Blackstone Code

In prison, there were mainly three types of people. The first were gang members, constituting the majority of the inmate population, and they were the most unyielding type. Regardless of the ruling authority, these individuals would always form the largest group within the prison.

The second type involved relatively trendy criminal behavior, mostly related to scams and frauds. These individuals were not gang members; rather, they ended up here not because of what they did but due to their lack of caution or cunningness, getting caught by police or detectives.

The third category was practically non-existent in the Sabin City Prison. These were individuals with no criminal behavior whatsoever, even capable of leaving the prison at any given moment.

For most of them, the prison was just a means to an end, although it was possible for them to be set up by these means. Many of such individuals served time in renowned federal prisons. Yet, even while inside prison walls, they still managed to influence the entire federal realm—politically, economically, culturally, and even militarily.

As for others, there were various reasons but not so many. People like Michael Junior, without a gang background, often get absorbed into gangs in prison. Many gangs view prisons as their primary recruitment grounds.

Here, no one was excessively discriminated against, although social classes undoubtedly existed. If the prison could eradicate these classes, wouldn't it… have succeeded a long time ago?

Where there were people and classes, there existed society. Due to his young age, Michael Junior didn't face much harsh treatment. In this place that valued personal bravery, bullying a teenager would only evoke disdain, not admiration.

However, if Michael Junior's father were someone with the licence, the situation would be different. Here, most individuals were brought in by those with the licence.

The eerie atmosphere continued till lunchtime in Sabin City Prison. Following lunch came the afternoon break, then free time, followed by dinner and an hour and a half of entertainment, during which inmates could watch television. Next was shower time, evening break, and finally lights out. Each day was quite fulfilling for everyone, at least much more fulfilling than their aimless lives outside.

Michael Junior approached the food counter with a tray made of rubber. The guy responsible for serving food had, in the past few days, given him slightly more meat and vegetables than others. But today, that guy scooped a spoonful of mushy paste from the edge of the vegetable bowl directly onto Michael Junior's tray.

He glanced at the food server, who looked impatient. Before he could say anything, a force surged from behind, pushing him forward. He stumbled and fell into the mess of soup and vegetables on the floor.

Lying in the soggy mess, he felt bewildered. The guards responsible for overseeing the inmates merely glanced, uninterested in intervening in prisoner conflicts unless it erupted into a riot.

Prison was a unique microcosm, with its own social norms. Without significant incidents, nobody would intervene voluntarily.

Michael Junior got up, intending to pick up his tray when someone stepped onto it. Bent over, looking up, he saw the person on his tray, looking down at him—his bewilderment met with indifference.

There were no cheers or jeers in the dining hall. Most people merely watched with smirks. If the person hadn't exposed Michael Junior's background, someone might have intervened, especially those intending to recruit him into their gangs.

But now, everyone enjoyed the spectacle. Hatred towards those with "licenses," even their families, was instinctive here.

The person stepping on Michael Junior's tray twisted his ankle, leaving a faint, slightly yellowish-black stain and a lingering stench. Michael Junior's stomach churned, and he rushed to the trash bin, vomiting out what he hadn't digested in the morning.

He hadn't realized his good days were over. Right as he was vomiting, someone suddenly yanked down his pants, and before he could react, he was lifted upside down and dumped headfirst into the garbage bin. Inside the bin, there was residue of others' leftover food, saliva, thick phlegm, and his own vomit; for a moment, his mind went completely blank...

When the guards pulled him out, he hadn't comprehended it yet, feeling like everything had changed in an instant.

Meanwhile, in Sabin City and even throughout the entire state, a piece of news began rapidly spreading—a federal tax bureau investigation team leader's abuse of power nearly led to the death of an innocent citizen.

Just as Lin Qi initially predicted, the fact that he didn't resort to judicial means to challenge the tax bureau's enforcement authority, but utilized the media to relentlessly expose their actions played a crucial role.

That day, Michael was restricted from leaving the city limits of Sabin. Simultaneously, he was confined to his residence—The Director of the Sabin City Federal Tax Bureau personally bailed Michael out. If he continued staying at the police station, it would only give journalists more ammunition to attack the Bureau, such as questioning why he was detained in the police station if he was truly innocent.

He had to get Michael out, at least to prevent the foolish citizens from being led by the nose by the media.

At Michael's home, the director was visibly angry. "You acted too rashly, don't you know the Bureau's higher-ups chewed me out for more than half an hour over the phone?"

From early morning, swarms of reporters, like flies smelling a stench—or rather, like bees smelling honey—surrounded Lin Qi. From the information they obtained from the nurses to doctors, even through their own imagination, they fabricated chilling articles one after another. Among them were two federal-level media outlets. Before 9 am, practically all 17 federal states knew about the incident, and public opinion began to ferment.

Such incidents occurred countless times each year, but this time, there was evidently someone pulling the strings behind the scenes. The Federal Central Tax Bureau had started taking notice and warned the bureau director that if he failed to swiftly quell this matter, the Supervision Department might dispatch a commissioner to conduct a secret investigation in Sabin City.

At that point, it wouldn't be only Michael in trouble, nor just about being "exiled" to remote places; they would lose their jobs and might even go to prison.

For those with "licenses," going to prison was worse than being killed. They would be ruthlessly targeted by the ones they had personally put inside, making their life more unbreakable than death.

Michael kept his head down, silent. He had a bad temper but wasn't foolish. He knew the consequences of his rash actions, but it was too late now. It'd be better to wait until the director finished venting before discussing how to deal with the aftermath.

The director scolded him for a while longer, finally sighing. "I really want to protect you, but the higher-ups want you thrown out to calm public anger."

Michael looked up at the director, an incredulous expression in his eyes. He was also a mid-level officer; was giving up the only option left?

Avoiding his gaze, the director forced a bitter smile and shook his head. "You picked the wrong opponent, you know that?" Without waiting for Michael's reply, the director continued, "I thought Lin Qi would sue you. If he did, it would have been simple. Once it involves enforcement issues, the higher-ups would support us, no matter what you did."

"But I heard he forgave you in front of the media, even spoke positively about you, and abandoned the idea of suing you. Do you know how much trouble you're in now?"

Michael might not have realized it yet, but the director understood well. The more magnanimous Lin Qi appeared, the angrier the media and the public became. Part of their anger was directed at Lin Qi—for not daring to fight for his rights.

However, more of their anger was directed towards Michael and those behind him. Under the media's frenzy, Lin Qi's concession would be seen as an unwillingness to confront the Tax Bureau, ultimately highlighting the issue of excessive power in federal agencies.

Discussions on whether federal departments' enforcement powers were excessive had occurred hundreds if not thousands of times over the years, but they always ended inconclusively. This time would likely be no different, but someone had to be held accountable.

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