Page 61 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

Henny didn’t even look the same. They had stripped him of his own identity. His hair had been taken from him. They had shaved him bald, even down to his facial hair. They had made him strip in a room full of men, searched his anal cavity, and taken his name. He was no longer li’l Henny. He was a number, a digit, a human machine that belonged to the state of Michigan.

Henny kept his eyes in front of him as the concrete around him felt like a jungle. Everybody was bigger than him, older than him, stronger than him. If size was the scale, he was the prey. He knew it. He could feel it. He walked into his cell and noticed the empty bunk with hot Cheeto bags, candy bars, a honey bun, and noodle packs sitting on top of it.

His heart pumped so hard that he could feel his veins throbbing in his forehead.

“That’s on you, gang. It’s all there. A little welcome present.”

Henny turned around and noticed that his cell was blocked off by two niggas.

“Word came down the pod that you affiliated with The Crew. That true?”

Henny sized the old head up. He was big, a gorilla-ass nigga, pumped from the decade inside he had on Henny.

“I’m good. That don’t belong to me,” Henny said. He wasn’t overly aggressive, but he wasn’t passive either. He kept his voice steady, although he was petrified. He knew better than to accept anything in here. There wasn’t such a thing as a gift. There wasn’t such a thing as free lunch.

“You too good for my gifts, little nigga?” the man asked. His arms were the size of small tree trunks.

“I ain’t going, homie. I don’t want nothing for free,” Henny said.

“You hard of hearing or something? Nigga, you crew or not?” the man asked.

Henny didn’t want to claim shit. He needed to get a feel for the politics in this pod before he said anything.

“Them tats say you crew,” the second man, the door man, watching for the guards piped up.

“You gon’ have to catch the fade, little nigga. Straight up. We don’t fuck with you crew niggas,” the man said. “Niggas thought they could send word up the chain to protect you. Outside rules don’t apply in here. Them niggas ain’t running shit in here.”

“It’s just ink. I ain’t got no smoke up in here. I just touched down. I don’t know nothing ‘bout what you got going on with nobody. I’m just tryna do my time,” Henny said.

“Nah, li’l homie, that ain’t how it go. You want to rest your eyes on this block, you got to catch this fade. Go’n ahead and take it like a man. You chose your set, my nigga. You got that shit on you permanently. You inherit they shit, nigga. That nigga Isa killed my mu’fucking people in broad daylight, my nephew. You lucky I ain’t splitting your shit open and letting you bleed out up in this mu’fucka. You just gotta catch the fade like a man. That’s how this finna go. Ain’t no avoiding it.”

Henny saw his entire life flash in front of his eyes. There was no way he could squabble with these two men. They were twice his age and three times his size. He squared up anyway because he didn’t have a choice.

Then door man didn’t even move, but big man took Henny’s legs from under him. Henny threw blows, aggressive blows, bone-breaking blows, but there was only so much a 140-pound kid could do against a 230-pound man. The man’s fist crashed into Henny’s face and his ribs, and Henny felt his organs scream.

“Get down, nigga! Fuck you doing?” the man barked as Henny crawled back to his feet with every blow.

BOOM!

Henny’s vision was blurred; the blows were so vicious, but he still staggered weakly back to his feet.

“GET DOWN!”

BOOM!

It felt like sledgehammers were colliding with his body.

“That’s a tough little nigga,” the door man said.

“Nah, he gon’ break,” the man said, delivering another blow to Henny’s jaw.

BOOM!

That blow took all sound from Henny, and he went down hard, hitting the metal toilet along the way.

“Yo, yo, yo,” Door man called out, signaling that they were hot and that a C.O. was in sight.

Henny could barely sip air, and there was so much blood in his eyes that all he could see was his attacker’s feet as he ran out of the room. He lay on the filthy floor of the cell, and he was sure he was dying.