Elijah Schwarzenger Rises To Power

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“Wake up, newcomer. It's morning already." A voice, accompanied by aggressive patting on his shoulders, jolted Elijah awake.

He shivered slightly, not expecting to open his eyes and see a rough-faced man breathing heavily, as if he were a dog. Irritation crossed Elijah's face as he wondered why someone would be breathing that way so early in the morning.

"What do you want? Can you please step back a little?" he asked politely, covering his nose, unable to cope with the volatile odor emanating from the man's mouth as he turned his head to the side.

The man laughed at Elijah's arrogance. "If it were up to me, I'd have beaten you black and blue for speaking to me like that, but the boss ordered me to call you over. You don't want to miss your orientation, kid."

"Orientation?" Elijah scoffed, recalling what the bald man had mentioned the night before about initiation and rituals.

"But I'm not interested in the orientation. Can't you guys just leave me alone?" Elijah snapped, his voice rising with anger.

Before he could protest further, he noticed the bald man approaching, flanked by two rough inmates. Elijah stepped back, feeling the wall against his back and clenching his fists tightly.

"What the hell is causing the noise here? Is he refusing to go through the orientation process?" the bald man asked scornfully.

"No... Sir. I mean,... yes!" stammered the man who had come to wake Elijah, clearly afraid of inciting the bald man's wrath.

"So do you need me to teach you how to force him?" the bald man snorted, moving closer to the other man.

"No, I..." Without waiting for a response, the bald man struck like lightning, grabbing the other man's hand and forcefully jerking his wrist backwards. A bone popped out.

“Arrghhhhhh!” the man groaned in excruciating pain as he collapsed to the ground, his wrist broken and twisted. Everyone in the prison hall held their breath, watching as blood gushed from the man's injury.

What shocked and stunned Elijah was the indifferent expression on the bald man's face, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.

He hardly had time to ponder the bald man's brutality before the man’s voice snapped him back to reality, his hot breath scratching Elijah's cheeks. "Now, what were we talking about?" he snorted at Elijah, whose shirt was beginning to soak with cold sweat.

Elijah swallowed hard, his legs shaking slightly. He couldn’t understand how a place meant to reform people felt more like a jungle. “I... I’ll go,” he muttered, eyes darting between the bald man and the bleeding inmate still whimpering on the floor.

The bald man smirked, showing off his tobacco-stained teeth. “Good boy. No one likes a stubborn goat first thing in the morning.”

He turned and began walking down the hallway. One of the inmates nodded at Elijah to follow. Still barefoot, Elijah trailed behind them, unsure if he was heading to his death or just another phase of suffering.

They led him out of the cell block into a wider yard surrounded by high walls topped with rusted barbed wire. Dozens of inmates stood in a messy line, some yawning, some picking their teeth, and others just staring at Elijah like he was fresh meat.

“Newcomer,” the bald man barked without turning, “welcome to the only place in this whole goddamn prison where weakness is fertilizer.”

Every inmate burst into laughter except Elijah. He wondered who found humor in the bald man’s words, as he didn’t find them funny at all.

The bald man raised one hand, and the murmuring crowd fell silent. “This is Unit Nine. Our own kingdom. And every kingdom needs law and order, right?”

"It does!" the inmates chorused enthusiastically, hungry for a show.

“Here, we follow tradition. Every newcomer must pass through the Three Rites of Recognition. That’s the only way to earn your place here—otherwise, you’re just another disposable fool.”

Elijah frowned. “And what if I don’t want recognition? Let me remain a disposable fool and let me be.”

Someone behind him chuckled, prompting the bald man to turn slowly. “Then you’ll wish you were never born.”

Without waiting for Elijah to respond, the bald man suddenly clapped twice, and a rusty bucket was dragged out from a nearby shed. Its contents sloshed around, reeking of rotten eggs. Two inmates stepped forward, dipping their bare hands inside.

“Oh, yeah!” They both cheered, laughing as they sniffed their hands in delight.

“You’re on Rite One: Baptism of the Floor Kings,” the bald man announced, and cheers and applause erupted from the prison yard.

They dumped the bucket in front of Elijah, spilling human waste and old food onto the dusty ground. A cracked brush and a rag lay beside it.

Elijah stepped back a few meters; the smell was so horrible that he felt his heart wanting to leap out of his mouth. "Can you please take that away?" he pleaded.

“You clean the public toilet with that rag. No gloves. No helper. When the sun touches that wall,” he pointed to a crumbling spot near the fence, “you’d better be done.”

Elijah's chest rose and fell rapidly. “But this is... this is crazy! That’s not—”

“First lesson,” the bald man interrupted, not allowing him to finish. “This is a prison, not your rich boy’s boarding school. No one cares what’s crazy.”

“And what gives you the impression that I’m a rich boy? We’re the same! I also grew up on the streets. Please don’t make me do this.”

For the first time since the bald man had been transferred to the prison, his expression faltered, and his voice was unusually calm. “You mean you’re not a rich kid?” he asked, moving closer to Elijah.

“Yes, I swear. I don’t even know what being rich feels like…”

“Enough!” The bald man’s voice echoed through the yard, causing Elijah to step back again. “You grew up in the streets, but you let a woman trample over your emotions. Who would believe that? You think we’re fools here?”

“No, don’t misquote me, sir. That’s clearly not what I meant.”

The bald man squinted at Elijah as if trying to see through him. “So what’s your name then?”

“Elijah,” he muttered.

“Hmmmm?” The man’s eyes widened, as if he’d never heard the name before. He scrutinized Elijah, then asked, “Elijah what?”

“Elijah Harold,” Elijah replied simply, feeling uncomfortable with the bald man’s sudden calmness and strange behavior.

A sudden shift rippled through the air when Elijah mentioned his full name. The bald man’s chest rose and fell slowly, and his demeanor turned cold.

“And your mother?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Elijah hesitated; the question caught him off guard. “She’s late. Her name is Albertina Harold. She raised me after my dad… after he disappeared. We lived by the banks of North river, in a wooden tent she said she built all by herself. She passed away a few years ago.”

At that moment, a heavy silence descended over the yard as the inmates watched, frozen, while the bald man interrogated Elijah. No one dared question him or his decisions.

The bald man’s jaw twitched, and his lips trembled, but he didn’t speak. His eyes remained fixed on Elijah as if he were staring at a ghost. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

He turned around abruptly. “You all return to your respective corners,” he snapped at no one in particular, turning his back to the inmates immediately.

Elijah observed closely and noticed that the bald man quickly swiped at his cheek. It seemed he was crying, and he was the only one who noticed.