"Six bottles of Fuding over here—my treat!"
"A plate of Lobster Lala Fat here, extra large. I'll pay the Contribution Points!"
"A mug of ale for everyone in the place. This round's on me, 'Black Beast' Tuke!"
By noon, the registration desk had already been taken down, and the volunteer recruitment was over.
The Dining Hall was in an uproar. The selected Death Row Inmates hurried to burn through their Contribution Points, eating and drinking to their hearts' content. These villains, who had done every evil under the sun, were even treating others of their own accord to share the joy. After all, becoming a volunteer meant either getting out of prison alive or dying without a whisper. Either way, Contribution Points would be useless, so of course they had to spend them fast.
The most tragic thing in life was dying before you'd spent all your money.
If there was anything even more tragic, it was having money left to spend, but desperately wanting to die.
Ronald Wade was the latter.
He looked at the lavish spread of food before him. His stomach was clearly starving, yet he could not summon the slightest appetite.
A Dining Hall server brought over the chilled ale that "Black Beast" Tuke was treating everyone to. Ronald had not touched a drop of alcohol in days, and before prison, he had practically drunk alcohol like water every day. He should have been ravenous for it, parched with longing, but after one mouthful of ale, he only felt that it was water with a slightly bitter taste.
Pointless.
Everything was pointless.
Prison was pointless. Living was pointless. Self-pleasure was pointless. Now, the only thing that could make Ronald's pituitary gland send out an intense signal, the only thing that could make him feel he was