Disclaimer- I don't own Negima.

I started writing this chapter forever ago but didn't like it...then I lost my flash drive and thought it was gone, so I didn't worry about it. Then I found it stored in the back of my computer and decided to finished it. It's an Alcatraz chapter, although I subconsciously confuse it was Azkaban, so if you see that don't be confused. XD I'm not promsing it's very good, but I hope you like it anyway. Thank you Koyuki-san and Alexander for your reviews, they keep me writing.

Enjoy! :)

"We're baaaack!" sang Konoka, hopping onto the terrace where Albireo sat. He was drinking coffee today, the first time they had ever actually seen him ingest anything other than tea.

"Welcome to my home." said Al.

"Your story better be good," grumbled Chisame, who was secretly in a very good mood. "I don't want a lame story."

"I'll try my best."

"Let's rock or roll!" shouted Asuna in badly accented English.

"You girls certainly seem excited," remarked Al, amused. "I think I have a good story..."

"Yes? What is it?" asked the girls excitedly.

"Hold your horses. Give me a second to think...Ah, I have it...

"...Back in the '60s I was roaming around the U.S. I spent a lot of that century there, as it was a relatively new world, and I was ready to embrace the prospect of new scenery. Not that I hadn't been to the Americas before, but that's a different story...anyway, I was wandering around the hobo camps..." Al watched the girls snicker at the idea of refined Albireo at a hobo camp, then continued. "I was arrested, however, for a crime I may or may not have had some part in..."

The girls leaned back in their chairs, each of them grabbing a food item from the assortment in front of them.

"There's no need to be so rough, gentleman," said Al, his smile a little more unhappy than usual. "I'm not giving you any trouble."

"Murderers don't get special treatment." growled one of the guards.

Al sighed. He had a firm view of not using magic against non-magical people, but he would've broken that rule if he could've. In his last battle he'd ended up having to seal his own magic temporarily to prevent himself from being decapitated. While this wouldn't have killed him, it would've been painful and tiresome, so Al had thought the other option would have been better. When he had finished the healing process he had returned to consciousness to find himself in the middle of a circle of eight dead, mangled bodies. He had only fought them because they were convinced he was a bounty, then had threatened nearby villagers. Al couldn't really explain this to the police that arrived, so he ended up being arrested for their murders. Al, ever the honest man, confessed to his crimes.

The murder of eight men in a horribly violent manner wasn't something that was overlooked in America. It took every favor he had to call in and ask the nearby mages to prevent his picture from being on the front page and his name to be changed.

He was successfully proven guilty to every murder and was sentenced to prison for life, which, with Albireo's life-span, could be much more troublesome than they thought. Albireo wasn't too worried. His magic would return in ten years tops, and then he'd be able to escape easily.

But prison life was hard, even for him. He had spent a large amount of his life in luxury, and the times he hadn't he'd almost always had his freedom. The few times he'd been incarcerated his magic had gotten him out of the fix in no time.

He decided very quickly that he didn't like the prison uniforms. He also didn't like the handcuffs, the guards, or the prison itself. But the inmates were the worst.

It must be a very lonely prison indeed when all a man needs to induce a catcall is a petite man with long hair walking past your cell. Albireo wasn't unduly upset, just mildly repulsed.

"Have fun. It's your first day, I'm sure you'll meet new friends." mocked the guard, locking him in the cell. It had only a bed, toilet, and sink. The was a shelf for personal items, but Al's only personal item was a hand-painted doll he'd had for several years. It was a sad sight, sitting up on the shelf alone.

He sat on the bed and sighed. How stupid was he? He must be getting soft. His time must be over if he was getting himself into fixes like this.

He heard a throaty laugh next to him, and glanced over to his right, where the bars separated him from the occupant next door to him. He couldn't quite see the man, due to the wall between them, but he could hear him.

"Welcome, little piggy."

"That's not even funny," said Al mildly. "You're just being cliche." He sounded much more calm than he felt, as he was very angry for himself for his lack of thought.

"Thought I'd give it a try. You sound like an easy target. In here for tax fraud?"

"You don't get sent here for tax fraud." Albireo was glad his voice was deeper than you'd expect. He was French, after all. His heterosexuality was already in question.

"Don't beat around the bush."

"I'm a murderer."

Again with the throaty laugh. "Aren't we all?"

"Stop it, I already told you that you're being cliche. I'm a mass murderer."

"I'm afraid to say anything for being chastised. The name's Joe."

"Al."

"Short for anything?"

"Al."

"Lunch in half an hour. It'll be fun for you, I'm sure."

"Thank you for the note of confidence. Stop talking in tropes or I'll have to castrate you."

"Through a wall?"

"I'll find a way."

"No, you won't."

"You're right." sighed Al. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He'd let himself become weak. Stupid, naive, man. He shouldn't be here right now. He should be in Mundus Magicus, drinking a very strong alcoholic beverages and flirting with any server that came his way, regardless of gender.

Albireo gave in to contemplation, and the other man fell silent. Half an hour passed, then forty-five minutes. He could hear prisoners complaining about lunch. Albireo just assumed the man had been wrong. He probably didn't even have a watch, let alone one that worked.

He started counting the gray threads of his uniform. He'd had more boring days. He'd spent decades alone. Except then he hadn't been a complete, utter fool that had been so stupid as to get caught by normal, non-magical humans and put in their prison.

Lunch did come, and Al let the handcuffs be put on him for the walk to the cafeteria. He ignored the curious looks he got and put on a small smile. He'd heard smiling was good for the soul. His soul needed it.

He waited in the jostling line for food and expected, but wasn't pleased to see, the slop that was slammed on his plate. He'd had better food in eighteenth century London, and that was saying something.

He sat at an empty table, but was promptly told that this was someone else's table. Grade school maturity. This happened three more times, until he decided not to move. He knew this was stupid. He wasn't really in the mood to care.

"Get moving, punk." said the large, imposing man glaring at him.

Al wished he could plug his hears and use subtitles for these men. He'd love to have missed all those awful, awful lines of dialogue.

"I'd rather not."

"I'd rather you did."

Al inwardly slapped himself as he practically grinned (some masochistic tendency, he was sure) and said, "I don't care what you'd rather do."

He was promptly seized by the hair and shaken. Albireo could only wonder if he was in a New York radio drama.

"Move."

"I don't really have a choice now, do I?"

The man took a spoonful of the food-like slop and dropped it onto Al's face. He winced, then said, "Not the way I would've chosen to eat, but I'll take it."

He reached up to wipe it off his face but was stopped by another man, who attempted to twist his arm. Albireo parried it expertly and sent the man sprawling. The guards did nothing, appearing disinterested. Albireo could see the bets they were placing in their minds.

The main man attempted to choke Al, but he threw him too, wiping the slop off his face. He was quickly grabbed by the hair again.

"Do you think you're a girl?" hissed the man. "Most of us agree."

The man twisted, almost bringing Al to his knees. Al punched him. He was an expert in every martial art invented. The only way they would get him was if-

His hair was grabbed yet again.

-he wasn't paying attention.

A few more inmates decided to join the brawl and attacked Al, who did a very good job of defending himself despite the fact he hadn't had a good meals in months and hadn't practiced in longer.

The main man, getting up, pulled out a razor blade, hiding it in his palm so the guards could pretend not to see. First he socked Al in the face. Al hit him back, hard. So the man slashed the razor blade in his direction, and Al met his gaze, prepared for any pain coming his way.

There was none. The man cut off all his hair from the neck down, leaving him with an uneven cut ended up making him look even more feminine and vulnerable than he already did. He was kicked in the stomach, so he kicked the man back, trying to ignore the fact that for the first time since they had entered that millennium, his hair was short.

The guards finally stepped in, handcuffing him. They didn't touch a single one of the eight (had it really been eight?) men that had attacked him, but dragged Al away.

"Solitary confinement." said one gleefully.

"It's like a rite of passage." replied Al cheerily, his face throbbing. They unlocked his sore wrists and shoved him into a dark room.

The moment the door was shut, his hands flew to his head. His hair was gone, damn it. Stupid man, stupid, stupid man. Only eight untrained men attacking him, and he goes down like that? Stupid, useless man who cared more about appearances than his own health. Apparently eight was not his lucky number lately.

He slumped against the back wall. At least now he had some peace and quiet. Solitary confinement was akin to meditation to him. He ran his hand through his shortened hair and chuckled at his run of bad luck. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, drifting off into a state close to sleep, where he didn't have to think about any of the unpleasantness in store for him.

It was hours later when the door open, and Al was still sitting like that. He was pulled up roughly and shoved outside the door. He smiled at the guard, and the guard rolled his eyes.

"Psychopath." he heard the guard mutter. He wouldn't have heard it without his superb hearing, a trait he'd acquired through generations of magical honing. It dampened his renewed spirits a bit, and he trudged with the man back to his cell.

When he was back in his cell, the voice he'd heard earlier spoke to him again.

"Hey, Al." said the voice patronizingly.

"Hello," replied Al brightly, determined to piss the other prisoners off in the nicest way possible. "Having fun over there?"

"I should be asking you that," snickered "Joe". "Twenty-four hours in solitary? Hah. You'd have cracked if you weren't already insane."

Twenty-four hours? Al hadn't realized that much time had gone by. He sighed. One day in a long life full of them wasn't much to lose. On the same note, it would only take a few years for his hair to grow back. He could deal with it until then, or at least until his magic came back and he could magically re-grow it.

"That was a pretty good fight out there," admitted the man. "My name's not really Joe."

"I know. It's Clarence."

The man didn't reply. "You heard of me or something?"

"No."

The man growled. "Are you playing games with me?"

"Yes, but don't get a big head about it. I play games with everyone. You're not unique." replied Al sweetly.

The man growled. "I was gonna let you in on a sweet deal, but you're obviously not receptive."

"Probably not. I'm an honest man, I don't really want to get involved with any shady deals."

Clarence laughed. "That's rich, coming from a serial killer."

"I never said I was a shady serial killer."

"There's a lot of things you don't have to say."

"What did you do to get in here?"

"My brother and I robbed banks." said Clarence, with a hint of pride in his voice.

Al sighed. "I'm sure you're using your riches well, right?"

"Oh, totally. Got a gold-plated cell, that's for sure. Hey, do you want to get in on a secret?"

"What's with you? I'm not the kind of man to trust." Al let malice creep into his voice.

"I know...but you took my brother's cell."

"And?"

"And we were...uh...planning something."

"And what would that be?" asked Al curiously.

"An...escape plan of sorts," admitted Clarence. "But Clarence was moved when you got here. The escape tunnel's really close to your cell."

"You're crazy." chuckled Al.

"Yeah, probably. But you're a serial killer, so you can't talk. And as much as it pains me to let a murderer out into the world," said Clarence, grinning sardonically as he said it, "I would be willing to let you in on our plans."

"You're crazy and stupid. Great combination there."

"Don't call me stupid!"

"You're the one trusting me with this. You're asking for it."

"You seem like the kind of guy who'll do the right thing."

"And what's the right thing here? You'd think it would be keeping bank robbers in jail."

"How about the thing that prevents you from getting beat the shit out of every day and constantly ending up in solitary?"

Al contemplated it. That would get bothersome after a while. And if he joined this escape plan there would be a much higher chance of success, and he'd get out ten years earlier than he'd expected. He could escape to the Magic World, where he could hide out and get laid simultaneously.

"Fine. I'll do it. I didn't really want to spend a life's sentence in here anyway."

"I'm just warning you," snarled Clarence, replying with the required threat. "You'll pay if you double-cross us. Like you said, we can't trust you."

"I'm no snitch."

"You sure as hell better not be."

"If I was, how would I know?"

"I liked you a lot better in solitary."

"Funny, I get that a lot."

"I don't find it hard to believe that you're a serial killer."

"Thank you."

Clarence apparently didn't know how to reply to that.

"So you're in for sure?"

"What part of yes don't you understand? No wonder you're in prison." Baiting people really was absurdly fun.

"Shut your face if you don't want to end up a bloody pulp."

"If I'm going to end up as a bloody pulp either way, why would I work with you?"

Clarence fell silent for a few moments, and Al laughed. "Don't worry, I'm in. But if you even think about trying something, your ass will be dead before you know it."

"We're in prison. There's no way you could get away with-"

"I'm a serial killer convicted for killing eight people. This is Alcatraz What could I possibly have to lose?"

Yet again, Clarence decided it would be wiser to shut up.

Al cracked his knuckles. "You boys are lucky to have me on board. Without me, I seriously doubt this would have worked."

The other men exchanged glances. "You insulting us?" growled John Anglin, Clarence's brother.

"Not really. Not many men would've made it this far. It's a very risky plan."

"We know." muttered Frank Morris. He didn't trust Al whatsoever, which was fine with Al, since he didn't trust Frank, John, or Clarence. He just want a way out of here. Crouching down, he carefully removed the fan and motor from the fan vent and replaced the steel grill and substituted dummy rivets made of soap.

"As long as the guards don't give this a thorough search," he said. "We'll be fine."

"And if they do?"

"How will they know it was us? We'll still be fine, but we'll have to start from scratch, and they'll be watching for an escape attempt." he replied reassuringly.

They were planning to make their break in three days, and Al had the thrum of excitement in his veins that meant he was about to do something thrilling or eat at a really good French restaurant.

The next three days were probably excruciating to the other three men, but Al rather enjoyed them, spending the time meditating and working in the library. He didn't really have any other choice, after all.

Finally, the day came. Al had had the idea to use papier-mâché dummies and tape hair to them to give them a little extra time, and the others quickly agreed. They snuck out in the middle of the night, and Al made quick work of the only night guard in that area. He hoped there weren't many more- he disliked knocking people out, as it gave him a headache.

The operation went smoothly- too smoothly. Al just knew something had to come up before long, and he was right.

"Aw, shit," he heard one of the guys mutter nervously. "It's Bumpy Johnson."

Bumpy Johnson was the Godfather of Harlem, dabbling in every black trade on earth. He saw Al fiddling with the grate and visibly twitched.

"You let him in on the plan?" he growled.

Al waved, and the other three men shot him a look. "We had to," hissed Clarence. "He would've told."

Al started whistling. "It's good to go," he called softly. "Ready when you are."

Bumpy glared at all of them, and John shook his head. "You backed out. It's too late now."

Bumpy snarled, "I might just let the guards know. What would you do then?"

"Kill you." was the immediate response from Clarence, John, and Frank.

Bumpy looked nervous. "Can't you just let me back in?"

Al felt slightly bad for doing this, but he met Bumpy's eyes with a steady gaze and said, in a deep, dangerous tone. "Young man, you don't want to cross me. If I were you I'd hurry back to my bed and get some rest before my big day doing library, got it?"

None of the men present could say what exactly it was about Albireo's tone that scared them, but all four men present felt a deep fear, an almost primal terror. Their base instincts were telling them to run, that this was a predator and they should run while they still could.

Bumpy sulked off, and they each clambered into the pipe hole, carrying their boat made of raincoats. Al really felt rather ridiculous, but he kept quiet. He felt that these men would somehow not be supportive.

The wind was blowing fiercely and the sky was dark when they reached outdoors, but Al was unbelievably happy to see the light of day. He could literally drown and he would be able to get out of this. He could hide in the Magic World, hope Eva didn't find him while he was practically bald, and wait out until his hair had re-grown. Perfect.

He lifted the flimsy boat into the water and wondered if the other men would survive. It was certainly be harder with him on board. Sighing as he glanced at the water, he said, "You all best be going, then."

"Aren't you coming?" asked John.

"No, I have another way of getting off this island," confided Al. "It'll be easier for you if I take my route."

John and the others looked skeptical.

"You're not going to turn us in, are you?" growled Clarence feebly.

"Not at all," Al pointed to the ocean. "I'm going to swim."

"Swim?" repeated Frank, aghast.

"All the way back to New York?" said Clarence in wonder.

"Clarence, we're in California." sighed John.

"Oh...whatever."

"I'll swim to China if that's where the wind takes me." replied Al cheerily, although he was already shivering from the idea of plunging into that water. What had to be done had to be done.

"Are you sure?"

"You're crazy."

"Wait..this is California?"

Al nodded to the three men. "I wish you all the best of luck. Farewell!"

He turned and jumped off the Rock, plunging into the churning waters below.

Points for exit, but deductions for the time of year. It was freezing!

Al concentrated on swimming. He had a long way to go if he was going to make it to China.

"What happened to the others?" asked Konoka immediately.

"They lived," shrugged Al. "The did bad things and good things and died, like all men. Their fate doesn't concern me much."

"You swam all the way to China?" cried Asuna, shocked. Chisame shot her a glance of incredulity- did she actually believe that was possible?

Al shook his head sadly. "No, I drowned in about fifty miles. Washed up on Hawaii and spent some time with a nice old hermit."

"It's hard to imagine you with short hair..." said Konoka, looking seriously contemplative.

"That's why I grow it out. It's not becoming on me." repleid Al pridefully, but in such a way they knew he was being silly.

"Great story and all," interrupted Chisame. "But we'd better be going. Curfew and all."

Al waved his hand like the Queen of England. "Goodbye."

They witnessed this gesture and all wondered how in the name of Chamo's dirty panties that man survived even a day in prison.

Al ignored their mean thoughts and read a book.

I wrote the end after midnight, don't judge me. Reviews are love!