Before Kosma could even question him, the prisoner hurriedly shouted, "I'll talk, I'll talk!"
That actually made Kosma breathe a little easier. If he had to do the questioning himself, he wouldn't even know where to begin.
Should he first ask about the man's identity, and why he could freely enter and leave the prison?
Or should he cut straight to the point and ask about the location of Godfather?
Did he need to feign goodwill and win him over as an informant?
Or should he use fear to force the information out of him?
Kosma hadn't decided any of that yet. Thankfully, this prisoner was a coward and had already started talking without being prompted.
"When you encounter a tornado, first of all, don't panic. Safe places to avoid tornado damage are mainly basements and low-lying areas. When you encounter a tornado, you should get to those places as quickly as possible. Secondly, stay away from doors, windows, walls, and utility poles."
"???"
What was that supposed to mean? Was he giving a disaster prevention lecture?
Why was he talking about disaster prevention? Was he deliberately changing the subject to avoid revealing any information?
Maybe he still didn't understand his situation. After all, he had been suddenly kidnapped here.
Even though Kosma's head was filled with question marks, his expression remained cold. It was meant to intimidate the enemy and keep him guessing about what he was thinking—though, admittedly, the enemy couldn't see his face beneath the mask anyway.
Folding his arms across his chest, Kosma corrected him. "I'm asking about Godfather!"
The prisoner nodded repeatedly. "Right, you're absolutely right. But I will teach you how to properly respond to various natural disasters caused by storms."
Smack! Kosma grabbed the prisoner's face with his metal-clawed glove. "I'm asking... about Godfather in the prison!"
"You're right, but prisons are sturdier than ordinary buildings and are more suitable for sheltering from hurricanes. Still, it's recommended to go to areas with basements..."
Kosma frowned, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
Why did he keep emphasizing disaster avoidance? Did Godfather have some kind of plan? Or was this man mentally unstable? Or perhaps he had been brainwashed by Godfather? The very name Godfather carried obvious religious overtones.
"It seems I'll have to make a trip to the prison myself."
Since the prison was closed at night and there were no inmates wandering outside, Kosma chose one morning to disguise himself as a prisoner and slip past the prison's high walls, intending to scout the place first.
The identity keycard came from the prisoner he had captured.
A prisoner relying on an ID card to freely enter and leave the prison—could you believe that?
And yet the Chicago prison was exactly that kind of strange place in every aspect. Ordinary people couldn't get in, but prisoners could.
It was practically the inmates' backyard.
"Beep. Prisoner card."
After swiping the card and entering the prison, the first thing that met Kosma's eyes was a bustling construction scene.
Hundreds of prisoners and guards were working together to renovate the prison. Although the prisoners wore prison uniforms, their expressions were full of energy and excitement.
Two prisoners were hauling steel plates with all their strength. Sweat had soaked through their clothes, yet they were laughing loudly.
On the scaffolding, guards held tools and chatted cheerfully with the prisoners below.
The atmosphere inside the prison was remarkably harmonious. There was none of the fighting, bullying, or vicious rivalry Kosma had imagined.
"Did they escape because of the renovations? No, that can't be right. How could there be a scene where guards and prisoners build the prison together? Even cartoons wouldn't come up with something this ridiculous."
Although he had already seen prisoners greeting guards, witnessing them working and laughing together still left Kosma stunned.
Normally, wouldn't it make more sense for guards to command prisoners to work? Were the Chicago prison guards really this friendly—no, this friendly to prisoners?
Could it be that renovating the prison benefited everyone, which was why they were so happy?
Or maybe building the prison shortened their sentences?
But if they could already come and go freely, why would they care about reduced sentences?
Perhaps free movement was itself part of the benefit of construction.
Still, even outside in the real world, people weren't this harmonious with one another, were they?
Kosma's thoughts churned in confusion when he suddenly heard someone shouting from the construction site.
In the distance stood a young girl dressed like a magician, wearing a gorgeous long gown adorned with gears of countless shapes along its hem, sparkling brilliantly in the sunlight.
Holding a loudspeaker and gesturing emphatically, she directed the construction team. "Safety lies in carefulness, accidents come from negligence... The worksite is a battlefield—only protection guarantees total victory..."
"Strictness is love, laxity is harm. Ensure safety and benefit three generations!"
"Hey! You mixing cement over there—stop stuffing people in with that goofy grin on your face!"
"Recklessness is the first step toward the abyss of accidents."
"Time is tight, the task is heavy. The fewer complaints, the faster we finish!"
It seemed she was the small leader of this area. Just as Kosma was thinking that, the girl's sweeping gaze landed on the "slacking" Kosma.
"You there, shorty—no slacking off!"
"Attitude determines altitude. Persistence leads to victory!"
The loudspeaker's blaring noise made Kosma's ears ache. He hurriedly responded, "Yes!"
Then he randomly found a spot and joined the construction crew.
While laying bricks, Kosma seized an opportunity to ask the worker beside him, "Hey, what exactly are we building?"
Hearing the question, the worker replied excitedly, "This is something extremely meaningful! We're building the 'Prison University'!"
"Prison University?" Kosma slowed his bricklaying and looked up at the towering cement wall before him, confused.
Did that mean expanding the prison?
"As long as we work hard, we can receive Godfather's reward."
The mention of Godfather made Kosma's pupils contract. Sure enough, this was all part of Godfather's plan.
And that reward—what exactly would it be? If he worked hard enough, would he be able to meet Godfather?
This might be an opportunity to get close to him.
"Aaaargh—!"
A piercing scream came from inside the prison beyond the wall, sending a chill down Kosma's spine.
Yet the "coworker" beside him seemed unfazed, humming as he continued laying bricks.
Forget it. Somehow that "reward" felt like something ominous.
Kosma continued pretending to work diligently.
Not long after, lively cheers erupted from the prison yard.
The worker suddenly tossed aside his trowel and stood up. "That important figure has come out to encourage everyone! I'm heading to the yard first."
With that, he ran toward the yard without looking back, as if afraid of missing a marketplace if he arrived late.
Kosma quickly followed after him, eager to see what exactly Godfather was plotting.