Chapter 10: The University of Crime
The armored bus hissed as the air brakes engaged, jerking to a halt. The vibrations that had rattled through the metal floor for the last hour finally died down, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.
Arjun sat near the barred window, his wrist handcuffed to the seat frame. He didn't look like a prisoner. With his fair skin, sharp features, and the lean, coiled muscle evident even under his shirt, he looked like a college student who had taken a wrong turn. But his eyes told a different story. They were the eyes of a shark swimming in shallow water—calm, unblinking, and dangerous.
Shiva sat next to him, his massive frame taking up two seats. He was cracking his knuckles, the sound like popping gunshots in the quiet bus.
"We're here," Shiva grunted, looking out at the towering concrete walls topped with razor wire.
Cherlapally Central Jail. The beast.
Unlike the Juvenile Home, which pretended to be a school, this place made no apologies. It was a fortress designed to hold the worst humanity had to offer. Murderers, rapists, terrorists, and gang lords lived behind these walls.
"Welcome to university," Arjun whispered, a small, cold smile touching his lips.
The gates groaned open. The bus rolled into the sterile zone between the outer and inner walls.
"Get out! Line up! Move!"
The shouting started immediately. These weren't the lazy wardens of the juvenile center. These were hardened jailers who dealt with lifers every day. They carried lathis—heavy bamboo sticks—and they used them freely.
Arjun stepped off the bus into the blinding afternoon sun. The heat radiated off the asphalt. He stood tall, stretching his spine to his full six-foot-one height. He looked around, absorbing the layout. Watchtowers at every corner. High-voltage fences. A massive central courtyard that branched off into different blocks.
It was organized. It was structured. It was perfect.
They were herded into the admission block. The process was dehumanizing by design.
"Clothes off. Everything."
Arjun stood in a line of twenty men. He stripped without hesitation. He wasn't ashamed. He stood naked, his body a map of lean muscle and defined sinew. The years of calisthenics in the juvenile cell had turned him into a weapon. His abs were hard ridges, his shoulders broad and tapered.
The jailer, a man with a thick mustache and eyes that had seen everything, paused when he walked past Arjun. He looked at the fair skin, so different from the rough, sun-baked complexions of the other inmates.
"Name?" the jailer barked.
"Arjun," he replied. No 'Sir'. No trembling.
"Crime?"
"Murder," Arjun lied smoothly. Technically, it was attempted murder, but in prison, intent didn't matter. Reputation did.
The jailer marked something on his clipboard. "You pretty boys usually don't last a week in General Population. Barrack 6. Take your kit."
Arjun was tossed a bundle—a rough white shirt, white trousers with blue stripes, a plate, and a blanket that felt like sandpaper.
He dressed quickly. The uniform was ill-fitting, but Arjun rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, exposing his forearms. He left the top button open. Even in prison whites, he carried himself with an arrogance that drew eyes.
They were marched across the main yard to Barrack 6.
The yard was alive. It was the evening recreation hour. Hundreds of prisoners were out. Groups walked in circles, huddled in corners, or sat on the concrete benches.
As Arjun and Shiva walked through the center, the conversation died down.
It was the "Fresh Meat" effect. But this was different. Usually, new prisoners looked at the ground, terrified. Arjun was looking at them. He was scanning faces, reading tattoos, analyzing groupings.
He saw a group of men near the gym equipment—huge, bulky, likely enforcement for some gang.
He saw a group sitting in the shade playing cards—older men, likely white-collar criminals or politicians.
He saw the loners—psychopaths who couldn't play well with others.
"Eyes front," a guard shouted, shoving Shiva.
Shiva didn't move. He turned his head slowly and looked at the guard. The guard, sensing the sheer violence radiating off the big man, took a half-step back.
"Keep moving," the guard muttered, less aggressively this time.
They reached Barrack 6. It was a long, rectangular hall that housed fifty men. It was cleaner than the juvenile home but felt heavier. The air was thick with unspoken threats.
As they entered, fifty pairs of eyes turned to them.
The Barrack Leader, a man in his forties with a shaved head and a long scar running down his neck, sat on a raised concrete platform at the far end. His name was Kaalia, a lifer known for running the tobacco trade inside.
Arjun walked straight to an empty spot near the wall. He threw his kit down. Shiva sat next to him, crossing his arms, acting as the physical barrier between Arjun and the rest of the room.
For the first hour, no one approached them. They were assessing. The predators were deciding if the new arrivals were food or threats.
Arjun leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He listened.
In Central Jail, information traveled faster than light.
Two men were whispering a few feet away.
"...did you hear? The Minister is coming for inspection next week."
"Who? Rao?"
"Yes, Virendar Rao. He's inaugurated the new wing. They say he's going to release ten prisoners for good conduct on Independence Day. My brother is on the list."
Arjun's eyes snapped open.
Virendar Rao.
The name hit him like a physical blow. Four years. For four years, Arjun had rotted in a cell while Rao had climbed the ladder. Now, Rao was a Minister. He was coming here, to this prison, to cut a ribbon and act like a savior.
Arjun felt a cold fire ignite in his chest. It wasn't anger; anger was messy. It was focus.
"Shiva," Arjun whispered.
Shiva leaned in. "I heard."
"He thinks he's safe," Arjun said softly, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily. "He thinks I'm just a memory. A dust particle he brushed off his coat."
"Do we kill him when he comes?" Shiva asked, his voice low.
"No," Arjun said. "If we kill him now, he dies a martyr. A hero. I don't want him to die a hero. I want him to die a failure. I want to strip him of everything—his power, his money, his name. And then, when he is nothing but a beggar, then I will kill him."
"Hey! New kid!"
The voice broke their conversation.
Three men were standing over them. They were Kaalia's lieutenants. Rough, ugly men who survived by bullying the weak.
"This is Kaalia Bhai's spot," the middle one said, grinning. "You need to pay rent to sleep here."
Arjun didn't stand up. He looked up at the man.
"I don't have money," Arjun said calmly.
"Then you pay with service," the man leered. "Massage Kaalia Bhai's legs. Or maybe wash his clothes."
Shiva started to stand up, his fists clenching, but Arjun put a hand on Shiva's forearm to stop him.
Arjun stood up slowly. He was taller than the lieutenant. He dusted off his white trousers.
"I think there is a misunderstanding," Arjun said, his voice polite but carrying a razor-sharp edge. "I am not a servant. And I don't pay rent."
The lieutenant laughed, looking back at Kaalia, who was watching from his platform.
"You hear that, Bhai? The pretty boy thinks he's special."
The lieutenant turned back to Arjun, his face hardening. "You pay, or you bleed. That's the rule."
He reached out to grab Arjun's collar.
Arjun didn't block. He didn't flinch. He moved with a speed that was almost impossible to track.
He caught the lieutenant's finger—the index finger reaching for him—and bent it back.
SNAP.
The sound of the bone breaking was loud in the quiet barrack.
"AAAAHH!" The lieutenant screamed, dropping to his knees.
Arjun didn't let go. He twisted the broken finger, forcing the man's face into the floor. He looked at the other two men, his eyes wide and intense, devoid of any fear.
"I broke a man's neck in the juvenile center for touching me," Arjun said, his voice echoing in the hall. "Do you want to check if I can do it again?"
The other two men froze. They looked at their screaming friend, then at Shiva, who was now standing behind Arjun like a dark mountain ready to collapse on them.
Arjun looked at Kaalia across the room.
"I sleep here," Arjun stated, his voice carrying clearly to the leader. "I don't pay rent. I don't give massages. I mind my business. You mind yours. If you want a war, I will burn this barrack down with you inside it. Do we have a deal?"
Kaalia stared at Arjun. He saw the calmness. He saw the technique. He saw Shiva.
Kaalia was a businessman too. He knew a bad investment when he saw one. Fighting this kid would cost him men, and maybe his own life.
Kaalia nodded once, slowly.
"Let him sleep," Kaalia grunted to his men.
Arjun released the lieutenant's hand. The man scrambled away, cradling his broken finger, whimpering.
Arjun sat back down as if nothing had happened. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
The entire barrack was silent. They knew. The hierarchy had just shifted. The pretty boy wasn't prey. He was a new predator.
"Good start," Shiva muttered, sitting down.
"It's just day one," Arjun whispered.
He thought about Virendar Rao coming next week. He thought about the world outside.
He was in the belly of the beast now. And he wasn't going to just survive. He was going to take over.
The Central Jail was about to become his headquarters.
"Sleep, Shiva," Arjun said. "Tomorrow, we start recruiting."
The lights buzzed and flickered, casting long shadows over Arjun's face. He didn't look like a prisoner. He looked like a king in exile, waiting for his moment to return.