Alright, So a lot has happened since my last entry. Where do I start? A story from middle school. Perfect idea, if I don't say so myself.

There was a girl in my class who loved to get in fits, but then we got this new girl. She transferred in from the “Alt” school. You know, aka the school where all the “bad” kids go. Well, that is true in my eyes. The new girl was getting changed after P.E., and then Kayla stepped up behind her. The bully started saying all sorts of nasty stuff to her. The last line Kayla said was, “At least my Daddy isn’t in jail.”

The new girl did something I could only dream of doing before. It was straight out of one of those fighting games back on the old Super Nintendo. The new girl did a spin and an uppercut all in a second. Her fist slammed into Kayla’s jaw and sent her flying a foot off the group. She fell to the floor with a thud and started crying while holding her face.

“Don’t say shit; you won’t be shit,” the new girl said. She threw her towel on top of Kayla and walked away. It was one of the coolest moments of my young teen life.

So, what does this story have to do with the what, where, and come on, tell the story?

Well, I said some shit, and now this momma is in jail.

What did I say to end up here? I have a brief idea, but I will circle back to this in a moment.

So, as I was sitting here in this cramped cell, surrounded by cold, grey walls, I couldn't help but find a strange solace in the simplicity of it all. A certain calmness comes with confinement, a respite from the chaos and clamour of the outside world. In this small space, I am free from the ceaseless demands and distractions that often plague my daily life.

My thoughts started to race away from me. Sure, the walls may be unforgiving and the bars may serve as a constant reminder of my limitations, but there's a certain comfort in the routine of prison life.

It felt like I had been in here for years. Each day follows a predictable pattern: a rhythm of meals, exercise, and solitary reflection. There's no need to worry about the pressures of work or the expectations of others—I am simply here, existing in the present moment.

I felt no pressure to save humanity, especially when I was locked behind bars.

Moreover, prison offered me the opportunity for introspection and self-discovery. I was freed from the distractions of the outside world. I was forced to confront my thoughts and emotions. I needed to consider the mistakes of my past and the possibilities of my future.

“In this solitude, I find a clarity of mind that is often elusive amidst the hustle and bustle of everyday life,” I said.

Then, from the cell down the hall, I hear Hades yell back, “It has been thirty minutes; what are you balling about now?”

“Well, you flying fart, I am reflecting. You know, perhaps, in some strange way, jail isn't so bad after all. It may not be glamorous or desirable, but it offers a chance for reflection, growth, and even redemption. As I sit here in my cell, I am embracing the unexpected gifts that come with confinement, grateful for the opportunity to find peace and purpose in the most unlikely of places.”

“You sound like you have been in here for thirty years, not the span of a short nap!”

“Hey, I am trying to make the best of it.”

“Best of all, we are in a small cell with a bucket all because you had to have a meeting with those humans,” the gargoyle said. “You know what that bucket is used for yet? It isn’t for washing.”

“I am in a robot body; I don’t need to do anything in a bucket.”

That was when I heard a loud fart coming from the imp’s little cell. Then he let out a strange, insane clown laugh as if I were in Arkham. “Don’t light a match down here.”

I felt like I was back in middle school.

Then the little gargoyle asked a serious question: “Can’t you just go back to the village and leave this body behind?”

“Nope, something is blocking me from my core. I can feel the connection to my soul, but I can bounce back. They must have some seal or magic stopping me.”

We were both quiet for a moment.

Stolen story; please report.

“Well, damn.”

“Do you know where the others are?” I asked.

“No, but I assume they are also locked up.”

“Thanks for the feedback.” I wanted to ham up the sarcasm level, but at the last moment, I stopped. I felt like I was just trying to blow off steam, and so was Hades, but I needed to come up with a plan.

“So, boss, what is the plan?”

“Are you reading my mind? I was just thinking that. We need some sort of plan.”

“Sweet, a breakout. I love that idea.”

“No. We aren’t going to break out. I came here to make allies, and we can’t do that if we start smashing crap.”

“Okay. No smashing things; how do you feel about some light melting? Or a little bit of flames.”

“Not yet; keep that in your back pocket.”

“How do I keep flames in a pocket? Is that some kind of wand?”

“Arg. Pick up the meaning from context clues. Please,” I said. “Just let me think for a minute.”

The minutes turned into half an hour, then an hour. Time melted away.

Side note. This is as good a time as any to write down how I got here in a nice summary.

Okay, here I go. I basically said that I worked for the Huntress and that I was there to help. The good-for-nothing council summoned their guards and hauled us off to this dungeon. During that process, we were separated, and then locked up here.

Wow, that was a lot shorter than I hoped.

As I sat in my prison cell, my thoughts were consumed by the monotony of confinement. My attention was suddenly drawn to a sudden movement in the corner. A large rat scurried across the floor, its sleek fur glistening in the dim light. My heart raced, and my energy levels spiked; it was the same as heat.

But then I let out a piercing scream, and I leapt to my feet, recoiling in disgust. "I hate rats!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and revulsion. The sight of the rodent, with its twitching whiskers and darting eyes, filled me with an overwhelming sense of unease, a reminder of the squalor and filth that pervaded my surroundings. At that moment, I felt a surge of frustration and despair, even deeper than before. I longed for an escape from this grim reality.

I tried to settle myself.

“Okay, what is the fire option?”

Right then, I heard a sound.

I stopped my train of thought, my mind jolting from its daydream, as I heard what sounded like a thousand-year-old door creaking open at the end of the hallway. The sound echoed through the corridors, sending a shiver down my spine. Each groan of the ancient hinges seemed to reverberate with a history long forgotten, filling the air with an eerie sense of foreboding.

Then, the unmistakable clink, clink of heavy boots against the stone floor broke the silence, growing louder with each step. The metallic sound echoed ominously as if the very walls themselves were resonating with the weight of the approaching presence. With each footfall, the sound sent a ripple of apprehension through the air, building tension like a taut wire ready to snap.

I strained to listen, my heart pounding in my chest, as the footsteps drew closer and closer. The rhythm of the clinking boots seemed to deepen, as if driven by some unseen weight, each sound amplifying the sense of impending doom.

At that moment, my thoughts raced, my imagination running wild with possibilities. Who—or what—could be making their way down the hallway with such deliberate purpose? And what did it mean for me, trapped here in this cold, dark cell?

As the clinking footsteps drew nearer, my heart pounded louder in my chest, each beat a drumming crescendo of anticipation. Suddenly, a faint glow of torchlight broke the darkness at the far end of the hallway. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating the corridor with an eerie, amber hue.

I watched, breath caught in my throat, as the torchbearer approached. The light grew brighter with each step, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to stretch and reach toward me like ghostly fingers.

With a sense of both relief and trepidation, I realized that the torchbearer was not alone. Behind the dancing flames, I could make out the silhouette of a figure, their features obscured by the flickering light. The clinking of their boots against the stone floor echoed in the corridor, punctuated by the occasional crackle of burning wood.

As they drew closer, the glow of the torchlight revealed the figure to be a guard, his covered in shadows but I could make out a face set in a stern expression. His eyes scanned the hallway with a watchful gaze, his grip tight on the torch as if ready to defend against any threat that might emerge from the shadows.

As the figure approached, the glow of the torchlight revealed his identity: it wasn't just a random guard, but the general himself. My breath caught in my throat as he walked past my cell, his presence commanding the attention of the entire corridor.

Stopping abruptly, he turned around and crouched down to make eye contact with me. His piercing gaze bore into mine, a mixture of authority and curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

"I am here to talk," he said in a deep bass a voice that resonated with power and authority.

I couldn't help but offer a heated response, my nerves tingling with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. "Let me check my calendar. Oh, it looks like I'm not going anywhere," I retorted, my voice laced with sarcasm.

The general's expression softened slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Very well," he said, his tone more measured now. "Then we'll talk right here, right now."

And with that, the general settled into a more comfortable position outside my cell, ready to engage in a conversation that could change the course of my fate.