September 14, 2003 — 9:21 a.m.
A convoy jointly formed by the FBI, CIA, NSA, and USSS advanced in force toward the Pennsylvania State Prison.
Lucas sat in the central vehicle, with his lawyer Connor seated beside him.
"Sir," Connor said earnestly, handing over a document,
"the only advice I can give you now is this—please don't demolish the prison."
Lucas glanced down at the file.
"What's this?"
"A Special Confinement Declaration for State Prison Inmates," Connor replied.
Lucas chuckled. "Am I really that terrifying?"
"Trust me," Connor said seriously.
"Everyone in that prison combined wouldn't even be enough to fill your teeth."
Lucas shrugged, signed the document in a few swift strokes, and handed it back.
---
The convoy soon reached the prison gates.
The warden had already assembled every correctional officer under her command, standing in full readiness.
As Lucas stepped out of the vehicle, surrounded by agents and operatives from multiple departments, he looked nothing like a prisoner.
He looked like a king inspecting his domain.
Warden Ravinia Miranda, who had served three years at Carnella State Prison and seen countless hardened criminals, swallowed hard.
Compared to this man, even the most vicious inmates she had known seemed like barking puppies—loud, but utterly powerless.
"Mr. Lucas," she said, stepping forward and extending her hand,
"I am Warden Ravinia Miranda. It is… an honor to have you serve your sentence here."
Lucas smiled and shook her hand calmly.
"My lawyer will handle the paperwork," he said.
"But you wouldn't mind if I met my future 'friends' myself, would you?"
Miranda wanted to curse inwardly, but maintained her professional smile.
"Of course not. They're a rough crowd—please don't take offense at their lack of manners."
Lucas released her hand.
Then, in full view of everyone present, he slowly rose into the air, crossed the perimeter fence, and flew directly toward the prison yard.
---
The Yard
It was morning recreation time.
Nearly six thousand inmates, all dressed in orange uniforms, were scattered across the yard.
Lucas hovered above them, gazing down.
"I'm pleased to meet you all," he said, projecting his voice with controlled Ki.
His words echoed throughout the yard.
Every inmate looked up.
Their faces showed arrogance, coldness, and defiance.
They had heard nothing meaningful about what Lucas had done outside these walls.
Words alone could never convey how terrifyingly strong he truly was.
Lucas descended slowly, landing on the ground with a gentle smile—harmless, almost friendly.
The inmates began to close in, forming a tightening circle that blocked every escape route.
A tall Black inmate—over 1.9 meters, muscles straining against his uniform—stepped forward.
With a casual tug, he ripped his prison shirt apart, revealing a scar-covered chest.
Spit.
A glob of saliva landed at Lucas's feet.
"I don't care who you are, birdman," the inmate growled, leaning close.
"This is my territory. You follow my rules—or I'll grind you into paste, inch by inch."
Lucas smiled.
"Is that so? Then you've saved me some trouble."
"Huh?" the man frowned.
Lucas rolled his neck, joints cracking audibly.
"You know," he said softly,
"I've been holding back… for a very long time."
Before the inmate could react, a fist slammed into his abdomen.
"This," Lucas continued calmly,
"is one of the reasons I came to prison."
The man's eyes rolled white as he collapsed unconscious.
--
In the next instant, Lucas flashed to another inmate and drove a kick into his chest.
Bang!
The man flew backward, crashing into three others.
Lucas didn't even look.
He turned and slapped another inmate across the face—so hard the man spun like a top and sailed sideways through the air.
Lucas burst into wild laughter.
Saiyans were born for battle.
From childhood, Lucas had suppressed that instinct through meditation—barely holding it back.
But since his mission to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Triskelion, the urge had grown stronger.
After the battle at Luthor's subsidiary, it became impossible to erase.
Without a gravity chamber, even running a hundred kilometers under load couldn't dull it.
Only combat—against the Eternals and the Deviants—had brought partial relief.
Now, inside this prison, Lucas finally let go.
He precisely controlled his Ki, deliberately suppressing his strength.
At this moment, he was only slightly stronger than a normal human.
Even so—
With a single punch, he sent a 100-kilogram inmate flying.
Like a tiger charging into a flock of sheep, Lucas plunged into the crowd.
Fists.
Kicks.
Knees.
Elbows.
Shoulders.
Headbutts.
Every part of his body became a weapon.
Blood splattered across his face.
Screams echoed endlessly.
Inmates fell one after another—only to be replaced by more rushing in.
Lucas felt a thrill unlike anything he had ever known.
---
"It's over…" Warden Miranda and her officers stood frozen.
Agents from every department bore witness to a display of violence that bordered on art.
"Don't worry, Warden," Connor said calmly.
"My client is simply stretching his muscles. No one will be seriously hurt."
"Isn't it good," he added lightly,
"to have someone discipline those scum for you?"
Miranda exhaled slowly.
She knew that if Lucas truly intended harm, the yard would already be a massacre.
Three minutes later, not a single inmate remained standing—except Lucas.
He flicked the blood from his knuckles, walked to a bench, and sat down calmly, smiling in satisfaction.
Medical reports soon arrived.
Aside from superficial injuries, nearly everyone would recover quickly.
Only a few had broken arms—self-inflicted while trying to flee.
Miranda finally relaxed.
---
The Next Day
In the yard, inmates stood bruised and swollen.
When a figure—still not wearing prison uniform—emerged from the gates, something extraordinary happened.
The inmates split into two orderly lines.
As Lucas walked forward, every inmate dropped to one knee.
Their faces were filled with reverence.
They no longer looked like prisoners—but soldiers kneeling before a crowned king.
The guards and the warden stared in shock.
The four former prison bosses, once dominant figures, now lay prostrate like loyal dogs.
Lucas sat down on the bench.
Only then did the inmates rise and resume their activities.
From that day on—
The prison had only one king.
___
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