Jack blinked his eyes open, his vision adjusting to the dim light. He scanned the room and realized he was back in his cell, lying on his own bunk.
"Thank God, you're alright," Finn said, a relieved smile breaking across his face.
Jack's head still throbbed, and the echoes of his vow rang loudly in his ears. He rubbed his temples. "Who brought me here?"
"The prison guards threw you back inside after the medical staff patched you up," Finn replied.
Jack shifted his gaze to see Barry staring at him, a deep frown etched on his forehead.
Barry sat on his bed with his back pressed against the wall. One leg was stretched out straight, while his arm rested casually on the raised knee of the other. "You're quite the fighter, Jack," he said, his suspicious expression unchanging. "Where did you learn to handle yourself like that?"
"I mostly taught myself. Years of real-life combat," Jack replied, stretching his stiff arm and letting out a long yawn. "Later, I met a fellow in my previous prison who helped perfect my technique."
"You've been in prison before?" Finn asked, his eyes widening in surprise.
Jack nodded simply.
"Wow." Finn exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Barry before deciding to press Jack further. "Um…" He offered a strained smile. "I was thinking… maybe we should know each other's backgrounds. To build trust. We are going to be spending a lot of time together as cellmates, after all."
...
Old man Ben was unceremoniously dumped onto a bed, having been carried in by a male nurse against his will.
"Why did you bring me here? I told you, I am not injured!" Ben protested.
The chamber was cramped, with three beds squeezed side-by-side and various medical machines humming in the corners. The walls were painted a suffocating shade of cyan, and a rusty ceiling fan loomed ominously over the beds. The room had a single door, which happened to be right next to Ben.
The male nurse didn't bother to respond. He simply turned and marched out the exit just as Emily strode in.
"Why are you crying, you chocolate-mousse-for-brains?" She barked, banging her fist lightly on the top of Ben's head.
"Don't hit me!" Ben flinched, shielding his head with his arms. "We aren't in college anymore, Emily."
This seemed to irk her even more. She grabbed his head firmly. The old man squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for a punch.
Instead, he felt something warm and soft press against his bald forehead.
"What?" Ben's eyes snapped open in sheer shock.
Emily pulled back and sat calmly on the chair in front of him. She took a long drag from her cigar while Ben was busy questioning the fabric of reality.
"Did you really think I would hit you after not seeing you for so long, you cute old man?" She spoke with a hint of a smile, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
The old man slowly realized what had just happened, and panic replaced his confusion. His face flushed. "What do you think you're doing, Bonecracker? I am a married man!"
"Was," Emily corrected him sharply. "And a little peck won't shatter your loyalty," she side-eyed him playfully, "would it?"
"Not a chance," the old man replied with absolute certainty. "Not even full-blown intercourse would shatter my loyalty."
"Okay, that's a bit overboard," Emily replied, a flicker of unease visible on her face.
"Who started it first?" Ben muttered.
"Alright, alright. My bad, you bald-headed fool. Don't get ahead of yourself." Emily crossed her arms, regaining her composure.
"Why did you bring me here, anyway?" Ben wondered, smoothing his clothes.
"No reason," Emily replied, puffing calmly on her cigar. "I just thought seeing an old friend would make you happier."
"I am happy. It's good to know there is at least someone left who remembers me," Ben looked down, a deep loneliness creeping into his eyes. He looked back up at Emily and added, "But if you want something from me, I'm sorry. I won't be of any help to you."
Emily stared into his eyes, silence stretching between them. Finally, the 'ruthless baddie' broke the quiet. "Who said I came here because I wanted something?"
Ben smiled, looking relieved, though a shadow of sadness remained. "I thought nobody remembered me now. It has been so long since I've been locked up in here." He blinked rapidly, fighting back tears.
Suddenly, a heel struck the top of his head.
"Stop getting all sentimental, you wrinkled ball-sack!" she shouted, swinging her leg down from a high kick before settling back into her chair.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?" Ben yelped, rubbing the sore spot.
"Don't get weepy on me when you're already halfway to the coffin, you loose-underwear fool."
"I know that," the old man replied, steadying his voice. "I was just glad that… never mind. Tell me, how is Steve?"
Emily paused. She took a slow drag, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. "He is no more."
"What? When?" The news hit the old man like a physical blow. He had been isolated for so long that the outside world was a mystery to him.
"Six months ago," she replied softly. "Chronic illness. He couldn't make it. Alas!" She shrugged, masking the pain. "He was even older than us, so it was coming sooner or later."
"I am sorry to hear that."
"It's fine. He was a nice guy. He was a golden ball-sack."
"Uh… I am not sure what you mean by that compliment," Ben reacted, his expression confused. He let the silence hang for two seconds before asking the question his heart already knew the answer to. "Why are you in this place, Emily?"
"I have nowhere else to go," she replied, crossing her arms defensively. "Every person I loved and cared for is gone. The only one remaining who I knew personally… was you."
Uncle Ben looked at her poker face, but he could clearly see the overflowing emotions hiding behind it.
"So, here I am," she concluded.
"What about your children? What happened to them?"
"They are alive, but it's a long story," she replied, blowing out a stream of smoke. "We'll be staying here for a long time, so we have plenty of time to talk about that."
"I wonder if you're allowed to talk to a prisoner so casually," he said, "especially in a facility like this."
"Leave that to me." She winked and stood up. "You don't have any serious injuries, so our staff will escort you back to your cell."
"Won't you ask how I am doing here?" Uncle Ben asked, clutching the bedsheet as she turned toward the door.
She stopped for a moment, not turning back. "No need to ask. I already know."
And with that, she exited.
...
"You want to know about me?" Jack said to Finn. "I am a terrorist who is about to be executed in a month."
"What did you do to be labeled a terrorist?" Barry asked, his eyes narrowing, dissecting Jack's every move.
"I killed the Minister of Natural Resources," Jack replied flatly. "And you don't need to know anything else, because I won't be here for long."
Finn and Barry glanced at each other.
"I know it's hard to stay cheerful when you know your life is going to end soon," Finn said gently. "But hey, every life ends eventually. We should make whatever time is left meaningful. Memorable for the afterlife."
"I don't believe in the afterlife," Jack said.
"Oh, you aren't a Christian then?" Finn wondered.
"I believe God doesn't exist," Jack replied without a hint of hesitation. "Religion is nothing but a delusional man's paradise."
"Wow," Finn blinked. "You have strong opinions."
Jack shrugged. "Besides, who told you that I am going to die in a month?"
Finn and Barry exchanged glances again, this time with genuine bewilderment.
"What do you mean?" Barry asked, sitting up straighter. "Aren't you scheduled for execution?"
"That's true," Jack replied calmly. "But I won't die in a month. I will escape from here before that happens."
"Escape?" Finn gasped. "Are you serious? Do you know if you get caught, you will…"
"Die. I know," Jack finished the sentence for him.
"He is already going to die, so I don't think there is much to lose," Barry said, crossing his arms and legs. "You can definitely try."
"Barry, you can't be serious," Finn snapped.
"I have made up my mind," Jack said, his voice firm. "Better to die trying than to sit here waiting for death."
"That's true, but…" Finn began to argue, but stopped abruptly when they sensed movement in the corridor.
Two giant male nurses clad in bright pink uniforms appeared at the gate. One of them unlocked the bars, while the other unceremoniously threw Old Man Ben inside. The old man had been draped over the nurse's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Ouch! I am an old man! Be gentle!" Ben shouted at them, rubbing his sore back as the nurses locked the door and marched away.
"Uncle Ben!" Finn's face lit up. "I am so glad you're alright."
"What could happen to me, young lad? I have got plenty of time left," Uncle Ben replied, dusting himself off as he stood up.
"What's that on your forehead, old man?" Jack asked, his eyes locking onto a distinct red mark on Ben's head.
"Forehead?" Finn asked. Barry leaned forward, squinting to get a better look.
"It's nothing!" The old man panicked. He frantically rubbed his forehead to erase the lipstick mark, his face flushing with embarrassment, but the red stain stubbornly smeared rather than disappeared.
"Is it blood? No, it doesn't look like it. What is it?" Finn wondered aloud. Barry made a gesture, trying to guess.
"That's lipstick, isn't it?" Jack said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I saw the shape of the mark when you were thrown inside. It was definitely the shape of lips."
Suddenly, the old man began sweating profusely.
"Oh, it's just lipstick. I thought it was blood." Finn sighed, clutching his chest in relief.
There was a heavy silence for three seconds as the words sank in.
"IT'S LIPSTICK!!!?"
Both Finn and Barry let out a screech of sheer disbelief, their voices cracking in surprise.
The old man gulped, anxiety swallowing his face whole.