Rebuilding Base is Under Construction

He is a prisoner.

But besides that, of course he also has his own past-including what he did before he went to jail, which is clearly written in the file.

But all this seems to be separated by a layer of gray fog, as if not quite real.

But these are not important.

The important thing is whether he can grab a spot before the end of breakfast time and finish the meal safely-otherwise he will have to spend the next 4 hours hungry and rejoin the stomach at lunch. war.

He took a few seconds to reflect on what he had done before when he fetched the hidden knife from his sleeve.If he had known that he would not even be able to eat after he was in prison, he might not...

——What will happen?

He was taken aback for a moment, and he didn't remember what he had done.

It was within these few seconds that he was hit hard.

"New here, you stole my things?"

He clenched the knife sharpened with a toothbrush in his sleeve.

The next second, a wooden stick crossed his eyes.He lowered his head, saw that it was a mop, and subconsciously held the wooden handle on it.

The prisoner, who had clenched his fist and was about to hit someone, didn't look good, and gave him a vicious look, which contained a threat of threat.

He doesn't care.

There seemed to be a force pushing him. He knew that he could cut a hole in the belly of the original owner of this knife, but he might have to pay a price.

So he held the handle of the mop and looked at the person who passed it.

From a certain point of view, this person should have helped him, at least let him avoid participating in a battle between prisoners hungry-but the smoked sausage he called himself was shaken to the last short one. Judging from this incident, he doesn't want to accept this love anymore.

The other person raised his head and glanced at him indifferently.

The meaning is obvious, take the dinner plate and roll.

He could only hold the plate with little food in one hand, and then drag the mop with the other hand, wandering in the cafeteria for a while.

The prisoner whose knife was stolen took a few people to occupy a long table and stared in his direction.

So whenever he finds a vacant seat easily, someone will immediately squeeze from the side to take up the seat and let him roll aside.

He seemed to understand that he got on someone who shouldn't be offended just after he went to jail.

But there is no way.

Early this morning, he saw with his own eyes the owner of the knife evading the surveillance of the guards and pressing the head of another prisoner into the toilet - and then when he turned around to take out the knife hidden under the bedding, it was already lost.

Obviously, now he has become a new target for the owner of the knife.

He saw the muscular prisoner cut his throat from a distance, and then another movement to press his head into the toilet.

He couldn't help laughing suddenly--don't know why, he always thought the toilet was kind of kind.

The other party seemed to be offended.

But someone said something in his ear, which changed his expression, as if there was a trace of panic hidden in his eyes.

"That'newcomer' is a bit familiar."

A seemingly shrewd prisoner squeezed past the crowd, and whispered in the ear of the prisoner who was in the middle of the long table.

"what?"

The prisoner in the middle has a fierce face, so big that the plastic chair in the dining hall can't fit his whole ass.

The shrewd prisoner was a little embarrassed, so he could only get to his ear and added a word gently.

The bulky prisoner took a breath.

At the same time, the breakfast time is over.The prisoners returned to the dormitory under the supervision of the guards, and he finally knew what the mop was for.

In this prison, holding a mop represents freedom-of course, if the mop is in contact with the ground frequently enough, you can earn a few dollars for yourself and buy a piece of chocolate in the ridiculously expensive prison supermarket.

He finally had a chance to sit down and rub his sore wrist.

It was the mop that gave him the right to stay anywhere in the prison after breakfast-until he was quickly caught by the prison guards and his arms were cut behind his back and he was handcuffed.

He didn't know what happened, only knew that his stomach was still a little hungry.

The following morning, he was taken to the parole room, listening to the parole lawyer and the parole officer muttering next to him, and then he was taken by the guard to pick up a sealed bag containing his personal belongings, and was stripped off guard. Prison uniform.

Only then did he realize that he seemed to be able to leave the prison.

There is only one set of clothes in his bag.He watched the prison door slowly close in front of him, wondering if he was kicked out because he didn't even have a bank card to make a prison pay phone-this is of course impossible, he just made a joke.

But not funny.

Nor did he have the gratitude and joy when he regained his freedom.

Fortunately, he still remembers where his home is.It's not far from here, it's only half an hour's walk away-and he doesn't have money to take a taxi.

There were several trucks passing by, and he had no idea of ​​a free ride.

As he moved further and further away from the prison, the road gradually became desolate.The truck didn't know where it was going-after a while, another hearse drove past him.

He looked at the hearse and thought about it.If he is not walking beside the road in the suburbs for no apparent reason, maybe he is also lying there now.

He smiled again inexplicably.

He walked all the way down the road, and sparse trees gradually emerged on both sides of the desolate road, extending to the sides, and it seemed to have become much denser in the distance, which can be called a forest.

He was stopped by someone who came out of the woods.

This man looked like a tramp, his long gray hair tangled up dirty and condensed into a few slippery strands.From this point of view, he should have been here for a long time.

His eyes fell on the other person, and the tramp was wearing a dirty black suit, obviously not his own.The front of the suit was covered with dark red. If he guessed right, it was blood.

"Robbery," the tramp barked with yellow teeth, "leave all your clothes and money."

He took off his sports jacket.

The homeless man got his wish and put on his jacket, except that both hands were tied up from his back by the tie he found from the pocket of his suit, and the ankle was the same.

When the truck passes here tomorrow, you should see the tramp tied to the side of the road and call the police.

He picked up the black suit that the tramp had lost from the ground, picked it up and trembled, and put it on himself.

This dress is very dirty and should be washed well, he thought.

But when he realized it, the suit was already on him—even a good fit.

He continued to walk down the highway, and it didn't take long before he saw the neat street sign with a simple billboard saying that the Untitled Town Middle School Library welcomes you-very strange.

Whenever there is a decent store in town to advertise, it will not be the middle school library's turn.

And this is his home.

It feels strange, but it is.

He walked into the town.

There was no one on the street, he wandered casually, walked to the door of the small courtyard where his name tag was hung, and walked over without squinting.

The next weedy yard made him stop and stay for a while.

He stared at the sign at the door with a name written on it-"Harrison Fergus".He thought for a while, couldn't remember who it was, probably didn't know it.

He went on.

The town was very small, and he quickly walked to the door of the town government, and someone stood on the ladder to change the notice on the sign.

He stood there for a while, and the person who changed the announcement did not respond to him.He lowered his head and started to be thrown on the ground.

Above is a notice from a new mayor, the time is today-but it is obviously no longer valid.

"What is this?" he asked.

After hearing this question, the person who posted the new announcement finally reacted.

"Notice for the re-election of the mayor." The person replied flatly, "I just got news that the new mayor elected today passed away yesterday."

He was a little speechless.

He picked up the notice that was thrown on the ground, and the person on it said to him: "Excuse me, please help me to throw it in the trash can."

He looked at the person in the photo, and the dark-haired young man in it was also looking at him with a gloomy expression.

Suddenly he stretched out a hand behind him, grabbed the notice suddenly, made a "tear" motion, and quickly stopped, folding the paper several times into the suit pocket.

He turned his head, facing a man with brown hair and brown eyes.

He remembers this man.

This is the guy who said "Welcome back to prison" to him-it must not be easy to live this old age if he can say this.

The man looked at him and looked at him from head to toe, his lips seemed to tremble.

"Where did you get this... forget it."

He looked at the other person and said: "Snatched--someone robbed me, and I snatched it."

The corner of the man's eyes twitched slightly, and his Adam's apple rolled.

Then he raised his right hand and slammed a punch.

He reacted quickly. He took out the toothbrush and knife from his sleeve and slashed the opponent's wrist-but then, a soft handkerchief was pressed on his mouth and nose, and he couldn't struggle, so he became soft It fell to the ground softly.

What happened here was seen by the people who were posting the notice. He didn't say anything, and took out his mobile phone and started calling the police.

"Cut off." The brown-haired and brown-eyed man said into the air.

"Communication has been cut off, sir." He replied with a voice in his headset.

The person who stood on the ladder posted the notice was still calling the police persistently, looking as usual.

He was dragged from under the armpit by the brown-haired man, dragging him a long way, and both figures entered the small yard with his name tag.

"My God, Tony." A surprised voice came from inside, "How did you beat him like this?"

"The dust on my clothes has nothing to do with me," Stark said angrily. "Look carefully, Banner, it's obviously left over a long time ago-the hell, my memory tells me that he was not before. Leave the prison in this dress."

"It seems... indeed." The voice of another boy in the voice change period said, "Mr. Stark, shall we...do it here?"

The author has something to say: There are more personal pronouns in this chapter, I don’t know if it will be a bit confusing... But the warden can’t really be called Zhang San!