Chapter 138: The Disparity Between People

It was three in the afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the prisoners of Wayne Prison had reached their recreation time.

In a corner, some prisoners formed a small wall, blocking the gaze of others and the line of sight of the guards, while before them stood two figures, one tall and one short.

"So, this is your story? Hmm? A coward too scared to join gang fights? A pitiful wretch who's been around so long and gotten nowhere?"

The bald, burly man lifted him up and slammed him against the wall; he recognized this man, whose name was Haric, also a member of the Falcone gang, who had clawed his way to a mid-level executive position through ruthlessness and having no bottom line.

At breakfast, he had eaten at the same table as him and complained about the prison food, only to receive agreement from the others.

Alex did not agree; he thought the prison food was actually quite good—the staples were still the usual toast and oatmeal, and lunch and dinner even included some fruits, vegetables, and meat.

Breakfast was milk, white bread, a boiled egg, plus oatmeal porridge and a fruit; for him, this was no different from his usual breakfast outside prison, and the taste was not bad, with the portions of bread and porridge sufficient to fill the stomach.

Of course, for Haric standing before him, this might not be the meal he had hoped for; there was no ham, bacon, butter, or honey in the toast, no yogurt in the oatmeal, and the taste of all the food was merely average, clearly not high-end goods—in short, he found the food in this prison bland and tasteless.

For a prison, wasn't this meal good enough? Ordinary people would certainly think so.

But the Godfather's money in the judicial consortium and Gotham's political circles was not wasted; Haric was a mid-level member of the Falcone family, and if he had been imprisoned in the past, as long as he was willing to pay, his breakfast would truly have included ham, bacon, honey, or yogurt—and he himself would have been bailed out very quickly.

Everyone looked at Alex with ill will; this group was the low-level of the Falcone family, and after entering prison, they still subconsciously formed a group centered around executives like Haric; since Alex dared to oppose the views of a mid-level family member like Haric, he was thus targeted by them all.

At this moment, someone broke the atmosphere.

"Fight, fight," a voice nearby cheered: "One punch adds a year to your sentence for each person in your little gang, a fine of one hundred, multiplied by your forty-year sentence, and medical expenses are also on you."

"Who the hell dares—"

When Haric turned his head with a fierce expression, he saw a familiar face, so his vicious demeanor stopped abruptly, and his voice became somewhat fearful and shrinking.

"Disaster, Disaster Star."

At this moment, the group of prisoners in the corner exchanged glances and slowly retreated; they had originally intended to form a human wall to block the guards' line of sight. After all, it was recreation time, but they had not expected Ma Ma Zhaodi to be here in prison garb for recreation as well.

"Didn't expect it?" the Disaster Star laughed: "I heard you scumbag discussing it at breakfast; do you know that the guards, me, and you all eat the same food?"

This was the truth; except for some guards who went outside for extra meals, most people actually felt that the food in the ordinary prison cafeteria was sufficient to serve as staff meals: cheap, plentiful, hygienic, and the taste and nutrition were decent—after all, those who came to be guards were ordinary poor people from the East District, and some people's dietary standards might not even be as good as the prison meals.

Haric and Alex were both stunned for a moment, and both spent a few seconds considering the truthfulness of Ma Ma Zhaodi's words.

After coming to his senses, Haric asked with a fierce exterior but a cowardly heart: "Why are you here?"

"I was sentenced for taking unauthorized photos: I sold photos of the backsides of over a dozen gangs I encountered on the road to multiple Gotham newspapers, so I need to serve a year in jail, during which I perform some of the guards' duties. Those newspapers seem quite supportive of me, saying they can contact me again once I have news inside—don't just stare at me, keep fighting; if you throw one punch, my sentence will also become two years, and we can have an extra year of time together."

Haric immediately put Alex down on the ground.

"Come on, you are Haric, a member of the Falcone family, a proper underworld figure, a man who licks blood off blades, pull yourself together, don't lose face!"

Haric turned a deaf ear, because he was a member of the Falcone family, a proper underworld figure, a man who licks blood off blades—so he knew what it meant to be flexible.

He left Alex behind and walked away with the others.

Alex didn't have time to thank him; Ma Ma Zhaodi patted his shoulder and left directly.

From that day on, Alex began to gradually understand the words Chief Gordon had said to him.

"The few years in prison might be the years you live the most humanly."

Life in Wayne Prison was quite regular: wake up in the morning, tidy the bedding, roll call, and then eat breakfast.

Sleep at nine at night; a little conversation was allowed at night; the prison did not restrict their talk, nor did it worry about them communicating, conspiring, or escaping, because everyone knew the situation outside, and escaping was meaningless at this time.

He no longer needed to be woken by a phone call at three or four in the middle of the night, as before, only to go out into the cold wind to deal with corpses and bloodstains. He no longer needed to live in fear, worrying that he would die from a random bullet.

His diet became healthy and hygienic, and he would not go hungry; his daily life became very simple; there were no big shots in prison ordering him around, because everyone was a controlled prisoner, and he only needed to focus on normal labor and study.

The labor wages in Wayne Prison were not set at the most common 0.1 dollars per hour like other private prisons, treating the prisoners inside as slaves to be used; instead, it was half the price of normal work outside, but at the same time, there were almost no extra expenses in prison, with the only place requiring payment being the small shop.

He could send letters or make phone calls to his family, with prices no different from outside prison; he could buy cigarettes inside, with prices also no different from outside. In other private prisons, the phone fee was one dollar per minute, and cigarettes were one dollar per stick.

Televisions did not require paying for headphones to listen to the sound; heating and hot water were not withheld; except for not hiring many doctors, which made people a bit worried—but since the hygiene conditions were not poor, the prisoners in prison almost never got sick.

He could even send money to his mother from prison; the Wayne Group would not deduct anything from it.

After a month, Alex, including most of the prisoners in prison, realized that the living conditions in prison seemed better than outside, and the portion of labor compensation taken by the Wayne Group was indeed used on the various basic facilities in the prison.

Until this day, he saw a group of listless new prisoners arrive in prison, among whom was even a big shot famous throughout Gotham.

"Sal Maroni? When was he transferred into Wayne Prison?"

"Three days ago, buddy."

(End of this chapter)