"Why are you here?"
"You don't know do you?"
"No," I replied. "I have no idea. No one does. We can't even find your data record as to why you are here."
"yes, on the computer."
"I suspect we are speaking different languages," the man quipped with a smile. "It certainly would explain your strange accent and why it is so hard to understand what you're saying."
"I am sure there is some file, some document somewhere that would indicate why I am here."
I was uncomfortable. I queried the isolated prison net again through my implant. It didn't exist. There hadn't been paper records of any kind at the prison since ... sixty years ago. Everything went paperless then. It was cheaper. More efficient.
"No, there are no records."
"Strange. In that case, any chance you'd let me out? It has been a long time...."
"That's not a good idea. If its just a glitch? How long have you been in here?"
"Well, it was too much to hope for. I've been incarcerated here since 1897."
I looked confused. That was impossible. He could see my confusion.
"But that's more than 150 years!" I couldn't keep the incredulity out of my voice. Plainly this person was mad. Perhaps they had brought someone meant for the mental health facilities on the other side of town. It would explain the lack of records, but not why there'd been no food brought to this end of the wing in over a decade...
"Yes, well, it is. I'm rather hungry. Thank you for bringing me a snack. I'm famished."
Now I was really confused. What was he talking about?
Then he leapt. He was on me, stronger than any man I'd ever known. I shot a mental call for help across the prison net. Other guards were on their way to the little used solitary confinement wing.
He bit into my neck and I felt my mind recede. I was dying. I was...The last thing I saw under his moldering bed were bones...a hand...and...I was gone.