Twinlight

Chapter 7: Inmate 010101

Among the 3,102 inmates crowding Penitentiary-18, most were either preoccupied with the newcomers’ “initiation,” lounging in the recreation zone, or heaving weights in the gym. Reading held scant appeal for the general prison population.

This made Lucian Reed, Silas Locke, and Evander Vale stand out all the more starkly against the grim concrete backdrop.

Silas Locke perched barefoot on a metal chair, a wide grin splitting his face, his discarded shoes lying haphazardly nearby. Evander Vale stood rigidly formal behind Lucian Reed, his sharp gaze constantly sweeping their surroundings.

Silas Locke, with his sharp, fox-like features, radiated restless cunning. Evander Vale possessed a sturdier build, his face etched with stoic determination. One looked every inch the schemer; the other, the steadfast shield.

Seeing Lucian Reed finish scanning the news feed on his Cogni-Pad, Silas Locke piped up, “Boss, that kid didn’t lift a finger for the other new fish.”

Lucian Reed gave a slight nod. “Not helping was the logical play. His decisiveness on the board was clear – he’d sacrifice his own pieces to survive. Expecting him to save others? Wishful thinking.”

“Chess is just a game,” Silas Locke retorted with a shrug. “Sacrificing bits of plastic? Easy. So… fancy another round with him tomorrow?”

“Naturally,” Lucian Reed replied, a faint smile touching his lips as he glanced at the two younger men. “Or would you rather I waste moves against you two woodpushers?”

In the Archive, Lucian Reed sat at a long wooden table, the sleek, new Cogni-Pad in his hand streaming that morning’s headlines. The massive Maine Coon lay splayed like a tawny throw rug on the tabletop, utterly committed to the feline manifesto of napping in novel locales.

The area resembled a small, sterile library. But the “shelves” held no paperbacks, only rows of identical Cogni-Pads docked in their charging slots. Dozens of long tables sprawled between the shelves, capable of seating nearly a thousand inmates, yet standing hauntingly empty.

Evander Vale’s deep voice rumbled, “I’m marginally less terrible than Silas.”

“By a hair’s breadth,” Lucian Reed acknowledged, tapping the Cogni-Pad’s screen. “Remember Kuo Hu? The one ChanCorp finally netted? His trial’s wrapped up. Expect him transferred here within days. Make contact when he arrives.”

Evander Vale gave a curt nod. “Dealt with him once before. Like wrestling a bear… but possible.”

“Hmm,” Lucian Reed murmured, shifting his focus back to Silas Locke. “What about the boy who cracked this morning?”

“Observed him closely. Something felt… off,” Silas Locke analyzed, leaning forward conspiratorially. “He babbled like a genuine basket case, sure. But when he dropped ‘Lorien’ and ‘The Permanence Syndicate’? Utter certainty. Like he knew them.”

“His background?” Lucian Reed prompted.

“Peeled it back. Outside? Just another dropout, a petty street rat. Ran with the ‘Black Tigers’ crew in Metropolis 18, dealing cybernetics – whispers of illegal acquisitions, but nothing stuck. Slammed for tax evasion. His whole history checks out… except Lorien and the Syndicate? Not a peep. Can’t find a single thread,” Silas Locke reported. No one had seen him conduct any obvious investigation, yet within an hour, he’d seemingly dissected the distraught boy’s life down to the bone marrow. That was the truly unnerving part.

“Keep eyes on him,” Lucian Reed instructed. “There’s more rattling around in that skull. Now, what about my chess opponent?”

Silas Locke blinked. “Boss, the game just ended! Give a guy a minute. I’ll have the skinny before lunch.”

“See that you do,” Lucian Reed said, already scrolling through his Cogni-Pad again.

Silas Locke stole a glance at his boss. He suddenly realized Lucian Reed had taken a genuine, almost predatory interest in the newcomer.

As Silas Locke opened his mouth to probe further, his head snapped towards the Archive entrance. Inmate 010101 was approaching, his eyes meticulously cataloging every rivet and shadow.

Quentin’s gaze flickered briefly over Lucian Reed and his entourage before settling on a shelf. He carefully extracted a Cogni-Pad and pressed the power button. He stared at the screen. If there was one express lane to grasping this bewildering world, it was through its data streams.

But the device didn’t boot to a home screen; a stark login prompt glared back.

Silas Locke sauntered over, a light chuckle escaping him. “First rodeo, huh? Gotta register an account with your Incarceration ID before this slab wakes up.”

Quentin glanced down at his prison fatigues. The number stitched there read: 010101.

Once registered, Quentin looked at Silas Locke. “News access? Like his?” He gestured subtly towards Lucian Reed.

Silas Locke glanced back at his boss’s Cogni-Pad and smirked. “Dream on, new fish. Your account’s grounded. No network privileges. Hell, even I don’t get that juice.” Quentin understood. Lucian Reed’s status within Penitentiary-18 was extraordinary. As extraordinary as being allowed a personal feline companion.

He offered a curt nod of thanks and lowered his head, diving into the Cogni-Pad’s local cache.

Silas Locke drifted back to Lucian Reed’s side, his gaze periodically drifting back to Quentin. Then he noticed something strange: Quentin’s fingers were flying. Pages flickered past like a hummingbird’s wings. Quentin had taken a seat. He absorbed the text, committed it, swiped – a relentless, mechanical rhythm. This continued for over three hours without a single shift in his posture, a statue devouring data. For others, this might be boredom relief. For Quentin, it was oxygen – the critical path to decoding this world and surviving it.

The content was clearly curated sludge. A staggering 95% consisted of hollow philosophy and motivational drivel…

But it didn’t matter. Every byte was vital intel now.

As the lunch hour loomed, Lucian Reed finally set his Cogni-Pad down. He turned his full attention to Quentin, his voice smooth as river stones, resonant and carrying an unnerving calm in the quiet Archive:

“What was the third line on the previous page?”

Quentin lifted his head without missing a beat. “When order becomes chaos, chaos must be employed to uphold order and rescue the law.”

Evander Vale stepped forward, plucked the Cogni-Pad from Quentin’s grasp, and thumbed back a page. His eyes darted across the lines before grunting, “Spot on, Boss.”