Chapter 4

As soon as Caleb finished speaking, the telecom scammer who was sitting closest to him immediately greeted, "Good day, Officer Johnson!"

His sycophantic, fawning tone made it seem as though he was about to offer Caleb a cigarette.

Some inmates made a habit of currying favor with the correctional officers, with this telecom scammer being a textbook example.

Caleb himself didn't particularly mind this kind of behavior. Occasionally, he'd grant small favors to certain inmates. However, his treatment of them was not based on whether they tried to please him, but rather on his own unique sense of morality.

"Open your copies of the Inmate Regulations handbook," Caleb instructed, stepping back to the whiteboard.

He turned around, picked up a marker, and wrote "Obey the Rules" in bold letters.

In stark contrast to his refined appearance, Caleb's handwriting was forceful and sharp. Each stroke cut into the whiteboard like a blade, giving those words an imposing weight. But only Caleb knew how much effort it took to maintain his calm facade.

The man named Marcus didn't open his handbook. Instead, he rested his hands on his legs, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Caleb's face.

Caleb had felt that same gaze on him the night he nearly got caught spying. Back then, he had quickly hidden behind the curtains. Now, there was no escaping it.

"1017," Caleb called out, glancing at the number on Marcus' prison uniform. "I told you to open your handbook."

For a moment, they were locked in a tense standoff, though it felt like an eternity.

Finally, Marcus spoke, his thin lips parting to utter two simple sentences, "You talk. I'll listen."

His tone was calm and unruffled, with an attitude that was neither servile nor overbearing. Also, his voice was slightly deeper than Caleb had expected.

This was the second type of inmate—the kind who didn't fear the officers and saw themselves as equals. Such inmates tended to be one of two extremes: either they were reasonable, mild-mannered, and unlikely to cause trouble, or they were highly dangerous and unpredictable when crossed.

Caleb instinctively categorized Marcus as the latter, but this wasn't the time to dwell on it.

Caleb turned away, tapping the marker against the whiteboard as he continued, "In life, there are three opportunities for education. The first is your family, and the second is school. If these two failed to teach you, that's alright. You have a third chance now, in prison."

For many people, their sense of right and wrong was just a vague concept—knowing what they could and couldn't do, with a lot of ambiguity in between.

But Caleb's sense of morality was a well-defined system. Just as he would do good deeds to compensate for his voyeurism, he would classify inmates as bad if they had no inclination toward redemption after committing crimes.

In short, Caleb wasn't exactly kind to those he deemed to be bad.

"Officer Johnson," the young thug who had remained silent suddenly spoke up, pointing to a line in the handbook. "Can you help me understand what this means?"

A flicker of surprise flashed in Caleb's eyes. He walked over to the man, tilting his head slightly to see where he was pointing.

On the page were four simple words: "Insulting a correctional officer".

It seemed like this young thug was just another one looking for trouble.

Before Caleb could even avert his gaze, he felt a hand touch his rear.

"Wow, so firm." The young thug clicked his tongue, giving Caleb's backside a rough squeeze. "I bet it feels amazing in bed."

As he spoke, the other two men shifted their attention to Caleb's backside as well. For some reason, Caleb didn't mind the telecom scammer looking at him. But when Marcus' gaze fell on his rear, it made his skin crawl.

This wasn't right.

In a space meant to be educational, this sort of inappropriate focus was completely out of place.

Caleb slightly turned his head, his expression indifferent as he glanced at the hand on his backside. Then, with practiced ease, he unhooked the baton from his belt and brought it down hard on the young thug's forearm with a resounding thud.

The young thug cursed in pain, his body instinctively lurching to one side from the impact. Caleb jabbed the baton against the young thug's forehead, forcing him to sit upright.

His voice was cold as he said, "Do you think this is just a detention center?"

A detention center was a temporary holding facility for suspects, where the management was relatively lax.

Caleb had reviewed the young thug's file earlier and knew this was his first time in prison, so he chose to compare it to a detention center rather than directly threatening him with solitary confinement.

This thug was the third type of typical inmate—restless under authority and constantly testing the limits of the correctional officers. But, ironically, this kind of inmate was the easiest to handle. If they didn't behave, they were thrown into solitary confinement until they learned their lesson.

"You're tough, Officer Johnson." The young thug raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Please, carry on."

The reason Caleb had managed to stay out of trouble during his six months at Southern Prison wasn't because the inmates were kind to him, but because he was someone not to be trifled with.

He cast a cool glance at the other two before returning to the whiteboard and reading from the handbook.

An ancient philosopher once proposed the concept of inherent human evil, suggesting that human nature was fundamentally flawed. It wasn't a dark or pessimistic view, but rather a reminder that people must continuously cultivate themselves to suppress the evil within.

Caleb wholeheartedly agreed with this perspective. Even though he had a voyeuristic tendency deep down, his proper upbringing gave him a solid moral compass. So, when he taught these lessons to the inmates, it wasn't just out of obligation—he genuinely hoped they would listen and learn.

After being dealt with, the young thug finally settled down, focusing intently on the whiteboard. The telecom scammer, having been startled by Caleb's baton, also listened attentively. He even nodded along from time to time.

As for Marcus, he was sitting in the back. Not only had he not opened his handbook, he had even closed his eyes.

What was with this guy? Had he come here just to nap?

Perhaps it was because he was back on his own turf, but Caleb gradually shook off the unease from earlier and settled into a state of true calm.

"1017," Caleb repeated Marcus' inmate number. "There will be a test on today's lesson tomorrow. Your test scores will affect your behavior rating in prison, so you'd better pay attention."

"I'm listening." Marcus looked up, his gaze sharp and clear, as if he'd just been resting his eyes.

"Are you sure?" Caleb asked. "What did I just talk about?"

"Don't form cliques or bully others," Marcus replied.

He answered without missing a word, making it seem like he really had been paying attention. However, since Caleb had just covered that topic, it was still fresh in everyone's mind.

"What about a bit earlier?" Caleb pressed on.

"You said your name is Caleb Johnson," Marcus responded without a moment's hesitation.

Caleb paused, realizing that was the first thing he had said when he walked into the room. In other words, instead of addressing the recent content, Marcus had jumped all the way back to the beginning.

Such a… leap in thinking.

Caleb's momentary distraction caused the conversation to stall, so he chose not to pursue it further and continued highlighting the key points from the handbook.

Half an hour later, Caleb turned to the last page of the booklet and looked at the three men in front of him.

"Any questions?"

The young thug raised his hand. "Is the test open-book or closed-book?"

"Closed-book," Caleb replied.

"And if we get caught cheating-"

"Solitary confinement," Caleb cut him off, his patience wearing thin. "Next question."

"Officer Johnson," the telecom scammer said as he raised his hand. "When will we be assigned to labor?"

Caleb glanced at Marcus, who didn't seem to have any questions, then turned the whiteboard over to reveal a simple diagram.

"Now, I'll give you an overview of Southern Prison."

Southern Prison consisted of three cell blocks, housing over two hundred inmates. New inmates would first be sent to Block 3 to acclimate for a period of time before being assigned to either Block 2 or Block 1 based on their behavior during that time.

Block 2 housed standard multi-occupancy cells, while Block 1 contained solitary confinement cells and individual cells reserved for the prison's most dangerous inmates.

"The person who brought you here is the supervisor for Block 3," Caleb explained. "You'll be dealing with him primarily for a while."

"Is he easy to get along with?" the young thug asked.

"Depends on how you behave," Caleb replied.

Every inmate was required to perform labor—two hours in the morning and three in the afternoon. There was a two-hour break for lunch and recreation, followed by group activities like watching the news in the evening.

"What kind of work do we do?" the young thug asked Caleb again.

"Painting, woodworking, sewing, farming," Caleb answered patiently.

"Which one's the easiest?"

This time, Caleb's expression turned icy as he fixed his gaze on the young thug. He could be patient with the neighborhood workers, but his tolerance had its limits when it came to these unrepentant inmates.

The young thug awkwardly rubbed his nose. He seemingly understood the underlying message in Caleb's eyes and chose not to ask any more frivolous questions.

"You're currently in the administrative building," Caleb continued. "The conference room and a lecture hall are on the first floor. The library and infirmary are on the second floor, and the correctional officers' offices are located on the third floor."

The administrative building and the three cell blocks were all three-story structures, with connecting corridors on the second floor that allowed movement between them.

Caleb briefly outlined the daily schedule for the inmates at Southern Prison, then followed up with the usual question, "Any questions?"

The telecom scammer and the young thug remained silent, both seemingly aware that Caleb's patience was wearing thin. Seeing that no one had any questions, Caleb began to close his booklet, ready to end the session.

But just as he was about to wrap things up, Marcus, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly raised his chin and asked, "Is every area here monitored by cameras?"

Caleb's brow furrowed almost unnoticeably at the question. Instinctively, he began to analyze Marcus's intent.

Every question had a reason behind it.

The young thug asking about the consequences of cheating indicated he was considering it, while his inquiry about the easiest work showed he was looking to avoid hard labor.

But Caleb couldn't quite grasp why Marcus would be concerned with the prison's surveillance.

Could he be planning an escape?

That seemed unlikely.

Marcus was only serving a one-year sentence. If he behaved well, there was even a chance for a reduced sentence. There was no logical reason for him to take the enormous risk of attempting an escape.

Yet, Caleb couldn't think of another explanation. He didn't like this feeling of uncertainty, but this enigmatic neighbor of his across the room had a knack for stirring his curiosity.

Quickly dismissing the stray thoughts, Caleb gave Marcus an inaccurate response.

"Of course."