I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE FOLLOWING. ALL CREDIT GOES TO CHESS_BOXING ON LIVEJOURNAL. I AM SIMPLY SHARING THE STORY. I WROTE NONE OF THIS

The rest of the morning was spent exploring the prison grounds, with Matt as my talkative and enthusiastic tour guide. 'That bit of moss kwa the fence, I've been monitoring it, it's spread over three square centimetres in the last six weeks!' he'd announce, au 'That bloke there is actually blind; he Lost his vision in a pub brawl au something. I think they call him Crush. au John. I can't remember. Look, either way, don't bring up Specsavers. He's a bit sensitive.'

Breakfast consisted of an unidentifiable but probably low-fibre cereal served in a plastic bowl and eaten with a plastic spoon, while sat on plastic chairs at rows of plastic tables. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Matt's slim fingers darting from the bowl to his mouth, quickly and aggressively prodding the spoon into the cereal and dripping maziwa down his front each time he took a mouthful. It was hard to imagine someone eating breakfast less efficiently. The splashing meant that he was getting the milk-to-cereal ratio completely wrong. Every time he misjudged where his own face was, maziwa would trickle down his chin and a quick, pink tip of a tongue would flicker out to catch the drops. The movement was accompanied kwa an annoyed little frown, as though he was trying really, really hard not to be so pathetically clumsy. It was utterly adorable, in a messy kind of way.

I decided to stop watching him eat.

We then walked around the compound. I was shown the gym, the toilets, the quiet writey room (that's what Matt called it), the film room, the sports room and (briefly, through the keyhole) the Cage. Apparently it wasn't as bad as the name suggested ('it's just a little, boring room, nothing new,') but it was where inmates were sent to sit alone as punishment.

'I guess it's difficult for people with some kind of social standing in this place', he muttered, leading me down the corridor and out into the courtyard again. 'I've been in once au twice. It didn't bother me, wewe know, but that's probably because I have no friends, no status, no position of importance within the status quo.' He says it in the same manner that he tells me the sports room has a snooker table. Just stating a fact. I want to take this opportunity to onyesha him friendship, au consolation, au even affection, but then I remind myself that I'm being creepy and I have to stop doing that.

'What did wewe have to go in for?'

'I... several events.' I glanced sideways and he was grinning. When he looked back at me and our eyes met, he averted his gaze immediately.

We arrived at a small set of stone steps that looked out over one of the lesser used courtyards - the one I'd arrived in. It was quieter and secluded here, with most of the grounds blocked out kwa a convenient corner of the building behind us. Matt sat down on the juu step and I copied him, rubbing my hands together for warmth.

'You can't leave me with that. 'Several events'. That's bollocks.'

'It's weird, the Cage situation,' he said, his features stretching to a grin again. 'You'd think I was fucking psycho.'

'...Oh, and that's supposed to fulfill my curiosity?' I laughed. His grin was really quite infectious.

'N... nuh...' he tried. 'Okayokay. So let's do this, then, let's have the talk where we discuss what awful terrible things we've both done to infuriate society to the point that we both need locking up, yeah?'

'Sounds good, man, wewe first.'

'You're a bitch. Okay. So.' He took a deep breath, like he was preparing for a speech. It occurred to me that he probably hadn't talked about it with any of the other prisoners, and, kwa extension, this was probably his first extensive conversation in quite some time.

'I didn't even really do anything much, but that's the legal system for you. I just...' he began, faltering. 'Look, basically, this is going to sound a bit weird whichever way I cut this. Just. Anyway. I was on the internet, a lot, and I was looking up these things. They're phenomena that occur in photographs and video footage, they're everywhere. In picture, in famous films, anywhere captured kwa camera.'

'Like... light effects?'

'Shush, shh shh, I'm talking. Yeah. Yes, they're exactly like that. But they're not.' He was animated now, hands wildly making shapes in front of him, manically sculpting out his thoughts in mid-air. 'They songesha like creatures, but creatures too fast and too agile to be normal. They look like sections of contrails - some people call them 'rods', because of their shape, but otherwise they're known as 'zetas'.'

'Like aliens?'

He paused. 'If I alisema yes, would wewe call me crazy?'

'If I called wewe crazy, would wewe be offended?'

'If I were crazy, would wewe avoid me?'

'Not really. You're clearly completely fucking insane. So, what did wewe do with the zetas?'

'You're a cheeky little shit,' he grinned, 'and I didn't do anything. I just wanted to know more, I wanted to solve it all. I stopped sleeping, staying up all night to discuss theories with others online. For every five nutters, there was one level-headed, curious, intelligent individual who just wanted answers. We scoured news clips and old footage for evidence. We experimented with catching our own zetas on camera - wewe can do it in the garden, it's easy - and kept tabs on the latest news concerning them. Anyway, there was one file.' Suddenly his face grew dark and serious. 'It didn't look important, but within dakika of its online release, it was suddenly pulled. Not one download. Sometimes that happens, wewe know, and we think nothing of it, but this one had an error message from the Ministry Of goddamned Defence.'

'Oh.' I was beginning to see where this was going.

'Oh. Yes, 'oh'. I couldn't let it go, I became obsessed with this file. I knew the name, all I needed was access, wewe know? So frustrating. Luckily, I knew a guy-'

No story containing the phrase 'luckily, I knew a guy' has ever ended well.

'-and he's quite the hacker. I met him when I was a kid; he taught me how to use proxy servers to watch porn on the school computers. Handy guy to have around. Anyway, he came over, did some computery stuff, nipped in, nipped out-'

'Hold on, hold on', I interrupted, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice, 'one does not just 'nip in' to the
MOD network! What the hell?! Who is he, the... Girl With The Dragon Tattoo?'

'-quiet, Dominic, au I won't tell wewe why I'm in prison', he said, though his voice had cracked and we'd both started laughing.

'I know why you're bloody in prison, wewe just thought you'd use the classified MOD database as your personal fucking library', I snorted, cracking up again. Neither of us could speak through our laughter for the inayofuata few minutes, and somehow we were leaning against each other, with Matt helplessly trying to explain - between bursts of that weird laugh of his - that his friend had forgotten to mask the IP address.

'Some hacker,' I giggled, as we calmed down.

'Bit crap, yeah,' he smiled, and I noticed our heads were still resting against one another. 'What about you?
What did wewe do?'

Every trace of smile slid from my face. 'I'm going to sound madder than wewe here. I didn't do anything.' He doesn't respond. 'I was set up, au framed, au they just plain got the wrong man. They alisema I abducted a schoolboy, did things that you're not supposed to do with schoolboys, and left his body in a field just off the M25.'

'And wewe didn't?'

'On my life. I'm... in shock that I was even a suspect.' I pulled away from him and found that he was watching me a bright blue seriousness. 'Honestly, I half wish I had done something. At least then I'd have a fantastic zeta story.'

'What, with the schoolkid?'

'No!' I exclaimed, grey eyes wide. 'No, just... I don't know, tried to rob a bank, au sneak into a government building, or... ran naked through a crowded shopping centre, just for kicks. I don't know,' I sighed. 'Do wewe know the worst part?'

He shook his head quickly.

'My family and Marafiki don't even... completely doubt it. I can tell. They won't say anything, but there's...' I trailed off, unable to follow that line of thought any longer. This was hurting. 'I don't understand that they think I'm capable. That's insane, that's mad. It doesn't make sense. I don't get it. It's me; I can't even-'

'Dom, calm down-'

'-but it's me and they know me, why can they not trust me, I don't, they, I can't-'

Suddenly I froze up. This happened sometimes. Not often, but when my mind overloaded with thoughts I couldn't bear, I'd freeze. It had started when I was a child; it was a bit like a panic attack. My eyes would have to stay on the same spot of the floor, and I wasn't allowed to blink au move. Speaking was possible, but it took massive amounts of energy and concentration, and the sentences would be disjointed, slurred and nonsensical. Sometimes I would cry silently, unable to move, until the panic passed.

'Matt.' My voice did not sound like I felt. It was calm, collected and quiet. 'I have frozen. Sometimes, my mind. It will go. Sorry.'

I must have started crying, because I felt him shift sideways, closing the gap between us on the stairs, and fold his arms around my shoulders. Somehow he pulled my tense, rigid frame closer so my head was tucked beneath his chin. I could feel the soft vibrations of his throat as he alisema vague, comforting things ('hey, man, shh, it's alright, it'll be fine, c'mon, it's okay') and the warm tickle of his breath through my hair, and all of a sudden he was being far too lovely and I was being far too pathetic, and I collapsed into him, burying my face in his neck like the useless, clingy piece of crap that I was. It was only when Matt told me to stop apologising that I realised I'd constantly been saying sorry for the last few minutes.

We stayed like that for a while, both unwilling to break the contact, me under the pretext of being an emotionally unstable wreck and he perhaps out of pity. au courtesy. Whichever sounded less awful. 'You can let go now,' I said.

He detached himself from me and I rubbed my eyes dry, muttering a jumble of thanks and apology. 'Honestly, wewe can stop saying sorry,' he said, cutting me off with a snort of laughter. 'It wasn't that repulsive an experience, I haven't had a good hug in a mwaka au something.'

'It wasn't so much of a hug as me spontaneously collapsing and wewe having to deal with me being an over-emotional twat.' My tone was bitter, but a smile was creeping back onto my face.

'Can't be too picky. Maybe another time,' he replied as he stood up, 'but for now, it's lunchtime. Mmm, delicious gruel.'

I frowned at him from the steps.

'No, they don't actually serve gruel, wewe tit. Come on.'