Here is a full-length, highly suspenseful English version of the story, capturing all the dramatic tension, rich character details, and the shocking plot twist:
The most dangerous woman in the prison grabbed the elderly woman by the hair and forcefully shoved her face straight into the dough. The other inmates froze in fear, while the criminal burst into loud laughter and raised her hand, preparing to slap the old woman across the face. But at that very moment, something happened that left everyone present completely stunned.
The elderly woman had arrived at the women’s prison about three months earlier. She was sixty-nine years old, barely spoke to anyone, never got involved in arguments, and spent most of her time quietly working in the prison kitchen.
No one really knew what she was in prison for. She never talked about her past, and whenever other inmates asked her questions, she simply replied that she had made a terrible mistake and now had to pay for it. But there was one inmate who, for some reason, was especially irritated by her calm demeanor.
Her name was Bertha. Huge, intimidating, and covered in tattoos, she was serving a long sentence for murder and brutal assaults. Even the guards tried not to cross her. From day one, Bertha made it her mission to torment the new arrival—stealing her food, forcing her to do extra work, and shoving her in the hallway.
“Why are you so quiet, old woman? Do you think you’re better than everyone else?” Bertha would sneer. The old woman never fought back, which only made Bertha more furious.
One morning, the kitchen was short-staffed and rushing to prep bread for the cafeteria. Bertha marched up to the elderly woman and demanded her batch of prepared dough so she wouldn’t have to work.
“Please take another one. I’m almost finished with this,” the old woman said quietly.
“Are you telling me what to do?” Bertha roared, slamming the heavy bowl down. Part of the dough spilled, and the old woman shook her head. “My God, there’s so much anger inside you, girl…”
Hearing that, Bertha completely lost control. She grabbed her gray hair, jerked her head down, and shoved her face deep into the sticky mass of dough. Pulling her back up, Bertha laughed mockingly. “Well, does it taste good? Should I put you in the oven next?”
The elderly woman breathed heavily, gripping the table. “Please let me go. I haven’t done anything to you.”
“I’m not finished yet!” Bertha snarled, grabbing her hair again and raising her massive hand to strike.
That was when the old woman stopped trembling. She slowly lifted her head. Her eyes weren’t filled with fear anymore—they were ice-cold and dead steady.
“Go ahead, Bertha. Hit me,” the old woman whispered, her voice cutting through the silent room like a knife. “But this time… I won’t say that I fell on my own.”
The kitchen went dead silent. As Bertha’s heavy hand hung frozen in mid-air, a stray streak of flour wiped away from the old woman’s wrist, revealing a faint, faded tattoo. It was an old, highly classified syndicate insignia—a symbol that used to strike absolute terror into the hearts of underground kingpins and mob bosses decades ago.
All the color instantly drained from Bertha’s face, and her hand began to shake uncontrollably.
Everyone feared Bertha… until the old woman revealed who she really was.
