Dok was a talker. Jin had to give him that.
Over the next few hands, the scarred man told him more about the prison than Ryu's scouts had managed to gather in weeks. He talked about the bosses and their blocks. He talked about who owed what to whom. He complained about the food and bragged about his winnings and threw in little pieces of gossip without even noticing he was doing it. Jin lost a little, won a little, and kept his mouth shut, and the information just kept coming.
"How many of us are there, anyway?" Jin asked at one point, as if he were just making conversation. "Feels like more every day."
"That's because there are." Dok laid down a card. "Hundred and twenty, give or take. More if you count the ones the Butcher keeps chained up in the workshops for fun." He snorted. "Boss likes it that way. Lets folks outside think we're small. Keeps them lazy."
Jin kept his face blank. A hundred and twenty. Twice what Ryu's scouts had counted. And the prison wanted it that way.
