The lower corridors of the prison were older than memory.
Stone walls bowed inward as if exhausted by centuries of holding men who screamed, begged, prayed, and died inside them. Water leaked constantly from unseen cracks, pattering onto the floor in irregular rhythms that sounded almost like footsteps. Rust bloomed across iron bars in flaky constellations. The air tasted metallic—blood, mildew, and something sour that never quite went away.
Two guards moved through the corridor like it belonged to them.
Between them stumbled a man with a sack knotted over his head, rope biting into his wrists. His shoulders were relaxed in a way that made the guards uneasy, though neither would admit it. The sack twitched once. Then again.
They stopped at Cell Block G.
One guard lifted his baton and struck the bars.
CLANG.
The sound rang down the block, bouncing from cell to cell until it faded into murmurs.
Ephraim jerked awake on his bunk, breath sharp, heart already racing. His body reacted before his mind did—muscles tensing, jaw setting. For a heartbeat, he didn't remember where he was.
Then the smell hit him.
Prison.
"Wake up, mudblood," the first guard said. "You're getting a new bunkmate starting today. So be nice."
The second guard chuckled. "Yeah, after your last stunt we might have to put a muzzle on you."
Keys rattled. The lock screamed in protest before the door was yanked open with a violent jerk.
The second guard stepped forward, gripping the sack-headed inmate by the shoulder, teeth bared in a sadistic grin.
"This one's a mangy one," he said. "Might have rabies with how volatile he is."
Down the block, prisoners leaned toward their bars, eyes sharp with curiosity. A few immediately turned away, as if something in their gut warned them not to look too long.
The guard ripped the sack free and shoved the man into the cell.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Ephraim saw white hair first—unnaturally bright beneath the flickering lights. Then dark skin. Leather shoes untouched by filth. A red mask stretched into an eerie, permanent smile, its eye sockets hollow and deep.
Homicide.
Ephraim didn't think.
He lunged from the bunk, chains rattling as his bare feet slapped concrete. Rage erased pain. Memory. Sense.
But something was wrong.
The guards didn't react.
They didn't tense.
Didn't look.
Didn't see him.
They laughed instead, already turning away as if nothing unusual stood in the cell.
The realization hit Ephraim mid-swing.
They don't see him.
Too late.
Homicide moved like the attack had already happened.
Ephraim's punches cut through air. Every strike met nothing. Homicide slipped around him with effortless grace, steps light, posture relaxed—smiling.
Ephraim snarled and drove upward with an uppercut meant to split his skull.
Homicide's hand snapped out and caught his wrist mid-swing, freezing the punch dead.
"Now sir," Homicide said calmly, leaning close, "that was very rude of you."
The mask filled Ephraim's vision.
"I… expect… an apology."
Ephraim's legs vanished.
Homicide swept him clean off his feet, flipping him over his shoulder. Ephraim slammed into the concrete hard enough to rattle teeth in neighboring cells.
Homicide stood over him, voice erupting into a roar that echoed down the block.
"You think this is a game, nigga?! I raised you and you get locked up—this how you pay me?!"
A knee crashed into Ephraim's jaw.
CRACK.
The guards laughed as they walked away.
Homicide let go and kicked Ephraim across the cell. His body skidded into the wall, ribs screaming.
Ephraim forced himself upright, blood thick in his mouth. He pushed off the wall and spun, elbow screaming toward Homicide's chin with everything he had left.
At the last second, Homicide ducked.
Wind tore through his white hair.
Ephraim overextended.
Homicide didn't.
Fists slammed into him in rapid succession—clean, surgical.
Stomach.
Liver.
Ribs.
"Nigga—"
THUD
"—you done—"
THUD
"—lost yo—"
THUD
"—goddamn mind."
Homicide leapt and dropkicked Ephraim into the wall, dust shaking loose from the stone.
"Sit your ass down," he snarled, "and calm down, you ungrateful fuck."
Ephraim bounced—only to be caught with an uppercut, then a brutal front kick that crushed him back into the wall again.
"I said sit your ass down."
Homicide loomed, mask glowing faintly.
Then he kicked Ephraim's face sideways.
Concrete spiderwebbed.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
"You got knocked the fucked out."
CELL BLOCK ECell Block E smelled like bleach and fear layered on top of old violence.
Johnny lay stretched across the bottom bunk like a king at rest, fingers laced behind his head. Above him, his bunkmate—a massive man inked from neck to knuckles—scrubbed the walls with frantic intensity, flinching every time Johnny shifted.
The cell door opened.
"Rec time."
Johnny sat up slowly and glanced at his bunkmate.
"When I come back," he said calmly, "this cell spotless. Comprende?"
The man nodded so fast it looked painful, immediately remaking Johnny's bed.
Johnny stepped into the corridor.
As he walked, the block responded.
Whispers traveled ahead of him like warning bells. Some prisoners shrank back into shadows. Others nodded respectfully. A few watched in silence, measuring their chances.
Johnny stopped outside a cell.
"Hey, papi," he said in a Dominican lilt, hips swaying in a playful salsa step. "Why prison so quiet? Where's the party? Where's the money? I want gems to lay on like dragon."
The prisoner swallowed.
"Cell Block D," he said quickly. "Blade business. Real moves."
Johnny smiled.
CELL BLOCK DMetal rang like church bells.
Sparks danced through the air, landing on concrete already scarred by burns. Prisoners drifted in and out of one cell, shirts tugged low to hide steel.
Inside, Eliyah worked.
His makeshift forge—half sink, half space heater—glowed white-hot. Sweat streaked his face as he hammered sheet metal into shape with methodical precision.
Johnny stepped inside.
"Wow, papi," he said. "That blade is preem."
They talked. They bargained.
Johnny flicked his wrist.
Clear mist spilled into the forge.
Flames roared.
Wood dipped into fire came out untouched.
Eliyah hesitated—then shook Johnny's hand.
The deal was sealed.
AFTER THE HANDSHAKEThe forge changed.
The flame burned steadier now—hotter, cleaner. The air vibrated faintly, like the room itself had gained a pulse.
Prisoners noticed.
One man stepped too close, eyes greedy. Johnny looked at him.
Just looked.
The man backed out of the cell without a word.
Another prisoner tried to haggle. Johnny smiled, put an arm around his shoulders, whispered something soft and musical.
The man left pale, clutching nothing.
A guard passed by the cell, paused, sniffed the air.
Johnny met his eyes and grinned.
The guard moved on.
By the time rec ended, Cell Block D had shifted. People whispered names. Deals doubled in price. Blades disappeared faster than Eliyah could make them.
Johnny sat on the table, talking, laughing—already king of a kingdom that hadn't existed an hour ago.
CELL BLOCK GEphraim woke choking on pain.
Homicide leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"I've decided to let you live," he said. "I need you."
He dragged Ephraim upright and threw him into the cell door.
It opened.
They descended—past forgotten levels, scratched warnings, dried blood—until massive metal doors loomed ahead.
Homicide stopped.
"I'm still killing your friends," he said casually. "But I'm trying to see someone important."
Ephraim swallowed. "What's the catch?"
"No catch."
He held out his hand.
After a long moment, Ephraim shook it.
The doors opened.
A roaring pit. Bleachers packed with prisoners. Guards leaning forward, money already exchanging hands.
Blood stained the floor.
"I need you to win," Homicide said. "Winner meets the boss."
Ephraim stared.
"You beat my ass just for this?"
Homicide nodded proudly.
"Just like last time."
He wrapped Ephraim in a crushing embrace.
"Homicide and Goku forever."
"No," Ephraim said, voice steady despite the pain. "There is no Homicide and—"
END
Created and Written by Mateo Woodson
Written and Storyboarded by John Fallout