforcement has plenty of those—pure psychopaths, beyond redemption. Go all out. No matter what you do, it'll be for the public good."
They exchanged smiles.
Soon, shocking news spread through the prison:
Someone had cleared the warden's torture room.
Though severely injured and sent to medical, he'd lasted three full hours. Every method had been used—and he never begged.
That man was River Ward.
The prison erupted in celebration.
Inmates from River's cell felt honored—people even stood up mid-shit to give them bathroom space.
"Insane! River's a goddamn legend! When he comes back, we're throwing him a proper celebration!"
But instead of a hero—
They got a devil.
The new chief guard was a notorious sadist from the old Night City. Fired during V's crackdown, somehow rehired.
The inmates thought he'd restrain himself.
They were wrong.
In one week, one or two inmates were beaten into medical every day. One was reportedly comatose.
Conditions worsened drastically.
Meals dropped from three to two a day.
Meatballs vanished—only protein bars remained.
Work hours increased from ten to fourteen.
Work points were halved—the stolen portion went straight into the chief guard's pocket.
If the old prison was heaven—
This one was hell.
No one dared speak loudly.
Alex was especially furious—full wages meant she was exploited the hardest.
"Fuck this. I'm killing that bastard," she snarled.
Reed stopped her.
"Don't. We can't expose ourselves."
"To hell with exposure," Alex spat.
"The world spins without you, Reed. You think you're some noble patriot, but you're just Myers' dog. She's got plenty like you—and she doesn't give a shit if you live or die."
"I'm not a dog."
Reed's voice was low.
"I'm an FIA agent. I serve the nation. If we don't respect ourselves, how can anyone else?"
"Respect yourself?" Alex sneered.
"You worked security, bowing to rich assholes—and that's self-respect? Wake up. We're expendable. We plan for ourselves."
"What are you planning?"
"Killing that idiot guard. No one stops me from picking trash."
Reed sighed.
"No. Too visible. It conflicts with the escape plan."
"Your escape plan. I'm not leaving."
"I won't let you kill him."
"Try me. I'll kill you too."
They argued quietly in the cafeteria—
Until a shadow loomed.
The chief guard.
"Shit," Alex cursed.
The baton came down.
Reed stepped in instantly, forcing a smile.
"Sorry, sir, she's not—"
Not what?
The baton smashed into Reed's head.
Blood streamed down his forehead.
Another strike—his leg buckled, dropping him to his knees.
Alex exploded.
She lunged—but Reed grabbed her.
"Don't!"
That split second cost them.
The guards swarmed.
Electrified batons crackled—each strike burned, each blow aimed at vital points.
Alex screamed in pain.
Reed realized too late—they meant to kill them.
Why?
Because evil needs no reason.
As they lay broken and bleeding—
"STOP!"
Through swollen eyes, Alex saw a massive silhouette.
River Ward.
"Charge! Save them! Kill the chief guard!"
The prison erupted.
Pain became fuel.
Old grudges were settled.
Inmates roared like beasts and clashed with the guards.
The chief guard turned to flee—
River vaulted across tables, leaping like a black gorilla—
BOOM!
He crushed the man into the ground.
The guards surrendered.
Cheers thundered.
River helped Alex up.
"Can you stand? I'll take you to medical."
Her heart shook.
She reached out—
BANG.
A tranquilizer round hit River in the chest.
Five seconds of glory.
Then he collapsed—his massive body slamming onto Alex.
"Holy shit—!"
Alex didn't die from the beating.
She passed out from being crushed.
The riot was swiftly suppressed.
River Ward and Alex were sent to medical.
Reed lay there, blinking.
"…What about me?"