Chapter 80 The Prisoners

Shane raised his flashlight, finally illuminating the five inmates gathered near the cafeteria kitchen. One was a wiry man with long hair and a mustache, another was blond and looked almost harmless, while a short Black man with a buzz cut stood beside a larger bald Black man. The fifth was an even bigger Black inmate with thick sideburns and a heavy build. Magnus Vane ignored whoever had questioned his ridiculous FBI entrance and, while Shane kept the shotgun trained on them, pulled out a heavy nylon zip tie and secured the double doors behind them.

Only after sealing the exit did Magnus turn around with a pleasant smile. “Introductions. This is Deputy Shane Walsh, temporarily assisting me with a federal rescue operation.” Shane’s eyes twitched slightly, but Magnus continued without hesitation. “As for me, I’m a former 75th Ranger Regiment operator and currently an FBI GS-14 Supervisory Special Agent, assigned to tactical operations, hostage rescue, and high-risk arrests.” Every word was complete nonsense as far as Magnus’s real background was concerned, but he delivered the lie with enough confidence to make even Shane briefly wonder how much preparation had gone into it.

Magnus casually pulled an old identification card from his system inventory, flashed it quickly enough that nobody could study the details, then made it disappear again. The blond inmate stared at him uncertainly before asking, “So… you’re here to get us out?” Magnus’s smile didn’t change. “Like I said, my job covers rescue operations and violent arrests. Which one applies depends entirely on what I find here.”

The long-haired inmate stepped forward instead of shrinking back. “FBI? I’ve never heard of a GS-14 that young.” His tone was skeptical, and the other inmates immediately began studying Magnus more carefully. The blond man looked far more concerned with escaping and quickly asked what had happened outside, but Magnus raised one hand to silence him without taking his eyes off the mustached prisoner.

Magnus walked forward until almost no space remained between them. “So you’re questioning my credentials.” At that distance, the man swallowed despite himself; months of slaughtering walkers, surviving Blood Moons, and fighting through the prison had left Magnus with an intensity that couldn’t be faked. The inmate nevertheless reached toward a compact pistol at his waist, trying to maintain some sense of control. “I was just asking.”

The hesitation cost him.

Magnus caught his gun hand, trapped the finger away from the trigger, and stripped the pistol from him before the man could react. He looked down at the weapon once, then back at the five inmates. “Hands on your heads. Kneel.”

The command cracked through the cafeteria.

Whether because of Magnus’s speed, Shane’s shotgun, or old prison instincts, all five men complied almost immediately. The blond inmate dropped first with both hands behind his head, and the others followed before anyone found the courage to argue. Shane shifted his stance and kept the muzzle covering them while Magnus dragged over one of the heavy dining tables, the legs screeching harshly across the floor until he positioned himself opposite the kneeling prisoners.

Magnus sat down and casually turned the confiscated pistol in one hand. “Federal command gave me discretion to handle unusual situations, and all of you obviously know something unusual happened in this prison.” His tone became conversational again, which only made the inmates more nervous. “So we’re going to talk, and you’re going to be honest. First question: why are you still in this cafeteria?”

Magnus already knew the broad answer from The Walking Dead, but arriving at the prison months earlier meant the details might no longer match what he remembered. More importantly, he wanted to see how they reacted under questioning. The long-haired prisoner answered first. “A guard put us in here when everything went to hell. Gave us that pistol too.”

Magnus looked at him steadily. “A guard gave it to you, or you killed him and took it?”

The man’s expression hardened. “Sir, if you’re really law enforcement, then you know accusations require evidence. Don’t start making things up.”

Magnus smiled slightly.

So this one wanted to establish himself as the spokesman.

“What were you all in for?”

This time the long-haired man hesitated, allowing the blond inmate to answer first. “Axel. Drugs. Nothing major. I would’ve been out in a couple years.”

The bald Black inmate spoke next. “Oscar. Mechanic. Auto theft.”

The largest man shifted awkwardly. “People call me Big Tiny. Got locked up for fighting.” Despite his size, his expression was surprisingly mild, and Magnus had the immediate impression that Big Tiny was far less dangerous than he looked.

Then the long-haired man finally answered. “Tomas. Manslaughter.”

Several of the other inmates glanced toward him.

Magnus noticed.

So he’s been telling them something different.

Tomas was clearly the group’s de facto leader, and the way he spoke suggested he had maintained that position through confidence, bluffing, and selective truth. Magnus filed the reaction away and looked toward the smallest man.

The thin Black inmate swallowed. “Andrew.”

“And?”

Andrew hesitated. “Gang-related.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a charge.”

Andrew’s gaze began moving between Magnus and Shane.

“What were you convicted of?”

“First-degree murder.”

That answer changed the room.

Axel looked over sharply.

Oscar stared.

Even Tomas turned toward Andrew in surprise, his expression making it obvious that this was not the story Andrew had previously told them. Magnus and Shane exchanged a brief glance, and Shane’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the shotgun.

There were inconsistencies here.

Enough to matter.

Axel broke the silence first. “Sir, please, just get us out of here. Put us in another cell if that’s what you want. We’ve been trapped in this place for weeks.”

“No rush.”

Magnus stood.

Still holding Tomas’s pistol, he walked past the kneeling leader and stopped directly in front of Andrew. Magnus looked down at the smaller man while Andrew kept both hands clasped behind his head.

“You said first-degree murder?”

Andrew nodded quickly. “The gang made me take the fall. I didn’t even—”

The pistol fired.

Andrew’s body jerked and collapsed.

For a fraction of a second, nobody moved.

Then Axel, Oscar, Big Tiny, and Tomas scrambled backward across the cafeteria floor in raw panic, hands still raised as if they believed any sudden movement might make Magnus fire again. Shane remained where he was with the shotgun ready, his eyes fixed on the remaining prisoners.

Magnus lowered the pistol.

The interrogation had just become much more serious.

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