Counterfeit Hero

After a whole day of pretending to be a sleepwalker and faking madness to frantically perform hypnotism, Fatty was snoring soundly. He was very aware of the challenges ahead; he had to conserve his energy to face one psychologically twisted and unpredictable desperado after another. In prison, no matter what he wanted to do, he could not avoid dealing with these people. If he wasn’t careful, these wolf-like inmates could tear him apart alive.

When it came to fighting, Fatty wasn’t afraid of anyone. Fistfights were the most direct way to gain status in prison. However, for Fatty, his current identity and the task he was about to execute didn’t allow him to openly fight his way to the top, which undoubtedly made him feel very pained. He had to carefully avoid the informants of Bruce, Stephen, and even George in the prison!

A sleepwalker with a touch of neurosis might be the best choice. In this cannibalistic world, everyone would be twisted. Here, even the most upright person would gradually become despicable and shameless, and even the strongest person would be crushed by endless physical torment and mental stress. Falling ill was not a big deal.

The six-hour workday in prison passed quickly. Just when Fatty was drooling and clutching his blanket with his legs, lost in erotic dreams, the bell signaling the end of the shift finally rang. As the cell door automatically slid open at the sound of the bell, Fatty suddenly opened his eyes and looked at Rex on the bed beside him...

Rex was awakened by the bell. He lay weakly on the bed, staring blankly at the empty wall opposite him, with a very confused expression, as if he was constantly recalling something. Fatty immediately scrambled up and exclaimed in surprise, "Big brother... you’re awake?" He eagerly poured a glass of water and brought it to Rex, "I was so worried about you..." Rex finally gave up on the tormenting recollections, turned to look at Fatty, and after a long while, cursed, "Damn it, how are you so powerful when sleepwalking!"

Fatty smiled awkwardly, looking simple and honest, and said timidly, "Well... I don’t know how it happened either..."

Rex waved his hand and said, "Forget it... it seems like it was my fault first... I can’t remember what happened after all." He rubbed his head and said gruffly, "Damn it, my head hurts... haven’t Tou’er and the others come back yet?"

Fatty shook his head and said, "No..." Just as he spoke, the sound of footsteps came from outside, and a large group of people walked in. Fatty looked up in horror, seeing a tall black man leading the group. As soon as this black man entered the door, he immediately stood two meters to the side in front of Fatty. In the gap he made, a medium-sized white man, who looked like a fierce tiger ready to devour someone, looked at Fatty calmly. This man was clearly Andre, the leader of the faction Rex belonged to. Like all those accustomed to giving orders, Andre was not only a heavy criminal but also exuded an oppressive aura. His cold expression and the cold gleam in his eyes, along with the dozens of tall and strong thugs surrounding him, demonstrated his power.

If a person could make someone feel chills and sweat on their back with just their eyes, then he was either a psychotic killer or someone long accustomed to manipulating life and death. Looking at Fatty, Andre’s eyes carried a cruel coldness, a kind of indifference toward life as insignificant as an ant. This gaze not only made Fatty look terrified but also silenced everyone around him.