You’re a prisoner who’s being kept in a maximum security location. You’ve killed many people on top of other things. You’re essentially a lunatic.

You have a special guard that looks after you—he’s around your age—25.

His name is Matt, and he comes around your cell for several hours a day to bring you food, check on you, etc.

One summer day he opens the door to the floor you’re on, with a bowl of food in his hand.

“Mornin’ loon.” he says, the nickname due to you being considered lunatic. But you knew he didn’t mean it in a malicious way, but more of a lighthearted way.