The man holstered his rifle, and a guard stepped forward to take it from him. He lifted his chin and surveyed the silent inmates from his elevated position.
"Minus fifty points," he declared, his gaze landing on the inmates blocked at the doorway who hadn't made it inside yet. "That includes those who didn't show up."
He sneered at the mess strewn across the floor. "And clean this up."
Dead silence swept through the hall. Soon, the inmates quietly began picking up trays and debris.
No one tended to the corpse in the middle—lying face-up, pupils wide, blood slowly seeping through the polished tile and pooling at Zhang Chi's feet. She quietly stepped aside.
Murmurs spread among the inmates, echoing words like "Warden" and "deduction." Not one person questioned why an officer could kill in a prison—they seemed oddly unshocked, as if it was expected. Like eating or drinking—just another routine.
Zhou Ke, hiding behind Zhang Chi, whispered, trembling, "He... killed someone?"
Zhang Chi said nothing.
"How could this happen?" Zhou Ke asked again.
Zhang Chi scanned familiar faces who arrived on the same transport—they all looked grim. Clearly, the concept of law still existed here. Everyone believed that this was not supposed to be a place above the law.
Training for newcomers began that morning—they called it a class.
Zhang Chi expected a harsh lesson for newcomers. Instead, they sat properly in classroom seats, watching a giant screen while a guard lectured and pointed with his baton.
The first lesson covered the prison's daily schedule:
5:30 – Cafeteria opens for breakfast
7:30 – Cafeteria closes
8:00 – Work check-in
12:00 – Lunch served
17:00 – Dinner served
17:00 – Cafeteria closes
22:00 – Lights out: anyone not in their cell loses points
"Monday–Saturday are workdays. Sunday is free activity day. Minimum three hours of labor required—no more, no less. Fail to comply, points deducted."
"The library is on level –3. Opens 10 AM to 10 PM. Each inmate may borrow two books—late returns lose points."
"No non-cleaning staff may enter the administrative building…"
When the guard finished, he handed out booklets detailing the rules and point deductions. For example: lights-out violations—10 points the first time, 50 the second, 100 the third. No fourth chances.
Zhang Chi stared at "No fourth chance" and fell silent.
"Memorize this before tomorrow class. I'll quiz you randomly. Fail—that's point deductions."
He then brought out a metal cylinder filled with flat black wristbands. He passed them out to each inmate. Once worn, the green light activated—displaying "-50" briefly before turning solid green.
"You're in luck today," the guard said. "The Warden is doing an inspection."
They finished the first row, then distributed more bands.
"Everyone's lost fifty points."
So that's what the deduction meant.
"These bands are waterproof," the guard continued. "Never take them off. If not tied to your biometrics, they auto-deactivate. Solid green light means you're alive."
He reached the third row and added, "In this reformation camp, you aren't names—you're numbers. Your ID is on the inside of the band."
Zhang Chi looked at her left wrist and saw "082" etched inside.
The guard returned to the front and began explaining work assignments:
Mining—1 minute of work = 1 point
Hand weaving—either paid by time (0.5 point/minute) or by output (10 points per 50 items)
Farming—0.5 point/minute
Cleaning—0.5 point/minute
He showed videos of uniformed inmates performing these tasks, each bearing an armband labeled "Study Committee."
After the presentation the guard asked, "Who wants to be on the Study Committee?"
He smiled—since yesterday, all the guards had enforced order politely and with patience—even the one who broke up the cafeteria fight.
One inmate raised his hand. "What does being on the committee do?"
"Did you ever go to school?" the guard replied, astonished. "Don't know what a 'class monitor' is?"
"The committee leads morning reading, greets teachers, collects homework, marks attendance…"
Zhou Ke interrupted: "That's just a class monitor, not a prisoner thing."
Guard: "Here, it's called Study Committee."
Zhou Ke: "…"
"No one wants it?" the guard tried again.
"Are there any perks?" someone asked.
"Shouldn't there be perks?" the guard responded.
Nobody volunteered. The guard called out a number—the appointed one: 392, a crew-cut young man.
After class, Zhou Ke sidled over to Zhang Chi, whispering, "What's your number?"
"082," she answered.
Zhou Ke showed his: "333."
They went back to the cafeteria for lunch.
The meal—similar in meager variety—was yellowish mush and a thick broth of mashed meat, slimy and stewed for who knows how long, with greens floating on top—some still infested with tiny bugs.
The mush was overcooked, likely leftovers. The meat broth smelled foul, and the greens were unevenly salted—some bites bland, others unbearably salty.
Zhou Ke grimaced through each spoonful. Eating was painful—he had to distract himself.
He watched Zhang Chi eat steadily, expression unreadable.
He was fascinated.
How could someone stay so calm—in prison, after witnessing a murder, eating pig-slop? She seemed more composed than many of the people who had survived the flight here.
Either she was completely unflappable—or she'd seen this all before. Probably the former, he thought.
"You okay with all this?" Zhou Ke asked.
Zhang Chi slurped her broth. "It's fine."
Zhou Ke: "Fine?"
"What's 'fine' about it?" he pressed.
Zhang Chi replied: "Food and shelter, no want."
His expression twisted. "You've got a great mindset," he said ambiguously.
She finished the soup in one go, scraping the last bit from the tray—clean as new.
"Someone once told me," Zhou Ke said slowly, "that some people can sleep through an apocalypse without a care. I envy that."
Humans sometimes envy pigs.
Zhang Chi didn't take it as a compliment. She ignored him.
The food was that bad, so Zhou Ke started rambling. "I heard some inmate strangled a guy with a chicken bone—hence, no meat with bones."
He gestured toward the serving line. "Notice there's nothing sharp here?"
Everything was plastic, except for steel spoons chained to the wall—if you lifted it more than a meter, it locked.
Zhang Chi asked, "Who told you that?"
"My roommate."
Zhang Chi recalled the tall guy on the lower bunk yesterday.
"Why did he tell you that?" Zhang Chi asked.
Zhou Ke replied, "He said he hates the food too. Before that incident, the cafeteria used to serve chicken and fish with bones at lunch."
Zhang Chi looked puzzled. "He really likes to chat?"
Zhou Ke shook his head. "He's actually from my hometown."
Zhang Chi: "..."
Zhou Ke added, "We even went to the same elementary school."
Zhang Chi paused, then said after a moment, "Your area really breeds talent."
Zhou Ke sighed, a touch of sadness in his tone. "I never wanted this. I thought studying could change my fate."
Zhang Chi recalled what he'd said on the plane and paused before asking, "…Because you couldn't afford college?"
Zhou Ke replied, "College? I didn't even finish high school. I did poorly in middle school, then had no books to read."
Zhang Chi: "..."
Zhou Ke said softly, "This world is especially cruel to people who struggle academically."
In the afternoon, they went on a site tour.
They first visited the mine—a primitive tunnel entirely dug by hand, with transport done via wheelbarrow. Upon entering, each person received a hard hat with a cylindrical lamp at the front.
"The Lumina Sand Mine is highly active," a guard explained. "Anyone with mechanical prosthetics cannot work here."
His gaze swept across the group. "It's not the mine reacting—it's your prosthetic. After ten minutes exposure, the nerves connecting it begin to die. After thirty minutes, the prosthetic fails completely."
Nearby was a large flower garden—neatly manicured, petals drifting gently, grass stretching out, then abruptly ending on a slope. The area was fenced off and strictly off-limits, with no explanation given by the guard.
Next, they toured the farmland.
"Any 'Abnormal-Blood' inmate—note: anyone—no matter the mutation degree, cannot work in the fields. The crops are extremely sensitive, more than mammals. Saliva, blood, even breath from an abnormal-blood inmate can contaminate them."
He pointed to an eggplant, thick as a thigh and waist-high. "In rare instances, contamination can cause abnormal swelling—but even then, those crops are inedible."
"That eggplant has remained unchanged for ten years—never ripe, never shriveled," he concluded. A wooden sign nearby read: "For exhibition only—Do not harvest."
The third site was the weaving workshop.
Here, there was a noticeable increase in female inmates—though women still made up a small minority.
The workshop was vast, resembling a garment factory. The air smelled strongly of chemicals. Hundreds of tables were aligned under tall ceilings, bolts of fabric, spools of thread, and buttons stored in wall cabinets.
At the entrance was a large glass-covered table, displaying palm-sized ID cards with inmate photos beneath.
"Hand weaving is one of Garbage Island's main industries," the guard explained. "Everyone must learn it. After leaving the reformation camp, you have to support yourself."
He warned: "Finished products go to market. Some inmates tried hiding notes in toys or blankets—don't bother. Every item has a unique code, tied to your system ID upon entry. If it shows up, it traces straight back to you."
Zhou Ke asked, "What happens then?"
The guard tapped twice on the glass. "You become one of those pictures."
Zhou Ke fell silent.
Everyone glanced at the ID cards. Above them was a banner reading:
"All are born equal. All will die the same."
Silence hung heavy.
The fourth stop was the administrative building.
It stood centrally among the earlier sites. Unlike the prison's gray metal structures, this building was blue and white with ornate carvings. It was three stories high, crowned with a dome, and took up about half the footprint of the main cell block.
"The first floor is storage. Second is the mechanical room. Third is the Warden's office."
"Cleaning duties are mandatory, non-negotiable. Rotation assigned."
The final stop was the library. By the time they learned about how to borrow and return books, dinner time had arrived.
Dinner consisted of potatoes and salad. Afterwards, all newcomers were summoned to the hall.
"The guard who handled cafeteria discipline this morning has been called away by the Warden. Normally, the afternoon would be for point-system training and field tours tomorrow—but since that guard leads the point system class, we've rearranged it for tomorrow morning."
"I confirmed with the academic guard—he's suspended this week, so tomorrow morning is free."
Handouts were then presented from a large box. The guard nodded at inmate 392.
"Study Committee member, distribute the handouts."
Back in the dorm, Zhang Chi opened the morning's booklet on prison schedules and memorized it until fluent. Then she began replaying the day's events in her mind.
First: the riot in the morning. The guard said the Warden came to inspect—he was on the second-floor dining area, carrying a heavy sniper rifle. That simply shouldn't happen—he must have fetched it from the armory upstairs.
There is a weapons cache on the second floor—or at least a place where a rifle is stored.
Second: this place is called a "reformation camp," designed to be self-sufficient. But after this camp? Where do they go?
These are violent offenders—many serving 80+ year sentences. Self-sufficiency here effectively means freedom. Or abandonment.
Third: "Abnormal-Blood." What is that?
Zhang Chi frowned and picked up the points-system handout, flipping to page one:
"Study hard. Improve every day."
Page two:
"Absolute obedience to the Warden's orders."
Page three:
"Compiled by: Zhou Yu."
Each page held few words.
Scrolling further, she found the table of contents:
Chapter One: Points Calculation
Chapter Two: Individual Differences in Points
Chapter Three: Standard Ways to Earn Points
Chapter Four: Non-Standard Ways to Earn Points…
Page 20:
"…Garbage Island is entirely run by law enforcement. Inmates are sent to reformation camps. Upon completing courses and reaching required points, inmates may face release. After release, they automatically become residents of Garbage Island…"
Page 25:
"…Everything operates on the points system. Daily meals cost 0.5 points, automatically deducted. Each inmate starts at 0; points can go negative. Daily max earning from labor: 5 points…"
Page 58:
"…Inmates are classified by danger level: green, blue, red—with green the lowest and red the highest. Green-tagged inmates need 800 points to leave, blue need 1500, red—the most dangerous—require 5000 points for release."
Page 79:
"Statistics show fewer than one-third complete reformation."
Page 120:
"…Non-standard ways to gain points… Besides exit thresholds, each color tier values issuance: green=100, blue=200, red=1000."
Page 135:
"…When vital signs cease, the wristband ID automatically detaches. After re-authenticating with a new band, points transfer…"
…She closed the booklet, her expression tense for the first time.
Based on normal point collection—after paying for meals—green-tagged inmates, working full daily hours, need at least six months to be released. Blue-tagged inmates require about one year. Red-tagged ones—more than three years.
However, there's a loophole: any green-tagged inmate who kills a red-tagged inmate can…
Be released immediately.