The eighth level was done. As done as the upcoming generation of men.
After writing the resignation letter for Sure, I figured the main guard of this level might already be dead. I had swung Jack's dead body non-stop—like a pedo who swings a kid just to gain the child's trust—without seeing left and right after all. The Chief guard must have caught fire.
The prisoners of this level were freed as well like slaves after the deaths of their masters and I didn't see any reason for wasting time.
I ran straight for the cabin of the Chief guard of this level like a fat woman sprinting into court because she thought justice was a dish and it was finally served and in no time, I found it.
Without waiting for anything, I entered and shifted the cupboard away like consent.
A line of prisoners again formed a line behind me like I was a porstar starring in the bukkake genre and now the number was larger than before. The prisoners of two levels were there after all.
