The CEO of the giant corporation Raydein
was finally about to leave prison after ten long years.
His name was Ray — known throughout the underworld as *The King of the Prison*.
He was convicted of murdering his own parents, assault, and drug trafficking.
To the public, he was a monster.
To the world, he was a symbol of corruption and cruelty — the man behind Raydein's infamous loans, with interest so high they destroyed lives.
When debtors couldn't pay, there was always another "option": clearing their debt in exchange for a kidney.
But the truth — a truth no one knew — was far darker.
Ray had never committed a single one of those crimes.
His uncle, Victor, had orchestrated everything. He murdered Ray's family, forged the evidence, and pinned every accusation on the rightful heir to seize control of the corporation.
And to make sure Ray's image was forever ruined, Victor went even further — he fabricated the charges of assault and trafficking, burying him completely in the eyes of society.
The plan had worked perfectly.
Ray, the true heir of Raydein, was erased from history — imprisoned, humiliated, forgotten.
Only two people knew the truth:
Ray.
And the uncle who destroyed him.
But that no longer mattered.
Ray was as good as dead.
---
Pedro:"Ray… is this report real? You told me you did bad things, but this… this is insane."
Ray raised an eyebrow, sighed, and slowly stood up, stretching his body.
His gaze was sharp — tired, but unbroken.
Ray: "Man, you don't even know a tenth of it. Those reporters think they know something.
You've known me for ten years, and you still doubt what I can do?"
Pedro: "Well, the King of the Prison — the guy who kicked the ass of that loudmouth who thought he was tough — yeah, I didn't expect anything less."
Pedro smirked, a mischievous grin curling at his lips.
Ray: "I'm not proud of what I've done these past ten years. But if I hadn't, I'd be licking some idiot's boots right now."
Pedro:"And now everyone's the one licking yours."
He laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes.
Ray:"Three more days, and I'm out of this hellhole. Everything I built here — the hierarchy, the order — it'll all crumble.
You'll be taking my place. Think you can handle it? You've still got five years left."
His tone was teasing, but his eyes carried a certain weight.
Pedro:sighs "It won't be easy… but I'm your right hand. I've earned respect here. It won't be as hard as it looks."
---
Metallic sounds echoed through the corridors.
Lunch time!" the guards shouted.
Ray's cell was one of the last on the row, yet it was the first one opened.
The guard unlocked it personally, nodding to him with a faint show of respect.
Ray stepped out, gave the guard a friendly pat on the shoulder, and walked toward the cafeteria alongside Pedro.
They grabbed trays, stood in line — everything seemed normal.
But Pedro had something hidden in his pocket: a metal fork, with only one remaining tine.
He waited for the right moment.
And then, without hesitation, he **plunged the fork into Ray's neck**, aiming directly for a vital point.
Ray froze, eyes wide.
Pedro smiled.
He had waited years for this — pretending loyalty, building trust, getting close enough to strike.
But Pedro made one fatal mistake: he didn't pull the fork out.
Even bleeding, Ray's instincts kicked in immediately.
His expression turned cold, his movements mechanical.
He struck Pedro with brutal punches, sending him crashing to the floor.
Ray (breathing heavily):"You worthless trash… I won't even ask why.
If you'd pulled that damn fork out, I'd already be dead from blood loss."
Pedro trembled, fear twisting his face as he lost control of his body.
He couldn't comprehend how Ray was still standing — the fork still embedded in his neck.
Ray towered over him… and began to stomp.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Until the sickening crack of bone echoed through the cafeteria.
Blood and fragments of brain scattered across the cold floor.
The guards didn't move.
They simply watched — indifferent, silent witnesses to yet another act of brutality.
Then, a voice came from the intercom — flat and emotionless.
Warden:"Take the opportunity."
And in that instant, the guards **opened fire.**
A storm of bullets tore through Ray's body.
He fell to the ground, still staring at Pedro's corpse — a faint smirk on his bloodied lips.
Ray: "You should've pulled the fork… idiot."
And then, everything went dark.
---
One Year Later
Planes flew over the cities, scattering newspapers across the country.
Among reports of weather and politics, one headline stood out:
> Criminal Ray killed in prison after murdering fellow inmate.
> Executed after killing Pedro — an undercover officer assigned to monitor prisoner activity.
> Guards opened fire to prevent the officer's death."**
The public celebrated.
To the world, Ray was just another monster who met his end.
To his uncle, it was victory — and the final step toward absolute control.
But the truth… still breathed.
---
The Smell of Grass. Of Flowers.
Ray felt it — the faint scent of nature, the soft rustle of leaves, the hum of insects.
Then pain.
A sharp, sudden ache coursed through his body.
He gasped, choking on his breath.
His eyes shot open.
He was lying on damp soil, surrounded by trees — an endless forest stretching into the horizon.
The sky above was gray.
His clothes — still the same prison uniform.
Ray touched his neck. Nothing.
His chest. No bullet holes.
It was as if the execution had never happened.
The wind brushed against his face.
The memories of prison felt like a distant nightmare — yet the taste of blood lingered on his tongue.
He stared up at the sky, confusion flickering in his eyes, and muttered under his breath:
Ray: "Holy shit… where the hell am I?"