I made up myths in America

Chapter 33 Contract
Fremont County, Colorado, is almost 3,000 kilometers away from New York.

This place is remote, and the only thing worth mentioning is that it is very close to the Rocky Mountains, with many beautiful natural landscapes and tourist resources.

In addition, a level 6 super-security prison, Florence Prison, was built here to detain high-risk criminals.

This prison is very famous even in the United States.

Because it holds basically the most vicious criminals!!

Serial killers, terrorists, gang leaders, drug lords, and members of al-Qaeda who were responsible for the 991 incident. Each of them is a ruthless character with at least ten lives on his hands.

You are not qualified to be locked up for committing a common robbery and murder. Even if you were locked up, you would not dare to speak loudly.

Because that would really kill you.

Although extremely strict restrictions have been taken inside the prison to prevent prisoners from escaping and mutual violence, such as 24-hour uninterrupted monitoring, prisoners are confined to their cells for 23 hours a day, with only one hour of activity time, and they must be restrained when moving.

But these cannot stop some criminals sentenced to life imprisonment from wanting to kill people.

Inside the prison, several exciting fighting scenes are staged every month.

Today is no exception.

Prisoners who are well-informed about the inside scoop have learned in advance that Frank Clinton, a former narcotics officer who was kept in a solitary cell for the first three years of his imprisonment and was forbidden from contacting other prisoners, will appear in the public dining area for the first time tonight.

And a group of black forces in the prison have already received money and are ready to send this poor policeman to see God today.

"Hey, Murdoch, how about a bet and guess how long this policeman can last?!"

A thin-looking white prisoner grinned as he squeezed next to a muscular, bald man.

"What are the odds?"

The bald, muscular man with an Italian accent glanced at him and asked.

"Under three minutes, 1:1.2, three to five minutes, 1:1.5, five to ten minutes, 1:2. As for after ten minutes, no one thought he could last that long."

The thin white guy shrugged and skillfully listed the odds for each time period.

"Then I guess within three minutes. Lamar is a ruthless guy, so he won't give our poor little police officer that much time."

The bald strong man snorted coldly when he heard this, took out half a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and threw it over.

"No problem, I also think your decision is correct. You're guaranteed to win."

The thin white guy took the cigarette with a smile on his face, wrote down the bald strong man's name, and then quickly walked over to another prisoner and asked him if he wanted to place a bet.

This cycle repeats.

Most of the one-hour exercise time had passed, and the prisoners were getting a little impatient waiting when today's protagonist finally appeared.

Boom! Boom! !
Dull footsteps could be heard on the iron stairs.

The prisoners who had been waiting for a long time looked in the direction of the sound and showed some surprise.

Unlike the policemen they imagined, the one who appeared before them was a tall and strong white middle-aged man with prison uniform tightly wrapped around his rock-like muscles, a cold and resolute face, wrinkles on his forehead, scars at the corners of his eyes, revealing his vicissitudes of life and fierce temperament.

Even the electronic handcuffs couldn't conceal his dangerous, deadly, icy aura. The bald, muscular man who'd been betting for three minutes rubbed his head and cursed, "Fuck! He's such a ruthless character! Looks like half a pack of cigarettes is gone."

Then he seemed to have thought of something and laughed with some gloating glee.

"Haha, I want to see how many men Lamar will lose in order to kill this guy."

Yes.

Until now, most of the prisoners, including the bald strong man, have realized that this policeman is not someone to be trifled with, but they still don't think that he can survive.

After all, there are more than a dozen people on the other side!!
But a few minutes later, things once again went beyond everyone's expectations.

After removing the electronic shackles, Frank Clinton, who was only wearing shackles, had an expressionless face. He used methods more brutal than those of the gangsters, punching each one of them, breaking the arms of five people, the ribs of two people, and causing the other three to fall asleep and get high-quality sleep like a baby.

Many prisoners watching the fun: (⊙x⊙;)
Lamar himself: (бвб))zzz
It only took Lamar three minutes to go from being confident of victory and making bold statements to being alone and trembling with fear.

Although he was still shouting "You're dead" and looked furious, anyone with a discerning eye could see that he was doomed to lose.

Bang! !

as predicted.

With two beautiful swinging punches and an over-the-shoulder throw, Frank Clinton took care of him and his last two minions.

“Pah, pah, pah!!!”

Originally, the matter should have ended here.

But at this moment, Frank Clinton keenly realized that something seemed wrong.

There was suddenly one more person in the prison cafeteria.

The other person was dressed in a well-tailored black tuxedo and holding a ruby-encrusted cane in his hand. He was between sixty and seventy years old, with his hair combed meticulously. He had a mysterious and dangerous temperament, like an old gentleman who had just attended a banquet. He was standing at the iron stairs he had just come down, looking at him and applauding with a smile on his face.

Others, including the prison guards who ignored the fight, seemed not to notice that there was a person standing there who was out of place in the prison painting style.

No, it should be said that they seemed to be under a spell at this moment. Time seemed to have stopped for them, and they turned into one static background statue after another.

"This is?!!"

Frank's heart sank at this strange scene he had never seen before.

He turned around and habitually observed the various details of the other person. After a moment, he asked in doubt, "Who are you?"

"Just an old man."

Frank's figure was reflected in his deep dark pupils. This mysterious visitor, leaning on an elegant cane, said with admiration:

"Perseverance, perseverance, integrity, courage, and a shining and interesting soul like you, I haven't met such a shining and interesting soul in this land for a long time."

"So, do you want to sign a fair contract with me, Frank Clinton?!"

(End of this chapter)