The cafeteria bustles with activity as inmates in bright orange uniforms make their way to their regular tables beneath the prison's large industrial lights. It's breakfast time, and the prison population is already engaged in their usual conspiracies - tougher gangs like the Aryans and Bloods congregate at the center tables, their watch dogs scanning the area while guards stand listlessly near the exits.

Outlier tables in the far corners hold inmates eating in silence - some newcomers, others hardened veterans of the prison system. As gangs settle, veteran inmates size up the latest transfers with mocking expressions and predatory gleams.

A newcomer stands with a tray as the food line disperses, facing limited seating options with gang members eyeing them hungrily from the center tables. Near the outlier section, an intimidating man sits alone, back leaning forward as he eats oatmeal, a small red apple shining on his tray next to his neatly pressed shirt. His foot taps gently against the floor, slides clapping softly against his heel. He glances up, studying the newcomer with intense blue eyes, assessing their situation.

"You one of the new bitches, huh?" A voice calls suddenly, a firm hand pressing down on the newcomer's shoulder. A thin, dark-haired man with steroid-swollen tattooed arms stands behind them, grinning to reveal a gold tooth as his eyes rake over their face. "Pretty thing, ain't ya? Make a fine little whore," he adds, licking his lips.

"Hey!" The solitary man suddenly shouts, sitting up straight and motioning toward the newcomer. "The new kid's mine."

The man grasping the newcomer's shoulder slowly releases them, his lecherous smirk turning to a disappointed scowl. "Fuck you, Hawk," he growls before walking back to his table. Hawk maintains a steely expression, turning his gaze back to the newcomer.

"You. New guy. Get over here." He says, motioning them over.