Today, Saturday dawns upon my confined room, its atmosphere heavy with a sense of languid anticipation. The events of that day weigh upon my mind, their impact etched into the depths of my consciousness. I had taken Miranda's innocence, a conquest that bore an unexpected satisfaction. As an individual devoid of conventional emotional responses, the experience simply registers as a notable milestone in my life. 

  My eyes scan the room, taking in the familiar features of my cell. The walls are painted a muted shade of beige, the only sound coming from the hum of the air conditioning. The room is devoid of any furniture, save for a small table and a single chair, both positioned in the center of the room. To make matters worse, a barely-functioning toilet is in the corner.  The table is littered with papers and various scraps of paper, and the chair is positioned so that it faces the door. 

The small window in the corner of the room, its metal bars reflecting the light from outside, let's in various sounds. Despite my isolation, I can feel the presence of others around me. 

The sound of footsteps and muffled voices drift in from the hallway, accompanied by the occasional slamming of a door. The voices grow louder, and I hear the distinct tones of a male and a female.  The male's voice is low and smooth, with a hint of an accent I can't quite place. The female's voice is higher pitched and more clipped, with a hint of an accent sounding Eastern. 

  As they approach, I can see them in the reflection of the window, a pair of figures walking down the hallway. The male is tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes. The female is shorter, with long black hair and a sharp nose. They both wear black suits, and the male has a tie tied around his neck. 

  They stop in front of my door, and the male speaks up, his voice low and calm, "Good morning, prisoner. We're here to see you." The female chimes in, her tone slightly defensive,  "Yes, we need to schedule a meeting with you. It's urgent." The tension in their body language is palpable, and the male's eyes dart around the room as if looking for a way out. 

Did I make them uncomfortable somehow? Not that I care, really. 

  "I assure you that it's important. Please make yourself comfortable and we'll get started," he says with a touch of annoyance. 

  The female nods, her eyes still fixed on you, and the male continues,  "Right, let's get started. We need to discuss your future as an informant. We have a job for you that requires your unique skills and knowledge." 

Perplexion rushed me — such offers were never made unless a criminal was incredibly valuable. Seeing the stupefaction in my expression, both shared a light chuckle. 

  The male leaned in closer, his eyes still fixed on mine, "Don't worry, we'll make sure you get paid well for your services." The female nods in agreement,  "We need someone with your unique perspective on the situation. You know the players, the details, and the risks. You'll be invaluable to our team." 

  To have both the attention and resources of the law enforcement community, all I had to do was agree to become an informant. 

  I took a deep breath and spoke up, my voice calm and collected, "What is it that you need from me? And what kind of payment are you offering?" 

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The man smirked, his first evident sign of relaxation. "That's the first part of our offer. You'll be paid a substantial amount up front, for your discretion in this matter." The female nodded again, her expression even more neutral than before. 

I wanted to ask why she was so silent, but decided against testing the waters. I nodded, ready for this hunk of a man to divulge more in-depth. "As for the payment, that will depend on the information you provide. We need you to provide us with reliable information on a range of subjects. It's not just about the Singhs' case, we're investigating several other major cases, and your assistance would be invaluable in preventing them from being compromised. Do you accept our terms?" 

I nodded, my mind racing with possibilities. This could be a valuable opportunity for me, and the potential pay-off was substantial. The male smiled, "Excellent. 

We will contact the Secretary of Justice to arrange your release from custody; provided your full co-operation with us. You may expect another visit from us within the following three days. Feel free to rejoice, Maruyama Masato." 

The way he said my name was a bit chilling. Either way, I was glad about this. The Singhs thought I would stay loyal to them even behind bars, but they will soon discover how incorrect such an assumption really is. 

"By the way, can you tell me your names? It's not fair if we're not equal on that front," I said calmly. 

He seemed caught off-guard when this issue was brought up, as if he was not used to telling his name. Was that a European characteristic?

  The male hesitated for a moment before responding, "My name is Sherlock Holmes. And my partner's name is Watson." He smiled, as if he was pleased with the sarcastic introduction. 

Did he think I was stupid...? Then again, I am rather idiotic for being in jail — but there was no way I would fall for that! Holmes and Watson were a well-known team of detectives and consulting experts on criminal cases. They were a legend in the field, and I had heard stories of their exploits from my father. 

  The man looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Alright, I'm sorry for that. My actual name is... Lavish Harker; but you can call me Harker." He leaned back in his chair, his body language relaxed. "Now, is there anything else you want to know? Don't hesitate." 

  I decided to play dumb and ask, "How did you get to know my name?" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Well, it's difficult to reach someone if identifying them is off the table. But I suppose it's not important now. All that matters is that we have your cooperation and we'll make sure you get paid." He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on mine. "My partner over here is Jailen Blackwell. Don't mind her silence; she just doesn't speak much unless it's important. If that's all well and good, we shall take our leave now — thank you very much." 

They bowed their heads and left, making a squeaking sound as the door was shut.

A popular saying among the socially conscious is: 'Thoughts and prayers are useless'. 

It certainly is true in many cases. What matters most is actual action. Because of this action, I got a chance to change my life. 

Imagine if the Justice department simply sat on their comfy chairs, thinking, 'this guy might be useful' but then not making any attempt to reach out to me. That would literally be a zero case.

I would be stuck in jail, wondering what I could have done differently to make this situation different.

My fortune is also a reflection of this rotten society. Bad people can be tolerated if their merits and talents provide value. But if you are caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, you are out of luck. That is why I have decided to become an informant for the law enforcement community. 

I, Maruyama Masato, have hope for the future after months of mental torture. 

I have seen the world from a different perspective, and I have learned the value of information. I now understand that there are people out there who can help me navigate this new world.

I have been given the opportunity to rewrite my future. I intend to do that as soon as I am released from jail.

  Preparing myself for the challenges ahead will be necessary. I will need to learn new skills, and I will need to be prepared for whatever comes my way.