Bruce Chen's time in the infirmary ended abruptly. Minutes after the paperwork was complete, a pair of guards escorted him back to the cell block. Just as Old Zhao had predicted, most of the prisoners were out on work duty, repairing the prison's leaking rooftop under the ruthless sun.
The guards didn't take Bruce to his cell. Instead, they marched him straight to the rooftop and handed him over to the supervising officer there. As Bruce stepped onto the sunbaked roof, all eyes turned. The crew paused mid-hammer and mid-carry, a hush rippling through them before Scar's henchmen started to jeer, their voices crackling through the hot air.
"Look who's back from playing dead!" shouted one, twisting his face into a cruel grin.
Another bellowed, "Dead man walking! Scar's going to finish what he started!"
It was Scar's gang, every one of them, faces twisted with ugly anticipation. Scar stood at the back, sunglasses over his ruined eye, his presence a dark cloud hovering over the whole crew. With a slow, deliberate movement, Scar drew a thumb across his throat, staring straight at Bruce with chilling promise.
If not for the guards barking threats and brandishing their batons, Bruce would have been swarmed right then and there. As the guards forced the convicts back to their labor and reminded Bruce to get to work, Scar's gaze never left Bruce. The hatred was tangible, almost a physical force pressing in from all sides.
Scar sidled up behind Bruce amidst the noise of shovels and shouted orders, his voice low and dripping venom. "Chen, you fucked up my eye. Did you think I'd forget? I left the infirmary early just to see you. Tonight, when the lights go out, just wait. You won't live to see sunrise." Scar's guttural whisper was laced with a lunatic eagerness.
Bruce turned, face blank but eyes gleaming with a chilling focus. Scar glared, lips pulled back in a sneer. "What? You got something to say? Staring at me like you still got balls?"
Others around them snickered, their laughter edged with cruelty. Scar puffed up his chest, raising his voice so everyone could hear, "Tonight I'm going to rip out both your eyes so you can remember what you did to me in the dark!"
Bruce said nothing, his silence more deadly than any retort. The way Bruce looked at Scar now was different, there was cold intent there, something that made even Scar's cocky mask flicker. A shiver of unease ran through Scar and he spat, "Keep staring and I'll put you down right now!"
As Scar threatened, Bruce's mind clicked into gear. He scanned the rooftop, saw where the guards stood, where the tools lay scattered, where the shadows pooled around the rooftop's edge. Suddenly, Bruce acted, a wild, reckless move only a desperate man would make.
Without warning, Bruce lunged forward and wrapped Scar in a rib-crushing bear hug. Every muscle in Bruce's battered body bunched as he heaved Scar toward the rooftop's edge like a maddened bull. For a split-second, everyone froze, no one believed what they were seeing.
Then, Bruce hurled both himself and Scar over the edge. Four stories down, time seemed to slow until bodies smashed into the courtyard below with a thunderous, sickening crunch. Shock exploded across the crowd, prisoners and guards alike racing to the railing to stare down in disbelief.
No one moved for a heartbeat. Then whistles shrieked, orders were screamed, and guards thundered down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, they found Scar sprawled broken-faced, blood bubbling from his mouth, his body grotesquely twisted on the concrete. Bruce, dazed but alive, crouched atop him, having landed with Scar's heavier frame cushioning the fatal impact.
Bruce did not hesitate. In front of dozens of horrified witnesses, Bruce grabbed Scar by the hair and smashed his face, again and again, into the nearby wall. Blood sprayed from Scar's head, staining the courtyard. Three times, four, by the end, Scar made no sound, had no strength left to fight back.
Frozen in terror, even the most hardened convicts could do nothing but watch. Many were violent men, but none had ever witnessed such raw madness, Bruce wasn't just fighting, Bruce was sending a message. The guards descended, screaming for Bruce to stop, threatening punishment. Bruce didn't hear them. Only when the captain and three others tackled Bruce to the ground, pinning his arms behind his back, did the violence stop.
Scar was snatched up and rushed away by medics, blood streaming from his skull, his life hanging by a thread. The captain stormed in, face beet red with fury and fear. "Chen! Are you insane? Do you know what you've done?" The captain glared at Bruce, voice shaking. "You were only looking at thirty years. First you take Scar's eye, and now this, do you want them to sentence you to death?"
Bruce wiped blood and tears from his face, meeting the captain's stare. Just for a moment, something wild burned in Bruce's eyes, something more than rage, freedom, maybe, or the knowledge that he could no longer be controlled by fear.
"Kill me then!" Bruce roared, voice ragged. "Just get it over with! Kill me!"
All around, guards and prisoners alike recoiled. For the first time, many saw a flicker of real terror dancing along Scar's notorious crew's faces. They were vicious, yes, but this was something else. This was a man who had already died and come back with nothing left to lose.
Even the captain took a step back. In a prison full of predators, few had ever stared into eyes so full of animal will and absolute disregard for death. The whispers spreading through the crowd were almost superstitious, prisoners unsettled by the sight of true madness and defiance.
Facing down the world, Bruce Chen became both a rebel and a legend, one you crossed at your own peril.