In the southern highlands of North America, the kingdom of cacti on the edge of the desert.

1999, Mexico, desert prison.

When Dean regained consciousness from his stupor, he found a hefty body pressing down on him. At the same time, a pair of large hands had covered his fleshy buttocks, attempting to yank down his pitifully insufficient underwear and proceed with the subsequent action of dropping the soap.

Stenches of sweaty body odor, bad breath, and feet, all mingled together, rushed into his nostrils.

A wave of hair-raising nausea shot straight to his brain.

Damn it!

To be screwed the moment I wake up?

Dean tried to resist but discovered that the strength with which he could once punch a calf to death was pathetically small. His weakened body, including his hands, was entirely controlled by the strong man's grip, leaving him unable to move.

The most disgusting thing was, it seemed the burly man had sensed Dean's resistance.

With a strange cackle, the burly man breathed heavily. He lifted his head to reveal a chest coated with sweat and hair, and a pair of thick, sausage-like lips. His tongue flickered as he chuckled, "Don't rush, beauty. There won't be any guards to disturb us tonight. You can have a lovely evening."

As he spoke, the bizarre laughter of seven or eight men echoed around, chiming in, "That's right, don't rush. We'll give you a perfect welcome-to-prison ceremony."

Hearing so many others around, Dean felt his scalp tingle.

Could this be retribution for being such a scumbag?

Taking advantage of the moment the burly man on top of him lifted his head and began to rise, Dean quickly scanned his surroundings. He realized he was in a sparsely furnished prison cell, surrounded by four metal bunk beds. Beside the beds sat seven or eight men in the same prison garb, grinning as they watched Dean and his assailant on the floor.

This brought him a sigh of relief.

Man on man is still better than actually becoming a woman about to be gang-raped!

Dean regained his composure.

The current situation was unclear, and his body felt very weak; he was likely in a frail physique. However, it seemed his spirit was possessing this body, as his thinking speed remained as sharp as it was before the trial.

It looks like this mission will rely heavily on brainpower.

Dean gave his surroundings a quick scan.

The faces of the inmates and their hierarchy were instantly imprinted in his mind.

Various data points began to be rapidly analyzed.

The most massive among them was a bald, burly man who resembled a mountain of flesh.

This man's fat wasn't ordinary; it was the kind that encased muscle, like a heavily armored tank. In terms of both striking power and resilience, even without formal training, he was undoubtedly a human-shaped tank in close combat.

Observing what this man was doing also clearly indicated his status within the room.

The bald fatty had one hand pressing another man's head to his groin while his other hand caressed his own chest, which was fuller than an average woman's. His eyes were greedily fixed on the scene on the floor.

This scenario was reminiscent of some otakus watching adult videos while simultaneously "practicing their hand speed."

But this time, Dean had become the live star of the show—an uncensored, live-broadcast, male-on-male adult feature, probably without even any lubricant.

If this continues, they might even start a daisy chain.

Next to the bald fatty stood two men, one tall and one short.

Their gazes weren't directed at the floor but towards the area behind Dean and his assailant.

Dean and the burly man on top of him were positioned between the two rows of metal bunk beds. From his vantage point, Dean could only see the legs of the few people behind him, not their faces.

However, judging by the demeanor of the tall and short men, he could deduce that there were two different factions within this small prison cell.

The bald fatty was the leader of those three.

The burly man currently on top of him was the sub-leader of the other group.

He quickly sorted out these relationships.

Dean saw that the burly man on him was already tugging at his underwear, apparently wanting Dean to perform oral sex on him. Immediately suppressing his nausea, Dean turned to the bald, burly man who was watching him greedily, and put on an expression that was three parts pitiful, three parts humiliated, and four parts coquettish.

As a man who had mastered the art of 'training,'

Dean undoubtedly had some experience in how to arouse a man's interest.

Sure enough.

Seeing the expression on Dean's face, the bald fatty actually started to tremble, causing the man he was holding down to choke and cough violently, struggling to break free.

The redirected lust, however, still failed to extinguish the flames in the fatty's heart!

He shoved away the man performing oral sex on him, stood up breathing heavily, revealing his tattoo-covered flab, and strode towards Dean. He kicked the burly man off Dean like a dead dog and roared, "Get lost! I can't take it anymore! I'm going to be the first to screw this pretty boy!"

The burly man who was kicked aside was no pushover either.

Though ambushed and kicked into a corner by the fatty, he sprang up as if unharmed and yelled, "Fat pig, I'll kill you! Brothers, get him!"

CRACK.

Accompanied by the creaking of metal bed frames, several sturdy men grabbed various steel pipe weapons improvised from the beds and charged at the bald fatty.

Behind the bald fatty, aside from the man still kneeling and retching on the ground, the other two quickly snatched up bed planks from behind them and moved to intercept the attackers, even before the fatty himself.

In ancient times, a beauty's smile could topple nations.

Today, Dean's smile had thrown a prison into chaos—truly no small feat.

Taking advantage of the brawl among these men, Dean, now free from restraint, scrambled to a corner of the room. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for an opportunity to strike back.

These men evidently cherished this hard-won "pretty boy" and, wary of displeasing their respective leaders, instinctively avoided Dean during the melee, allowing him a moment of safety.

...

「After breaking free.」

Only then did Dean notice that this prison was even more primitive than he had imagined. The walls seemed to be made of a yellowish mud mixed with some unknown substance.

The air was dry and dusty.

The inmates in the room all bore a strong resemblance to people of Mexican descent.

Their conversations were indeed in Spanish, the language of Mexico. Though Dean had only known a little before, he could now understand everything.

Outside the room was a heavy iron door with only a peephole. It looked somewhat like iron-clad wood, with some areas already bulging and warped; he estimated that several men working together could break it down.

At the same time, Dean noticed an unfamiliar set of memories in his mind.

These memories weren't extensive; they were more like a data file.

However, he didn't have time to examine this additional information right now.

The immediate priority was to protect his 'sunflower' from being plucked.

Even if this wasn't his original body, Dean was unwilling to spiritually endure having the 'sunflower' he had cherished for so many years taken from him!

After a quick survey of his surroundings,

Dean turned his attention to the ongoing melee.

The fatty's side was outnumbered by one, but the bald fatty himself was worth three men. Bare-handed, he used his thick, muscle-encased fat to withstand the blows from the hollow steel pipes wielded by his opponents.

If not for the fear of being stabbed by one of the sharpened pipes, the fight might have already ended.

The bald fatty's other two followers were somewhat scrawnier; it took both of them working together to barely hold off a single attacker.

A bunch of amateurs brawling, Dean scoffed internally.

These men seemed to be ordinary people with some fighting experience. They appeared fierce, but it would likely take them considerable effort just to kill someone.

But then, he looked down at his own frail hands and sighed inwardly.

I look even weaker.

In this physical condition, protecting my little 'sunflower' will require taking a desperate risk.

He cracked a smile. His gaze fell upon the mostly dismantled bed frame beside him. He casually picked up a long, rusted nail that had been used for fixing, concealed it in his palm, and surreptitiously began to sharpen it...

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.