“He’s going to have a target on his back as soon as he walks in the door in general population,” said Keith Rovere, a former prison pastor who now hosts The Lighter Side of True Crime, a podcast that routinely speaks with high-profile convicts and murderers across the U.S. correctional system.

Rovere pointed out that in many prisons, a case as notorious and disturbing as Kohberger’s actually acts like a magnet — drawing attention from inmates who see violence against high-profile criminals as a ticket to status and respect.

“Those who are doing life have nothing to lose,” he said. “The badge of honor they would receive will get them much notoriety and respect in the prison and probably get them countless letters from the outside world — which could mean more money for them that people donate $5 here or $10 there for their commissary.”

It’s a brutal irony, Rovere observed. “Funny how notoriety will get you killed and how notoriety will get you respect in the same prison.”

Another voice offering perspective is Seth Ferranti, a former federal inmate who turned his life around to become a documentary filmmaker. His recent project, A Tortured Mind, explores the psychological toll of incarceration — especially for high-profile or socially ostracized inmates.

Ferranti doesn’t mince words:

“The convicts are going to eat him up in Idaho state prison,” he said.

He speculated that Kohberger will most likely be housed in protective custody given the nature of his crimes and the intense media attention. But Ferranti noted that even in isolation, violence is still possible.

“He’ll probably get protective custody, because of the high-profile case,” he said. “But killers don’t respect people who kill kids or students. He will get attacked even in protective custody, and some lifer might just end his miserable existence.”

Court records from the defense team present Kohberger as a man noticeably out of touch with social norms. A psychiatrist hired by his lawyers diagnosed him with autism spectrum disorder and described his social interactions as stiff, emotionless, and marked by a lack of understanding of his role in relationships. He reportedly speaks in robotic phrases and demonstrates a very awkward sense of humor.

Even his former boxing coach, who once attempted to help Kohberger build confidence, stated that he never sparred or trained seriously.

“He only came in after his father brought him,” the coach said. “He wasn’t interested in actually getting in the ring.”

The Idaho Department of Corrections has protocols in place for housing inmates deemed either especially dangerous or particularly vulnerable. Inmates like Kohberger may be kept in isolation, placed under round-the-clock surveillance, or moved only under armed escort. But these measures are not foolproof.

Ron McAndrew, a former Florida prison warden who once oversaw infamous killer Danny Rolling — known as the “Gainesville Ripper” — noted the complications that come with housing someone like Kohberger.

“Some inmates, especially those that are vicious or have mental problems, see killing someone like this as a status symbol,” McAndrew told Fox News Digital. “Especially if they’re already on death row, and they kill another inmate, what are you going to do?”

McAndrew, who participated in six executions during his time as a warden, now opposes the death penalty. He serves on the board of Death Penalty Action, an advocacy group seeking to end capital punishment. Interestingly, he argued that death row, though seemingly harsher, may actually have been a safer space for Kohberger — at least temporarily.

“He would have been away from general population and much safer — and more than likely die of natural causes in prison rather than the state putting him to death, with all the appeals,” he said.

Another important distinction between life without parole and a death sentence, McAndrew pointed out, lies in labor expectations. While death row inmates typically live in long-term isolation and are not expected to contribute to prison operations, life inmates must work between 40 and 60 hours per week.

“To sentence someone to prison for life without the possibility of parole means that they’ll be making a contribution for the rest of their lives as a worker at that prison,” McAndrew said. “If he was on death row, that would not be the case. He would, in fact, be a burden on the prison, a burden on taxpayers, and waiting for a date to be executed some 25 or 30 years later.”

Rovere believes that Kohberger might eventually seek a transfer to another state entirely — perhaps one with fewer direct ties to the victims and less exposure to local public sentiment.

“You also have to take account of how many friends and family members of the victims might have a friend in there,” he said. “Or a friend of a friend of a friend, who they can reach out to and make sure he’s taken care of — or at least beaten very badly.”

For now, Kohberger’s future will be confined within Idaho’s correctional system. The death penalty may be off the table, but in the hierarchy of prison life, the sentence he received could still cost him everything.