He paced down the corridors of prison. Everything and everyone was in the correct place. Just like every other day. Lochlan Gene had done this check so often he could do it with his eyes closed. He wasn't sure why he even had to do it so much. Not many prisoners escape from the Deadman Gaol. But, he had to admit, it paid well, so he did it every day. He turned down another corridor and checked. Nothing out of the ordinary. He made a note on his clipboard and turned back when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw nothing. He frowned. Hesitantly, he walked back down the corridor and saw nothing. He put the sight down to his imagination and walked back up the corridor and turned to the next one.

When he got to the last corridor, he saw something again. He slowly looked around and saw nothing. He sighed and walked further up. Suddenly out of nowhere he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. He put his hand to it and felt something cool and smooth, lodged in his stomach. Slowly he pulled it out and examined it. It was a knife. He could see his reflection in it, apart from the bits that were splattered with blood. His blood. His shirt was stained where the knife had been, a deep red that stood out against the white uniform. He felt another stabbing pain and saw a knife in his leg. Then he had stabbing pains everywhere. He opened his mouth to cry out in pain, but a gloved hand covered it before he could. The gloved hand pushed him into the wall and blackness spread across his vision. He saw a tall blonde figure take the keys from his belt and toss them to someone else. The blackness continued to spread as the alarms rang and people ran and shouted. Suddenly the whole world went black and Lochlan slumped across the floor, dead.