Falling into dreams, slipping into unconsciousness, disbelief, the untrue, the unreal. Slip into my dreams, and imagine this.

You are alone, in your cell, your white-padded cell. Whispers all around you. Your vision tinted with red. You are so pumped full of drugs you can barely move. You can barely see. You can barely hear. Imagine. They let you out.

"Prisoner, you are allowed one hour outside."

"Are you sure it's safe, doctor?"

"He's been on good behaviour for the past week. Eaten everything we've given him, kept quiet. I don't see why not."

"..."

A brunette steps in, her black heels wobbling on the cushioned flooring. She kneels down next to you, her skirt sliding up her thigh a little. She looks at you with her murky blue eyes, lashes loaded heavily with black mascara, black frames balanced on her small nose.

"Hello there, I'm Sandra. We haven't met before." She speaks to you as though you are a 10 year old. You hold your tongue.

"Your name is Beyond, isn't it? Well well, that's an interesting name." If you open your mouth you will scream. A person couldn't get any more patronizing than this society-constructed woman.

"Well, Beyond, let's say you and I go for a little walk. How does that sound, hm?"

With your best intentions in mind, you nod your head morosely.

"Come on then." She takes out a pair of handcuffs, straps one to her own wrist, and wraps the other around a hook on your straight jacket. She stands up slowly, and you rise with her. Pain. Shooting, aching pain through your body. Moving hurts. Your muscles ease out, your joints loosen into stability. She is going to die today, you can see. Your eyes light up, then dim again. You wouldn't be able to find anything in this godforsaken place to attack a person. But...she will die. That's good to know.

She leads you out into the hall. You are uneasy, darting your ruby eyes at the overweight guard outside.

"No funny business, you." He grunts at you, in his disgusting English accent.

"Now, Kevin, I don't think there's any need for that." She tuts at the guard jokingly. You haven't seen him before, but his death date...also today. That's more than a coincidence. A person's life ending is a big deal. 2 people, in the same workplace, dying on the same day...was just weird. Was something going to happen today? A malicious spark ignites in your heart. Everyone will die. A disaster at the institute, dying prisoners, wardens, you could see it now. Finally you would get out of this place the easy way. Death. You're not religious in the slightest, so you don't have to worry about the afterlife. And even if you did end up in hell, well, being a masochist, it would barely matter.

You end up outside. This is the first time you've been let out, since they took you here from the main prison. It's unbearably bright, sunlight glaring down harshly on your weak eyes.

"So, Beyond, how have you been feeling?"

"Mediocre, I suppose." You answered absentmindedly, watching the nearby prisoners. A man, quite young, in his early twenties by the looks of it. His head is shaven bald, his eyes a patronizing blue. Dante Stevens. Dying today. The warden accompanying him, an older man, dark short hair, clean shaven. Mark Hobbs. Dying Today. A young looking blonde woman. Very attractive, Katy Quellette. Dying today. And her warden, a bearded middle aged man, Thomas Beckendale. Dying today. You keep your cool, but you smile, that wonderful smile of yours.

"Beyond? Something making you happy?" Your warden smiles sweetly down at you. You are hunched over in your usual position, shoulders forward, back bent, so you are shorter than her. You grin up at her sweetly.

"I'm just enjoying this beautiful weather we're having, Sandra," you said in an all too patronizing voice.

"Yes, it's a nice day, isn't it."

It was indeed...

You continue with her, walking towards the fence, surveying the beautiful countryside on the other side of the green wire barrier. It infuriated you that this was something that could be broken so easily, with little more than a sharp blade, and you didn't have anything to fulfil that wish. Viscious curls of razor wire gleamed at the top, forbidding everyone from leaving. You glanced into the distance, past the greenery, over the rough terrain beyond...a jeep. driving towards the institution at top speed. This was it, you knew. Somehow, that car, getting bigger as it drove closer, closer. This was your golden ticket. Your way out.

"Beyond, get away from the fence."

"But..."

"Do it, OK," She said, anxiety growing in her voice. "Kevin!" She yelled, running across the courtyard in her ugly little stilettos, clicking as she ran.

---

"Watari. I need to ask you to confirm something."

"Of course, Ryuzaki-san. What do you need?"

"You know, the former Wammy's House resident, B..."

"Why, yes, I am aware of him." Watari chuckled weakly.

"I want you to confirm his death. Ask one of my successors, perhaps a less intelligent one, say the 5th in line or so, to go the Los Angeles prison and ask, then find his grave."

"Of course. I will do this as soon as possible. May I ask why?"

"...Curiosity. Just to be on the safe side. He was always good at lying to people, and there is a...15% chance of him having faked it and succeeded."

"I see."

"Thank you, Watari. And please, can you bring some more of that Victoria sandwich from earlier, if you wouldn't mind."

"Yes, Ryuzaki-san. I'll have it sent up in a minute."

The raven-haired detective pushed down the button that ended communication with Watari. He sat in silence, perhaps even in...boredom. At the moment, there were no cases to be solved, although this would probably change in the next hour or two.

He checked his laptop, his face illuminated in the darkness of the cold, empty, room. He was seemingly unaffected. And startled by what he saw had happened yesterday at California State Mental Institution...