As the adrenaline began to bleed out of the room, the physical toll on Donny hit like a freight train. The IV pole he'd used as a staff clattered to the floor. His knees buckled, and if it weren't for Lou's massive arms, he would have collapsed onto the jagged glass shards.
"Donny!" Sarah was at his side in a heartbeat, her hands hovering over him, checking for the tell-tale signs of a Re-bleed or a Neurological Crash. His pupils were blown, and a thin line of blood began to trickle from his nose—a terrifying indicator of the pressure he'd just put on his healing brain.
"He needs a Level 1 Trauma Center," the nurse shouted over the rising din. "Now! If he stays in this infirmary, the intracranial edema will finish him. He's done enough, Sergeant. Get him out of here."
Sarah looked at Donny, then at the sea of South Block inmates who were watching their King wither. She stood up, her voice projecting with a new, undisputed authority.
"Listen to me!" she shouted to the tiers. "The war is over. Because you stood your ground, because you protected this facility instead of burning it, I am making a formal recommendation to the Regional Director. Every man in South Block who held the line tonight is being put up for Immediate Parole Review. But there's a condition."
The silence was absolute.
"You stay in the neighborhood," Sarah declared. "You go back to the streets that raised you. You rebuild what the 'Gold' tore down. You don't leave the zip code without a doctor's note or a PO's signature. You live as free men, but you live as neighbors. Do we have a deal?"
A low, solemn murmur of "Deal" rippled through the South. They weren't just getting out; they were going home.
To the North Block, Sarah was less merciful. "As for the North... the 'Boushie' life is over. Every officer on the payroll is under arrest. Every inmate who took a bribe is being moved to Gen-Pop. No more private cells. No more special meals. You're prisoners now, not guests."
The Infirmary
While the medics prepared Donny for an emergency medevac, Johnny remained in the darkened infirmary. He wasn't looking for drugs or weapons. He was looking for the one thing the Warden would have kept close—the one thing that didn't require a digital footprint.
He walked over to the heavy industrial oxygen manifold bolted to the wall near Donny's old bed. He'd noticed something during the blackout—a slight whistling sound coming from the "Secondary Tank" that shouldn't have been active.
Johnny pulled a shiv from his pocket and began to unscrew the pressure gauge.
"What are you doing, kid?" Jenkins asked, shining a light over his shoulder.
"The Warden didn't trust the servers," Johnny whispered, his fingers working frantically. "He's old school. He wanted the 'Gold' where he could touch it."
The gauge popped off. Inside the hollowed-out neck of the oxygen tank sat a tightly rolled cylinder of waterproof vellum and a series of cold-storage USB drives. It was the Master Ledger. The payroll, the offshore account numbers, and the names of every politician the North Block had bought.
"We got it," Johnny breathed, holding the cylinder up like a trophy. "The King's ransom."
The Chase
Outside, the main gate was a hair's breadth from collapsing. Big Sal had the flatbed truck in gear, the engine roaring, the neighborhood prepared to ram the fences to get to Donny.
Suddenly, the floodlights of a black, armored SUV cut through the smoke. It was the Warden's private transport, screaming toward the perimeter, desperate to break out before the Internal Affairs team arrived.
Sarah Miller didn't wait for the gate to open. She sprinted down the administrative ramp, her service weapon holstered but her hand raised in a "Halt" gesture that carried the weight of a firing squad.
"SAL! BLOCK THE ROAD!" she screamed into her radio.
Big Sal didn't hesitate. He swung the massive truck across the asphalt, the tires screeching, creating a steel wall that the SUV couldn't bypass.
The armored vehicle slammed on its brakes, skidding to a halt inches from the truck.
Sarah reached the driver's side window, her face illuminated by the flashing blue lights of the arriving State Police. She didn't draw her gun. She didn't have to. She pulled the Emergency Operational Order from her pocket and slapped it against the glass.
"Out of the car, Arthur," Sarah said, her voice echoing over the roar of the crowd. "The neighborhood is waiting for an apology, and I'm waiting to read you your rights."
The door opened slowly. Warden Vance stepped out, his silk suit wrinkled, his eyes darting toward the thousands of angry faces behind the fence. He looked at Sarah, the woman he had dismissed as a "Senior Officer" with a crush.
"You've destroyed this institution, Miller," Vance hissed.
"No," Sarah said, as Mendoza stepped forward to click the cuffs onto the Warden's wrists. "I just put it under new management."
The Transfer
The sound of the LifeFlight helicopter drowned out the cheers of the crowd. Sarah ran back toward the courtyard as the stretcher carrying Donny was wheeled toward the landing pad.
He was barely conscious, his hand feebly reaching for the air. Sarah grabbed it, her fingers interlacing with his.
"We got him, Donny," she whispered into his ear. "And Johnny found the ledger. It's over. You're going to a real hospital. A place where they can actually fix you."
Donny opened his eyes, just a crack. He saw the "Gold" of the sunrise beginning to peek over the prison walls. He saw Sarah, no longer a guard, but the woman who had saved the soul of the neighborhood.
"Stay... Gold..." he managed to choke out.
"Every day," Sarah promised.
As the helicopter lifted off, carrying the King toward a life where he didn't have a number, Sarah stood on the tarmac. She looked at the North, then the South, and finally at the gate that was now opening for the neighborhood to enter—not as rioters, but as witnesses.
The war for Blackwood was over. The reconstruction had just begun.