Chapter 15: The Vanishing War
April 25th. Twenty-four days until Lincoln's execution.
The cafeteria smelled like overcooked vegetables and institutional despair. I sat with Sucre, both of us pushing mystery meat around our trays, when T-Bag walked past our table.
He didn't say anything. Didn't have to. The look he gave me promised violence.
Good. Stay focused on me. Don't notice Michael.
Ten minutes later, T-Bag was sitting three tables over, holding court with what remained of his crew. Two guys now instead of five. The others had drifted away over the past week—seeds of distrust I'd planted had taken root beautifully.
His lunch tray sat in front of him. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans that looked like they'd been boiled into submission.
I waited for the perfect moment. Guard rotation at 1215. Bellick walking through on inspection. Thirty seconds of chaos when everyone's attention shifted.
Now.
I activated Low Presence Zone.
The field spread out from my center, heavier than before. Stronger. The air around me thickened, became forgetful. Inmates at nearby tables kept talking, kept eating, eyes sliding past me without recognition.
Thirty seconds.
I stood and walked across the cafeteria. Nobody noticed. The field moved with me, a bubble of oversight.
Grabbed T-Bag's tray. He was looking the other direction, talking to his remaining crew about something. Didn't see his lunch disappear.
Sixty seconds.
Carried the tray through the cafeteria, past guards who didn't register my existence, into the corridor leading to the guard station.
The headache started building. Pressure behind my eyes, like someone inflating a balloon inside my skull.
Seventy-five seconds.
Bellick's desk. I set the tray down carefully, centered it perfectly.
Eighty-five seconds.
Back to my table. Sucre was still talking, hadn't noticed my absence. The field was straining now, wanting to collapse.
Ninety seconds.
I dropped it.
The pain spiked—sharp, immediate, brutal. I gripped the edge of the table, forcing my face to stay neutral.
"You okay, Danny?" Sucre asked.
"Fine. Just a headache."
Across the cafeteria, T-Bag reached for his tray. His hand found empty table.
"What the—WHERE'S MY FOOD?"
The cafeteria went quiet. Everyone turned to look.
T-Bag stood, spinning around. "WHO TOOK MY TRAY?"
His crew shook their heads. Nobody nearby had seen anything. The tray had just... vanished.
Then Bellick emerged from the guard station, holding it.
"Bagwell! What the hell is your tray doing on my desk?"
The cafeteria erupted. Laughter, disbelief, accusations.
T-Bag's face went through several shades of red. "I didn't put it there! Someone's messing with me! The ghost—"
"There's no ghost, you paranoid idiot." Bellick threw the tray at him. "Clean up your mess and sit down before I write you up."
T-Bag caught the tray, hands shaking. His eyes swept the room, looking for the culprit.
They landed on me.
I smiled. Raised my water glass in mock salute.
T-Bag's expression promised murder.
T-BAG'S POV
Theodore Bagwell sat in his cell that afternoon, hands clenched into fists, rage burning through his veins.
The magician. Always the magician.
His shoes vanished. His contraband stolen. His crew turning on each other over imagined slights. And now his lunch tray teleporting across the cafeteria.
Impossible. All of it impossible.
But T-Bag had eyes. He'd seen Miller watching him. Seen that mocking smile.
He's doing this. I don't know how, but he's doing this.
And worse—T-Bag's crew was fracturing. Two guys left. Two out of five. The others had drifted to different groups, whispering about how T-Bag was losing control, how the magician had made him look like a fool.
I'll kill him. Slowly. Make him scream.
But first, T-Bag needed to understand how Miller was doing it. Needed to catch him in the act.
Patience, T-Bag told himself. Watch. Wait. Then strike.
DANIEL'S POV
The shower block at 1600 hours was mostly empty. Steam hung in the air, hot water drumming against tile. I was alone in the back corner, washing off the day's sweat, when they came in.
Avocado and two friends. All three big, all three angry, all three looking for payback.
"Remember me, magic man?" Avocado's voice echoed off tile.
I turned slowly, hands raised. "Gentlemen. We doing this?"
"Yeah. We're doing this." Avocado cracked his knuckles. "You made me look stupid. Now I make you bleed."
They spread out, cutting off my escape routes. Classic prison fight tactics—surround, overwhelm, disappear before guards arrive.
Okay. Time to see if the combat training actually works.
Avocado charged first. Telegraphed punch, all power and no finesse.
I stepped left. His fist sailed past my head, so close I felt the air move. Grabbed his wrist, used his momentum to spin him around. He crashed into the tile wall face-first.
The second guy came from the right. Looping haymaker aimed at my ribs.
I dropped low. His fist hit empty air. Swept his legs. He went down hard, skull bouncing off wet tile.
The third guy was smarter. Came in cautious, hands up, looking for an opening.
I gave him one. Dropped my guard on the left side.
He took the bait. Lunged in.
I redirected his arm across my body, used his weight against him, sent him stumbling into the shower wall. His head hit the faucet with a metallic clang.
Avocado was getting up, blood streaming from his nose. "What the fuck—"
"You want more?" I asked. My breathing was steady despite the adrenaline. "Or you done?"
"I'm gonna—"
"BREAK IT UP!" CO Patterson's voice. Boots on tile.
The guards swarmed in. Separated us. Avocado and his friends were bleeding, bruised, barely standing. I had minor scrapes on my knuckles.
Patterson looked between us. "What happened?"
"They attacked me," I said calmly. "I defended myself."
"BULLSHIT!" Avocado screamed. "He—"
"He beat the crap out of all three of you," Patterson observed. "That what you're telling me?"
Avocado's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
He had no good answer. Admitting I'd beaten three guys was humiliating. Lying about it risked more punishment.
"Get to the infirmary," Patterson ordered. "All of you. Miller, you too. Get those knuckles checked."
As they dragged Avocado away, I heard whispers spreading through the shower block.
"Did you see that?"
"Three guys. He took all three."
"Weird shit. Like the magician made them fight each other."
My reputation had just evolved.
MICHAEL'S POV
Michael heard about the shower fight during PI work. One of the other inmates couldn't stop talking about it.
"The magician took on three guys. Made it look like they were fighting ghosts, man. Punches missing by inches, them crashing into walls, him barely breaking a sweat."
Michael's hands stilled on the mop he was using to clean the infirmary floor.
Danny's combat skills. He mentioned them, but I didn't realize how good he was.
That evening, Michael found him in the library. Danny was reading, but his eyes were unfocused. Exhausted.
"You okay?" Michael asked quietly.
"Fine. Just tired."
"The shower fight—"
"Was necessary. Avocado needed to learn I'm not an easy target." Danny closed his book. "Also established that fighting me is bad luck. People will remember that."
"You could've been hurt."
"But I wasn't." Danny's smile was strained. "I'm good at not getting hurt."
Michael studied him. The confident facade was cracking around the edges. Dark circles under his eyes. Tension in his shoulders. The headaches Danny thought he was hiding.
"You're pushing yourself too hard," Michael said.
"We don't have time for slow. Lincoln's execution is in twenty-four days."
"And you'll be useless if you burn out before then."
Danny met his eyes. "I'll be fine. Promise."
Michael didn't believe him. But he also didn't push.
We need him functional. But I also need him alive.
DANIEL'S POV
April 27th. I spent the day playing chess with Westmoreland and performing small tricks for the guards during their breaks. Maintaining the entertainer persona while my head pounded from power overuse.
Ninety seconds of Low Presence Zone had nearly broken me. The combat skills worked, but they'd left me sore and exhausted. I was pushing limits too fast.
But necessary. All necessary.
That afternoon, I caught one of T-Bag's remaining crew members in the library. Young guy, early twenties, nervous energy.
"Hey," I said, sliding into the chair across from him. "You're with T-Bag, right?"
He tensed. "Yeah. So?"
"So I've noticed something. You ever wonder why Ricky got moved to a different cell block?"
"T-Bag said he was disloyal."
"Or maybe T-Bag's paranoid because someone's been stealing from him. And maybe that someone is closer than he thinks." I leaned forward. "You ever notice Marcus always has extra commissary? More than his account should allow?"
The lie was perfect. Targeted. Specific enough to be believable.
"Marcus wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't he? You've known him how long? Three months? T-Bag's known him two weeks." I stood. "Just something to think about."
I walked away, planting the seed.
By evening count, T-Bag's crew member had confronted Marcus. Marcus denied it. T-Bag got involved, paranoia making him see betrayal everywhere.
By lights out, Marcus was gone. Voluntarily requested protective custody rather than deal with T-Bag's accusations.
T-Bag's crew was down to one.
That night, lying in my bunk, the headache was a living thing. Pulsing. Throbbing. The Low Presence Zone had cost me more than I'd anticipated.
Ninety seconds nearly killed me. I need to be smarter about power usage.
Above me, Raul snored peacefully.
Across the prison, T-Bag sat alone, realizing he'd been systematically dismantled.
Michael worried about my health but trusted my judgment.
The crew prepared for an escape that depended on all of us staying functional.
And I shuffled cards in the darkness, muscle memory keeping rhythm while my head tried to split open.
Twenty-three days until execution.
The war with T-Bag was explicit now. No more subtlety. He knew I was his enemy.
Good. Let him focus on me. Let him waste energy on revenge fantasies.
Anything to keep him away from the real plan.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1