Three-sixteen opened his eyes. He felt warm and his entire body was tingling. A gentle light radiated from the ceiling. It was a crystal lamp like those in the collector's building, but this one was bright blue. The walls were stone, reminiscent of the mines he grew up in, but straight and obviously man made. He was boxed in some kind of cell with bars on one side.

His body was stiff, but when he tried to move his legs, they felt normal.

Three-sixteen sat up. His head spun and he felt nauseous. He was still alive. Alive in a physical sense at least. His spirit felt crushed seeing that was now trapped in a space with stale air and no light. He may as well have been back in the mine. At least he had more than a tiny room to move around in. He could see out into a hallway where mice scurried between cells and roaches climbed the walls.

He saw a woman sitting on a chair outside his cell. She was thin and dressed in all black with a mask over her mouth and nose. Her eyes were a pale blue and her skin a rich bronze. She looked tired, her eyelids were heavy and her gaze distant. She didn't appear to be a magistrate, and she certainly wasn't the woman who shot him. She was also alone.

Three-sixteen wondered where he was and what they wanted with him. It seemed like she was there to guard him, but why? What threat could he possibly pose? He was powerless and without a weapon.

He watched the woman for a few moments, but she remained still and silent. He decided to test the bars.

Pushing himself up on weak legs, he moved to the edge of the cell and wrapped his hands around the bars. They didn’t budge. They were solid iron with runes engraved into their surface. He couldn’t move them.

He tried using the full force of his arms and legs, but that was no good either. He tried pushing his arm between the bars, but they were too close together.

The girl in the chair shifted. “Oh good, you’re awake,” she grumbled with only a mild undertone of excitement and hefty helping of sarcasm.

Three-sixteen took a deep breath and sighed. He stepped back from the bars. He could guess what might happen if he continued trying to break out.

The woman stood up and stretched. Her neck popped and she let out a groan.

She said, her voice soft, but clear, despite the mask covering her mouth, “I suggest you quit the escape attempts. Trust me, once you get out, you’ll want to stay in that cage for as long as you can.”

Three-sixteen didn’t understand, but he wasn’t going to argue or ask questions. He moved back to where he woke, going to sit down against the wall.

The stone floor was cold and damp, but he was used to that. He thought it might have been a bit cleaner in the mine, but at least he knew how to deal with this. He had an idea of what was coming next and he could endure it, at least that was what he told himself.

Three-sixteen closed his eyes and tried to relax. His muscles were tense and his heart rate was elevated. He wasn't calm at all.

He took a few deep breaths and tried to think about something else. His mind blanked and all he could think of was what Luck told him abou Five-ninety-one. After his experience with Mikala, he didn't want to think about Luck or Five-ninety-one. It made his stomach turn and his chest tighten. He didn’t want to imagine what might have happened between them, or who might’ve made the first advance.

He shook his head. It wasn’t important. The situation was dire. He needed to focus on escaping, not on fantasies.

He opened his eyes. The masked woman was gone, but he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

The girl reappeared with a tall bony man. His hair was black and messy, and his eyes a dark brown. His skin was so pale it was almost ghostly, and his cheeks were sunken like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

He was wearing a black hooded cloak and tight pants that were covered in blood. His fingers were long and spindly and he walked with a stiffness that seemed more unnatural than a sifter on the surface in broad daylight. With a voice so dry and crackly it made the desert sound wet, he said, “Come here boy.”

At the same time he used some sort of magic on the lock and it popped open.

The door swung inward, hitting the wall with a loud bang.

Three-sixteen didn’t move. He tried to pretend he didn't hear. He wanted to be back in the jungle, or the mine, or anywhere away from here. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could pretend he’d fainted and the man would leave him alone.

The girl laughed. Her voice chimed like a bell as she sang, “It’s too early to be scared. You don’t even know what we want yet.”

Three-sixteen opened his eyes and looked at the girl. She was coming towards him through the open door, her hands flexing as she prepared to cast a spell. He didn't doubt the woman could kill him with a wave of her hand.

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Three-sixteen knew he had no choice but to comply.

He stood up, trying to avoid eye contact as he headed out of the cell.

The girl’s eyes smirked with satisfaction; through the narrowed again quickly. “Huuuuurrrry-up!” she groaned, grabbing his wrist when he got within arm's reach. She pulled him on faster, nearly jerking his arm from its socket as she dragged him along behind her.

Three-sixteen stumbled as he tried to keep up. His legs still felt weak, and he his head felt like it was spinning with every step he took.

The girl didn’t seem to care. She only moved faster, dragging him up several flights of stairs and through a long hallway before shoving him into a room.

Three-sixteen tripped over himself and landed on the floor.

“Go on bones, he’s all yours now.”

The door shut behind him and bones. The man stepped past him, walking across the room to a large chair.

He sat down, his back hunched and his head low. He stared at Three-sixteen with a strange intensity as he motioned to a smaller chair next to him.

Three-sixteen stood up. He walked over and sat down.

The man spoke, his voice like a grinding stone, “You probably have a lot of questions. Answer mine first, then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Three-sixteen got the sense that refusing or resisting would get him killed or tortured. In either case, he had no reason to refuse and he’d had enough pain for one day. He nodded then he stood, but did not take the open seat.

The man leaned forward. His eyes narrowed as he asked, in a deep, serious voice, “What would you do if you could be free?”

It was a simple question, one Three-sixteen had considered many times, “I would…” and yet, he had not come up with an answer. His jaw worked, trying to form unknown words but after several awkward moments, he finally said, “I don’t know.”

The man tilted his head, staring at Three-sixteen with a look of mild curiosity, but no surprise, as he said, “None of us do at first. That is until you realize the truth of what freedom is; you see from the moment we are born we are already enslaved. Each and every one of us, even your little judge.”

Three-sixteen didn’t understand. “How can a judge be enslaved?”

Bones laughed deeply, setting his frail frame to shaking. It didn’t long for him to start coughing, but he recovered quickly. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair as he said, “The only ones who are free are those who break the chains that bind them.” His voice was light and amused, but with an undertone of darkness, like he was sharing a terrible secret, or a joke that might kill the listener.

Three-sixteen still didn’t understand.

Bones seemed to realize the boy’s confusion and added, “We slaves to the system, to the rules of society, to the social pressure that prevents you from knowing me on my ass right now as I warp your whole world.

“Each of us, no mater your station, behaves according to the expectations of those around us. We fear the consequences of breaking those expectations, even if we don't know them or understand why. This is the root of our slavery, this is the true nature of the chains that bind us. Do you understand now?”

Three-sixteen nodded, still confused about what all this had to do with him or his question. He asked, keeping his voice as low and respectful as possible, “And you are not bound by such things?”

The man shook his head, leaning forward with an intensity in his eyes as he said, his voice low and urgent, like he was delivering a very important message, but trying not to be overheard, “The Raven King has freed me from those bonds. Now that my eyes are open to the truth, I act only according to my own will.”

Three-sixteen fought hard to stifle his laughter.

The man noticed, but didn’t seem to care. He stood and slid a knife out of his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he flung the blade and it planted itself in Three-sixteen’s shoulder.

Three-sixteen gasped. The pain was sudden and intense, and he was having trouble breathing. He looked up at the man with wide eyes, not sure how to respond.

The man pulled the blade free with a single quick motion, then returned the knife to his pocket. “You’re wondering why I did that aren’t you?”

Three-sixteen was wondering that, and many other things as well, but he said nothing. He knew better than to talk back.

The man said, his tone still light and casual, like nothing had happened, like he hadn't just stabbed Three-sixteen, “I did it because I felt like it, and you’re still just standing there because you’re afraid of the consequence of action.” He paused, leaving them in strange silence for a long while. When he finally did speak again, it was with a hint of intrigue and maybe a bit of confusion. “You aren’t really a magistrate are you? No, you’re too timid for that. Too quiet and willing to follow along. I doubt you’re even a person.”

“Of course I’m a person!” Three-sixteen objected.

The man clasped his hands. “No, you’re a number.”

Three-sixteen nodded.

The man continued, his voice thoughtful, like he was lost in contemplation, but still speaking, still sharing his thoughts with Three-sixteen, who couldn’t help but listen, even if he didn't want to, “The fact that you’re here is evidence that deep down you know the truth of everything I’ve said today. Maybe you’ve already begun to break your own bonds, but unfortunately for you we have only one need for numbers. You’re going to dig.”

The words were like a dagger plunged into his hopes. He thought he’d finally found a place where he could truly be free. Three-sixteen didn’t care for the twisted logic of eliminating social rules, but he had, for a moment, believed that this was a place where he could just be himself. That they would let him free. Now he was being told to do the one thing he’d been hoping to never do again.

He hung his head, looking down at the floor. The blood that was dripping from his shoulder onto the carpet was such a deep red he almost felt like he could sink into it.

The man laughed. “You’ll start your first shift tomorrow.”

Three-sixteen nodded. His chest felt hollow and his mind empty. The blood from his shoulder was still dripping down his arm, soaking his sleeve, though he felt the itch of healing.

The door opened behind him. He didn't turn to look, but he heard the girl's voice say, sounding bored, “Back to the cell, you wretch.”

Three-sixteen followed the girl back down to the prison cells. His mind still numb with shock, he only vaguely noticed as she shoved him back in the cell and locked the door. She left, but there was someone in the next cell now. He could hear them sniffing, sobbing quietly.

Three-sixteen didn’t have it him to speak. He wasn’t sure it would even matter if he did.

He slumped back to the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead on top of them. He took several deep breaths before slowly lifting his head.

His eyes wandered over the tiny space. He didn’t see any obvious way out, but he wasn’t going to just accept this situation. He wasn’t going to be a slave or a prisoner ever again.