That night, Bruce sat on the edge of his bunk, the cell's shadows pressing in around him. His heart thudded with dread, but desperation finally outweighed fear. He waited until the evening headcount, when Officer Lin Wei, a middle-aged guard with gentle eyes and a reputation for fairness, passed by on his rounds.
"Officer Lin," Bruce called out, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Lin Wei paused, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "What is it, Bruce?"
Bruce swallowed, his throat dry. "Please… I haven't heard from my parents in over a month. They never miss a visit. Could you… could you find out if they're all right? Please, I just need to know."
Lin Wei's expression softened. He nodded, lowering his voice. "I'll see what I can do. Hang in there, son."
That night, Bruce barely slept. He stared at the cracked ceiling, replaying memories of his parents, his mother's gentle laughter, his father's calloused hand ruffling his hair. Each memory felt like a thread slipping through his fingers.
The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with the usual din of clattering trays and shouted insults. Bruce sat alone, pushing rice around his plate, appetite lost to anxiety. Suddenly, Lin Wei entered, his face grave. He crossed the room, ignoring the curious glances from inmates.
"Bruce," he said quietly, pulling up a chair beside him. "Can we talk?"
Bruce's heart lurched. He set down his chopsticks, hands trembling. "Did you find out something?"
Lin Wei hesitated, searching for words. "I did. I need you to be strong, Bruce. This won't be easy to hear."
Bruce's breath caught. "Just tell me, please."
Lin Wei drew a deep breath. "Your parents… About two weeks ago, they were on their way to the city. They were trying to file an appeal for your case. There was an accident. A truck lost control on the highway. I'm so sorry, Bruce, they didn't make it."
For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Bruce stared at Lin Wei, unable to process the words. "No… That can't be. They, they promised they'd come. They said they'd never give up on me."
Lin Wei placed a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I know, son. They loved you very much. I'm sorry you had to hear it like this."
Tears flooded Bruce's eyes, spilling down his cheeks. He covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking. The pain was raw, tearing through him like shattered glass.
Lin Wei stayed by his side, silent but steadfast. After a while, he spoke again, voice gentle. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll do what I can. But you have to take care of yourself, Bruce. That's what your parents would want."
Bruce nodded numbly, unable to speak. Lin Wei squeezed his shoulder, then stood and left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
No sooner had he gone than Scar and his gang swaggered over, sensing weakness like sharks drawn to blood. Scar plopped down across from Bruce, his cronies flanking him on either side.
"Hey, look at this," Scar jeered, snatching half of Bruce's food and dumping greasy scraps back onto his tray. "Today's your lucky day, kid. Here's some extra meat, don't say I never gave you anything." The others roared with laughter.
Bruce stared straight ahead, his face streaked with tears, mind lost in a fog of grief.
Scar leaned in, sneering. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too good for our food?"
One of the cronies chimed in, "Maybe he thinks he's better than us. Maybe he needs another lesson."
Bruce didn't reply, his gaze unfocused, lost somewhere far away.
Scar's eyes narrowed. "You staring at me, punk? You got a problem?" He jabbed a finger at Bruce's chest. "You think you're better than me because you're sad? I'll give you something to cry about."
He spat into Bruce's tray, the glob landing with a wet smack. "Eat it. Every last bite. If there's a crumb left, I'll hang you up all night. Got it?"
The table fell silent, the other inmates watching with a mixture of amusement and unease.
Bruce's knuckles tightened around his chopsticks. His body trembled, not with fear, but with something darker, deeper. Rage and despair tangled inside him, twisting tighter and tighter until something snapped. The humiliation, the beatings, the injustice, the loss, they all fused into a single, blinding moment of clarity.
Bruce looked up, meeting Scar's eyes for the first time. There was no fear in his gaze now, only a cold, feral light. The room seemed to fall away, the noise fading into silence. In that instant, Bruce realized he had nothing left to lose. The pain, the grief, the injustice, they had taken everything from him. All that remained was the urge to fight back, to reclaim a shred of dignity from the ashes of his life.
Scar, sensing the shift, sneered and reached for Bruce's tray, ready to smash it into his face. But Bruce moved first. With a guttural roar that echoed off the concrete walls, he lunged, driving his chopsticks toward Scar's eyes.
The cafeteria erupted in chaos.