The recovery room was a tomb of glass and chrome. Donny lay beneath a thermal blanket, his head wrapped in a thick turret of white gauze. He was hooked to a Ventilator, the machine huffing a rhythmic, mechanical breath into his lungs because his brain was too swollen to remember how to do it on its own.
Sarah stood by the observation window, her reflection ghosted over Donny's pale face. She was back in her crisp uniform, the blood scrubbed from her skin, but the fever-chill remained in her bones.
"He's in a medically induced coma," the neurologist said, joining her. He pointed to the Intracranial Pressure (ICP) Monitor—a thin wire inserted through a burr hole in Donny's skull. "We have to keep the brain quiet. If that pressure spikes above 20 mmHg, the damage becomes permanent. We're also running a continuous EEG to watch for subclinical seizures."
"And the sepsis?" Sarah asked, her voice a flat, professional monotone.
"His Lactate is finally dropping—3.1. The broad-spectrum antibiotics are hitting the mark, but his kidneys are sluggish. We're watching for Acute Tubular Necrosis. He's not out of the woods, Officer. He's just standing at the edge of them."
The Streets Wake Up
While Donny hovered in the grey space between worlds, Johnny's "Gold" had hit the pavement.
Outside the high concrete walls of Blackwood, the silence of the South Block was being answered by a growing roar. The delivery drivers, the laundry workers, and the cousins of the men on the tier had read the scrap of paper. They knew about the "Lead" in the King's arm. They knew about the Viper's trade routes.
A crowd had begun to gather at the main gate. No signs. No shouting. Just hundreds of men in work jackets, standing in a silent, solid line that mirrored the strike inside.
The Confrontation
Holden found Sarah in the hallway. He looked rattled—the kind of rattled that makes a man dangerous.
"The Warden is losing his mind, Miller," Holden hissed, crowding into her space. "There are four hundred 'civilians' blocking the supply trucks. They're calling for an outside investigation into 'Inmate 4492.' They're using your name. They're saying you reported the negligence."
Sarah didn't flinch. She leaned in, her voice a cold, lethal whisper that stayed well beneath the "No-Badge" radar. "Maybe they just have good ears, Holden. Or maybe they don't like it when their King gets treated like a dog. If I were you, I'd check the laundry chute. I hear things get lost in there."
Holden's eyes widened. He reached for her arm, but Sarah stepped back, her hand hovering near her belt.
"Don't," she warned. "I'm still the reporting officer on a Code Blue. If you touch me, I'll file a grievance that'll have Internal Affairs in here before the sun sets. And we both know what they'll find in Valenti's locker."
Inside the room, the monitor gave a sharp, frantic beep. Donny's hand—the good one—twitched against the rail. His eyes didn't open, but his heart rate spiked on the screen.
He was in there. And he was waking up to a war.
The Promotion Path
A shadow fell over the glass. It wasn't a guard, but a representative from the Regional Director's office.
"Officer Miller," the man said, looking at her commendations. "Your performance during the Code Blue was... exemplary. The Deputy Commissioner has been watching your trajectory. You've been a Senior Officer for years, and frankly, you're skipped over. We want you to sit for the Competitive Written Civil Service Examination for the rank of Sergeant."
Sarah felt the weight of the badge. "I'm just doing my job, sir."
"You're doing more than that. You're maintaining order in a block that should have rioted three days ago. There's talk of fast-tracking you to Captain, or even Major, once you have the rank. We need leaders who aren't... compromised."
He handed her a folder. "The Oral Board Interview is in forty-eight hours. Study the ethics manual. If you pass, you'll have the authority to clean up North Block. Or you'll have a target on your back."
The Bargain: Dialogue and Strategy
Sarah didn't take the folder immediately. She kept her hands behind her back, her eyes locked on the Regional Director's representative, the fluorescent lights of the infirmary reflecting in her steady gaze.
"The ethics manual won't stop a shiv in the parking lot, and it won't stop a 'Code Blue' from being ignored by a North Block supervisor," Sarah said, her voice dropping to a low, cold vibrato.
The representative arched an eyebrow. "You're already negotiating, Miller? You haven't even sat for the written yet."
"I'm not negotiating. I'm setting the terms for my survival," Sarah countered. "You want me to gut North Block? Fine. But I don't go in there with Valenti's friends at my back. If I take the Sergeant's stripes and the task force lead, I want Vetting Authority. I choose my own team. I pick the officers, I run the background checks, and I sign the transfers. I want the 'Old Guard' out of the gates before I even sit for the Oral Board."
"That's a lot of power for a Sergeant," the man remarked.
"It's the power of a Major, which is what you actually want," Sarah shot back. "And there's one more thing. I stay in charge of South Block. Personally. Those men are being used as target practice by the North Block administration. They're being denied medical care as a form of execution. I want them stabilized, I want their rights restored, and I want the North Block rot cut off at the source—the intake logs and the mailroom."
The representative looked at the folder, then at the unconscious man behind the glass.
"You're protecting the King."
"I'm protecting the integrity of this facility," Sarah corrected, her "No-Badge" mask firmly in place. "If South Block boils over because North is corrupt, the blood isn't just on the Warden's hands—it's on yours. Give me my team, give me South Block, and I'll give you the heads of the North Block administration on a silver platter."
The man silent for a moment, then nudged the folder toward her. "Study hard, Miller. If you fail that exam, I can't protect you from the people you just declared war on."
The Viper's Nest
While Sarah held the folder, the "Gold" Johnny had leaked was burning through the prison's upper echelons. In the administrative wing, Valenti was no longer laughing.
He sat in his office, staring at a printout from Internal Affairs. The laundry chute "leak" hadn't just reached the streets; it had reached the Deputy Commissioner.
"The routes are compromised," Valenti hissed to his lead guard. "The neighborhood knows where the shipments are coming in. If IA traces that ledger back to my locker..."
He looked toward the infirmary on the monitors. "The King is a ghost, but he's still talking through his ghosts. If Miller passes that board, she'll have the power to sign the search warrants for this entire wing."
The Awakening
Inside the recovery room, the ventilator gave a sharp, discordant hiss. Donny's eyes flickered. The monitors began to chirp as his heart rate climbed.
Sarah stepped to the bedside, the "No-Badge" protocol screaming at her to stay back, but the woman beneath the uniform leaned in.
Donny's eyes opened. They were bloodshot, unfocused, and terrifyingly blank. He looked at the sterile white ceiling, then at the woman in the tan shirt.
"Who..." his voice was a raspy, broken whisper. He looked at his bandaged hand, then back at Sarah. "Where am I? Who are you?"
The epidural hematoma had been evacuated, but the pressure had taken a toll. The "Gold" wasn't just hidden; for Donny, it was gone. He didn't know the neighborhood.
He didn't know the Viper.
And he didn't know Sarah. The woman who had just put her entire career on the line to save him.