I was nervous about leaving my cell after that and stayed in place, demanding that food be delivered--not that I was getting cake and prime steak, but they still begrudged every little thing. But given the way the Warden was acting, I just didn't want to take the chance that they would do something stupid to try to get rid of me.

Finally about two weeks later, I heard a march of guards, and two people showed up outside my cell door. It was obviously exactly like the bruiser had predicted--both Dungeoneers, both nervous, both much higher level than me. The man in the lead was a clear magician, dressed in a business suit and tie and carrying a spellbook thicker than his bicep, and the woman behind him was some odd mix of punk and priestess, with a pink mohawk, eyebrow and nose piercings, and a white silk dress with an anarchy symbol drawn on the front with what looked like red sharpie, or maybe lipstick.

The man appeared a stool to sit on outside the cell, and within a few moments, there was some kind of magic dome around the three of us that probably blocked sound and vision, in addition (I had to assume) to quite possibly being used to smother me or something if I tried to attack him. The priestess stood behind him, chewing bubble gum.

"My name is Harold Spongecake, and this is Eliza Berrybottom. The Warden asked me to deal with you. He seemed to suggest you were a discipline problem." Harold looked at me. "He says you're a solo diver. Is that true?"

I showed him dungeon card, and he did some mental math. It was vaguely possible to get to my level by only clearing a dungeon once, while in a party; but with the experience points split, it would take most of a year, and by that point, I would have been registered as a missing person. He consulted a file folder that was easily hidden by his spellbook, and then sighed.

After that, we very briefly revisited the events surrounding Joe Ham-hands, including the order that I be fired upon. Eliza, as was clearly her job, confirmed at intervals that I wasn't lying.

"So you warned him, killed him, returned to your cell, and have been trying to avoid violence since then." I nodded at the summary, and Harry rubbed his temples. "Odd then that the Warden suggested you've been violent and erratic. Or less odd, considering we knew it was a lie, I suppose. But the real question is, why is he so interested in keeping you down?"

"That's hardly surprising," I replied. "It's a prison. If prisoners don't fear the warden, he loses control. If he'd insisted on solitary or something that would be that, but he seemed out for blood."

"You wouldn't mind solitary?" The wizard's thin eyebrows arched.

"I'm already staying in my cell to avoid retribution. And my ability gives off light, so I'd more or less just use the time to train skills or something. I've mostly avoided that in here, since it would cause a ruckus."

"Yes, I've been meaning to ask about your class. I've never heard of a Soulforged before." Harold left the thrust of the question unspoken, and studied me.

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"It's a self created class. I came up with it in the dungeon, modeled after the D&D class Soulblade." I pointed with my left hand to my right, and manifested a shortsword, which appeared as a transparent, glowing blue facsimile. "I can replicate any item I spent some time disassembling. It destroys the original, but things like enhancements, enchantments, and innate abilities come with it. And, uh, I expended it when I hit level 20 to let me move enhancements between items."

Harold studied the magical copy of a sword quietly. "So... do you think you could have broken out of your cell?"

"Oh, easily." I replaced the shortsword with the copy of a much larger black steel bastard sword, which I'd gotten from killing the Devil--the rare drop that was only given to a player who could solo kill the bastard. "The attack on this would... well, it would probably cut steel, but if it didn't, I'm pretty sure it'd cut stone. It would be a little hard to swing in here, but overnight? Not a big problem."

"And you could get over the wall?"

I brought my feet up and a pair of glowing boots overlaid themselves on top of my existing shoes. "Boots of Air Dash. That only gives me a few steps, but it also enhances telekinesis.

"...which you have." That wasn't a question.

"Which I have, yes. I picked that skill up from a skill book." Which I'd gotten off a dungeoneer I killed, but no point in pointing that out. I'd returned it along with the rest of his possessions when I turned his body back in at the checkpoint, so it's not like he lost anything.

"You could break out of your cell, aren't actually unarmed, and have the telekinesis necessary to leave this place. In other words, in spite of all the noise the Warden is making, you are here by choice." He studied me, then glanced back at the punk priestess, who nodded, then blew a bubble with her gum.

"Right." Which, of course, I'd been trying to say all along.

"And in spite of all that, you did kill an inmate, instead of just disabling him."

"I warned him, and gave him every opportunity to walk away. All he had to do was not throw the first punch." And, to be honest, I didn't have any reason to think his threat of raping me was just words, but there was no reason to bring that up, not now. He was a scumbag, but he was dead, while I had to live with it. I was a lot less broken up about that than killing the Dungeoneers, even the ones who had come back from death.

Harold grunted and looked down, but spent some time thinking before he spoke. "I haven't heard of anyone who can move enchantments between items. I know some people who would be interested in studying that ability. If you want, we can get your sentence reduced--"

I shook my head and interrupted. "Like you said, I'm here by choice. I'll do my time for killing people. There's no point in getting out of that just because someone finds me interesting."

He looked at me, but nodded solemnly. "Alright. We'll do what we can to get the Warden to shut up, but you have to be non-lethal when you get in a fight. That killing is going to add to your time as it is." He paused. "Is it alright if I come back again some other time to ask you about your abilities?"

I smiled. "That's fine with me. The next two years are going to be pretty boring, otherwise."

Harold stood up, his stool disappearing out from under him, and he stuck his hand through the bars for me to shake. "Very well, Mr. Applebee. Take the time to reflect on your actions, and for the love of God, please don't kill anyone else. But I agree, in this case, the Warden is out of line." The black dome that had been shielding us dropped, and he turned and marched away. "Warden... we need to talk."

I breathed a little easier, knowing that I'd be able to at least see the sun again soon, without fearing some kind of trap.