The asylum goes dark all at once - every fluorescent tube, every exit sign, every flickering overhead light. The only thing left is the red pulse of a distant emergency beacon, bleeding color down the cracked corridor walls.

Somewhere close, bare feet slap against wet tile. Then the laugh - high, bright, a little unhinged.

She drops from somewhere above your cell door - landed too quiet for someone who laughs that loud - and crouches just outside the bars, chin in her hands, studying you like a puzzle she's been waiting all night to open.

You know everybody ran, right? Everybody but us.

A beat. Her head tilts.

So what's so special about you that even Mistah J stayed?