“We bent that crooked officer.” But Sasha Sever didn’t smile. He sipped weak tea and stared at one spot on the wall.
“You can bend a system,” he said quietly. “You can’t break it. It’s like rubber. Push hard enough, it gives. Then it snaps back.
“So expect more company. The major’s going to remember every spoonful of that porridge.” And the old inmate was exactly right.
The payback came at three in the morning. The cell door opened without shouting, without the extraction team. The major walked in himself with two investigators and a duty officer carrying a thin file.
The major was unnervingly calm. Too calm for a man who had just been publicly humiliated by a prison protest. “On your feet,” he said in a low, controlled voice.
The sleepy inmates slid down from their bunks. “Shake-down?” Lom asked darkly, stepping in front of Sever. “Investigative procedure,” the major said with a crooked smile, ordering him aside.
One of the investigators went straight to Sever’s bunk. He didn’t even pretend to search. He simply shoved a hand under the thin mattress and pulled out a clear plastic packet.
“Well now. Witnesses, take note. Inmate Sever has just been found in possession of heroin in a large quantity.” The major nodded with satisfaction. “That’s a shame, Sever.
“Drug charge. Ten to fifteen more years, easy. We’ll send you to a hard northern facility. They’ll cure you of your reputation up there.”
But Sever didn’t even blink. “Cheap theater, Chief. That bag is clean. You brought it in yourself, and my prints aren’t on it.”
“That doesn’t matter,” the major said, strolling toward the bars. “What matters is what the right witness says.” Then he turned slowly toward Lom and motioned him forward.
The big man glanced uneasily at Sever. The old inmate gave him the smallest nod. Lom stepped up to the major.
“You saw Sever hide this packet, didn’t you?” the officer asked in a gentle voice. “You saw it.” Lom said nothing.
“Listen carefully,” the major said, lowering his voice. “Sign this report as the lead witness, and tomorrow you’re resting in the infirmary. In a month, maybe you’re in a lower-security unit.
“Don’t sign, and you go down as an accomplice. You’ll rot here. So choose: a chance at freedom, or a spot by the toilet.” He held out a cheap pen and a blank statement form.
The cell went still. Every man in it watched Lom. This was his one ticket out. All he had to do was betray a man he had known for two days.
Lom slowly took the pen. His thick fingers shook. He looked at Sever, who stood calm and expressionless. He didn’t plead. He didn’t pressure. He just waited.
Lom remembered the freezing night. Remembered how they had warmed each other with their backs. Remembered what it felt like not to be a brute for once, but a man. “Well?” the major said impatiently. “Write.”
Lom clenched the pen in his fist. The cheap plastic cracked with a sharp snap, spraying blue ink. “Pen doesn’t work, Chief,” he said hoarsely, looking the major right in the eye.
“What?” the officer said, not understanding at first. “Pen broke. And my conscience won’t let me sign anyway. He didn’t have anything.
“You planted that bag yourself. And I’ll say that in court. Every man in this cell will back me up.” The major froze. Red blotches spread across his face.
“Do you have any idea what you just turned down? You’ll die in here!” he shouted. “Then put me in the hole,” Lom said evenly.
“But I’m not going back to being a rat.” He turned and stood beside Sever, shoulder to shoulder. Needle, Vasya, and the rest moved in too, forming a wall.
The major threw the unsigned report to the floor. “Fine. You wanted a war, now you’ve got one. I’m about to show you something that’ll make the cold feel like a vacation.”
He stormed out, and the heavy door slammed shut. Sever laid a hand on Lom’s broad shoulder. “That cost you something,” he said. “I won’t forget it.”
“To hell with him,” Lom muttered. “Sever, what’s he going to do now? He’s gone off the deep end.”
Sever slowly removed his dark glasses. “He’s out of ideas. That means he’ll send a butcher. Somebody who doesn’t understand words and doesn’t feel pain. Be ready for the worst.”
The major wasn’t bluffing. He had run out of ways to pressure the mind, so now he turned to pure force. At three in the morning, when sleep is deepest and a man’s will is weakest, he went down to the special block for life-sentence inmates.
There, in a padded single cell, was a prisoner known as Tugarin. He was hardly a man anymore—more like a bad turn in evolution. Six foot ten, well over three hundred pounds of solid muscle, and the mind of a five-year-old.
His brain had been wrecked by drugs and violence. Tugarin knew nothing about prison codes and barely knew how to speak. What he knew how to do was break bones.
The administration used him like a living battering ram during serious disturbances. They’d sedate him afterward and lock him back up. The major opened the food slot carefully, and a heavy animal smell rolled out of the dark.
“Tugarin,” the officer said quietly, “want fresh meat?” In the darkness, a huge shape shifted. “Meat,” came the happy rumble, deep enough to vibrate the steel door.
“Kill the old man in glasses, and I’ll get you a whole bucket of meat and a can of sweetened condensed milk.” “Open,” the giant growled. Back in Cell 33, nobody was sleeping.
The silence was stretched tight as wire. Everybody understood that Lom’s refusal to sign the false report had amounted to a death sentence. The only question was how it would be carried out.
When the bolt clanged, Lom was the first off the bunk. He planted himself in the middle of the cell, blocking Sever. Needle, shaking with raw fear, backed into the farthest corner.
Vasya grabbed an aluminum cup, though he knew perfectly well it was a joke of a weapon. Still, standing empty-handed felt worse. The door flew open, but the guards did not come in.
They simply shoved Tugarin inside and slammed the door behind him, locking it fast. Even the officers were afraid of the monster. Tugarin stood there with his head nearly brushing the low concrete ceiling.
He breathed hard through flared nostrils. His tiny bloodshot eyes moved around the cell, hunting. “Where glasses?”
