Chapter 136: Carefully Cooked Breakfast

When the exquisite wake-up bell rang, most prisoners didn't want to get out of bed; even their eyelids were hard to open. The stiff beds they had despised so much last night, and the mattress space as thin as cardboard, now seemed like paradise.

At this moment, the demon-like voice from the loudspeaker began to ring out again.

"Fellow prisoner friends, forgive me for speaking plainly: you may have the ability to afford the fees for staying in bed, but you may not be able to withstand the chain reaction that follows. This includes missing the roll call activity, missing today's morning labor, failing to reduce the three-day cabin upgrade time, and suffering malnutrition from missing meal times."

"There is also one thing: the door will only open when everyone in the room has made their beds and put on their clothes; otherwise, the cell door will only open automatically after breakfast time."

"Or, you can choose to keep sleeping together—good luck to all of you."

Hearing the broadcast, the few prisoners who were still somewhat sober remembered what the guard had said to them last night.

"Rest assured and follow the prison's schedule; both roll call and labor are very important."

"Holy crap! Hurry up, hurry up! If we miss roll call, we'll have to waste a whole day here!"

About half a minute later, the prison immediately became lively. Prisoners awakened by the broadcast dragged their accomplices off their beds, and some even started slapping each other while shouting.

"Wake up! Wake up quickly! Wake up! Wake up... You damn it, wake up quickly, wake up for me!"

"Idiot, stop hitting! Hit any more and Nader won't wake up!"

"What the hell, why are you, a judge, hitting so hard?"

"What, you don't even know how to fold a quilt? Just fold it roughly!"

At this time, the daylight was still pitch black and gloomy, but the entire prison suddenly became bustling with noise. Wherever the guards went, the prisoners were in a panic; it was truly a scene of chickens flying and dogs jumping. This state of vitality and competition among all things didn't seem like a prison; rather, it was somewhat like the subway during morning rush hour.

"Ding-ding-ding—"

A bell sound came from the broadcast; it was six o'clock, and the bell rang six times. After the bell stopped, the guard's voice followed, ringing outside the cells.

"I'm too lazy to knock on the iron doors with a baton. Actually, the prison's punishment for you is mainly reflected in fines and added sentences. If you don't want to be dragged out of your blankets one morning and told you're bankrupt, then get your brains moving quickly and think about the prison entry training you did before—everyone line up within thirty seconds! Get out of the cells!"

Maroni, wearing an orange prison uniform, touched his cold, bald head. This had been shaved before they entered prison to prevent them from hiding small blades or other sharp objects inside, and it also avoided some hygiene issues.

For the first time in his life, he was listed among the crowd, even though he was Sal Maroni. He had power, influence, and money; he was ruthless, decisive in killing, and had connections reaching the heavens. But after putting on the prison uniform, he blended into the crowd of prisoners wearing the same orange uniforms, with no conspicuous feeling left.

"Niles Spencer?"

"Here."

"Josh Hammond."

"Here."

"Salvatore Vincent Maroni."

"Here."

He subconsciously answered the guard's roll call, then angrily clenched his fists. He was very dissatisfied with his own state of obeying the rules and felt a humiliation of being domesticated.

A moment later, after the roll call was finished, the guard led them to the cafeteria—but in most people's eyes, this scene reminded them of sheep being driven by a shepherd.

Everything here made them feel extremely uncomfortable. They had long been accustomed to the extravagance, lack of restraint, and wanton behavior outside the prison. Now, just a tiny bit of restriction made them feel strong dissatisfaction.

"Good morning, friends."

When all the prisoners lined up to get food, a familiar voice rang out from the broadcast. Most prisoners didn't react much, but when Maroni first heard that voice, his hair stood on end, and his face showed panic. At this very moment, for the first time, he began to doubt whether he could walk out of this prison alive.

"I am your chef this morning, or rather, I will actually be your chef for every meal from now on. You may have recognized who I am, or you may not have; it doesn't matter. Just remember one thing—from now on, there will be no other chefs in this prison besides me. So please eat well. Today's food standard will be the permanent food standard for the cafeteria here."

Maroni trembled as he finished listening to Ma Ma Zhaodi's words in the broadcast, half happy and half worried. He was happy because he knew Ma Ma Zhaodi's cooking skills were absolutely not bad; he was worried because the person speaking on the broadcast was Ma Ma Zhaodi, so the food he made might not be fatal, but his own existence was quite fatal.

With these feelings, he went to the window to get his food, then sat down at a seat in the cafeteria.

And then, what was it again?

Maroni, sitting in front of his workstation, looked confused. He painfully knocked on his head, feeling the brain matter inside churning and rolling just like his stomach acid.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and his throat burned.

How did he get to his workstation?

I... I seem to have forgotten what I ate this morning.

No, not forgotten; his brain, to protect him, automatically blurred the memory regarding breakfast.

"Morning... this morning I ate..."

He held his head, searching his mind with all his might, and finally recalled that painful memory.

An orange-yellow paste-like substance; it was corn porridge.

"The corn porridge I carefully researched and cooked looks like a ten on the outside, and actually tastes like a ten; the texture sliding down the throat is still a ten. But its ingredients are one hundred percent pure and authentic corn. No need to doubt; this is a ten-flavored corn porridge! To create such a taste, I specially spent several days researching, guaranteeing infinite surprises for everyone!"

The colorful viscous liquid in the cup was fruit juice.

"Pineapple, watermelon, apple, bitter melon, milk, soy sauce, salt, MSG, spicy soup... Just like the corn porridge, this is also a delicious fruit juice I carefully cooked. There are no inedible seasonings inside; every fruit is guaranteed fresh, every seasoning is guaranteed hygienic. The ingredients inside are absolutely healthy and absolutely nutritious. You absolutely don't need to worry about the kitchen's hygiene quality."

Unidentifiable materials made the toast.

"Staple bread. This one wasn't cooked by me personally, so there's nothing new about it. Please don't worry; its taste is absolutely no problem. It's exactly the same as all the bread you usually eat. Perhaps, it will become your favorite food."

"But there is one thing to mention: this is bread made from insect powder."

(End of this chapter)