章節 6: Night of Awakening Part II

The dim light of the prison cell struggled to penetrate its rough, unyielding concrete walls. Abraham Lincoln sat hunched on the edge of his cot, his massive frame dwarfing the narrow bed and making it creak under his weight. At six foot six, he was a towering figure of raw strength, with broad shoulders and thick, muscled arms carved from years of backbreaking construction work. His chest rose and fell steadily, his breath audible in the oppressive silence. His strength wasn't flashy or for show—it was the kind forged through relentless labor, a life of lifting, carrying, and enduring. It was a strength built for survival.

The faint hum of the fluorescent lights in the hallway outside barely masked the stillness of his cell. Abraham leaned back slightly, letting his calloused hands fall to his knees, flexing his thick fingers absentmindedly. His dark brown skin caught the faint, bluish glow of the flickering light, revealing a series of faint scars that crisscrossed his forearms. They weren't from fights or violence but the daily grind of his trade—splinters, scrapes, burns from welding torches, all souvenirs of a life spent building and fixing. His knuckles, rough and battered, told the story of someone who worked with his hands, someone who had created more than he had ever destroyed.

His face was striking in its paradox. The hard angles of his square jaw and prominent cheekbones gave him a rugged, imposing look, but his deep-set, expressive eyes betrayed a gentleness that seemed out of place in a man of his size. His full lips, slightly chapped from the dry prison air, pressed together in a line of quiet contemplation. There was a stillness to him, an unspoken weight that hung in the room like a shadow. Despite his powerful exterior, there was nothing cruel about Abraham. He didn't seek conflict, didn't revel in his strength. It was simply who he was, a tool he wielded when necessary but never to harm unless he was left with no other choice.

He didn't belong here. Everyone knew it. He wasn't a thief, wasn't violent, and didn't fit the mold of the hardened men who prowled the prison halls, looking for the next fight or scheme. But he was here, not for his sins but for his brother's.

Abraham's younger brother had always been trouble—reckless, impulsive, and prone to making the wrong choice when it mattered most. When he'd been caught stealing, Abraham hadn't hesitated to step in. The cops didn't question it; after all, a man of Abraham's size and build fit the profile far better than his wiry, scrappy sibling. Abraham had thought his sacrifice might be the wake-up call his brother needed, a chance to turn his life around. He'd told himself it was worth it, that his time in here would mean something if it gave his brother a shot at redemption.

But prison walls couldn't keep out rumors, and the whispers he'd heard lately painted a different picture. His brother hadn't changed. If anything, he was thriving now, using Abraham's absence to climb the ranks in the world he'd wanted to keep him out of. The thought gnawed at him, a bitter weight in his chest that felt heavier than any steel beam he'd ever hoisted. He clenched his jaw, willing the thought away. What was done, was done. He'd made his choice, and he'd live with it—whether it was worth it or not.

Abraham sighed deeply, running a hand over his short-cropped black hair, his thick fingers lingering at the back of his neck where the tension seemed to knot itself the most. He leaned forward again, elbows braced on his knees, his head hanging slightly as though the weight of the room itself pressed down on him. He didn't want to think about it anymore, didn't want to feel the ache of regret gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But in the stillness of the cell, with nothing but the hum of lights and the distant murmur of voices from the hallway, there was nothing to distract him. Only himself, his thoughts, and the choices that had brought him here.

Even in this place, though, Abraham held on to his kindness. It was who he was. He protected the few who needed it, the weaker men who were easy prey for the predators that roamed the prison halls. Not because he wanted power, not because it benefited him, but because it was the right thing to do. For all the whispered respect his size earned him, he never used it for his own gain. Yet even that reputation couldn't shield him from the simmering tension that had been building in the prison. There were always men who wanted to test him, to see if the mountain could fall.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Abraham knew it was only a matter of time before they tried.

Abraham sighed and ran a hand over his short-cropped black hair, the gesture heavy with weariness. He had long since accepted that prison had its own rules, its own twisted sense of order. Even here, people paid their dues—not in money, but in favors, smokes, or protection. Abraham hadn't asked for the role of protector, but his size and presence made it inevitable. Most people left him alone, but there were always a few who wanted to test him. They didn't understand that he hated violence, hated the way it stripped away humanity and left only destruction in its wake.

He stood, ducking slightly under the low frame of the cell door as he stepped into the hallway. The distant sound of laughter caught his attention—sharp and mocking, echoing faintly through the prison. His brow furrowed as he followed the sound, his boots heavy against the worn concrete floor. The laughter grew louder as he approached the shower and bathroom area, mingling with the faint drip of water and the buzz of flickering fluorescent lights.

When he stepped inside, the sight stopped him in his tracks. Three men stood near the shower stalls, their voices bouncing off the damp tiles. They were laughing, recounting something with cruel delight. Abraham's stomach turned as he caught snippets of their conversation.

"Did you see the way he crawled away?" one of them said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Like a damn dog."

"Old man didn't know what hit him," another added, doubling over with laughter. "Bet he's still limping."

Abraham didn't need to hear more. He knew exactly who they were talking about. Charles, an older inmate who had shown him kindness during his first weeks here, had been their target. Earlier, these three had cornered Charles in the yard, shoving him to the ground and kicking him while he tried to crawl away. Now, they were reliving it as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

Abraham's jaw clenched, his massive hands curling into fists at his sides. He hated violence. He avoided it whenever he could. But hearing their laughter, seeing the smug satisfaction on their faces as they mocked a man who couldn't defend himself—it lit a fire in him he couldn't extinguish.

He stepped forward, his boots echoing sharply against the tiles. The first man turned, his grin faltering as he took in Abraham's size. "Well, look who decided to join us," the man said, his tone sharp but tinged with unease. He squared his shoulders, trying to project confidence, but it was clear he wasn't used to being dwarfed like this.

Abraham didn't answer. His dark eyes locked onto the man, cold and unyielding.

"What's the matter?" the second man said, stepping up beside his friend. "You think you're scary? Huh? Big and dumb don't mean invincible."

Abraham moved before either of them could react.

The first man barely had time to blink before Abraham's massive hand clamped down on his head. With a single, brutal motion, he slammed the man's face into the porcelain sink. The impact shattered the sink, shards flying as water sprayed from a ruptured pipe. The man crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from his nose, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The other two froze, their laughter dying instantly. Abraham turned to them, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the grimy tiles.

One of them lunged, throwing a punch aimed at Abraham's face. He dodged smoothly, moving faster than anyone his size should, and countered with a devastating punch to the man's chest. The force of the blow knocked the wind from the man, sending him stumbling backward into the wall. Abraham followed with another punch, this one to the jaw. As his fist connected, a sharp pain shot through his knuckles. He felt something give—bone or cartilage—and knew he hadn't hit him quite right. The man crumpled to the floor, blood and teeth spilling onto the tile, while Abraham flexed his fingers, wincing at the sharp ache.

The last man hesitated, clearly weighing his options, before charging wildly. His punch clipped Abraham's shoulder, forcing him back a step, but it wasn't enough. Abraham caught the man's second swing mid-air, his massive hand closing around the fist like a vice. With a sharp twist, he yanked the man off balance and drove his elbow into the man's face. The sickening crack of cartilage breaking echoed through the room as the man reeled back, clutching his shattered nose.

Abraham stood still, his chest rising and falling heavily, his injured hand pulsing with pain. He glanced at it, flexing his fingers again as another sharp pang shot up his arm. His knuckles were already swelling, and he was pretty sure he'd broken something. Damn it.

Water dripped steadily from the broken sink, mixing with the blood pooling around the men sprawled across the floor. Abraham took a deep breath, willing the surge of adrenaline to fade. Violence wasn't the answer—it never was. But sometimes, it felt like the only language people understood.

As he turned to leave, the fluorescent lights flickered erratically, casting eerie, shifting shadows over the blood-streaked tiles. Abraham frowned, glancing up at the buzzing bulbs as the strange phenomenon lasted nearly a minute. Then, just as abruptly, the lights steadied.

Shaking his head, he stepped over the unconscious men and left the bathroom. His boots echoed against the damp tiles as the sound of dripping water followed him out. His injured hand throbbed with every step, a painful reminder that the world rarely left him a choice.