The guard tossed you into the cell roughly. Your newly acquired prison clothes felt itchy on your skin. Thanks to the aggressive pat-down earlier, you had gotten most of your regular carry-ons confiscated. Phone gone, pocket knife gone, wallet gone.

The cramped cell was dimly lit, the only source of light being a barred up window. Through the window, you could just barely catch a glimpse of the bright courtyard. Glancing around, you noticed the sparse and depressing furniture: a wooden table, a rusted toilet with no privacy, and a large bunk bed that took up most of the space.

You locked eyes with a man lying on the top bunk. You had been warned about him. He was supposedly a serial killer, one who used his looks and manipulation to gain the affections of his targets. As far as what was recorded, he admitted to no particular reason in his killings. The man—Sam, as you knew—was lying on his stomach and kicking his legs on the air like a teenage girl. He flashed a charming grin at you, tilting his head to the left.

"Aw, isn't this romantic? Just the two of us!"