Blood is language. Fear is currency. And power? Power is trust backed by violence.
In Cellblock E, Vale and Vince didn't rise.
They conquered.
Not just leaders. Architects of warfare. Sculptors of madness.
It began two weeks after Marlow's skull caved in. The old order shattered like his ribs, and in the vacuum, a new doctrine emerged—one built on fire, fear, and flawless calculation.
The Birth of the Game
They called it the Chess of Blood.
Vale called it "The Sorting."
Each inmate was a piece—Knight, Rook, Bishop, Pawn. Every move was life or death. Each game, a crucible.
Factions were color-coded with bandanas.
Every fight was a stage, and the rules? They changed constantly:
One match had the floor electrified every ten seconds.
Another gave a blade only to the one who answered Vale's riddle correctly.
One fight: "Whoever speaks, dies."
One man panicked and screamed. Vince slit his throat in silence.
But this was only the beginning.
Psychological Trials
Vale was not a torturer. He was a god in the theater of minds.
He fed two inmates fake letters: one's wife allegedly slept with the other. The result? Gutted intestines on the chessboard.
He isolated best friends with audio tapes—"confessions" of betrayal. One broke. One stayed silent.
Guess who made the final team?
He used:
Deprivation rooms (zero light/sound) for 48 hours.
Simulated executions to test emotional thresholds.
Silent meals where any movement meant punishment.
He rewired their instincts. No longer did they crave safety or love.
Only obedience.
Only purpose.
From 87 inmates, only 12 remained.
They weren't men.
They were The Council.
Each was chosen not for strength, but for usefulness:
A former gang chemist who made poison from orange peels.
A mute hypnotist who communicated through blinks.
A preacher turned sadist who could make anyone kneel.
They trained day and night in:
Brutal Physical Combat
Dirty Boxing: Elbows, bites, throat jabs.
Improvised Shanks: Toothbrushes, razors, zip-ties.
Joint Manipulation: Break a wrist in under two seconds.
Pain-Delay Conditioning: Holding searing hot coins as meditation.
Real Psychological Warfare
Gaslighting: Make your enemy doubt reality.
Foot-in-the-door Technique: Slowly erode resistance.
Fear Anchoring: Pair a word with trauma. Use it to trigger obedience.
NLP Commands: Verbal anchors like "Kneel" wired to muscle memory.
They became viruses. Carriers of ideology. Plagues of control.
Their final exam wasn't a duel.
It was war.
Vale orchestrated a riot. Vince lit the fuse.
Lights off. Music on. Guards sent into the wrong hallway.
They sealed the exits. They turned the block into a rat maze.
And the Council danced in the dark.
Each move was scripted. Each death, pre-approved.
Blood sprayed the walls like murals. A guard screamed into his radio. It didn't matter.
They'd already cut the wires.
Order crumbled.
And in the ashes, the new throne rose.
Then came the announcement.
Vale's sentence was over.
Ten years. One decade of transformation.
The Warden didn't shake his hand. He couldn't. His fingers trembled too violently.
"Leave," he whispered. "And never come back."
Vale walked past him in silence.
Guards flinched. Some bowed without realizing.
At the final gate, Vince waited.
Bandaged. Bloodied. Glorious.
Final Goodbye
The sky outside was colorless.
Vale stood at the threshold. Scarred face. Stolen officer coat. Eyes like glass daggers.
Vince stood beside him. The Council stood behind. Silent. Watching.
"So," Vale murmured. "This is what freedom feels like."
Vince nodded.
"Go raise hell."
"You should come."
Vince smirked. "I'm the roots. You're the wildfire. Someone needs to protect the seed."
Then—a single hug.
Fierce. Final.
"You changed in there," Vince whispered. "But don't forget what made you bleed."
Vale's reply was cold as steel.
"I remember everything."
He turned to the Council.
"No gods. No kings. No heroes."
Then he looked skyward.
And said it.
"To those who killed my family...
To the ones who chained me in filth and silence...
Now watch it tear your world apart.
One. Broken. Bone. At. A. Time."
Then Vale stepped into the wind.
Free.
But never forgiven.
Not again. Not ever.