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墨書 Inktalez
In the western United States, a fully armed Prison Transport vehicle was slowly making its way down the highway, closely followed by several police cars seemingly ensuring the safety of the transport.
In the passenger seat, a young police officer occasionally turned his head to observe the movements inside the prisoner compartment through the rearview mirror. Although everything seemed calm, he remained vigilant; after all, the individual inside was extremely dangerous.
Looking at the heavy shackles on the prisoner and the restrictive mask covering his mouth, the Young Police Officer couldn't help but exclaim, "What kind of crime did this guy commit to warrant such strict measures?"
The driver, a Middle-Aged Balding Police Officer, chuckled wryly in response. "If it weren't for these precautions, he would have escaped by now."
"Escape?" The Young Police Officer scoffed, rolling his eyes. With nearly thirty fully armed colleagues around, there was no way this guy could get far. He would probably be shot dead the moment he tried to run.
Seeing the disdainful expression on the Young Police Officer's face, the Balding Police Officer shook his head. The rookie had just been transferred and had no idea who they were transporting. He himself had been sweating coldly since they set out.
Thinking about this, he wiped his forehead again; only upon reaching their destination would he be able to breathe a sigh of relief.
As the Prison Transport continued its steady journey without incident, they soon arrived at one of America's most secure prisons, Desert Prison on Alcatraz Island.
The officers opened the prisoner compartment and raised their shackling devices to secure the iron restraints before escorting the burly prisoner down from the Prison Transport.
Stepping out of the vehicle, his golden hair shone brightly in the sunlight, and his piercing eyes revealed that this man was no ordinary criminal.
A prison guard responsible for the transfer stepped forward to take over. The middle-aged man dressed in Warden's attire approached with an air of authority, scrutinizing the restrained prisoner. An assistant handed him the prisoner's file; he glanced at it briefly before his expression changed dramatically.
Liquid Snake—an extremely dangerous individual who had wreaked havoc at the New York Police Department, injuring over fifty officers—had recently been apprehended while intoxicated and was now being transferred to Desert Prison for custody.
Though the file contained only a few lines of information, the Warden did not underestimate this man. It wasn't just because of his description as extremely dangerous; it was also due to his ability to cause chaos at the New York Police Department and injure so many officers without sustaining any harm himself. Was that something an ordinary person could achieve?
But what did it matter if he wasn't ordinary? Once anyone entered this prison, escaping would be impossible.
With that thought in mind, the Warden no longer worried about any possibility of escape. After signing off on the transfer documents, he waved his hand for the guards to take the prisoner inside.
As they passed each other, the Warden and Liquid Snake locked eyes for a brief moment. Beyond seeing malice and brutality in those eyes, he thought he detected a hint of mockery.
Had he imagined it after playing poker late into the night? Shaking his head at that thought, the Warden dismissed it.
Liquid Snake was Shasha. After receiving the information from Felicia, he began making arrangements to enter the prison.
The method of capture was somewhat ridiculous, yet it followed a logical reasoning that left no room for suspicion.
Once he was escorted into the cell and the door was shut, it felt as if he had been completely cut off from the outside world.
Shasha surveyed the cell. It was a closed room with a high ceiling, about ten meters tall, making it impossible to climb up since the walls were too wide for him to reach. The walls were made of alloy, eliminating any possibility of being broken through by human strength, as if this room had been specifically prepared for him.
For now, he set aside other thoughts and focused on getting close to the inmate named Frank who was held here.
In the prison cafeteria, where inmates gathered for meals, this was one of the few places besides the yard where prisoners could congregate.
Of course, having so many criminals together was inherently dangerous, so security here was generally very tight.
Upon arriving at the cafeteria, a crowd of inmates gathered to collect their meals. Those who knew each other sat together discussing various matters, while strangers kept their conversations to a minimum. Even when minor disputes arose, they quickly subsided under the watchful eyes of the guards.
There were no inmates under the age of eighteen; most had fierce appearances resembling gangsters. A few looked relatively normal, but a fleeting glance into their eyes revealed an underlying madness. There were also some elderly individuals or seemingly quiet ones huddled in corners, appearing unwilling to cause trouble.
Suddenly, a loud clanking sound drew their attention—the heavy shackles being dragged across the floor. When they saw Shasha in his heavily restricted state, their expressions changed almost simultaneously.
Among prisoners, there was an unspoken understanding: the more restraints an inmate had, the more dangerous they were deemed. This man before them had more restrictions than even murderers or death row inmates.
Whispers began to circulate among them.
“What did this guy do to be locked up like that?”
“I’m curious too, but it’s safe to assume it’s nothing trivial.”
“Better not provoke that guy; if he kills someone, it would be a real loss.”
"Of course, we both know that no one would be bored enough to provoke that guy."
As the discussions grew louder, the guard couldn't help but strike the iron door with his baton.
Soon, the cafeteria fell silent.
Shasha ignored the fearful glances and found a table in the corner after getting her meal.
There was only one person at the table, a middle-aged man with a disheveled appearance and a face full of stubble. At first glance, he seemed unremarkable, but one could not overlook the explosive muscles that even his orange prison uniform could not conceal.
He was exactly why Shasha had come here: Frank Castle, who also went by another name—The Punisher!
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