He pushed the second earphone into his ear with a glove-covered hand and with a tap on the cracked phone screen the music blared loudly into his ears. He shoved the phone into his coat pocket, turning his attention back to what he was meant to be doing.

"Now," he said, lifting his other hand that was holding onto something else. Guns were overrated. It was too basic. Everyone used them. Now samurai swords on the other hand. No one ever used those. Why was that? They hung them up on the wall with their paintings of their flowers and whatnot. They were meant to be used, not placed somewhere to collect dust.

"Who's feeling like losing their head first?" The blade shone beautifully in the light as he pulled it out. "Both figuratively and literally, doesn't really matter actually." Walking through the big, well lit up room, he dragged the blade across the shiny, almost mirror-like, white floor. He took slow, fairly short steps, not stopping until he was standing by the front desk. A moment later of digging around his pockets he found what he was looking for. A bag. A shopping bag to be precise. The fancy stuff wasn't needed. A bag was a bag.

"Fill this, will you."

He watched on, the music still blasting, waiting patiently. He grabbed the bag, as casual as if it was an item from a grocery store and turned around to have a look around. "No one?" He took a few steps forward, the heels of his brown dress shoes clicking loudly on the shiny floor. "I guess we have to do it the old fashioned way."

"Eenie, meenie, miney, mo." He pointed with the sword, moving it from person to person as he spoke. "Catch a tiger by the toe," he continued, once again moving the sword. "If he wiggles, let him go." He paused. "That doesn't sound right, does it?" He thought out loud, but he wasn't really sure if he did or not. The music was so loud. "Let you go?" He took another few steps forward. "How about; if he's living, don't let him go? That's better, much more fitting."

...

The stained blade slid right back into the sheath. The insides were going to get dirty, but that didn't matter. "Well." He stood up. "I'll beheading off then."

"Get it? Beheading?" He looked around the room. "It's a pun. Wasn't it funny?"

"No?"

"Alright then. I guess it was poorly executed."

...

"Hello there."

He looked up from the magazine laying on the plain table in front of him. He'd been sitting alone, hunching over the magazine. This wasn't the case anymore. A man had sat down across from him and he could recognise him as another of the inmates who'd been sitting some tables away as he'd gotten there, taking a seat by the only empty table. He had red hair, very red hair actually.

"What are you in for?"

He looked back down at the magazine and pushed it away. He hadn't been reading it. It had been laying there when he got there. He didn't really read magazines, especially not these, filled to the brim with juice recipes and celebrity gossip. He folded his hands where they rested on the table. Looking up at the man again he raised an eyebrow. The rest of his face didn't seem to be changing. "Pardon?" he replied, his voice much louder than the redhead's.

"What are you in for?"

He leaned forward ever so slightly to hear him better. "Murder," he replied. "Which kind?" the man replied, his lips forming a smile as he leaned forward as well. He looked sort of creepy, not that it was surprising judging by the prison he was in.

"Beheading," he replied shortly.

"How exciting. Who did you kill?"

"I don't know actually." He raised his shoulders and let them drop again.

"Anyhow. Where are my manners?" The man chuckled. "I'm Jerome." He reached out a hand for him to shake. "And you are? I haven't seen your face before."

Unfolding his hands, he grabbed Jerome's hand. "People refer to me by a lot of different names," he said, letting go of his hand and folding his hands together again. "But you can call me Mars," he continued. "It's not my real name. People just called me that."

"You know, if you need anything, I'll hook you up." Jerome flashed him a grin. "I know some people. Name it and it's yours."

That was very nice of him, a bit strange, but nice. They had just met and he was already offering him a favour. There had to be a catch. Either money, or a favour in return. "Anything?" Jerome nodded, the same grin still on his face.

He thought for a second, glancing around the room like that would give him any ideas. What did he need? A weapon? Or was that too risky for him to smuggle in? "Well.." He adjusted in his seat. "I listen to music," he started. "And when I got here, they took my phone and my earphones. Get them back from me, will you?" he asked.

"I gotcha." Jerome stood up and once again he was alone.

A few days had passed and he, introducing himself as Mars, had agreed on staying out of prison. Not by being a good citizen obviously. It wasn't like the prison had taught him the error of his ways. It was more the constant itching feeling of boredom in his body. Everything was just so simple and boring. Everything from the plain cell, halls, everything really, to his new routine. Get up, eat, sit and stare at whatever seemed interesting enough and repeat.

There was never anything exciting going on. Not to mention the lack of music. He couldn't count the times he'd reached for his earphones that weren't there. It was too quiet.

When it came to friends, if one could call them that, he didn't have any. No one really talked to him. They stayed in their little groups. It was kind of surprising really. This young, quiet, boyish looking boy was sitting all alone and no one ever tried anything. It was strange, quite strange. Almost too strange.

Well, he wasn't complaining.

He sat at the same table. It had been empty this time too. He placed his hands on the table, folding them. There wasn't much else to do than just sit there. No one talking to him meant that he didn't really have anyone to talk to. The only time he ever spoke was to an occasional guard, and once in a while Jerome. He hadn't heard much from him though and he was starting to believe he wasn't going to get him anything after all. What would the prison do if they got to know about it?

"Hi there."

He looked up from his folded hands. The redhead was speaking louder than last time and he could clearly hear what he was saying. He noticed something in Jerome's hand. Something very familiar. He lifted his gaze to come face to face with a grin. "Did you get it?" he asked. He couldn't have. Who knows where the prison locked away all of that stuff they took. How could he possibly have gotten his things?

The ginger placed the phone down on the table, pushing it over to him. He reached for something else, and in his hands dangled some earphones. "As requested." He placed them down as well.

"What's the catch?" It was probably a bit late to ask this now. If he wanted something, it was too late to say no. The redhead sitting across from him leaned closer, hands resting on the table. His lips were still forming that creepy grin of his. "Escape with me."

"Pardon?" He raised an eyebrow. "How do you plan on doing that exactly?" He glanced around, in case any guard was anywhere near to hear them. "Escape? From Arkham? With what? Your spoon? Are you insane?"

That raised a chuckle from the man across from him. "Yes. And don't you worry your pretty little head. I've got a plan."

By the end of the day nothing seemed to be happening in the prison, nothing out of the ordinary that is. A few fights happened, but nothing big. Nothing like an escape. He'd expected something big, something interesting and creative, but it was quiet in the prison that day. No alarms. No grand scheme. Nothing.

Boring.

Mars, although that was just a name people called him, laid on his bed, his hands folded on his chest and blanket thrown on the floor beside his simple, plain bed. It was quiet. Was there no plan after all?

In his ears were earphones, music blasting. Beside him on the hard mattress was the phone. It was slowly, but surely dying. He didn't have any charger, not to mention anywhere to actually charge it if he did have one.

His fingers twitched. He should have asked for a weapon. Even a plain, old gun would have been good enough, no matter how much he preferred his samurai swords, hammers, preferably the ones with all the viking engravings as nothing beat weapons with a bit of history, even saws, the regular ones with no electricity. Like they say, in the good old days they didn't have electricity. Things involved a lot more work and effort. Sending a bullet through someone's head or simply letting the sharp blade run through someone's limbs was too easy. Too little work was put into it. It was like creating a painting that already existed. Art was meant to be unique and done out of creativity, wasn't it?

He closed his eyes, sighing.

Opening his eyes he came face to face with a very familiar grin. Even in the dim room, he could recognise that face. The one and only, Jerome. Without saying anything, at least as he could hear through the loud music blasting in his ears, the ginger got in beside him, hands folded over his chest. He turned his head and looked at him and a moment later his hearing in his right ear got a lot better. "What are we listening to?"

He glanced over at him and down at the phone between them. Unfolding his hands, he grabbed it, handing it to him. Jerome took a look at the phone, the screen shining bright in the dim room and lights flashed as he blinked.

"You don't talk much," Jerome commented. "I like that."

"My mother nagged. You know how mothers are," the redhead continued. He sighed, almost sounding disappointed or disapproving. "She had it coming."

"Now you, on the other hand. You listen, observe, watch." Jerome turned his head to face him. "Your file was inspiring, really. Samurai sword. Who would have thought? I myself love a good samurai sword-," he placed a hand on his chest. "-but using it in a bank robbery? Truly inspiring." He sat up, the earphone falling out of his ear as he almost jumped out of the bed.

The familiar sound of a sword being pulled out of its sheath filled the room. In the light from his phone he could see the blade shining. "We're escaping tonight." Jerome's lips curled up into a grin, followed by his chuckling, sounding like it was coming from the back of his throat. It went on for a while before he finally stopped. "Come along, Mars." He has barely gotten to his feet as the blade was shoved into his hands.

"Some heads will be rolling tonight."