Chapter 18: The Riot

The detention center cafeteria reeked of stale food as inmates shuffled back to their cells after breakfast. In Cell 299, four prisoners huddled on their bunks, voices low.

"Boss, I talked to Brother Li during breakfast—he's in. Three of ours plus his two enforcers make five. Should be enough for Luo Feng," the fat man whispered.

"Fatty, they say he took down four senior gym trainees. He's a tough customer," rumbled the tattooed man, nicknamed Black Dog.

"Relax—Brother Zhou's got Cobra on this too. Even if we fail, Cobra won't," the one-eyed man said, voice dropping to a growl.

"Cobra?!" Both men tensed.

"Coincidence—he's in here too." The one-eyed man nodded. "We'll finalize plans at lunch. Strike tonight during dinner. Weapons ready." Their "weapons" were little more than sharpened toothbrushes and razor blades—easy to smuggle, harder to detect.

××××××

Evening fell, and the detention center buzzed with activity. Inmates eyed Luo Feng warily as he walked the corridor—word of his four-bodyguard takedown had spread like wildfire.

The cafeteria was a sterile hall of steel tables and benches. Luo Feng accepted a plastic tray of "biological slop"—a gray, mushy substance vaguely reminiscent of potatoes, the cheapest sustenance legally allowed.

"Fucking pig slop," a scrawny, spectacled inmate beside him cursed, poking his food.

The room erupted in chaos—card games, shouted insults, clattering trays. Two guards leaned on the railing outside, assault rifles slung, more interested in their conversation than the inmates. A security camera in the corner hummed, recording every move.

"Peng." A one-eyed man dropped onto a nearby bench, smirking at Luo Feng. "You Luo Feng?"

"Who's asking?"

"Long. They call me One-Eye."

Before Luo Feng could reply, a squat man slammed onto the table opposite One-Eye, flanked by two hulking enforcers. "You beat my boys during yard time yesterday, One-Eye. How you wanna settle this?"

"Fuck off, Fatty Li." One-Eye sneered. "Don't make me hurt you."

"Fuck you—attack!" Fatty Li barked.

The two enforcers heaved a steel table like a shield, one following with a flying kick at One-Eye. Chaos erupted as inmates grabbed chairs, trays, anything as weapons. Someone smashed the security camera with a bench—standard procedure for riots, erasing evidence.

One-Eye stumbled back into Luo Feng, fake panic in his single eye. A pudgy inmate near Luo Feng lunged, a sharpened screw gleaming in his fist, stabbing for Luo Feng's spine. One-Eye pulled a plastic-wrapped blade, aiming for his ribs.

Luo Feng felt the screw pierce his skin, but his muscles clamped down, trapping it. He vaulted over the table like a cat, just as the two enforcers' legs swung at his head, like battleaxes.

" You asked for this!" Luo Feng roared, fists slamming into their thighs. Crack! Bone splintered, the men screaming as they flew into the benches, blood pooling beneath them.

One-Eye and his crew froze, horror in their eyes.

"Sirens wailed, guards rushing in, but Luo Feng ignored them, wiping blood from his back. The screw had barely broken the skin—so this is genetic prime energy's protection, he realized. Bullets might bounce off him soon.

"You set me up," he snarled, eyes blazing at One-Eye and Fatty Li.

"Get him! He's hurt!" One-Eye shouted, though his voice trembled. Inmates charged, but Luo Feng moved like a phantom, legs lashing out, sending bodies flying. Benches shattered under his blows; gang leaders gasped as their bones crunched under his strikes.

Then, a flash of cold light.

The scrawny, spectacled inmate—Cobra—flicked a razor blade at Luo Feng's throat, moving for the first time since dinner began. The blade gleamed in the fluorescent lights, spinning toward his jugular.

Time slowed. Luo Feng's instincts, honed by years of gym training and last night's energy absorption, kicked in. He tilted his head slightly, the blade grazing his neck, drawing a thin line of blood. Before Cobra could react, Luo Feng's palm shot out, gripping the man's wrist like a vice.

"Got you," he hissed, twisting until bone popped. Cobra screamed, blade clattering to the floor.

Guards stormed in, tasers crackling, but Luo Feng released the man, raising his hands with a smirk. The riot had lasted less than a minute, but the damage was done—dozens of inmates lay moaning, two enforcers with broken legs, and Cobra whimpering at his feet.

As officers dragged him back to his cell, Luo Feng touched his neck, the cut already healing faster than normal. So this is what it means to be a warrior-in-training, he thought. Even prison can't hold me for long.

In the infirmary, One-Eye and Fatty Li exchanged panicked glances, bandages wrapped around their wounds.

"Who the hell is he?" Fatty Li whispered.

One-Eye stared at his twisted arm, recalling the way Luo Feng had moved—like a monster. "Zhou Ge didn't say he was a fucking demon."

Upstairs, the duty officer shook his head at the surveillance footage—before the camera died, it had caught Luo Feng tanking a stab and breaking two men's legs with bare hands.

"Send a report to the Security Bureau," he muttered. "This kid's no ordinary trainee. Something's off about him."

In his cell, Luo Feng lay back, ignoring the ache in his back. Tomorrow would bring questions, maybe even an interrogation—but tonight, he focused on the energy still thrumming in his veins. One week until the combat assessment. Let them try to stop me.

The detention center settled into an uneasy silence, but Luo Feng smiled in the dark. He'd tasted genetic prime energy's power, and nothing—no riot, no corrupt cops, no spoiled rich kids—would stand between him and becoming a warrior.