RULE NUMBER ONE: DON'T MESS WITH MR. BURGESS

CHAPTER 5

Slayde stretched his shoulders slightly. 

His grey prison uniform suddenly looked entirely out of place on a man who commanded such terrifying authority. 

He walked toward the massive glass window of the Warden’s office, looking out past the heavy concrete walls, the barbed wire, and the guard towers.

Outside the main perimeter gates, three heavily armored, matte-black transport units were parked in a flawless, military-style formation. 

A dozen men in tailored tactical gear stood at attention beside the vehicles, their eyes locked on the prison exit.

The empire was awake.

"Garrick," Slayde commanded, his voice echoing with absolute power.

"Yes, Boss?" Garrick asked, stepping up immediately to stand half a pace behind Slayde’s right shoulder.

Slayde’s fingers brushed against the sterling silver band on his middle finger, activating a faint, microscopic blue light deep within the unhackable network interface embedded inside it.

"Bring me the tailored suit Barrett prepared," Slayde ordered coldly. "And tell Calliope to pull up the live security feed for Darrow Tower's anniversary gala tonight. It's time to see how much my 'ex-wife' has enjoyed her one year of stolen luxury."

"Right away, Boss," Garrick replied with a swift nod. 

He turned and gestured toward the door, preparing to clear a path out of the administrative wing.

Slayde didn't change his clothes just yet. 

Keeping his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn-out grey trousers, he strolled out of the Warden's office and down the corridor toward the heavy steel exit gates. 

The massive iron doors groaned open, leading directly into the central courtyard that separated the cell blocks from the main perimeter.

The moment Slayde’s boots hit the concrete, the quiet atmosphere of the yard shattered.

Dozens of footsteps came rushing toward him. 

Inmates from every block, men who usually guarded their territory with aggression, were running across the asphalt, their faces a mix of uncharacteristic shock and anxiety. 

Bypassing the heavily armed guards entirely, they formed a tight, protective ring around him.

"Mr. Burgess!" one of the senior block leaders called out, his voice laced with genuine panic. "Is it true? Word from the front desk is that you're being released right now!"

"Are you really leaving us, Boss?" another inmate asked, his hands tensing at his sides. "What happens to the blocks? The moment the city elites realize you're gone, they're going to send a whole new wave of transfer gangs to reclaim the yard."

A few paces behind the crowd, the remaining transfer inmate Slayde had beaten earlier stood frozen against the concrete wall. 

Shaking, he clutched his broken arms tightly to his chest. 

He didn't dare get close to Slayde, but as he watched the scene unfold, a wave of profound, hysterical relief washed over his pale face.

‘He's leaving,’ the transfer thought, a wild, thankful grin slowly spreading across his lips. ‘Thank God, the monster is finally leaving this place. We can finally breathe.’

Slayde’s eyes calmly swept over the anxious crowd. 

His expression didn't soften, but he paused, his posture relaxed and entirely unbothered by the sea of desperate faces around him.

Standing right at the front of the circle was a seasoned, older inmate. 

Unlike the younger, panicked prisoners, the veteran wasn't shouting or asking frantic questions. 

A knowing, deeply satisfied smile settled on his weathered face. 

He took in Slayde's unbothered posture, then glanced past the heavy iron gates toward the idling convoy outside.

"I knew this place couldn't hold you for long, Slayde," the old man said softly, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the yard. Twelve months were already a miracle. But the boys are terrified. Without you sitting on that bench, the Warden's favorite dogs are going to try and take back control of the cafeteria and the laundry blocks by tonight."

Slayde pulled a hand out of his pocket, casually twisting the ring on his finger. 

A cold, reassuring glint flashed in his eyes.

"Let them try," Slayde said smoothly, his sharp voice instantly silencing the entire courtyard.

The inmates went dead quiet, hanging on his every word.

"I am leaving," Slayde continued, his tone devoid of emotion but carrying an unshakeable weight. "But do you really think I'd let the trash I broke walk all over you the moment I step outside these gates?"

The old man’s smile widened.

"Before I signed those papers," Slayde sneered, throwing a glance back toward the administrative building where Warden Cross was currently ruining his own life, "my network finalized the complete acquisition of this entire penitentiary. Is the private security company funding this place? It belongs to me now."

Audible gasps rippled through the crowd of hardened inmates.

"The guards answer to my people starting today," Slayde instructed, his gaze fixing on the block leaders. "The transfer gangs who think they can bully you are going to find themselves locked in solitary until their teeth rot. Keep your heads down, finish your sentences, and run this yard exactly the way I taught you. Nobody touches you."

A collective cheer nearly erupted from the prisoners, but they instantly choked it back out of sheer respect for Slayde's quiet demeanor. 

The deep anxiety that had gripped the yard just moments ago vanished, replaced by absolute, untouchable confidence.

The old man nodded slowly, taking a step back to clear Slayde’s path. 

"Go take back what's yours, Boss. We'll keep the house clean while you're gone."

Slayde offered a single, imperceptible nod to the veteran. 

Turning on his heel, he resumed his leisurely pace toward the outer gate, his hands returning to his pockets.

As the massive steel perimeter gates slid open with a heavy, industrial groan, the bright sunlight of the outside world hit Slayde's face for the first time in a year. 

Barrett stepped forward from the lead armored vehicle, holding a pristine, custom-tailored dark suit over his arm. 

He bowed his head low as Slayde approached.

"Welcome back, Titan," Barrett murmured.

Slayde looked back one last time at the concrete fortress that had held him for twelve months, a wicked, dangerous smile finally cutting across his face.

"Get the suit ready," Slayde commanded coldly. "We have a gala to crash."