If you ever find yourself on a one-way transport pod to Luna Correctional Facility Alpha, congratulations: you’ve officially messed up your life.

Alex Jackson, self-proclaimed genius and former mind-hacking con artist, sat strapped into a rattling metal seat, trying not to think about how his day had gone from bad to catastrophic disaster in record time. He’d been betrayed—sold out by the same crew he’d spent years working with, the same people he’d once considered family. Apparently, loyalty wasn’t part of the con artist job description.

The transport pod jolted hard, sending his head into the cold steel wall.

“Ow,” Alex grumbled, glaring at nothing in particular. “Can’t even betray me in style?”

The intercom crackled to life with a robotic voice so chipper it could probably cause actual migraines.

“WELCOME, INMATE! YOUR ALL-INCLUSIVE STAY AT LUNA ALPHA BEGINS NOW. PLEASE KEEP YOUR HANDS, FEET, AND FRAGILE EGOS INSIDE THE VEHICLE AT ALL TIMES.”

The pod hissed, and the restraint harnesses snapped open with zero warning. Alex promptly slid out of his seat like an overcooked spaghetti noodle, landing in an undignified heap on the floor.

“Perfect,” he muttered. “Dying of embarrassment is a great first impression.”

The Processing Center was exactly as warm and inviting as a morgue, if morgues had fluorescent lighting and an air that tasted vaguely like bleach and crushed dreams. Alex shuffled forward in a line of equally miserable prisoners, each step punctuated by the deafening thud of robotic guards patrolling nearby.

Ahead of him, a holographic kiosk flickered to life. The AI avatar displayed on the screen was a smiling, overly cheerful monstrosity clearly programmed to just barely avoid being punchable.

“WELCOME, INMATE! PLEASE STATE YOUR FULL NAME.”

“Jackson,” Alex said. “Alex Jackson.”

“ALEX JACKSON! CRIMINAL MASTERMIN—WAIT, NO. MIND-HACKER AND FREQUENT LIAR. BETRAYED BY CREW, CURRENTLY SUFFERING FROM A DEVASTATING CASE OF BAD LUCK. MOVING ON!”

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Alex frowned at the screen. “Do you get off on reading my life story, or do you just hate your job that much?”

“I am incapable of feelings, but if I had them, I’d definitely hate this job. NOW STRIP FOR BIO-SCAN!”

“Excuse me?”

Before Alex could finish his thought, a mechanical arm shot out of the ceiling and yanked his jumpsuit off with all the subtlety of a circus clown stealing a wallet. Alex stood there, stunned and half-naked, as a fleet of drones swarmed around him, poking him with various devices that beeped aggressively.

“BIO-SCAN COMPLETE! HEIGHT: ABOVE AVERAGE. RADIATION LEVEL: HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS. OVERALL VIBE: IN NEED OF IMPROVEMENT.”

Alex resisted the urge to punch the kiosk. “You’re lucky I don’t have pockets, or I’d be flipping you off right now.”

Next came the Inventory Station, which turned out to be an exercise in humiliation.

A human guard, looking as greasy as the breakfast food Alex had missed that morning, sat behind a counter, idly flipping through a magazine titled 10 Things Your Cellmate Doesn’t Want You to Know. His nametag read Officer Grumbles, because apparently the universe had a sense of humor.

Grumbles picked up the empty tray in front of him and raised an eyebrow. “This it? No contraband? No secret gadgets? Not even a half-eaten sandwich?”

“They took everything,” Alex said flatly. “Even my dignity.”

“Dignity?” Grumbles snorted. “That’s cute. You won’t be needing that here, kid.”

Orientation was somehow worse than everything else combined.

Alex found himself packed into a small, sweaty room with two dozen other inmates, all forced to sit through a mandatory instructional video. The screen buzzed to life, and the same chipper AI voice from earlier began narrating over a low-budget animation.

“WELCOME TO LUNA ALPHA! HERE, YOU’LL LEARN THE VALUE OF HARD WORK, SELF-REFLECTION, AND CONSTANT SURVEILLANCE. ISN’T THAT EXCITING?”

The animation depicted a stick figure cheerfully scrubbing the floor under the watchful eye of a laser drone. The stick figure paused for a moment, and the drone promptly zapped them into oblivion.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “That’s... subtle.”

The guy sitting next to him—a tattooed giant with muscles that looked like they could punch through the moon—leaned over. “Yeah, don’t loiter. They’re serious about it.”

“Duly noted,” Alex replied.

Finally, Alex was escorted to his cell, which had all the charm of a bathroom stall and only half the ventilation.

His cellmate, a wiry guy wearing mismatched socks on his hands, looked up from where he was scribbling something conspiratorial on the wall.

“New guy, huh?” he said, grinning. “I’m Jerry. Don’t touch my socks.”

“Noted,” Alex muttered, collapsing onto the bottom bunk.

He stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about everything that had gone wrong. His crew had betrayed him. His life was in ruins. And now, he was stuck in a moon prison with a sock enthusiast for a roommate.

But this wasn’t the end.

No, Alex Jackson wasn’t staying in Luna Alpha. Not for long. And not without making a hell of a mess on his way out.