After a relatively short walk, they reached the general population area, and one of the guards moved forward to unlock the solid steel door and let him into a chamber.
Although chamber wasn't quite the right word, he mused. It was easily one of the largest rooms he had ever seen in his life. It was a cavern, that much was clear, but the roof stretched almost a hundred meters above them. Nuclear-powered lanterns were visible at the top to simulate sunlight in the massive cave that looked, he decided, like a hangar bay, only many, many times larger than any he'd ever seen.
It almost felt like they were out in the open. He could feel a breeze, although that could only be the result of air being pumped in from outside. Even a place this large wouldn't have a natural source of wind.
The door closed behind him as he stepped into the general population area of the prison. A large group of inmates milled about. The secured area itself only took up a small portion of the larger cavern and it was directly adjacent to FEMA City itself. It was an impressive sight, even in the light of the lanterns above them.
Chain-link fences separated it into blocks and heavy assault mechs painted dark-blue patrolled between the fences. Escape wasn't really an option, not while they manned the area.
The prisoners, alerted by the door opening and closing, looked around to stare as Hammerhand walked toward them. He searched instinctively but could see no familiar faces among them. It was a little disheartening but he hoped it meant the rest of his people were in one of the other blocks and not that they still rotted away in a solitary cell—or worse, were buried under the city.
As he approached, he noticed all the signs that a scuffle was about to break out. Tensions were high already and thankfully, not directed at him.
A larger man with a scar that started at the crown of his bald head and ended under his jaw lurched forward. He was surprisingly fast for someone that size, and a smaller man tried to beat a hasty retreat.
He wasn't quite fast enough, and his adversary launched his attack. Protein-patty-sized fists drove powerfully into the smaller man's jaw.
Hammerhand sighed softly. Getting involved would only make things worse for himself, but it wasn’t in his nature to sit around while someone was beaten to death.
"Enough of that!" he declared authoritatively and tried to use the tone of voice that usually drew the focus of his Knights.
Sure enough, it worked. He had the attention of the large scarred man, who straightened, fixed him with a glower, and uttered a low growl. "Enough of what?"
The situation struck him as decidedly odd. He was used to usually having at least a size advantage in any one-on-one fight. Still, he wasn't about to back down despite the fact that the man stood almost a head taller than him and rolled his broad shoulders slowly and with obvious menace.
"Why don't you fight someone your own size?" he suggested. He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth as they appeared to trigger the huge fist to swing toward his head.
Thankfully, while the scar-faced man was fast on his feet, the punches were predictable and Hammerhand was able to take a step back and lean a little more to avoid a blow that could have dealt significant damage. His assailant attempted an uppercut next but put a little too much power behind it. When it missed, the prisoner stumbled forward a step or two but enough for his opponent to gain the advantage.
Hammerhand stepped forward and his foot flicked out to catch the other man on the instep and force him further off balance. He immediately pushed closer again but knew better than to hit someone in the face with a closed fist. Instead, he jutted his elbow out to catch the man on the cheekbone.
It was enough to draw blood, and he followed it by quickly putting one leg behind the man to flip him over his hip. The prisoner landed hard and kicked up a cloud of dust. The shouting and cheering prisoners around him fell silent and the large man looked a little dazed and winded. He stared at the distant ceiling.
"Had enough, bigʼun?" Hammerhand asked as his opponent wiped the blood from his cheek.
He nodded slowly and looked a little confused as the knight offered his hand to help him up. The smaller man scurried to the other side of the yard as his erstwhile assailant lumbered to his feet.
"Why didn't you finish me off?" the scarred man asked.
Hammerhand shrugged. "I assumed you had a reason to attack the other man but not enough of one to kill him—which, from what I saw, you could easily have done. I have no quarrel with you, so there'd be no point. Do we have a quarrel?"
The large man shook his head and gingerly touched where he had cut his cheek. "I don't think so, no."
"Excellent. I'm Hammerhand."
"Why'd they call you that?"
"Long story. What do they call you?"
"Scar."
"I guess I don't have to ask why they call you that."
The man chuckled and touched his scar lightly. It appeared he was a little self-conscious about it, and Hammerhand made a note not to make mention of it again.
Shouting from the other side of the yard instantly caught their attention and he turned as ten guards entered through the gate he had used earlier. They carried assault rifles and these didn't appear to be loaded with non-lethal rounds.
His theory was confirmed as every prisoner in the yard immediately adopted their best behavior, lowered to their knees, and put their hands behind their heads. Their reaction was one of instant and long-practiced compliance to an order they knew would come, even before it had been uttered.
It was clear that when the guards were in the yard, they were the primary threat and
