The iron gate slammed shut behind Michael with a heavy crash, echoing down the concrete corridors as the guard turned the key in the lock. Keeping the brown envelope perfectly concealed under the thick fabric of the orange uniform, Michael walked with measured steps back toward the central cafeteria.
The flow of inmates was already thinning out, but Albert remained seated at the same concrete table, tapping the sole of his slipper against the floor with evident anxiety. When Michael approached and slid onto the bench, the giant leaned forward immediately.
— So? Who was it? — Albert whispered, sweeping his eyes across the hall. — It's not normal for them to call someone to medium security this early. Is everything alright?
Michael only nodded slightly, without changing his expression.
— Standard procedure — he replied in a flat tone, picking up his coffee mug to simulate normalcy.
Before Albert could press with more questions, Michael shifted his focus. From the corner of his eye, he detected movement coming from the distribution counter. Sergeant Miller, one of the guards coordinating the cafeteria shift, handed the clipboard to a subordinate and walked toward the back hallway, entering the staff service restroom.
Michael set the mug down with millimetric precision.
— I'll be right back — he said, standing up.
— Hey, where are you going? The lockdown signal's going to sound in a minute! — Albert warned, but Michael was already cutting across the cafeteria with quick, silent steps.
He crossed the threshold of the male staff restroom. The place was cold, with a strong smell of cheap disinfectant and yellowed tiles. Miller had his back turned, washing his hands at the porcelain sink. Without making a sound, Michael grasped the heavy wooden door, pushed it to the jamb, and turned the internal metal latch.
_Click._
Upon hearing the sound of the lock, Miller froze. He slowly shut off the faucet and turned his body, drying his hands on paper towels. When he saw the inmate standing in front of the only exit, his expression mixed surprise with irritation.
— What do you think you're doing, 9412? — Miller's voice echoed off the tiled walls, authoritative. — This restroom is staff only. And why the hell did you lock this door?
Michael kept his arms extended along his body, posture impeccable and eyes fixed on the guard.
— I came to propose a deal. I'm going to help you, sergeant — Michael said, his voice perfectly flat, devoid of any irony.
Miller let out a harsh laugh, taking a step forward. Arrogance took over his features.
— Help me? Have you completely lost it? Unlock this goddamn door right now, before I break your teeth and throw you in solitary for insubordination. You've got three seconds. Unlock it!
— I'm not going to unlock it — Michael replied, not retreating a millimeter.
Before Miller could move to force him out of the way, Michael slipped his hand inside the fold of the orange uniform. With a surgical motion, he pulled out the brown envelope Lydiane had given him. Without hurrying, he broke the seal and pulled out the first sheet of high-density paper.
— Forensic report from the central lab, omitted from the official files for fourteen months — Michael began, extending the paper toward the guard. — A mitochondrial DNA analysis collected on the handle of the knife that finished that woman on the outskirts. The genetic profile is an exact match to yours, Miller.
The blood drained instantly from the sergeant's face. His eyes widened as he read the document's header.
Without giving the man time to process the blow, Michael pulled the second stack of papers from the envelope.
— In addition, here are the copies of the inventory records from the seizures wing that you altered, along with the photos of your private locker in the screening sector. Narcotics and high-purity synthetic drugs. Enough for thirty years under a closed regime in a maximum-security prison. A much worse one than this.
Miller took a step back, bumping into the porcelain sink. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his hands trembled visibly. Desperation completely replaced his authoritative posture.
— Where... where did you get this? — the guard stammered, his voice failing, his eyes fixed on the evidence that could destroy his life. — Who gave you this?!
— That's not relevant to the current parameters — Michael countered, putting the papers back in the envelope with extreme calm. — What matters is that I have no interest in turning you over to internal affairs or the police. As I said, I'm going to help you keep your secret. But you're going to cooperate with me.
Miller swallowed hard, leaning against the sink, breathing in gasps. He looked at the locked door and then at the enigmatic young man in front of him. He realized he was completely cornered.
— What... what do you want? What do you need? — Miller asked, his voice low, defeated.
Michael took a step forward, closing the distance, though his tone remained linear.
— I need two things. A master security access card — the kind that opens the emergency exit gates and the outer perimeter — and a full prison guard uniform, in my size.
Miller brought his hands to his head, incredulous.
— You're planning an escape... You're going to get out of here. If they find out I helped...
— I am going to escape from here — Michael interrupted, his voice firm and cutting. — And if you try to stop me, or if you fail to deliver the items, this envelope will be sent directly to the federal prosecutor's office before the next shift. You will be exposed, stripped of your position, and imprisoned in this same wing. The choice is purely mathematical.
Silence in the restroom became suffocating. Sergeant Miller looked at the floor, calculating the weight of the threat. He knew the young man wasn't bluffing; the precision of that information showed he had dangerous resources on the outside.
— Alright... Alright! I'll do it — Miller conceded, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, panic stamped on every line of his face. — I'll get the card and the uniform. But on one condition: you disappear from here and burn those papers. No one can ever know about this. You have my word?
— Agreement confirmed — Michael consented. He tucked the envelope back under his uniform, fixing his gaze on the sergeant one last time. — Don't delay. The schedule is already in motion.
Michael extended his left hand, turned the metal latch, and opened the restroom door. Without looking back, he crossed the threshold and walked back into the hallway, disappearing into the flow of inmates returning to their cells, keeping the brown envelope fully secure.
Inside the restroom, Miller remained motionless beside the sink. His legs buckled and he had to brace himself against the wall to avoid falling. Cold sweat ran down his neck as he looked at the reflection of his own terrified face in the mirror.
— My God... — the guard murmured to himself, his voice trembling, his heart pounding out of control in his chest. — What am I going to do now? What am I going to do...