Benjamin Wilson’s flashlight beam swept the semi darkness of the corridor hastily. His dark blue eyes glared through the compact bars of each cell in the corridor, checking on their inhabitants.
    Many were fast asleep on their cots, but William Dally in cell #103, strapped into his strait jacket, struggled intensely to escape it and the metal rings keeping him from moving his legs or neck.
    As Benjamin’s light swept over cell #107, a stream of abuse shot from the mouth of its inhabitant, Pete Albume.
    “You stupid motherfucker! Get that goddamn light out of my fuckin’ eyes! I’ll fuckin’ rip your spine out through your ass and beat you to death with it!”
    Benjamin reacted quickly to this abuse with a specially designed grenade known in the ward as a Hornet’s Nest. It was filled with thousands of tiny rubber balls and right in the centre a moderately powered chunk of plastic explosive. This chunk is set off when the user presses a button on the top of the grenade and a mechanism sets the explosive to go off after three seconds. This sends the balls flying everywhere along with a few fragments of plastic, which formed the casing of the grenade.
    Benjamin took one off his utility belt and pressed the button on top of it. He rolled it through the cell’s bars.
    Three seconds later a loud bang echoed through the corridor. Tiny rubber balls shot out of the Hornet’s Nest and slammed into the walls, roof and ceiling. And Pete Albume. This was accompanied by a few shards of plastic.
    “Arrgh! Fuck! That stings man!” he screeched. Minuscule bruises started to form on his exposed skin. He clutched the left half of his face in agony. One of the balls must have hit him in the eye.
    Benjamin smiled. “Maybe that will teach you some respect.”
    He walked on, twirling his flashlight like a baton and whistling cheerfully. Eventually, he turned around a corner and saw something unusual.
    Coming from between the bars of cell #120, was a bright light. Benjamin scowled. He switched off his flashlight and slowly walked towards the light. As he got closer, he started to hear faint tapping sounds.
    Finally, when he was a few feet away, he leapt in front of the cell and flipped on the flashlight. He shone it into the occupant’s face.
    A nerdy-looking male, around twenty nine years old, was sitting on his cell bench with a chunky laptop in his lap, tapping keys and fluidly moving an attached mouse on top of his knee.
    “Well, well, well…Earnest Legford. I thought we made a little deal. No playing of the laptop between the hours of 2100 and 0100 and I don’t beat you.”
    “Yeah, well I was waiting for a very important email to be sent to me, but it hasn’t arrived yet…” Earnest spoke, not taking his eyes of the screen.
    “Ha! Earnest Legford, World Champion Bullshiter? Don’t make me laugh! Turn it off and go to sleep.”
    “Yeah, whatever Boss.”
    Benjamin left the cell and after about twenty steps, looked back at the cell. The light had not gone away.
    He sighed and continued to walk on until he reached cell #200, at the end of the corridor, where it forks off left and right.
    When Benjamin stopped at the junction, he dropped his flashlight in horror. Slumped against the wall in front of him, covered in a slick coat of blood, was fellow security guard and friend, John Allen.
    Benjamin hurried over and knelt down in front of him and took his pulse. Dead. Benjamin also discovered the source of the blood. John’s throat had been slit from ear to ear. There were no signs of a struggle nearby, so that must mean…
    “Ghost…” he breathed in horror, not taking his eyes off John’s corpse. He drew his Redline AntiRecoil 9mm Pistol and with it in his hand, performed the Sign of the Cross. No sooner had he completed the gesture, he felt a searing pain across his neck. He touched his neck lightly with his fingertips and brought them close to their eyes.
    They were coated in fresh blood.
    As Benjamin’s vision started to blur, he could just make out the figure of a man holding a huge hunting knife, dripping with blood.
    With his last breath, he gasped, “You c…can’t do this Ghost!”
    Then he collapsed into a heap.
    The man that killed him, Ghost, tilted his head to the side, making him look even more sinister.
    “Umm...no, I believe I can,” he snarled and pushed Benjamin’s body to the side, near cell #200.
    He walked back down the corridor, towards cell #120. When he reached it he stopped.
    “Mastermind, get off yer ass. You’re comin’ with me.”