Page 176 of Mason

Scar leans against the wall in the corner, arms folded across his chest. His face is blank, but the energy coming off him is ice cold and razor sharp.

“It’s happening,” Brando says, nodding toward the screen. His voice is steady, calm, too calm. “Right on schedule.”

I don’t answer. My eyes are locked on the footage.

One of the exterior cameras shows the yard—dimly lit, eerily still.

Another shows the cell block—concrete and steel, packed with men pacing like caged animals.

Inside, the lights flicker once.

Then again.

Then everything drops to black.

Five full seconds.

Five seconds where the whole prison disappears.

And then?—

All hell breaks loose.

Sirens blare to life, screaming through the silence like something feral. Red strobes pulse across the screens as backup generators kick in. Guards rush into frame, shouting orders, yanking open lockers, pulling weapons. Prisoners pound against cell doors. Some are already loose—charging the gates, tearing through the chaos.

It’s bedlam.

And in the middle of it all?—

Ghost.

There.

On camera two. Moving like smoke, blending into the shadows, slipping past the madness with practiced ease.

His head is down, steps measured. No panic. No wasted movement. Just focus.

Like this isn’t chaos to him.

Like it’s a plan unfolding.

Brando leans forward, jaw tight. “He’s headed to the infirmary.”

“Right where he’s supposed to be,” Kanyan mutters, adjusting the camera feed.

I nod, but my eyes never leave the screen.

Guards fight to contain the outbreak. Pepper spray clouds the hallways. Inmates scream, riot, throw fists, chairs, anything they can get their hands on. One camera catches a guard slamming a prisoner’s head into a wall. Another shows a line of inmates forming a barricade, shielding one of their own.

No one sees Ghost.

Or maybe they do and don’t care.

Or maybe they’re smart enough to look away.

He slips into the medical wing, barely a flicker on the screen—just a shape in the dark.

“We’ve lost camera five,” Brando says suddenly. “Infirmary feed’s gone.”

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