FWF Chapter 173 Prisoner's Dining Hall
Chapter 173 Prisoner's Dining Hall
At 11:45 a.m., the prison's public address system suddenly went off without warning:
"Notification. Trainee prison guards Wasim, Anna, Batu, Mikhail, Carlos, Samir, Lillian, and Sakhen. All eight of you, proceed immediately to the D-sector prisoner canteen to maintain order during lunchtime."
"During the mission, it is necessary to ensure that the prisoners' mealtime process is stable and orderly."
"After the mission is completed, you will have your meal in the same cafeteria."
Repeat: Proceed immediately. No delays allowed.
The broadcast abruptly cut off with a "click," the lingering static sound seemingly still clinging to my eardrums.
Wasim and Anna had just finished their 10 a.m. patrol and he was now resting on his bed in the dormitory.
The sudden broadcast startled him, and he sat bolt upright in bed almost the instant the synthesized sound ended.
On the opposite bed, Lin Feng was leaning against the headboard, adjusting his cuffs. Seeing this, he looked up at him, his tone tinged with concern:
"Be careful, the prisoners might deliberately cause trouble!"
Vassim nodded emphatically, said nothing more, quickly got up, straightened his uniform, and strode out of the dormitory.
Soon, Wasim arrived at the entrance of the D-sector prisoner canteen.
The other seven people arrived quickly, exchanging a brief glance with each other.
The air was heavy.
"Time is running out," Wasim spoke first, his voice low and carrying the unquestionable tone characteristic of a detective. "The situation in the canteen is unclear, and the number of prisoners is unknown. We need a temporary commander to coordinate our actions. Any objections?"
A few seconds of silence.
Mikhail said gruffly, "You're a policeman, we'll listen to you."
Others either nodded or did not object.
In situations like these, a detective with real-world experience and expertise in dealing with bizarre situations is indeed the most reliable choice.
“Okay,” Wasim said without hesitation, quickly getting into character. “Now listen to my assignment: the prisoner canteen usually has only one main entrance, one food serving area, and a large dining area. We need to control the key points.”
He spoke very quickly, his fingers gesturing in the air:
"Anna, you guard the inside of the entrance and control the pace of entry and exit. Immediately alert us to any unusual activity."
"Batu, you're in charge of the food queue area. Prevent queue jumping and riots; that's where conflicts are most likely to break out."
"Mikhail, Carlos, and Samir, the three of you will form a patrol team. Circumvent the main aisles of the dining area, keep moving and make your presence felt, but avoid unnecessary physical contact with the prisoners."
"Lillian and Sarken, you two are in the mobile team. Position yourselves in the two opposite corners at the far end of the cafeteria. Cover the entire area and be ready to support any location that encounters problems."
"I am positioned to the side of the food serving window, where the view is relatively open. This serves as a temporary command post, allowing me to keep an eye on both the window and Batu's side of the operation."
"Remember, our primary objective is to 'maintain order,' avoid direct conflict as much as possible, and prioritize protecting ourselves and our teammates should anything happen."
"In any situation beyond your control, move towards me or towards Anna near the door. Understood?"
Everyone quickly processed his instructions and nodded in agreement.
Wasim took a deep breath, gripped the heavy iron door handle of the canteen with both hands, and pulled it outwards sharply—
"Squeak—"
The harsh metallic scraping sound shattered the silence, and a sudden stench of rotten vegetables, cheap grease, and a faint fishy smell rushed out, making their nostrils ache. Several people instinctively frowned, trying to suppress the urge to vomit.
The cafeteria was spacious, with the overhead incandescent lights flickering on and off.
The long dining tables were neatly arranged, with dried stains still remaining on the tabletops, but all the seats were empty; the prisoners had not yet arrived.
Only the eerie atmosphere permeating the air suggested that this was no place of peace.
Just then, heavy footsteps and the rattling sound of chains being dragged came from behind.
Everyone turned around and saw several formal prison guards in black uniforms with stern expressions escorting a group of prisoners toward them.
The prisoner's appearance seemed to freeze the air.
Most of them had ashen faces and sunken eyes. Long-term hunger had etched sharp lines on their faces, but their eyes were like hooks tempered with fire, fixed on the trainee prison guards at the door.
That wasn't the gaze of a human, but rather the gaze of some beast long imprisoned and on the verge of losing control, sizing up its prey.
Several trainee prison guards in the group began to breathe rapidly.
"Stay calm," Wasim whispered a reminder. "Don't show any weakness now, don't avoid eye contact, and don't lose your composure—otherwise you'll really be their prey!"
The prisoners slowly approached, their eyes sweeping over the eight men like hungry beasts, many of them sticking out their tongues and greedily slurping.
Suddenly, a prisoner with a fleshy face and drool dripping from his mouth stretched out his withered hand and touched Anna's cheek, while making an ambiguous and eerie growl.
"Bang!"
A muffled thud.
The prison guard beside him remained expressionless, his baton already striking the prisoner's forehead with precision.
The prisoner staggered backward, clutching his head and groaning hoarsely, before being roughly shoved back into the line.
The prison guard turned his head, gestured with his chin toward Wasim and the others, and spoke in a tone as if he had thrown out a block of ice:
"Still looking? Go inside and get in your seats!"
Wasim's gaze sharpened, and he abruptly turned his head toward the seven people behind him.
Everyone quickly composed themselves, and, facing the suffocating airflow and countless hungry gazes, strode into the cafeteria and stood in their designated spots.
The monotonous clanging of the iron plate and spoon began to echo in the cafeteria.
The prisoners, dragging their shackles, lined up to get their food. Their plates were filled with sticky, suspiciously colored bits of meat mixed with mushy grains, emitting an indescribable odor.
They found seats and sat down, then buried themselves in their food and began to eat heartily, as if performing some kind of primitive and urgent ritual.
Mikhail, Carlos, and Samir, with their hands resting on their sidearms at their waists, began to slowly patrol the narrow aisles of the dining area.
At first, everything was relatively calm, with only the sounds of chewing, metal scraping, and occasional suppressed coughs.
However, about ten minutes later.
Prisoner number 207 stood up without warning, raised a withered finger, and pointed it directly at Mikhail, who was patrolling nearby:
"Your gaze... just now, it insulted me!"
Mikhail's face turned pale instantly, and he hurriedly shook his head: "I didn't!"
At the same time, his fingers tightened on the pistol.
Vassim hurried over and stood to the side in front of Mikhail, blocking the greedy gaze.
"207," his voice was as calm as stating a fact, "He was simply performing his patrol duties and had no intention of insulting anyone. You must have misread it."
"You misread it?" 207 grinned, revealing an unsettlingly dense array of teeth. "You're doubting my eyesight?!"
207 took a step forward, and the chilling aura intensified.
"I want him to kneel down, kowtow three times, and call me 'Dad' three times!"
He grinned, his voice sounding like it was being ground from deep in his throat, "Otherwise..."
His words hung in the air, but his gaze, like a greedy lick, swept over Mikhail's taut neck.