“C’mere,” the convict said. His hand was poking out through the bars now, fingers curling. “I want to talk to you, but I don’t wanna raise my voice. I got a sore throat. I think I’m coming down with something.”

“That’s awful,” said Omen. “But I don’t want to catch it.”

“It’s not contagious.”

“Still, though … Best to be safe.”

“Come a little closer,” said the convict. “Just a little. I’m not gonna hurt you, for the gods’ sake. I just wanna talk. Could you at least do me the courtesy of treating me like a regular human being? Or is that too much to ask?”

Omen swallowed thickly, and took a tentative step forward.

“Do not move one more inch,” said a voice from behind.

Omen turned, noticing the figure sitting on his bunk in the darkened cell.

“You stay out of this,” said the convict.

The figure ignored him. “You know it’s a bad idea,” he said to Omen. He was American. “You know he’s going to do you harm. He knows you know. But what do you do? You don’t wish to offend him, so you step closer. How dumb are you, slick?”

Omen stayed quiet. He hoped that was a rhetorical question.

“Don’t listen to him,” said the convict. “I don’t think you’re dumb. What does he know? He was thrown into that cell a few days ago. He has no idea what the hell he’s talking about.”

The man stood up from his bunk and stepped into the light. He was good-looking, unshaven, with dried blood on his shirt.

“You just arrived?” Omen asked.

“Not by choice.”

“Um,” said Omen, “are you Temper Fray, by any chance?”

“I’m not Temper Fray by any kind of chance,” the man replied. “I’m Temper Fray by design. I’m Temper Fray because nobody else could handle the awesome responsibility of being me. But who I am is not the issue right now. The issue is what is a schoolboy doing in this particular prison at this particular time?”

Omen thought about it for a moment. “Well, I … I’m kind of here by accident, but since I am here I could, maybe, rescue you, if you’d like …?”

Temper Fray folded his arms. “I wouldn’t say no.”

“What about me?” the convict asked. “Can you rescue me, too?”

Omen turned to him. “I don’t really know you, sir.”

“My name’s Immolation Joe.”

Omen hoped that Immolation Joe could see the conflict on his face. “I’m not sure releasing you would be a good idea, though. You sound, just by your name, like you might be a threat to, you know, people. And, to be honest, also me.”

Immolation Joe frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I think you might kill me if I let you out, sir.”

“And?”

Omen took a moment, and nodded. “That’s a good point.”