I'm building Gundams in America

Upon hearing Raphael's question, Wayne did not answer. Instead, he looked at the prisoners who were working and asked in return:

"Raphael, tell me, what did you see?"

Raphael paused, turned to look at the prisoners, and said:

"I saw prisoners working, they... they lost their freedom and became slaves to the fucking prison..." Prisoner jobs in the United States are mainly divided into four categories, including basic services within the prison, working in government-owned factories, participating in public works construction, and doing outsourced work for private companies.

These jobs are mostly forced labor, 6 to 10 hours a day, 30 to 40 hours a week, with no skills training provided. Except for seven states, including Florida, which do not pay prisoners, most state prisons pay prisoners around $0.15 to $1 per hour, though most are just barely above the minimum wage.

Moreover, they often have to do dirty and tiring work, including mining, logging, and firefighting.

Even if they earn a little money, most of it will be withdrawn from their accounts to cover the costs of imprisonment.

As for the cost of incarceration, taking King County Correctional Center, where Wayne is located, as an example, the cost of incarceration for each inmate is between $280 and $320 per day, with an average annual cost of approximately $11.

In other words, the cost of imprisoning one prisoner can be equivalent to the salaries of two to three prison guards.

It was downright hellish.

Fortunately, Washington state, where Seattle is located, is a white state, meaning prisoners generally don't have to pay for their own jail time; the prisons usually receive subsidies from the government. Other conservative red states would have a different story.

Many prisoners end up owing the government a large sum of money for their imprisonment after their release.

There was even a case of a prisoner going to jail for owing money, then going to jail for owing jail fees, and then going to jail 11 times in a row for owing jail fees—a truly hellish situation.

For this reason, Raphael believed that what he saw was just a group of slaves, perhaps even worse than the black slaves of the past.

Of course, many of them brought it upon themselves.

Wayne shook his head and calmly said to Raphael:

"I saw power."

"For America's underworld, this is a flood of power, a pack of mad beasts, and of course, first you have to be a beast tamer."

Raphael shrugged, saying somewhat noncommittally:

"This was just a minor offense prison, and everyone's sentence was very short. I didn't even have time to subdue them before I got out myself."

Wayne said:

"High mobility is actually its advantage; it can continuously provide you with talent and markets."

Raphael's eyes lit up, and he quickly said:

"You mean... if we could secretly control this prison, we'd have a talent center that constantly supplies new people? My God, that's a brilliant idea..."

In the United States, various gangs have long been deeply involved in prisons, but these are often high-crime prisons.

After all, prisoners in serious crime prisons serve sentences of several years, decades, or even hundreds of years.

This kind of development creates deeply entrenched gang members.

The turnover rate of these people in minor offender prisons is too fast, making it difficult to maintain stability.

At this moment, Raphael was already very excited about his own ideas and had become even more respectful of Wayne.

Medium.

prophet.

A wise man.

He didn't know how to address the other person.

Wayne continued:

"CJNG needs to expand its business in the United States. If you can establish a firm foothold in Seattle, your position within the group will naturally improve... Only with enough power can you protect Martina."

Raphael nodded slowly, deeply agreeing with Wayne's words.

Wayne continued:

"I will help you absorb the Jose gang and control their trade routes. I think that will be enough to get you promoted within the group."

"Perhaps... you could become Al Menjo of Washington State... well, perhaps Pablo Escobar of America." Raphael's breathing quickened instantly.

Wayne's idea was incredibly tempting to him.

As a Mexican, I grew up listening to stories of legendary drug lords.

The Four Godfathers of Cali, Sandra, Joaquín Guzmán, Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, El Menjo...

Oh, and there's also Pablo Escobar, who left behind a legendary legacy!

He wasn't afraid of death, after all, the drug lords he knew, and even many of his relatives and friends, didn't live long.

He only cares about reaching the pinnacle and living a brilliant life.

Raphael asked in a deep voice:

"Mr. Wayne, why are you helping me?"

There is no hatred without a cause in this world, and naturally, there is no love without a cause.

He didn't believe he had anything special about him that would earn him the favor of a medium and prophet.

Wayne sighed and said:

"I know a girl, she's about the same age as Martina, but her life was ruined by Jose..." Wayne looked into Raphael's eyes and said solemnly.

"I want to be her advocate."

Raphael was taken aback and asked:

"Is this girl a relative of yours?"

Wayne shook his head:

"She's Mexican."

Raphael then asked:

"Is he/she your good friend?"

Wayne remained calm and shook his head slightly again:

We just met.

Upon hearing this, Raphael's expression turned serious, and he showed great respect for the man before him, saying:

"Sir, you are a true champion of justice. Please accept my respect."

Rafael understood what it truly meant to seek justice for an ordinary stranger and to fight against a ruthless Latin American gang. There had been many such righteous and conscientious heroes in Mexico before.

However, most of them had their entire families killed and their bodies hung under the overpass by drug lords.

Returning to the cell block from the prison kitchen, Wayne stood in the courtyard and looked up at the floors above.

The two floors form one prison area.

The seventh floor is not visible from below; structurally, it is completely separated from the floors below.

The seventh floor is the psychological counseling ward.

The psychological counseling ward houses prisoners with suicidal tendencies, mental health issues, and other related problems.

It's much safer than the one below.

"Damn it, clean your cell right now!"

A shout came from nearby and saw prison guard Bob patrolling and reprimanding a prisoner at the door of a cell.

Wayne walked over slowly and said:

"Bob, my friend, what's making you so angry?"

Upon seeing that it was Wayne, Bob immediately put on a smile and said:

"It's old Jacob. He always makes the cell filthy, which is not a good habit... The conditions in the cell are really limited, but it should at least be kept clean, otherwise I think you will be dissatisfied..."

Wayne patted Bob's hand and said calmly:

"Bob, my friend, you are a truly responsible officer, which is why I like you."

Bob felt a folded piece of cardboard appear in his palm, the feel of a $100 bill.

He absolutely adored Wayne, and immediately stuffed the money into his pocket. He led Wayne to a blind spot in the surveillance cameras and asked in a low voice, "Thank you for your compliment, Mr. Wayne. Is there anything I can do for you?"

As a prison guard with many years of experience, he knew all too well that the more demands these wealthy people made, the better it was for them.

Otherwise, if customers have no demand, how will they make money?

Wayne said calmly:

"As you know, I've always had some neuralgia, and chronic insomnia has made it difficult for me to get proper rest. I'd like to apply to stay in the psychological counseling ward for a while; I need treatment."

Looking at the man before him, whose calm demeanor made Bob almost doubt whether he was a prison guard or the prisoner himself, Bob subconsciously shook his head and said:

"But Mr. Wayne, you don't seem to have any psychological problems at all, you know..."

Before he could finish speaking, Wayne's hand gripped his again, and Bob immediately felt a roll of money in his palm this time.

It felt exactly the same as the $500 he had received before.

He immediately continued:

"...You should know that many psychological and mental illnesses cannot be observed from the surface, but these illnesses can cause serious harm to the body! I think you really need to go to the psychological counseling ward!"

Bob then frowned and said:

"But the psychological counseling ward is isolated from our ward, and Captain Robert can't manage it..."

"Furthermore, to be admitted to the psychological counseling ward, you must have a certificate from a psychiatric clinic, submit an application, and undergo an evaluation..." "The normal evaluation process takes 7 business days..."

Bob wasn't lying; it's standard procedure in prison.

After all, prisons are government institutions in the United States, and for procedures to function properly, those procedures must function properly. Whether a prisoner with serious psychological problems might commit suicide within seven days is not a matter for the procedures to consider. Wayne shook his head and said:

"Bob, my friend, you know I've always liked you, otherwise I would have just told Captain Robert this directly... I respect you, don't I?"

"I hope you gain more of my friendship than Robert's, and I think you feel the same way."

As he spoke, he shook hands with prison guard Bob again.

Feeling the same $500 as before, all of Bob's words of refusal vanished in an instant.

The other party made it very clear that if he wouldn't do it, there would be plenty of others who would.

Whether he keeps the money for himself or shares it with others is up to him to decide.

Bob knew he had to seize this opportunity, and gritted his teeth, saying:

"Sir, if it's your wish, then of course that's a different story. I have a good relationship with Grace in the prison's psychiatric ward, and I think I can get you a certificate so you can enter the psychological counseling ward as early as tomorrow..."

Thinking of Grace's plump, dark buttocks, Bob knew he had to give himself up this time.

However, he had already received more than two thousand dollars from Wayne, which was almost enough to pay his ex-wife's alimony next month.

It would be worth it even if I had to sell myself.

He said goodbye to Wayne and left in a hurry to smooth things over.

Watching Bob's departing figure, Wayne narrowed his eyes.

Tomorrow...

He was practically impatient.

However, we should not waste today's time either.

Just then, a rapid ringing of a bell rang, followed by the prison guard's whistle.

The voice of prison guard Anderson rang out from the cell block loudspeakers:

"Please proceed to the safety exit to assemble and prepare for our group outdoor activity."

It's time for outdoor exercise.