Ascension - Part 1

by edgarmash79

After leaving the World Martial Arts Tournament to begin his training under a new teacher, Uub, now 16 years of age, was gearing up to participate in the 30th World Tournament. Elsewhere, a new menace emerges from the Eleventh Universe, one whose abilities could lead the very multiverse into dangerous times. This is a remaster of a previous version that I had published before.

3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – "Escape from Universe 11's space prison! The Warrior who controls gravity."

The bastions of justice.

The keepers of the peace.

The Pride Troopers.

No organization was feared more than the Universe's elite group of galactic defenders.

No criminal, big or small, ever reigned long enough before their plans were either thwarted, their reign shortened, or finding their sorry selves begging for mercy. Formerly led by General Toppo, evildoers across the universe were either apprehended and later imprisoned or executed outright. Those unlucky few left to live were sentenced to serve time in Kutlerie's maximum-security Space Prison. Kutlerie, a former Pride Trooper who founded the organization with Toppo years ago, served as their Warden.

Kutlerie was feared for his iron justice rule of law. Evildoers serving their sentence could not even look the Warden in the eye when standing before him. His justice was so absolute that no prisoner had ever been granted early release for good behavior. Their sentence was such that they served their full term without question.

Only one man in the Eleventh Universe was ever feared more than Toppo and Kutlerie.

Jiren.

His name alone became taboo in criminal syndicates. No one dared speak his name for fear they might invoke his onslaught. Criminal syndicates exercised caution after word spread of Jiren's display of strength at the Tournament of Power. It was almost not even worth the effort to break the law unless they risked his intervention.

Once news spread through criminal networks of Toppo ascending to full Destroyer status, there was a brief surge of activity to take advantage of the change of leadership. The promotion of Kasheral and Dyspo as co-leaders of the organization gave the Pride Troopers a more aggressive approach to handling criminal activity and halting evildoers for good. After their popularity soared with new recruits, criminal activity dwindled to shadow organizations after several syndicates were either forced to disband or were destroyed.

The influx of prisoners increasing the population of the incarceration facility meant that Kutlerie needed to expand and build more sections to house new arrivals. It predictably led to an increase in fights among prisoners, with few guards able to maintain order enough to quell dissent among the inmates. Kutlerie would've had to send for the elite Pride Trooper soldiers to subdue the rise in violence if it weren't for one volunteer.

A lone prisoner proposed a solution to Kutlerie if it would help escalate the expansion of the Space Prison and diminish the level of violence. His proposal involved sanctioned one-on-one fights with the prisoner himself, fighting a random prisoner. While he never provided a reason for his odd request, Kutlerie agreed with the premise that these sanctioned fights would put a halt to random brawls and provide suitable "entertainment" for the inmates. His only condition was that they would not use excessive force to kill him if it meant these fights could continue.

That was the strange circumstance Tupper and Vuon were introduced to when they arrived on site after Toppo granted Kutlerie's transfer request. Having two elite members of the Pride Troopers work with the guards in the facility helped improve morale while recruits arrived later to boost their numbers.

Tupper and Vuon were granted the privilege to retain their Pride Trooper uniforms, only with the addition of a red sash draped over their shoulder with a gold insignia representing the emblem of the Eleventh Universe. They were also provided with utility belts and wristbands that granted them master-level access to the entire facility; a privilege only shared with Kutlerie and his vice Warden, Satula.

Kutlerie assigned them to the lone prisoner who proposed the arranged fights, which took place in the facility's workout area, converted once per week into a fighting cage.

The prisoner, wearing a red and white prison jumpsuit, had "841-120" printed on the back. The front left breast had the emblem of the Pride Troopers with the word "prisoner" underneath. While this was standard-issue wear for a Space Prisoner, very little of the prisoner's uniform was left after being ripped. The back's numbers were gone except for 120, leaving a large gash exposed from three deep claw-like lacerations. The emblem on the front was missing, as were one sleeve each from his arm and leg.

A trail of blood followed Tupper and Vuon as they hauled the unconscious prisoner through the sliding doors of the infirmary. Audible gasps from the nursing staff were heard as they laid eyes on the prisoner, barely recognizable from the amount of damage he had suffered.

While slim and short in stature, as indicated by how high he was held up from the floor by the Pride Troopers, he did possess remarkable muscular definition from what could be seen on his arms and legs.

The nurses activated the healing tank, easing the prisoner onto a stool. They cleaned the blood off his face to affix a breathing mask and attached other pads to monitor his vitals on a screen outside the tank.

Once the door was secured shut, the on-site doctor activated the tank to fill it with a light-green liquid. It filtered and cleared the prisoner's blood to provide a clear view during his recovery through a window in the door. His expression looked grim as he made several adjustments to knobs and dials on the panel beside the tank.

"How bad is it, doctor?" Tupper asked.

"If I were a religious man, I'd be praying," the doctor said humorously, yet his frown never changed. "He's lost a lot of blood, among other things."

Vuon was less knowledgeable about medical terminology and devices, keeping to the basics when asking questions. "How long will the recovery take?" he asked.

"Approximately eight hours," the doctor said, turning a dial to the right. "Provided his body doesn't shut down on him. Best case scenario? He'll recover within six hours."

Tupper studied the prisoner's vitals before he nodded to the Doctor. "Understood. Please notify us once 841-120 is ready," Tupper glanced at the nursing staff. "Thank you, as always, for all your hard work. While these prisoners are evildoers and criminals, they are still living, breathing creatures with the ability to atone for their misdeeds. Your dedication to their health is commendable."

The nurses bowed and gave the Pride Troopers their thanks as they saluted them, hand to heart. The light from the ceiling glimmered off the emblem as they exited the infirmary, saluting guards along the way.

The scanner at the archway read their wristbands and opened the doors to the Quad. In this lounging area, guards escorted prisoners to their cells while passing by others seated at tables. Guards could be seen playing recreational games while drinking socially, eating their lunch, or watching the weekly fights below in the workout area.

The Quad was the center hub of the Prison facility, layered by five tiers. Tupper watched one of the lifts leave their level to the top tier.

The workout area was adjacent to the cafeteria and kitchens at the bottom tier. Kutlerie's office and the administrative branch were built on the highest tier, where the Warden's private security personnel could monitor the other three tiers that housed the prisoners.

Tupper then focused his attention on the prisoners below as they cleaned the blood off the floor and walls before moving the workout equipment back to their original locations for recreation time. Guards paced back and forth above, watching them with a vigilant eye.

A whiteboard was set up in the lounge with a picture of prisoner 841-120 on the top left corner. On the one hand, the undamaged simian-like facial features presented a prisoner who stared at the camera with a blank stare. On the other hand, the gaze in his eyes had all the expression of a man full of pain and anger that went unnoticed.

The header, "841-120 Death pool," was scribbled on the top. A list of prisoner numbers was written in a column below the picture. A guard then erased the top number before rewriting the pool's monetary amount above.

"A hundred thousand Zenni," Vuon said as he took a cup of water handed to him by Tupper. "Forkas almost won this with his high bet."

"And a one-way trip to early retirement!" the man in question said as he wrapped his arms around Tupper and Vuon. They were both still taller than Forkas by nearly a foot. Otherwise, he would've had them around their shoulders to bring them in.

Tupper and Vuon each raised an eyebrow. They hadn't interacted with Forkas too often, electing to avoid his crass attitude, most notably how often he inflates his ego around the prisoners to prove his superiority.

"That one," Forkas said, pointing at the number "841-120." "That's one crazy bastard. Wouldn't you agree?"

He then squeezed between the two to slap the board. "Put me down for another ten thou, would ya?" he said, handing a crisp ten-thousand zenni bill to the guard to slide in a makeshift box labeled with the currency symbol. "Hope that guy's next opponent isn't pulling any punches! It's my pool to lose, gentlemen!"

Forkas laughed it off, high-fiving other guards as he left with them. Vuon could still hear them cracking jokes about prisoners, some more often directed at prisoner 841-120 than anyone else. He breathed a sigh as he stared at his name on the board.

"I'm nearly maxed out on my month's paycheque with this pool, Tupper," he said, reading his name underneath Forkas's. While Tupper's name hadn't even come close to breaching the top ten, Vuon was the more daring of the two. Seeing that Forkas added a much larger sum of money to the pot was almost too daring.

"It's your turn to draw the next opponent, Commander Tupper," said the guard who had put Forkas's money in the box. He presented another box with a hole large enough to fit Tupper's hand, letting him dip in to pull out a ball with a series of numbers. His eyes narrowed at the ball, which read "8-7965."

"8-7965," Tupper sighed, passing the ball to the guard. "He's been among talks within guards to replace 841-120 as the defacto fighter to continue the death pool."

"You think it's come down to this?" asked Vuon. Nearby, a table with a couple of guards waved at Tupper and Vuon to join them for a round of card games. "You're not sure he'll survive?"

"841's a runt. 7965 towers over him by over three feet. He'll slaughter him," said Tupper as he pulled up his chair. Vuon scoffed and fished his wallet out of his pocket. Once he examined the contents, he pulled out two ten-thousand zenni bills and gave them to the guard overlooking the boxes.

Tupper couldn't hide his surprise. "You're serious?"

"If I win, we'll split it 50-50. We're due for some shore leave," Vuon grinned. Tupper chuckled, shaking his head.

Other than an incident involving a brawl between prisoners over who had access to the bench press, Tupper and Vuon's shifts were fairly light this week. Those involved in the brawl were sent to solitary confinement for the rest of the month.

After several games that saw Tupper maintain a consistent win streak, the defeated guards were left dejected, stretching as they rose. It was at that time that his communicator began beeping.

"Go ahead," Tupper answered.

"Commander Tupper, number 841-120 is ready to return," said a female voice from the other end. Tupper and Vuon exchanged glances. He survived another week, they realized.

"On our way," Tupper said, closing the channel.

They watched the nurses put the finishing touches on the prisoner's garb at the infirmary, zipping the front. The Doctor ran a bio scan of the prisoner, guiding his device from top to bottom as a projection scanned the body. He gave a satisfied nod to the device before placing it on a table. "He's all yours, Commander," he said to Tupper.

"Turn around and face forward with your arms out front," he ordered the prisoner, who complied. Vuon affixed restraints to the prisoner's wrists, locking them until a red light began blinking from the top. He signaled back to Tupper.

The prisoner was led out of the infirmary to the doors that would open to the Quad. Each week was like clockwork for the prisoner and the Pride Troopers. No questions were asked from the prisoner nor a single word spoken unless it was directed by Tupper to answer yes or no or to make small requests such as reading materials.

They escorted him to a lift which brought them to the workout area. Opening the door, Tupper led the prisoner in. "You have forty minutes of recreational activity before dinnertime," he told him before the door closed.

All eyes, both guards and prisoners, were on him as he examined his freshly-healed body. He closed his hands into fists and nodded before choosing an empty bench to sit on. A barrier separated the guards from the prisoners during their workouts, except for the single door they used to escort prisoners through until time expired on their recreation period.

As prisoner 841-120 set up a bar for his first exercise, he was approached by three large men, built in such a way that they looked bereft of any body fat. One flexed his pectoral muscles to show off while the others nudged each other with the backs of their hands.

"Well, well, look who's back," said the one with the dancing pecs. 841 said nothing and laid down on the flat surface, casually placing his hands on the bar. "Need a spotter, bro?" the pectoral prisoner asked.

841 regarded the brawny prisoners indifferently. He couldn't care less whether they hovered over him like vultures ready to pick him off. Instead, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths before working his reps on the bench press.

From one's perspective, what the athletic men saw was a pathetic attempt by this runt to lift a single bar with no additional weight on it. But, to prisoner 841-120, he had been channeling ki to enhance the gravity in his restraints to increase their weight exponentially, forcing him to employ a great deal of strength to keep his arms from breaking. He wasn't lifting the bar but rather his own hands.

He repeated each exercise, using ki to channel a gravity field, fooling the other prisoners into believing he was still too weak to lift heavier weights. While he kept himself stone-faced, he was laughing on the inside as the prisoners laughed at him outside.

When time elapsed in the workout area, the prisoners showered and were escorted to the cafeteria. They ate in silence, monitored by guards who paced back and forth to watch them closely. 841 sat at his usual spot, a table near a set of windows that looked out into space, protected by an energy field. Several times the other prisoners felt it would be funny to trip him up, but 841 either side-stepped or walked over to avoid it without looking where he was going. It vexed them, but a warning from the guards stopped them from attempting any further.

The prisoners continued eating silently until this giant of a reptile with the head of a crocodile and a deformed glazed-over eye with a scar over it entered the area. Prisoners gradually halted mid-bite to stare, watching the giant walk directly to 841-120. That blinded eye disturbed several prisoners, forcing them to look away in disgust. Others were so intimidated by him that they gave him all the space he needed to work out. They'd let him have the workout area all to himself on occasion.

"Easy, Reizuko," said one of the prisoners at 841's table. "He just recovered."

Reizuko, or prisoner 8-7965 as his number indicated on his garb, nearly shoved 841's head into his food. "That food's too good for a monkey like yourself," he said. 841's face was only an inch away from his plate and needed a slight tweak of strength to prevent himself from wearing his dinner on his face. Reizuko nudged his head a couple of times before releasing his grip. He spat a glob of corrosive phlegm from his throat into 841's food, which had the added effect of dissolving it through the table completely, leaving a hole.

841's eyes glared at Reizuko. He wanted to do something about what this reptilian idiot did to his food but knew better than to arouse unwanted suspicion. Not when he knew how much stronger he was than everyone in this prison, especially the Pride Troopers. Exercising restraint after so many years was weighing more heavily than the gravity fields he created with his ki.

"That's enough, 8-7965," said one of the guards. "You're here to eat, not socialize. Get your food and sit, or you get sent back to your cell."

Reizuko waved him off. "Yeah, yeah." He cupped the top of 841's head with his giant palm. "Enjoy that slop they feed you while you still can. You'll be glad to have that as your last meal before I handle your execution next week."

The giant laughed, led away by a couple of guards. 841 studied the hole left by Reizuko's spit and sighed as he left his seat.

"Hey, you can have the rest of mine," said a prisoner beside him. He didn't seem all that intimidating, even without Reizuko's presence that sucked the atmosphere out of the room. 841 stared at the half-full plate and forced down the grumbling sensation in his stomach. That was his only meal, of which he had been given extra to recover his strength from the fighting, healing, and exercising. All this high-level security didn't afford him a chance to pay back those who had mistreated him in such a fashion.

841 walked to the doors while ignoring offerings of food from other prisoners. While he acknowledged the level of sympathy coming from those who were now aware that Reizuko was to be his opponent in next week's fight, 841 didn't like it. All this sudden pity over facing an opponent that could actually kill him if he didn't play his cards right looked dishonest. He needed to leave the dining hall before he was sick to his stomach.

Tupper and Vuon were the first two guards he walked into on his way out, blocking the exit. "Whoa there," said Tupper, halting him. "Were you permitted to leave?"

841 breathed a sigh before he looked up at them. "I lost my appetite. May I be escorted back to my cell?"

"If you're not feeling well, we can take you back to the infirmary," offered Vuon, but 841 shook his head.

"I know it's early for everyone to return, but I need some time alone," 841 said.

As they escorted him back to his cell on the second tier, Tupper stopped him mid-way. "If you're uncertain about your next opponent, we can re-draw the numbers," he said. The prisoner considered it for a few seconds. "No, let him fight me."

The Pride Troopers couldn't hide their surprise. "But he's several times your size and body mass. He'll tear you apart in that cage," Vuon warned him. 841's face showed no restraint, nor did it show fear to them. He wouldn't allow it.

Instead, he nodded to the Quad where the Death Pool was located. "Go and place your bets if you haven't already. If this is to be my last match, at least I'll make one of you richer."

Tupper and Vuon let out a small gasp from their throats. "I never thought I'd hear someone so eager to throw their life away less than a month before their parole hearing. Wouldn't you rather state your case for release to Warden Kutlerie instead of fighting a death match?"

841 considered Tupper's question before he continued to walk forward. "I proposed the idea for these sanctioned fights to the Warden. Don't I have a say on how I should want them to end, at least?"

"Listen to us," Vuon said, halting him with a hand on his shoulder. "We honor justice in the universe, but that doesn't mean we misuse it to see evildoers slaughtered like helpless animals. We want you and many others to have the chance to redeem yourselves and atone for your mistakes."

841 gritted his teeth before relaxing his shoulder, tapping Vuon's hand to release him. "Don't concern yourselves over me too much. I know what I'm getting myself into."

They stopped at 841's cell door. Tupper opened it with his wristband. "You won't reconsider?"

841 presented his wrists for Tupper to unlock before stepping one foot in his cell. "No."

The door closed behind him, separating 841 from the Pride Troopers before it secured itself. The two peeked through the window, watching the prisoner stand with his arms crossed, occasionally glancing behind him as though he knew they were eavesdropping. Tupper lowered a shutter to block the view of the window and grunted as he left.

"What idiot has a death wish this pronounced?" Tupper growled. "He practically wears it on his sleeve!"

"We can postpone the fight or put more restraints on prisoner 8-7965 to ensure he can't utilize his full strength," Vuon suggested, but Tupper shook his head. He wasn't having any of it.

"You know the rules, Vuon," Tupper said, glancing behind him. "No outside interference, including from the guards. The fight ends once 841-120 is unconscious for 10 seconds."

Tupper could sense Vuon was more concerned than he was. "I hate it as much as you do, watching him be punished by his opponent each week. What does he gain from this?"

"I wish I knew," Vuon responded before they went their separate ways to resume their normal duties with the guards.

Back in his cell, 841 paced from his bed to the wall. It wouldn't be long before lockdown, and everyone was back in their cells.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he fought against another hunger pang, which was worse than what he suppressed at dinner after watching his food dissolve from Reizuko's glob of mucus.

The pangs made him light-headed. "If I knew that bastard was going to ruin my meal, I would not have overdone it during the exercise period," he groaned, pressing a hand against his head. If he stood up now, a wave of vertigo would've swept through his field of vision, forcing him back to the floor. He steadied his breathing, employing meditation techniques he remembered from his former teacher to control his state of hunger and avoid another dizzy spell.

841 – he loathed those numbers on his garb! – focused his ki inward, stilling his thoughts and body. Projecting an image of his former master, a rugged individual with a thick black beard and spiked black hair with layers of clothing that weren't from his native homeworld, he tried to reach out to him telepathically through the endless field of ki he could channel to connect with him. He had been attempting to reach his master for years, but there was no response.

Master, where are you…?

841 ceased concentrating and opened his eyes.

No response.

He tried again, this time with his friends.

Nothing.

He tried with people from other villages on his home planet.

Still nothing.

There has to be someone who can sense my ki and answer!

He knew this needed to be his first goal if they granted him parole. He had been on good behavior for years now, obedient to the guards, trusted by Tupper and Vuon, and able to relegate much of the violence to the sanctioned fights each week. That had to mean something if it was going to convince Kutlerie to release him early instead of keeping him here for another ten bloody years.

If he knew anything, she could answer. He closed his eyes once more. He stretched his ki out as far as his senses could take him. Please answer…! Anything…! I know you still have to be out there…!

It was eerie, the silence that responded to him. It wasn't the kind of silence where he could still perceive other noises in a room with no one inside. It was a silence absent of noise. A silence 841 wanted to associate with death but dreaded the very thought.

The mind-numbing sensation of reaching out to dead space nearly made him slam his fist on the floor. It was frustrating not having the ability to test his strength and abilities in such a tight, confined area. The gravity training he had been practicing over the years was all he could do, along with his image training to discover any variation on gravity manipulation he could conjure with his phantom opponent, whomever it was. If he had enough space and time, he could put all of his abilities to practice. He thought of some of his master's other teachings, including one passed along to him in secret, but knew there was no practical use for it, not when he wanted to leave this prison legitimately and not illegally. He did still keep that ability in the back of his mind as a reminder, however.

The last thing he needed was a regiment of Pride Troopers down his throat if he took matters into his own hands. He hoped that it would not come to that if Kutlerie would grant him parole. He hoped Kutlerie would grant him parole.

After another series of attempts, 841 eventually gave up and began his gravity training exercises, forming gravity fields around loose objects. Some embedded themselves into the floor, while others floated around the room. He thought of using this against Reizuko to soften his blows by jabbing his pressure points with high-speed strikes but relented. "No, this has to be legitimate," he told himself.

Tying strips of cloth that he tore from his blanket to his wrists and ankles, he channeled ki to enhance their field of gravity. The hardest part of his training was doing precise ki manipulation. Altering the gravity field of living and inanimate objects without affecting the room required concentration, focus, and stamina. It took some time for him to master the subtle nuances of gravity techniques, but after a few years in this prison – with nothing better to do – he had a firm grasp. It did drain him of his ki after many uses of this technique, but he had good insight into how much of an advantage this gave him. His secret training would help turn the tides in his favor should he ever encounter opponents in the future. Not the weaker ones he'd been forcing himself to lose against, but the stronger ones outside this prison.

It was tempting to use it against the opponents who bludgeoned him weekly and sent him to the infirmary, but he had other reasons for allowing his body to be punished to such a brutal extent.

He exercised to exhaustion, crawling to his bed before passing out. It was all he could do to use the rest of his ki stores to release the gravity field on those objects to restore them to normal before he lay on his side, drifting to sleep within seconds.

He chose to spend the rest of the week leading up to his fight with Reizuko in the minimalist way possible. He only ever used the workout area twice, opting out of using his gravity technique to avoid garnering laughter again from those same burly prisoners.

Reizuko, he found, was kept under constant surveillance to ensure that he wouldn't find him alone in some empty room and challenge him to a fight then and there before the sanctioned battle. If 841 were to run into such an unfortunate encounter, it might not have gone so well for Reizuko. He wished it would've come to this had the guards not taken extra precautions.

He was glad to see that no one intervened with his meals, unlike Reizuko. He ate to regain strength from those exercises and paced himself, knowing he could only eat so much. His stomach screamed for more, begging each time to fill it to bursting with food, but 841 was unrelenting in his willpower to suppress his hunger. If he were back home, he'd be feasting every night after training with his master, friends, and beloved.

Weeks went by like clockwork for prisoner 841-120 over the years he served his prison sentence. After recovering in the infirmary, he was given a day to rest by the guards and light exercise and food to recover his strength. The remaining days were spent working around the facility. He cleaned floors and toilets, did the laundry, and helped sort books at the library. Spending time organizing books with Skilette, the prison librarian, was the most peaceful. 841 never had to worry about listening to petty arguments spewed from the other prisoners, nor did he need to hear vague threats of violence from those who believed they could beat him in a fight. Skilette, at least, advocated with a stern voice the notion of being quiet while in her presence. She was a cute woman with dark hair and round-rimmed glasses, but she wasn't without her dangerous stare whenever her rules were challenged.

The sanctioned fights degraded to an enduring chore over the years. 841 suppressed his ki, forcing his body to be injured by these prisoners. Each week, he put his body through excruciating pain. But it wasn't without a purpose.

He discovered something about his physiology that had not been apparent during his youth on his home planet while training with his master. He had never had his body injured to the extent of what he sustained until realizing what was gained after fully recovering in the infirmary's healing tank. 841 felt stronger the next day, stronger than he was before his sanctioned fight. As he fought his next opponent, he realized that he could endure more hits. When he recovered, his strength had increased again.

The process repeated itself until he was presented with a dilemma. He was becoming too strong to the point where his next fight went to a stalemate. If he continued like this, he'd plateau in his growth. In his training, he recalled using ki to his advantage, one of which was suppressing it as camouflage, hiding his presence from those searching for him. Your opponent may rely too much on using ki to search for you. If you suppress it low enough, they can mistake you for another life form. Use that to blend in with your surroundings to fool their senses until they are vulnerable to an attack, his master's words echoed in his ears.

Now that he knew he could use this technique, he repeatedly suppressed his ki with each fight to force his body into a weakened state. Prisoners loved watching the one-sided matches, even though some viewed him as a lunatic for putting his body through hell. Some of his opponents had begun to regret fighting him, unsure whether they even wanted to bring him to near-death. Yet he recovered and acted as if he had never fought the night before. Those healing tanks were a blessing.

When Tupper and Vuon escorted him to the workout area that had been converted to a fighting cage, Tupper opened the door. "Last chance to forfeit, 841-120," he said to him in a low voice. 841 ignored him and stepped inside.

Reizuko tore himself away from several guards who tried in vain to escort him quietly to the cage. Hitting his fist into his palm, the giant towered over 841 with a sinister grin. "Say your prayers, monkey."

If Reizuko expected fear in 841's eyes, he wouldn't find it. 841 knew this hulking brute was a pushover and could've vaporized him with a simple ki blast, but this would be another one of these fights where he'd suppress his ki. He wasn't feeling fear before Reizuko but rather anger. Anger at himself for having to fight temptation once again. Of all the prisoners who provoked him over the years, Reizuko was the most efficient at pushing his buttons.

As Reizuko separated his fist from his palm, 841 saw the reptilian's blood falling to the floor in droplets. Once it touched the metallic floor, the mildly acidic substance steamed and coagulated from the impact. Spiked knuckles decorated Reizuko's hands that reflected the light from above. The sight of Reizuko's blood prompted 841 to assess his situation. He hadn't done that in a while. Most of the fights were simple matters of suppressing his ki to take the hits and recover in the infirmary. Reizuko was entering the fight, ready to kill him.

I can't suppress my ki too low with this one, he realized. Once he entered the cage, he had already focused his ki on suppressing it as a reflex, but after studying Reizuko's face and hands, he couldn't approach this fight the same way. Assuming an amateurish fighting pose, 841 prepared himself for the first blow.

"This won't take long," said Reizuko as he stalked towards 841. "I'll embed these spikes into your skull so deep they'll need special tools to pry them out."

It's not too late to raise your ki and endure this bastard, 841 thought. Maybe drag out the fight and hope you survi-?

He realized his mistake was taking too much time considering his options when Reizuko's bloodied knuckle came crashing down in a right hook to his face, knocking him to the floor. The shock almost made him lose consciousness as hard as his head had struck the floor. The prisoners above roared and cheered, goading the reptilian brute.

"Down in one shot! How'd you like that?" Reizuko laughed as he kicked 841 in the gut and sent him flying across the floor to the wall. The impact left him gasping and coughing up blood once he hit the floor with another heavy thud. Touching his face, he could feel the divots where the knuckles had struck him. Dammit…! I can only take a few more of these before I blackout.

Reizuko moved in on him quickly before 841 was back on his feet. "I'm far from done, monkey. I'll bleed you dry," Reizuko said. 841's face darkened. As if I'll let you kill me.

He increased his ki as Reizuko held him up by his head, using his free arm to punch him repeatedly in the face and torso. "Make the pretty people happy, monkey! Entertain them!"

The giant planted his knuckled fist into 841's gut, releasing his grip to lift him before flipping him over to hammer him to the floor, back first. 841 let out a wheezing gasp from the impact.

Reizuko licked the blood off the knuckles, not caring whether they were his or 841's. 841 was writhing on the floor, coughing up blood repeatedly. He tried to channel ki to endure another hit but felt a wave of panic hit him as he could not. He had taken too much damage at this point to focus. He groggily tried to move to his hands and knees, searching the room for signs of Tupper and Vuon to signal them to end the fight, but his vision had been obscured by how much damage his head had taken and how much blood had dripped along his eyes to partially blind him.

There was initial cheering for the fighters as it began, 841 noticed. But there was too much ringing in his ears to detect whether they were still egging Reizuko on or calling for a stop to the fight. Amid all the background noise, his vision blurred into darkness as he felt the cold hard floor one last time before he faded out of consciousness.

A Threat of Punishment?

An hour later, Tupper and Vuon marched to Reizuko's cell, relieving the guards who watched over him. Vuon looked nervous, having never seen his friend look as agitated as he was, and remained silent while Tupper went to work.

"Prisoner 8-7965, stand," Tupper called out. Reizuko did as ordered, his hands concealed in devices that locked his hands up to his forearms, preventing him from using them.

"If prisoner 841-120 dies from his injuries, a formal inquiry will determine what judgment shall be passed upon you," Tupper said. Reizuko laughed.

"Pride Troopers. Pathetic, all of you," he said, nearly spitting in Tupper's face.

Tupper glared at Reizuko, his hand hovering above his controller. "Watch your tongue, or you'll be spending the night bathing in electrical currents running through your body."

"You think your petty gadgets scare Reizuko? Nothing scares Reizuko," the prisoner told him. He paused when Tupper grinned.

"Is that so?" Tupper said.

"Your laws and your justice don't frighten me. Your threats, useless as everyone else in this prison. Let the monkey die so I can take over. Then you'll see some real entertainment happen in this prison for everyone to see."

Tupper glared at him. He was ready to press the button and shock Reizuko, sending the big prisoner to his knees. He could see his hand shaking as it hovered over the buttons. "I had my objections at first about these sanctioned fights until I was convinced that they wouldn't be as savage as what I witnessed earlier," Tupper said. Reizuko went to open his mouth, but Tupper cut him off. "I wasn't finished."

He looked at Vuon, and both knew where he wanted this conversation to go. "Prisoner 841-120 has it in good faith that these sanctioned fights are an improvement for everyone here. The prisoners rarely fight with each other, they behave as expected, and morale has never been higher thanks to him. If you take that away, what then…?

"But all that is now in jeopardy because of you," Tupper said, pointing at Reizuko. "I cannot allow these sanctioned fights to continue if prisoners such as yourself ruin it for everyone."

"What does it matter, Pride Trooper?" Reizuko said mockingly. The venom in his voice when he said "Pride Trooper" did not sit well with Tupper, who gritted his teeth.

"The code of honor among all serving Pride Troopers is to enforce justice across the universe," he said sternly. "Justice is served to preserve the quality of life and suppress those who would violate that quality. Justice is also merciful enough to allow evildoers the opportunity to accept responsibility for their actions and make a solemn vow to redeem themselves.

"Everyone in this facility, both guard and prisoner, respects that code without question. We expect this of you as well, prisoner 8-7965," Tupper said. His face darkened when he stepped towards Reizuko, who stood at least a foot and a half taller. "Otherwise, the next opponent you'll face in that cage will be Jiren."

When the name left Tupper's lips, Reizuko's face went pale. The other guards didn't show it, but they were terrified of the lone Pride Trooper. Even before the Pride Troopers participated in the Tournament of Power, no one struck fear more in criminals than Jiren the Grey. His strength was the subject of nightmares.

Reizuko gulped, shuffling back to his bed to sit down. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Apology accepted," Tupper replied and closed the door.

Tupper lamented, forcing himself to play bad cop to someone like Reizuko, leaving a sour taste in his mouth as he went directly to Warden Kutlerie's office on the top-most tier.

Accompanied by Vuon, Tupper hesitated before knocking on the door. "Take it easy," Vuon said. "Let me."

Vuon knocked twice on Tupper's behalf. A low voice answered. "Enter."

Kutlerie's office had the finest furnishings donated to him from years of servitude in the Pride Troopers. The light overhead glistened off the polished surface of a dark wooden desk decorated with a bottle of whiskey placed in the middle of a silver serving tray surrounded by four intricately crafted glasses, one of which sat on a coaster with ice cubes swimming in a small pool of the alcoholic beverage. The carpeting inlaid was made of fabric only found on planet Cellah, known to dabble in fabrics and utilities for making clothing and decorative items.

Everything looked to be invaluable in Kutlerie's office. A bookshelf stood against the wall by the desk, filled with research materials, novels, documents, and a framed picture of Kutlerie with Toppo in the middle, standing at attention in a militant fashion while saluting the camera. Pieces of artwork depicting battles were commissioned by an artist named Kanvas, who eventually enlisted for light duty as a Pride Trooper member when the popularity boom happened. One of his famous pieces, a painting of Jiren standing victorious on top of a rock with his defeated opponents, decorated the wall above Kutlerie's office chair. This painting could be visible the moment you'd enter.

Kutlerie was in the middle of a miniature golf game, putting a ball towards a mechanized patch of green felt. When the ball dropped in the built-in hole on top, the mechanism spat it back to Kutlerie's putter. A second putt narrowly missed the hole, inciting a chuckle from the aged man with a full head of gray hair and gray beard. He paused to retrieve the ball as Tupper and Vuon entered.

"Gentlemen," he said, clasping his hands on their shoulders with a firm shake. He immediately released his grip to resume his putting game while Tupper and Vuon saluted the warden. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I've come with an update on the delayed shipment of kitchen supplies to replace those we've worn out. They should arrive the day after tomorrow," Tupper said, reading from a tablet he had carried with him.

"Always a reason for these delays, huh?" Kutlerie chuckled. Tupper swallowed, uncertain about whether he wanted to follow through with his actual reason. He swallowed his pride and continued.

"However, that is not the purpose of my visit, sir. There is one other matter I would like to discuss."

"Oh?" Kutlerie said, gently grabbing the top of his glass with his hand as he sat in his chair. Tupper and Vuon declined an offer to share a drink. Once Kutlerie was settled, he sipped from his glass, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as he set it down on its coaster. "Go ahead."

"The condition of prisoner 841-120 after today's sanctioned fight has raised many concerns. Vuon and I agreed that it may be time to put these fights to rest."

Kutlerie raised an eyebrow.

Tupper continued. "Prisoner 8-7965 failed to exercise restraint according to the rules outlined in the sanctioned fight and caused bodily harm that we believed might be fatal if 841-120 does not survive the night in the infirmary, Sir. I wish to open a disciplinary hearing on how we should punish 8-7965 for his carelessness."

"I see," was all Kutlerie said. His tone didn't carry the gravitas of worry that Tupper's and Vuon's did. Kutlerie sipped from his glass, swirling the ice cubes as he spun the liquid around. "And have you discussed your concern with the other guards?" Kutlerie asked.

"At the moment, no, Sir. We wish to obtain a copy of the Infirmary's report on prisoner 841-120's condition and bring it to you first before discussing the matter further with the guards," Tupper said. His body couldn't stop tensing up for some reason in Kutlerie's presence. Why does the warden sound so calm in light of this grave news?

"They do trust our judgment, though," Tupper added. "I know they would agree if I informed them of our decision."

"You feel this decision is wise, Commander Tupper?" Kutlerie said. It was unusual for Tupper to see how cold those eyes were looking back at him. "Once word goes out that we put a halt to the sanctioned fights, it won't be long until we return to the level of anarchy that befell this prison before you both arrived. Could you handle the weight of the consequences, Commander? What say you, Commander Vuon?"

Vuon opened his mouth, but Tupper held his hand out. His voice was steady, if not steeped in anger. "With all due respect, Sir, prisoner 841-120's parole hearing is scheduled in five days."

"Yes, and-?" Kutlerie replied, downing the rest of his drink. Tupper and Vuon were almost too flabbergasted to speak.

"If I may, Sir," Vuon finally spoke. Tupper was ready to burst a blood vessel in his head. "If prisoner 841-120 is granted his parole and is transported off this prison a free man, you would be left without a volunteer to continue these sanctioned fights. I doubt anyone would want to participate after today, as far as I'm concerned."

Kutlerie sighed through his beard. He reached for his pipe, which lay nestled on a wooden plate, and opened a small box to retrieve a fresh batch of tobacco which he then stuffed into the open end. Lighting a match, he took a few puffs before easing back into his chair.

"Commanders, I've run this prison long before either of you enlisted with the Pride Troopers. I've overseen every parole hearing since this prison's foundation, and not once have I heard a single convincing statement that granted these lambs their freedom. They remain here under my watch until they serve their sentence. Fear keeps these criminals in line, gentlemen—fear of our brand of justice. You were brought in to restore order and respect and enforce that level of fear. And I must say you both have done admirably."

Tupper swallowed. Kutlerie's eyes were more dangerous than he had ever seen them. He wasted no time at all in how he changed his expression. Tupper had not been told much about Kutlerie from Toppo when he trained under his command, other than the warden was a tough individual who commanded respect. But at what cost if this was how he reacted when his methods were put into question?

"The rule of law is absolute, Commander Tupper," Kutlerie continued, rising from his seat. He blew a puff of smoke in Tupper's direction. "I ensure that all lambs who fall under my jurisdiction are made to respect and obey that law. Otherwise, what does justice mean to us as Pride Troopers?"
As Kutlerie approached the pair, his eyes narrowed, pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe at both of them. "I will only say this once, so listen very carefully. Even if I must extend their sentence, which I have no objection to, these lowlife scum will be rehabilitated in my vision. They will serve and obey the law as any respectful member of the Galactic Federation does, unquestioningly. Do I make myself clear?"

Tupper and Vuon nodded. "Yes, Sir," Tupper said. "Very clear, Sir."

Kutlerie extinguished his pipe, refilling his glass with another small portion of whiskey. He took a sip and retrieved his putter and golf ball, standing before the two.

"As far as prisoner 841-120 is concerned, if he does not survive the night, we'll find a replacement to continue the sanctioned fights. Any objections?"

Tupper steeled himself, staring ahead. "None, Sir."

"Good. Do not ever bring this up with me again. Dismissed." Kutlerie ordered.

The two saluted and made an about-face before leaving.

When they returned to the Quad, Tupper's grip on the datapad was so tight it left cracks in the screen where his fingers were placed. The damage drew a few looks from passing guards, who quickened their step shortly after. Tupper glared at Kutlerie's office.

"Everything about this is wrong, Vuon," he said. He was amazed he could keep his voice steady after all that. "We're warriors of justice and keepers of law and order. The behavior I just witnessed was that of a dictator, not a Pride Trooper."

"Agreed, my friend," said Vuon. He, too, looked up and shook his head. "We're Pride Troopers. We'd set a bad example for everyone if we acted the way Kutlerie did."

Tupper released his grip on the datapad and saw where his fingers had cracked the screen. He nodded to Vuon to follow him to the infirmary.

"No one knows the prisoners around here more than we do, Vuon," Tupper said as they walked. Vuon had to walk an extra step to keep up but had an inkling Tupper was in a rush for a reason. He hoped that prisoner 841-120 was still alive.

"It disgusted me seeing the defeated looks on their faces each time Kutlerie denied their parole. If it were up to me, I'd have given it to them without hesitation. They knew what they were serving time for, and there are those I feel who have earned their right to reform themselves into society."

Tupper stopped himself short of entering the infirmary. "I once overheard a conversation between two prisoners. Know what one of them said?" he asked Vuon. Vuon shook his head. "He said that he'd enlist in the Pride Troopers once free."

"Wait, was that-?"

Tupper said nothing else and entered the room. Two days after his parole hearing, the prisoner in question was found hanging from a metal beam in the laundry room. Kutlerie ordered the body to be disposed of without any questions asked. The news was eventually swept under the rug when the guards were kept tight-lipped about the situation. But Tupper never forgot the face of the prisoner after he suffocated from the noose around his neck.

Tupper expected the situation to be grim when he and Vuon entered. The doctor and nursing staff were still on edge concerning prisoner 841-120's condition, but Tupper could tell that the doctor's focused expression was promising.

"Status report," Tupper requested.

The doctor laid a hand on the healing tank. "You were fortunate to bring him here when you did. He maybe had a few more minutes to spare as we loaded him into the tank. We'll need to keep him overnight, however."

"Understood," said Tupper. He peered over the doctor's shoulder to observe the prisoner inside and breathed a heavy sigh. "I should have put a stop to this fight sooner."

"You can't blame yourself for this, Tupper," Vuon said. What would Tupper do without his friend around? "He's going to survive. That's the best news we've heard all day."

"Yeah."

Tupper had to force himself to stare at the condition prisoner 8-7965 left 841 in. Those divots pounded into the skull were unsightly, among other gruesome injuries that the prisoner might not have known after he passed out.

"We'll be back here at 0900 hours tomorrow morning," Tupper announced, signaling Vuon to exit.

"You have nothing to worry about, Commander," the doctor informed him. "We'll be monitoring him all night."

Laundry Day

Tupper had nearly missed his alarm the following morning if it weren't for Vuon. His friend had been waiting for him at the door to his private quarters, tapping his forearm impatiently. "It's not like you to sleep through your alarm."

"I couldn't sleep," Tupper groaned, wiping his face.

"You have no one to blame but yourself for that," said Vuon.

When they entered the infirmary, prisoner 841-120 was in the middle of eating. Eating was the operative term to describe a man who ate as if he hadn't had a meal in days. Shoving food into his mouth, he downed it with a large glass of water before he continued, leaving the nursing staff bewildered.

"That's his sixth meal," whispered one of the nurses to the other before they both let out a small gasp at the sight of Tupper and Vuon. "Sorry! Good morning, Commanders! He's fully recovered and ready to be escorted," they said, bowing in unison.

Tupper couldn't believe the amount of food this prisoner was eating. Then it dawned on him that it might explain why he had so much trouble lifting weights during his workout. Could he have been underfed this whole time? The guilt of mistreating this prisoner weighed more and more on Tupper until Vuon cleared his throat, nudging him forward.

When 841 finished his sixth plate, he rose from his seat to stretch. "That's much better," he said. He tapped his stomach with a sigh before setting his sights on Tupper and Vuon. "Good morning, Commander Tupper. Commander Vuon," he said as he greeted them. Offering his hands by instinct, Vuon affixed the restraints.

"Please be more careful next time," said one of the nurses as she examined 841 one final time before dismissing him. Tupper and Vuon then escorted him out of the infirmary.

"You barely put up a fight against prisoner 8-7965," said Tupper as he led 841 to the laundry room. "Why didn't you fight back?"

841 shrugged. "I simply underestimated his strength. He was the strongest opponent I've ever faced up to this point," he said, pondering with a finger to his chin.

"This isn't the time to be a smartass, 841," Vuon warned him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you held back in that fight."

841's face darkened for just a second before he stared ahead. "At least I was able to entertain the crowd yesterday, right?" he asked, looking up at both of them.

Tupper stopped, glancing behind him. Vuon could see the hint of worry on Tupper's face when their eyes met briefly. "I wouldn't call that entertainment, 841. A lot of prisoners admire your bravery, stupid as it is, but none of them looked remotely 'entertained.'"

Tupper's statement took 841 by surprise. "That bad?"

"You're lucky you're still alive after that!" Tupper shouted. He caught himself too late to steady his temper yet knew that 841 was unintentionally pushing his buttons. It was the first time in years that Tupper found himself angry at a prisoner, immediately regretting it afterward.

"I'll take over, Tupper," Vuon said, touching 841's shoulder. "You should go back to bed and get some proper sleep. I'll handle today's duties."

Tupper smiled weakly but nodded. "You're a good friend, Vuon. What would I do without you?"

"Same to you, bud," Vuon replied, and they both bumped fists before Vuon took care of escorting prisoner 841-120.

"We're doing you this favor only once, understand?" Vuon told him. "We're going to lighten your chore load this week leading up to your parole hearing. Take it easy and try not to get yourself into any trouble. We don't want you to look bad in front of Warden Kutlerie."

841 blinked. Vuon could see he wasn't expecting this level of treatment after enduring the worst beating he ever took yesterday. "I understand, Commander Vuon. I'll be good."

"You'll be working with Group D from Level 3. I don't want any trouble," Vuon advised him before opening the door to the laundry room. "And I want that room spotless, got it?" he told 841 before closing the door.

Group D, as 841 understood, consisted of several malcontents who served life sentences for murder. During many conversations he overheard between Tupper and Vuon, murderers were typically executed by the Pride Troopers, believing that taking an innocent life is inexcusable in the eyes of justice. Instead, these ruffians plead their case to serve the rest of their life in prison instead of accepting a swift death.

The group leader was a tall, slender, green-skinned punk named Dishus, who, for the most part, kept himself and his "flunkies" out of trouble when it came to interacting with the stronger-looking prisoners. Dishus himself bragged that he wanted to be in prison if it meant seeing less of the Pride Trooper's ugly faces each day. He was also never seen without that bright red spiked mohawk of his and deep scar on his cheek left by a knife which gave him a partial smirk. To lesser prisoners, it was his favorite intimidation tactic. To giants like Reizuko, it was a different matter entirely.

When Dishus spotted 841 approaching him, he snapped his fingers to alert his group, who were in the middle of folding clothes fresh from the dryer. "Check it out. It's our favorite monkey-boy!" he said. That smirk of his went as wide as he could stretch it, which looked far more sinister with the addition of that scar. 841 ignored the crew and filled a mop bucket with soap and water.

"Got any cool moves to show us, monkey-boy?" asked one of the flunkies, a prisoner with so much hair on his face and body that 841 couldn't tell where his eyes were, much less his mouth.

841 didn't respond. All he wanted to do was get the floor spotless as Vuon instructed and move on to the next chore. If it weren't for those cameras above monitoring their movements, he would've put them to the ground by now with a wide gravity field and held them there until he was finished.

Rolling the bucket to the far end by the doors, he began mopping, sweeping the mop from side to side. "C'mon, monkey-boy! Entertain us like you did in the cage! Dance around so we can have Dishus beat the snot outta ya!" said the same hairy flunkie, earning a round of laughter from the crew.

841 gripped the mop handle tightly. It aggravated him. Although he had every feature of the animal in question, being called a monkey-boy was infuriating due to how carelessly they called him in such a derogatory fashion. He scanned the room for those surveillance cameras again. It was tempting to break them so the guards couldn't see what he would do next, but it also risked drawing them into the room, knowing that something had happened. He needed to play it safe, but he also wanted to mess around with them. "C'mon, you're boring us, monkey-boy! Flail around like you did against Reizuko! That was fun to watch!"

That flunkie had a death wish at this point. 841 knew he wouldn't lower himself to succumb to petty insults, knowing that he had the strength to eviscerate the whole prison. His hands gripped the mop handle so tightly that he had to refrain from snapping the handle. Cool your temper. They're provoking you into fighting them. Just mop.

Just mop.

He repeated those words like a mantra, even channeling a bit of his ki to enhance the gravity field around the mop handle to increase its weight. Some light exercise wouldn't hurt for now. It'd help distract him long enough to get the floor cleaned while clearing his mind of their mindless roasting.

He channeled just enough ki into the handle to add a lot of resistance to it, forcing him to struggle as he pushed the mop across the floor. The flunkies laughed.

"What's this?" Dishus asked, circling 841. "Did all those muscle-heads beat you so much that you can't even push a dinky little mop?"

841 caught Dishus reaching for the handle, forcing him to release the gravity field. Dishus then snatched it from his hand and tapped him on the head a couple of times with the top of the handle. "Mopping floors is child's play, monkey-boy! Let me show you how it's supposed to be done!"

"You two should dance around with the mop! That'd be hilarious!" said another flunkie, a prisoner much shorter than 841.

Dishus twirled and circled 841, playing around with the mop. He intentionally bumped 841's legs and feet with the mophead, drenching his prison garb in soapy water, earning another round of laughter from the flunkies.

Closing his hand into a fist, 841 channeled enough ki into the mop handle to make it heavy enough for Dishus to lose his grip on it, releasing the field before the mop hit the floor. Dishus halted, which also halted the laughter. "What the hell?" Dishus said. His smirk vanished, glaring at 841. "What did you do, monkey-boy?"

"Do what?"

"You did somethin' to the mop, didn't ya?" Dishus asked, towering over him by over a foot and a half.

"I don't know what you're talking about. May I have the mop back so I can do my job? I don't want to anger Commander Vuon."

841 restrained his lips from smiling. He was going to have some fun with this idiot.

"Fine. You suck at entertainment anyway, monkey-boy. Take the stupid mop and stay out of our way," Dishus said disgustingly. When he bent to lift the mop, 841 channeled ki again to increase the gravity. Dishus grunted, struggling to lift the handle, which confused the flunkies as they brushed 841 aside to leer over the mop. "Hey Dishus, what's going on? What's with the mop?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?!" Dishus yelled. He pulled as hard as possible, but the handle would not budge. Each flunkie took turns putting all their strength into pulling the mop handle off the floor.

To add insult to injury, 841 released the gravity field around the mop, and the flunkie flung himself back from the momentum, which caused the handle to fly up and strike Dishus in the nose with the top. The small flunkie barked a laugh, which angered Dishus enough to kick him with his long leg. It amazed 841 how good of a reach Dishus had with that foot of his that he could reach the small one to kick his head.

Dishus rounded on 841, hand covering his nose. "You did something to that mop. I know you did!" he yelled, breathing through one nostril. His light green face was inches from 841's. "You think it's a joke, messing with us? Wait 'til we tell the guards what you did, then you'll be really sorry! Let's go!"

"But boss, what about the laundry?" asked one of the flunkies. 841 couldn't tell where this one's face stopped, and its horns began but shrugged it off in his mind.

Dishus stormed over to two of the shortest members, one being the flunkie he kicked earlier. He grabbed them both by the collars of their prisoner garb and dragged them back to the laundry table. "You two finish folding! The rest of you come with me! You're gonna be in so much trouble, monkey-boy!" Dishus trailed off, stabbing a finger at 841 as he stalked out of the room with three of his flunkies. 841 decided to add more insult by easily lifting the mop handle off the floor since he did not need to use a gravity field anymore. He had his small victory in the bag.

The two flunkies left to tend to the laundry weren't even tall enough to look over the table at the folded sheets. Their jobs were to unload the bottom washers and dryers, taking the contents out to load large bins to be rolled to the table for folding. Now faced with a job meant for all six of them minus 841, they both looked to him pleadingly.

"Little help? Please?" said the shortest one.

"Not my job," 841 said with a smile as he resumed mopping.

A Revelation

On his way back to his cell once dinner was over, 841 was accosted by Tupper and Vuon, who relieved the two guards that were his escort. "We need to talk before you return to your cell," said Tupper, exchanging a nod with the two guards. They saluted him before they left.

Tupper waited until they were out of hearing range before addressing 841. "We spoke with prisoner 161-22 about what happened in the laundry room earlier today," he explained.

841 glanced at Vuon. "I made sure the room was spotless as you requested, Commander," he said, but that only generated an annoyed sigh from Tupper. "That's not relevant to what occurred while you were in there. 161-22 was adamant you were using some technique to make the mop handle heavier. If you continued provoking him, a fight would've broken out, jeopardizing your chance of parole. You know it's two days from now, right?"

"I am aware, Commander," 841 said. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about my parole hearing." He shifted his gaze to the Quad, where he caught sight of Dishus and his flunkies being led to their cell block by a team of guards. "However, I fail to see how it was my fault the mop handle's weight was increased. I don't know what he's talking about."

"We found no conclusive evidence on the camera feed, sadly," said Vuon. He produced a baton, holding it out on his palm facing upward.

"However, we would like you to prove that what you say is the truth," he said. 841 reached out for the baton, only to have it pulled away by Vuon. "I meant prove that you don't have this ability prisoner 161-22 is claiming."

841 could've easily made the baton fall out of Vuon's hand with a simple channeling of ki, but that would've been the most idiotic thing he could do. Thank goodness none of these people know how to sense ki.

841 eyed the baton for a few seconds, studying it in Vuon's hand. He pretended to analyze it carefully but refrained from using any ki to make it heavier. Vuon narrowed his eyes. "Well…?"

"Well, what?" 841 replied. "Was it supposed to get heavier in your hand? I don't know."

Vuon pinched the bridge of his nose. "I told you this was a waste of time, Tupper. Those idiots were messing around and managed to hurt their leader with some comedy skit."

"It wasn't even a good one if you ask me," said 841, playing along. He could almost hear a chuckle from Vuon but knew the Pride Troopers needed to take their jobs seriously.

"Very well. Let's take you back to your cell. You have one last day with the librarian before your hearing," said Tupper, leading the way.

"If it weren't for some questionable personality quirks, I'd consider enlisting with the Pride Troopers once you've been officially released," suggested Vuon, which generated a curious look from Tupper. "What? Despite the sanctioned fights, he's been a model prisoner for years."

"I thought of enlisting once, a long time ago," 841 said. His tone was dangerously close to anger. For all the rapport he's built with Tupper and Vuon, his true feelings for the Pride Troopers often forced him to bite his tongue when speaking about them in a positive light. He veiled his hatred well to Tupper and Vuon but knew that there were others among the organization whom he did not need to hide his feelings.

Especially him.

His time would come. Even if the hearing were an abysmal mess, he'd bide his time and endure another ten years before he was free to go.

But he knew.

He knew that he would free himself of these restraints for good the day after tomorrow, regardless of the outcome. He tortured his body through those stupid fights to become stronger after discovering the secret of his physiology. He would use that strength to take back what was stolen from him and make that one suffer. But more importantly, he desperately needed to return to Gardenia to see his friends. To see her again and beg her forgiveness.

"We can put in a good word with General Kahseral and General Dyspo. You'd be a good fit under their command," Tupper offered. He shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose you'd have a point, Vuon."

Kahseral and Dyspo. Those names swam in 841's mind, stirring the miasma of vile anathema he built over the years. Kahseral and Dyspo were in on this as well. 841 swallowed, taking careful action not to betray his stoicism. However, calling them Generals? That sounded off somehow.

"General Kasheral and General Dyspo?" 841 inquired. He kept his voice steady. "What about Toppo? Wasn't he the general you answered to?"

"He was until he ascended to replace the God of Destruction, Belmod. From what we heard, the poor guy was beside himself with defeat after we lost the Tournament of Power," Tupper explained. 841 blinked, surprised.

"A God of Destruction? I've heard stories from my old village about a God who ruled the universe with incredible power. I'm surprised they actually exist."

"They're most definitely real, 841," said Vuon confidently. "You'd be amazed by how well Toppo has done as the new Destroyer. However, he wants to be referred to as Barbon to fit his title. But to us, he'll always be Toppo, right Tupper?"

"Careful, Vuon. He might get offended and destroy you," Tupper said, which incited a chuckle from the pair. 841's hand balled into a fist, tightening its grip. He didn't care that his fingers were digging into his palm, but it was all he could do in his anger without allowing his face to indicate his reaction.

"Commander? Are you still escorting the prisoner to his cell?" asked one of the lower-ranked guards. Tupper cleared his throat. "No need, cadet. We're responsible for prisoner 841."

The guard saluted them and left. 841 loosed his grip slightly to avoid suspicion but knew that his fingers must've punctured his skin to draw blood. He cupped his hand to prevent himself from bleeding onto the floor, folding them in front while keeping his head low. When they arrived at his cell, Tupper opened the door.

"The offer's still there if you're interested. Just say the word, and we'll recommend to Dyspo and Kahseral that they exonerate you. You'll have a bright future with the Pride Troopers fighting on the side of justice."

That damn word wanted to make his eye twitch based on the countless times 841's heard it spewed so casually. Instead, he pursed his lips and gave them a small bow. "I'll give it some thought."

"That's the spirit," said Vuon, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "We'd hate to lose you."

What the hell does that mean? 841 thought. He stepped into his cell, facing away from the Pride Troopers as they closed the door.

Now that he was alone, 841's body surrounded itself with a white aura of ki. Loose objects suddenly were weighed down by a field of gravity 841 channeled into the room, which forced the metal bars on the bed frame to bend slightly. He was cautious enough not to disrupt the rest of the prison facility. He trained his mind and body to perfect his ki control.

Releasing the field, 841 sat on the mattress. From under his pillow, he produced a picture of Toppo. The image had seared itself in his mind for fifteen long years.

It had been an object that 841 could siphon his hatred into. For so long, he punished himself, pushing his body to be strong enough to destroy the one who stole his freedom. After tomorrow, God of Destruction be damned; he would make peace with his people before he waged his one-man war on Toppo.

The Day Before

"Good afternoon. Did you eat well?"

Every time 841 was assigned to assist Skilette, the prison librarian, he was greeted by her cheerful question. "Quite well, actually," he smiled.

"Thank goodness you're in good spirits today," she told him. "Because I've been backlogged this month with a large shipment of books from planet Netfiss."

She was seen carrying several in her hands when 841 stepped through the sliding door. The library was a decent size with two sets of tables and chairs in an open space, surrounded by Skilette's desk and long bookshelves. Although the air was filtered through the ventilation system, 841 could still detect the distinct aroma of the books' paper quality. He had grown accustomed to that scent over time since the beginning of his prison sentence. "I swear I'm going to file a complaint to the main library branch of Netfiss city. When they sent the new prisoners here, over half of them were avid readers!"

841 could see how much she struggled to keep all those books, ten in total, balanced in her arms. "Uh, allow me," he offered, reaching to take half of the stack off the pile.

"Thank goodness," Skilette sighed. She set the books down on the empty table, 841 doing the same. "Any longer, and I would've been buried."

841 spotted the unfinished game of chess on the table. It remained intact from when they last played. He took the black-colored rook and moved it to the left a few spaces, removing the white-colored bishop. "Check," he said.

"Huh? Crap, I forgot what my last play was!" Skillette cried.

"You can figure out your next move while I put these away for you," 841 offered, organizing the books to be easily stackable in his arms. Despite his height, he had a good sense of balance to handle these small chores. It was one of the reasons why Skilette preferred him to be her helper above the other prisoners.

When 841 returned, he noted the white-colored king was moved, with Skilette adjusting her glasses to focus on his pieces. "I probably gave you enough time to catch up and think ten moves ahead of me by now," he said.

"Not really," Skilette replied. "I can see where you might make the next few moves that would give you the victory."

841 and Skilette hovered over the board pensively, studying the positions of all their respective pieces. The library chores he was assigned to do were the longest for him. It was not only because of how much time it took to organize books and files, but it was one of Skilette's requests that he be given more time to help her in the library when his turn came.

Skilette reached for the knight but retracted her hand. She stifled a yawn. "I think we were at this too long," she said. She removed her glasses, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes before she exhaled another yawn, more pronounced this time. 841 fought the reflexive urge to yawn himself. "I should go home early today."

That was the first instance of "home" that he heard Skilette mention. Conversations were short, mostly centered around her fascination with how the prisoners lived before they were assigned here to serve their sentence. She politely refused any questions asked about her personal life outside the prison, not because it wasn't their business to ask her in the first place, but because she flat out told them she'd feel embarrassed to tell them how uneventful her life was outside the confines of a sea of books.

"I always thought you lived in one of the quarters assigned to the staff," 841 said. Skilette shook her head as she cleared the game pieces to secure them in their slots before folding the board and locking it. "This is my job, not my home. There are quite a few of us who live on Netfiss. Mostly office-types who work with the vice warden."

841 never realized how much of a relief that sounded when she told him she didn't live in the prison facility with the guards and administrative staff on the top levels. It eased a burden that had built in his mind for some time now. "Are you okay…?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh," 841 scrambled for words, but the more he searched his mind, the more his eyes looked around as if directing them to the books to siphon the words out. "You rarely say anything about your life besides your job."

"What life?" Skilette said sheepishly. "A one-bedroom apartment in Netfiss city that I never painted to look more cheerful, and a houseplant that could scold me if it had words to say about how often I don't water it." She hugged the folded chessboard against her. It took her about a couple of seconds before she caught herself in her brooding. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! Here I am complaining about my place to a prisoner who has it much harder than I do. I've no right to act like that in front of you! Forgive me."

She bowed deeply, nearly dropping the chessboard. 841 could've scolded her but chuckled instead. "It's alright," he said.

Skilette looked ready to cry. "Um, please don't say anything," she requested.

"I won't say anything," 841 told her but raised his finger before she could breathe a sigh of relief. "On one condition."

Skilette blinked. "What's that?"

"I want you to stay home tomorrow," 841 said. If this parole hearing goes south, I don't want her involved in what I'm going to do afterward. She doesn't deserve that fate.

"Tomorrow is your parole hearing, isn't it?" Skilette asked. 841 nodded. Please agree to this, Skilette. It's all I ask.

Skilette's eyes shifted and blinked. 841 could see how hard she contemplated his request but didn't expect her face to gradually redden, wondering where her thought process was taking her.

"I read a story about this once. A prisoner fell in love with one of the female guards. He said once he was free, he'd find her and confess his feelings. She knew he was in love with her because she felt that way about him, too," Skilette narrated, which surprised 841. "Um, were you planning to see me at Netfiss when you're released? You're expecting your parole hearing to go well tomorrow?"

841 swallowed. This was awkward. His face went flush as he fidgeted with the binders. "I was not expecting that response," he told her.

"Sorry, that was stupid of me to say that. But why do you want me to stay home?" she asked.

841 paused. He averted her question at first. "Trust me," was all he could tell her when he decided to look her in the eye through those lenses. "Trust me," he repeated.

He wasn't sure whether her thought process took him seriously. "If you say so. Sure, I'll take tomorrow off."

Thank goodness, 841 thought. "Thank you. I figure if I were denied my parole, I wouldn't want you to see me in a state of depression," he lied. You don't deserve that kind of fate, Skilette.

It was not one of 841's thoughts going through his head later that night in his cell. He needed the night to prepare himself and review all of the training he had done since he first arrived.

He also busied himself with every opponent he fought in the sanctioned fights. He remembered every blow he took from them, every cut, bruise, scratch and broken bone he suffered on purpose when he suppressed his ki low enough. He also remembered his training before Toppo sentenced him to serve time in this prison facility. Training that only he and his master knew about.

He would ask his master about the strange phenomenon behind his physiology. He understood from an early age why he and his people ate a lot of food, but he never understood how he became stronger after recovering from such an extent of punishment to his body. How and why his body was designed that way was a mystery. He wished his mother and father were still alive to have explained it to him.

841 was confident that his body was strong enough to take on Toppo, regardless of whether he became this so-called God of Destruction now. But then he was reminded of one of his master's lessons about confusing confidence with arrogance. 841 had no way to know how his current power compared to someone like Toppo or Dyspo, for that matter. The only way he could be sure was to fight Toppo directly.

And kill him.

Parole Day

Tupper and Vuon oversaw preparations for each prisoner for their parole hearing. Wearing a clean, freshly pressed prison jumpsuit, they had clothing set aside for him after his release.

However, they knew Kutlerie would never grant prisoner 841-120 his freedom until he served his entire sentence of twenty-five years. He wanted 841 to suffer ten more years of punishing sanctioned fights for the prisoners' and guards' amusement. The sadism behind Kutlerie's decision twisted Tupper's stomach into knots.

841 was given a better meal than what he was served in the dining hall. Kutlerie's idea was to lure prisoners into a false sense of hope that they'd be free after their hearing by offering a luxurious meal and a private bathroom to wash.

Once 841 was washed and fed, he was escorted directly to the hearing room below Kutlerie's office. "I heard Skilette didn't show up to work this morning," Vuon whispered to Tupper.

The corners of Tupper's lips twitched. "Hm. Probably called in sick," he replied.

"So, who's managing the library?" Vuon asked.

"Tongs or Masher usually flip for it to look after the place. Pisses me off that I always catch one of them playing their stupid game while they let the prisoner do all the work for them," Tupper said with a huff.

"Say the word, and I'll deduct their pay," Vuon offered with a chuckle, but Tupper waved it off. "I'll discipline them."

The metal doors to the hearing room slid open to reveal Warden Kutlerie seated at the head table with Satula, the vice warden. Vuon scowled at the sight of the vice warden. "If I have to hear him talk about his stupid golf game back at Netfiss one more time…!" Vuon whispered to Tupper. Tupper didn't respond but instead stood at attention to salute the two at the table. "Precisely as scheduled, sir," he told them. The Pride Troopers saluted in unison.

"Please be seated, number 841-120," ordered Kutlerie. In the middle of the spacious room was a single metal chair for the prisoner to sit. 841 considered the chair for a moment, studying the groove left behind by many prisoners who occupied this chair before him. The scuff marks left on the floor by the chair's legs indicated some struggle, as though the prisoners who were denied parole protested Kutlerie's decision.

841 opted to remain on his feet. He gently moved the chair to the side and stood with his hands behind his back, standing calmly before Kutlerie and Satula. Tupper and Vuon exchanged looks but said nothing.

"Parole hearing number H-22686 for prisoner number 841-120 shall begin," said Vice Warden Satula after he rose from his chair to read from his digital pad. It was 841's first time laying eyes on Kutlerie's rat-faced lackey, who always wore that ugly patchwork suit with a spotted bowtie. "Prisoner number 841-120 has exceeded expectations based on reports submitted by Commanders Tupper and Vuon of the Pride Troopers. His record is in continued good standing: no incidents of violence, no disobedience, and no acts of insubordination," read Satula before laying the pad down on the table. He nodded to Kutlerie.

"It is impressive that you have been the most model prisoner out of everyone who has been sent here, number 841-120. Do you understand what you are here for today?" asked Kutlerie.

841 nodded. "I do, sir. I am here to petition for an early release as it is customary for prisoners who have the option to be granted parole for their prison sentence."

"Before you are granted a statement on your behalf, I will have you answer the following questions," Kutlerie said. Tupper knew now that these hearings were pointless. But what stung was watching how well Kutlerie acted in front of the prisoners in a false sense of courtesy. How long after the prisoner gave their statement would Kutlerie drop the disguise and lay down his twisted hammer of justice?

"Do you understand why you were sentenced to serve time under my supervision?" Kutlerie asked. That was always his first question. Most of the time, Tupper watched and listened to the answer of prisoners who regretted their actions. But there was something in 841's tone that did not sound remotely regretful.

"Conspiracy to transport illegal substances and materials across protected Pride Trooper zones," 841 answered straightforwardly. His face darkened as he spoke but remained calm throughout. It wasn't a sentence one easily forgot. Tupper wasn't puzzled after reading Dyspo's arrest report at first, but when he laid eyes on the criminal the report spoke of, it was baffling to see how such a short person had the look of a smuggler that worked with a notorious band of pirates. He still had trouble believing someone like him was capable of a heinous crime.

"And have you atoned for your crime?" was Kutlerie's second question. Acknowledge the crime, and then state the extent of their guilt for said crime. That was Kutlerie's method. Tupper wanted to vomit. What about the crime of grossly misusing your position as Warden, Kutlerie? When will you atone for that?

"I knew the mistake I had made, sir. I am ready to serve the law and justice of the universe obediently," 841 replied. Kutlerie nodded. "An admirable answer, number 841-120. One final question: What do you intend to do once you are granted freedom?"

You sniveling bastard, Tupper hissed in his mind. Being forced to watch Kutlerie play nice with them and not say anything. His mouth curled into a frown under his facial hair, enough for 841 to notice.

841 paused to consider the expression on Tupper's face before he answered Kutlerie's question. Something about how tense the Pride Trooper looked didn't sit well with him. He ignored it, for now, to focus on his answer.

"My people are simple folk, sir. Gardenia is a planet of farmers, scavengers, hunter-gatherers, inventors and innovators. I was among the first to leave my home to explore the galaxy and return to report my findings.

"Unfortunately, I was captured by Space Pirates during a mission and forced to smuggle illegal goods with them. I was looped into an operation with no option to refuse and paid the price for it. Not just in forced servitude, but choosing to serve time here in prison instead of facing execution at the hands of General Toppo."

"I see," said Kutlerie. He tapped on the digital pad Satula had used. "According to General Toppo's report at the time, you confessed to aiding the notorious Captain Kurtain and the Cellar Pirates to smuggle materials that would've built a powerful weapon to a mercenary group on planet Pantree. Am I wrong?"

841's hand closed into a fist. He still needed to play it cool. "No, sir. I did confess to General Toppo at the time. Otherwise, he would've executed me. A full confession of guilt gave me the sentence I have been serving, sir."

Kutlerie rested his chin on his hands, elbows propped on the table. He leaned forward slightly to stare at 841. "Do I have your guarantee that you won't repeat your crime after your release?" he asked.

841's ki fluctuated in his body, forcing him to keep it under control. It would be too soon to allow his emotions to run rampant. He had to make Kutlerie understand somehow. He was ready to go free.

"I underestimated what lay beyond our planet, sir. Too many dangerous people out there could take advantage of us and easily turn us into a life of crime. I understand the dangers and vow not to repeat the same mistake."

"Do you intend to return to your people in, what was it, Gardenia you said…?" Kutlerie asked. 841 nodded. "More than ever, sir. I miss my home and my friends. I want them to know what happened and that I am still alive."

He then turned to Tupper and Vuon. "Afterward, I would like to enlist with the Pride Troopers," he said, looking their way. The Pride Troopers reacted as expected.

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, number 841-120, I'm afraid there is some news I must share with you regarding planet Gardenia," Kutlerie said. 841's face was still pointed in the direction of Tupper, but his eyes immediately moved to stare at Kutlerie.

"What happened to Gardenia?" 841 asked. Kutlerie frowned behind his thick mustache. 841's calm demeanor was slipping, believing that Kutlerie took notice.

"Planet Gardenia was destroyed a month after you began your sentence," Kutlerie stated bluntly. 841's heart skipped a beat. His legs were about to give out on him, forcing his hand to snare the chair to hold him steady.

What?! That can't be…! That's Impossible…!

841's mind raced. Gardenia…destroyed…?!

Was it possible? Was that the reason he had not been able to reach out to his friends? To her? Was the silence that responded the remains of his homeworld?

How could this be possible?

"I understand this must be difficult for you to accept, prisoner 841-120," Kutlerie said. 841 kept his eyes trained on the floor. He needed a focal point that wasn't someone in the room. Anything will do. The chair, the floor or maybe the table within his field of vision. Anything.

"Pardon my interruption, sir," Tupper interjected. 841 raised his head. A familiar voice in a sea of delirium. "But is it right to tell someone they have no home to return to after their release from prison?"

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Commander," Kutlerie said coldly. He reminded Tupper of his rank and where his place was in all this. "Better he found out from me, here and now, than to discover the space once occupied by his home planet."

841 collected himself. "Are you telling the truth?" he asked in Kutlerie's direction. He still refused to look at anyone. He didn't want them to see the fury in his eyes.

"I speak the truth, number 841-120," Kutlerie said.

841 heard enough. "Kelerot," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Kelerot," 841 repeated, louder. His eyes met Kutlerie's. "Everything's taken from me, now. Everything except my name. Not this garbage number you assigned me."

"Watch your tone, 841-120," Kutlerie said sternly. "I have zero tolerance for defiance in my presence."

Kelerot's legs no longer buckled. He was regaining control. He needed control, especially over Kutlerie. "I don't care what you do to me anymore, Kutlerie," he said, assessing the room. Satula shifted in his chair, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. He immediately looked away when Kelerot's eyes met his. Tupper and Vuon were shifting into an engaging position, ready to restrain him at a moment's notice. "Stand down, Tupper and Vuon. This doesn't concern you," he told them. The Pride Troopers were left stunned. They had never heard Kelerot speak in such a tone of voice before. Even dropping the formalities and titles felt like adding insult to injury.

"You would throw your one chance at parole so easily, 841-120?" barked Kutlerie. He kept playing his position of power by outright denying Kelerot his name, refusing even to say it. Kelerot's ki rose sharply in his body. He was ready to make his move anytime now, except that Tupper took a step forward.

"What are you doing, Commander Tupper?" Kutlerie said sternly. Kelerot could sense how much Tupper was challenging the Warden. It earned a moment of respect from him.

"Let me speak with him, sir," Tupper replied calmly. "Listen to me, 841-,"

"Kelerot."

"Kelerot," Tupper corrected himself. "Let's all try and be civil about this. I know something you don't. You weren't going to be granted parole, no matter how convincing your statement would be."

Kelerot raised an eyebrow. "Is that so…?"

"Kutlerie's abused his authority by denying parole to every prisoner. I've watched too many give up on themselves," Tupper explained. His voice shook a little. "I wish I had not been there to untie the rope around that poor man's neck that day."

Kelerot's face sank. That day was still vivid in his mind, watching the prisoner's face drained of all color and oxygen. "I remember that inmate. I once shook his hand to greet him. He didn't deserve his fate, and neither did I. Your organization imprisoned me for a crime I didn't commit, and I aim to correct that mistake, starting with the one who put me in here in the first place."

He pointed his finger at Kutlerie. "Your good friend, Toppo."

"This fiasco is pointless! Tupper, restrain him immediately and place him in solitary confinement! We'll discuss your actions afterward," Kutlerie ordered. Kelerot continued to stare defiantly. He tore his bindings off like paper, discarding them to the floor with one swift motion. "No," Kelerot said.

With his ki, Kelerot swept the room in a field of gravity that forced Tupper and Vuon to their knees. Satula sunk so fast the chair broke beneath him. The gravity pulled him to the floor back-first and secured him in place. He tried to flail aimlessly, but his face was full of panic once he realized he couldn't move his arms or legs. Kutlerie struggled as he held himself up by the table, which began to crack under the pressure of the enhanced gravity. His eyes widened when he saw Kelerot walk towards him as if unaffected.

"What did you do?" Kutlerie grunted. His head drooped forward, nearly crashing face-first into the table. He tried to keep his eyes on Kelerot, but it proved more difficult the longer the gravity field was in place.

"I increased the gravity in the room," Kelerot stated. "You cannot move unless I allow it."

With a swipe of his arm, he released the gravity field around Tupper and Vuon, leaving it trained solely on the rest of the room. The Pride Troopers were not only stunned to see themselves move again, but they couldn't believe what they saw concerning Kelerot. His stance was more pronounced to them, stronger even.

"Put away your Justice Whip, Vuon," Kelerot said, not looking at the reptilian-faced Pride Trooper. "It won't work."

"H-how do you know of my ability?" Vuon asked, bewildered. He had never needed to show his ability to anyone in the prison facility since the restraints on the prisoners were enough to hold them down. He hadn't used his prime attack since the Tournament of Power. But Kelerot knew of it.

Kelerot glanced behind him at Tupper. "Your transformation won't work on me either, Tupper. I'd advise against using it in this room. Otherwise, you'll sink through the floor and out of the facility."

Tupper glared back. "What is this trickery? How do you know our abilities? We never showed them to anyone. You could not have known about the Tournament of Power, Kelerot."

Kelerot grinned, which Tupper found to be unsettling. "Not that, no. But I have my methods. I know a lot more than you were led to believe about me. Now then, I need something from the two of you."

Vuon was still struggling to stand, only able to put weight on one leg. Tupper breathed a heavy sigh and offered a hand to Vuon. "Fine. You're in control. What do you want from us?" he said, defeated.

"Traitors," Kutlerie grunted. Satula continued to scream, trying to lift himself off the floor with every ounce of his strength. Kelerot looked at the pathetic sight indifferently. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at Kutlerie. "You've said enough," Kelerot hissed. He raised his hand and shot another blast of ki energy to increase the gravity field around Kutlerie, slamming his body through the table and onto the floor.

"That's enough, Kelerot," Vuon said. He had a slight hobble to his step, knowing that the gravity did something to his legs. "Spare his life."

"Spare the life of someone who had not spared the freedom of those who deserved it?" Kelerot stated matter-of-factly.

"You're not a murderer, Kelerot. Don't put yourself in a position to become one," Vuon said. Tupper nodded. "We'll give you your freedom. In return, all we ask is for you to spare Kutlerie's life."

"Hey!" Satula screamed. "What about mine?! Someone help me!"

Kelerot sighed at the screeching sounds of the rat-faced vice-warden. It was grating his ears, listening to that screeching. He dissipated the gravity field with a sweep of his hand, returning the room to normal.

Kutlerie was knocked unconscious after his head hit the table on the way down. Satula, on the other hand, used what little strength he had left to flip over and crawl quickly to the door, as fast as his limbs could allow it.

Vuon reacted first. From his hand, he channeled ki into his Justice whip, striking at Satula to wrap it around his body, halting his movement. "No! Let me go!" Satula's incessant wailing filled the room. "I don't deserve this! I'm second in command of this prison!"

"Shut up!" Tupper howled. He grabbed a handful of Satula's suit and lifted him off the floor, carrying him under his arm. Satula once again flailed his arms and legs. "Unhand me, Commander! This isn't right! This is criminal behavior, and I'll have you serve time like the other prisoners!"

Kelerot regarded this waste of oxygen with a shake of his head. He wanted to bind him to the floor with another gravity field, but using these gravity techniques took a lot of ki to control without causing the room to collapse. He had to be careful how he used his ki. Instead, he pointed a finger at Satula. "How do I know I can trust you or him not to squeal to the Pride Troopers outside?" he asked Tupper and Vuon.

"You have our word, Kelerot," Tupper said. "As long as you spare everyone here, we'll release you. We have plans of our own to communicate with Lord Barbon and Pride Trooper Headquarters about what Kutlerie has done and negotiate your full release."

Kelerot frowned at Satula. "Him or someone like him would squeal, given the chance. I cannot take that risk."

From between his hands, Kelerot channeled a massive amount of ki into a small sphere of black energy. Lowering his hands, he left the sphere floating in the middle of the room. The air around it seemed to distort within the sphere's perimeter, which lured Tupper, Vuon, and Satula to look more closely.

"I wouldn't touch that," Kelerot warned. "As long as no one touches it, or I don't activate it, this prison won't be sucked into its gravity well that contains the power of a supermassive black hole."

"WHAT?!" yelled the three in unison. "A black hole?!"
"A Supermassive black hole," Kelerot corrected them. "It took a great deal of mental training and focus on my part to master. I have the power to neutralize it and control how wide I want the well to be. With this one, I'd say half a lightyear in size."

"You're insane!" Satula yelled. "What good does it do for you to threaten everyone here?"

"Because then I'll have your guarantee that you won't snitch on us to the Pride Troopers," Kelerot said, staring at Satula.

He turned to Tupper. "Tell the security team to shut down their system from here to the launchpad. I want a clear route to a ship," Kelerot instructed. Tupper was hesitant at first. His blue skin had gone a shade paler once he saw Kelerot's makeshift black hole that he could activate anytime unless some fool touched it.

Tossing Satula to Vuon, Tupper pressed the communicator button on his wristband. "Commander Tupper to Security Room. Power down systems J through Q," he told them.

"Sir?" came a voice from the other end.

"We have a maintenance crew arriving this afternoon to inspect the launch pad and corridors leading to Warden Kutlerie's office. They need the systems powered down," Tupper explained. He gave Kelerot a stern but dirty look.

"Uh, understood, Commander. Shutting off power now," the voice said before the channel closed. Satula's mouth mumbled inaudibly as his hands were clasped in prayer. Kelerot waited for Tupper to move.

"You two, lead," Kelerot ordered. Tupper and Vuon exchanged looks before opening the back door to the service lift, which connected Kutlerie's office to the corridors that split in two directions. Once Tupper was assured the power was off, he produced a set of keys from his pocket. "We'll need to use these to open the doors manually until we reach the launchpad," he stated, holding one of the keys up for Kelerot to see.

So far, Kelerot saw no signs that the Security room was aware of what was transpiring. At least that was fortunate. Glancing back at the hearing room, knowing Kutlerie was still in there, Kelerot thought of the extent he took this situation. Except for Skilette, he had no real attachment to the people in this facility. He saw their usefulness when he needed to become stronger, but enough time spent here lessened his ability to show compassion. He only needed to gain the right tools to help him leave when the opportunity arose.

As far as Tupper and Vuon were concerned, while he did earn their respect, they were still Pride Troopers and adhered to their code of justice. The same code of justice that turned a blind eye to the moral gray area Kelerot found himself in unwillingly. As much as they were going to help him, they were still Pride Troopers and would notify their friends at Netfiss about what Kelerot had done. He was on his way to becoming an escaped convict. To the Pride Troopers, no matter who they were, that was an invitation to death.

He could still hear that incessant mumbling from Satula's mouth as they approached the launchpad. He could've killed him easily. But Vuon's voice echoed in his head, reminding him that he wasn't a murderer. He stopped himself before shooting a ki blast through that rat-faced skull.

If he did activate his black hole bomb, he would become a murderer of hundreds, or however many people were in this facility. Guilty and innocent alike would not be spared the power of the gravity well that would pull them all in. He stared at Vuon as the Pride Trooper's limp was still noticeable. Sorry, Vuon. I pray no one here will force my hand if I can avoid it. But I need that leverage to prove a point.

The large doors to the launchpad required both Tupper and Vuon to use their keys to open them during the event of a power outage. "Keep an eye on Satula while we open the doors," Tupper asked Kelerot. Kelerot responded by locking Satula's feet in place with a gravity field. "Have you ever flown a spaceship before?" he added.

When the doors opened, ships were lined as far as he could see. He left Satula where he stood, feet still suppressed by the gravity to ensure he wouldn't weasel his way out. The launchpad had a clear runway to the outside, where an energy field protected the vacuum of space from sucking everything out. The emergency generators operated the field separately without power to avoid sudden mishaps.

While one row of ships were standard galactic transport vessels for prisoners, Kelerot could see other smaller one-seat ships ideal for Pride Troopers, staff members, and executives, one of which was recognized as Kutlerie's based on how hi-tech the design looked. He dismissed the thought of taking Kutlerie's ship, knowing it would make him stand out. One of the Pride Trooper vessels would suffice. "That one," Kelerot pointed to the first Pride Trooper ship.

Climbing into the cockpit, Kelerot operated the onboard computer with ease, smirking at Tupper. "Does that answer your question?" he said.

He ignited the thrusters, moving the ship forward. He glanced one last time at Tupper and Vuon. "Sorry things didn't work out the way you had hoped," he told them.

Tupper raised his hand to salute him but opted to wave at him. Kelerot expected them to say a few parting words, but the pair remained silent. Pursing his lips, Kelerot fired the thrusters to propel him outside the space prison and into freedom for the first time in a decade.

Once the ship was out of sight, the gravity field around Satula's legs dissipated. Able to move again, he rushed to a hidden cabinet where he pressed a button to reveal an array of rifles. Grabbing one, he aimed it at Tupper and Vuon.

"Don't move! Don't turn around! You have a lot to answer for!" Satula barked, voice still shaking from his ordeal. "Hands in the air where I can see them! Up, up, up!"

"Do you even know how to operate one of those?" Tupper asked, but Satula silenced him with a blast from the barrel, singing the ceiling with a hole, intentionally missing the blue-faced Trooper by an inch. "I was a marksman for the Pride Troopers while you two were still nursing from your mommies!" Satula boasted with a grin. Tupper and Vuon scoffed. "My mother never nursed me," Vuon quipped.

"Shut up!" Satula yelled. He pressed several buttons on a terminal along the wall behind the door. "Security room, this is Vice Warden Satula. Deactivate Commander Tupper's and Commander Vuon's wristbands!"

"Sir?"

"You heard what I said! I'm placing these two under arrest for aiding and abetting a prisoner. They held me hostage while allowing prisoner 841-120 to escape!"

"Don't be stupid, Satula! You send the Pride Troopers after him, and he'll activate that sphere and kill everyone in this prison!" Tupper bellowed, glaring behind him.

"I'm not stupid enough to fall for such cheap parlor tricks! I refuse to believe a little ball of energy has the power to destroy this place! Once you answer to Warden Kutlerie, I'll have you walk a path of shame and humiliation in front of all your buddies back at Netfiss as traitors to the Pride Troopers!"

Satula circled them, training the barrel of his rifle at both of them. "No tricks, understand? Keep that Justice Whip of yours out of my sight."

Tupper and Vuon exchanged looks. Satula, as obtuse as his rat-like face makes him out to be, was not wrong about their actions. However, he took objection to the way he was handling this situation. "Satula, if you'd calm down, we can arrange a formal inquiry with Dyspo and Kasheral on Netfiss," he told him as he lowered his arms. Satula motioned with his rifle for Tupper to keep them up. "I knew it was a mistake for Kutlerie to hire goody Pride Troopers to our facility. We had something good going for us, and you two had to go and mess it up!"

Vuon narrowed his eyes. "If exposing corruption in the prison system is your way of saying we 'messed it up,' then it was for the good of the Pride Troopers that we did. You forgot your ways, you and Kutlerie."

"Save it for your fellow prisoners," Satula said with a hint of sadism. "We'll make sure you're in here for the rest of your natural-born lives."

Moments later, a security team arrived to meet with Satula, who patiently waited with his rifle aimed at Tupper and Vuon. "Restrain them. I want them brought before Kutlerie in the hearing room," he ordered. Tupper and Vuon lowered their arms for the security team to affix the same restraints Kelerot had worn for his sentence. Grabbing each arm, they led the former Pride Troopers forward to the hearing room.

"You," Satula said to one of the security officers. "Send a priority one distress signal. Notify the Pride Troopers we have an Omega-level threat on the loose piloting a small ship. They'll know what that means."

Tupper's eyes widened. He glared at Satula. "No, Satula! He's not going to be a threat to the Pride Troopers or any civilized system! Vuon and I knew him long enough to determine that!"

"I wouldn't worry about that prisoner going anywhere near a civilized system once Jiren secures him and brings him before his executioner," Satula said. The sniveling vice warden irked Tupper with the level of satisfaction behind his every word, enough to nauseate him. "He's as good as dead."

"Then maybe he should kill us all and be done with it!" Tupper spat, fighting against the security officers to lower his face to Satula's. It did not sit well with the vice warden as he jammed the end of his rifle into Tupper's stomach. "I won't hear any more of your incessant sympathy for these prisoners! They're nothing to us! Just play things for our amusement!" He watched Tupper sink to his knees, his head low enough that Satula could easily feel like the bigger man in this situation. He raised his chin with the barrel of his rifle.

"Once we're done with you, we'll have a better grasp of power, instilling more fear into these plebians. It won't matter how much they grovel and beg. We can arrange it so that they never set one foot outside this facility for as long as they can breathe."

Satula then pointed his rifle at Vuon. "Got anything to say, reptile…? I didn't think so."

He stepped past Tupper as the officers stood him back up. "I figure it wasn't going to be long before we saw their true colors," he whispered to Vuon.

Kutlerie was slow to rise, having only managed to move to a seated position against the wall when Satula entered with the security team. They shoved Tupper and Vuon forward, forcing them to their knees in front of the Warden. Beyond the former Pride Troopers was that eerie black sphere still floating in the middle of the room, distorting the space around it. Satula saluted Kutlerie as a pair of security officers helped him to his feet. "Easy, sir, we have you."

"I come with grim news, Warden Kutlerie. These traitors aided prisoner 841-120 to escape in one of our pristine spaceships. I've stripped them of their command and shackled them like common prisoners for your disposal. Shall we execute them?"

Kutlerie glowered at Tupper and Vuon, shaking his head. "Never could I imagine it would come to this. Pride Troopers betraying their organization to help the criminals? Unthinkable."

He rounded on Tupper and Vuon. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" he asked.

"Don't touch the sphere behind us," Tupper replied. Kutlerie hadn't expected such an answer but checked the room for what he referred to. His eyes caught the black sphere. "What sort of trick is this? Did you two do this?"

"It was that prisoner's creation," Satula told him nonchalantly. "Some insurance policy or whatever to guarantee these two would release him. I think it's some simple trick of the eye to make us think it's worse than it is."

"Well, why don't you touch it to prove you're right, Satula?" Vuon asked with a grin. Tupper shot him a look. "Vuon…!"

Vuon's look was the most serene he had ever given his friend. Tupper knew what that meant. They knew the truth now, what Satula and eventually Kutlerie would do to them and the prisoners in this facility. He hadn't expected Vuon to make peace with such a decision so quickly, yet here they were, facing the executioner's ax.

"How do you know it's not a trap, Vice Warden?" Kutlerie asked him. The two were standing near the sphere now. He waved his hand in front of it, but the sphere did not react. "Are you certain this is an illusion?"

"Positive, Kutlerie. I'll pass my hand through this like so and-," Satula said, swiping his hand through the sphere. He waved his hand several times through the sphere while wearing that confident look. "See? What did I tell y-."

His hand stopped moving when the sphere began to pulse like a heartbeat. Satula frowned, trying to pull his hand away, but soon realized that instead of pulling his hand away, the sphere was pulling his hand inside. The ignition of the sphere began to expand, filling the room. Satula shrieked as his hand was crushed under the sheer magnitude of the gravity well. He continued screaming as his body was eventually stretched and pulled into the event horizon and vaporized.

"Vuon, grab my arm!" Tupper yelled. Vuon wrapped himself around Tupper's arm. The blue-skinned former Pride Trooper shifted his body, transforming into his alternate form. His weight increased to where he could lodge himself into the floor, buying him some time.

Warden Kutlerie and the security officers scrambled to escape the room. With nothing to hold on to, they were drawn into the expanding gravity well and were subsequently crushed to death as Satula was. Tupper and Vuon were the only two left, biding their time until their fates were decided.

"Vuon, before we die, I want to tell you something," Tupper said. He shifted his rock-life face back to his normal bearded one. He wanted Vuon to see his content smile. "It was an honor serving with you."

"As was mine, my friend," Vuon replied. The two shook hands before offering themselves to the event horizon, ready to face their deaths with honor.

Nothing was spared as the sphere expanded as intended. No one, prisoner or guard alike, had the time to process what was happening to them, watching objects vaulting themselves directly into the gravity well and disappearing. Screams were quick but pointless, mostly from the administrative staff. Little by little, the prison facility collapsed and shrank until it was gone, vanished from the face of the universe. The distorted black hole was all of what remained until it, too, dissipated.

It was as if the prison facility never existed.