Sadly, this chapter does not have the actual Frank Oz in it

“7474505-B.”

“What wing?”

“Maximum wing, block nine.”

“Standard release?”

“No. Special orders from Warden Brighton.”

“Gimme a minute.” The disgruntled worker slowly lifted the window separating him from John and the two guards before walking into the backrooms, searching for the box that John’s things had been put into. Moira said she would rejoin John once he finished getting processed and freed from the prison, and would in the meantime call up her father to discuss the deal that had been reached. John, meanwhile, got to enjoy the bureaucracy of the Order’s prison along with the strange feeling that he was about to go onto a mission from God.

No idea where that feeling came from.

John walked up to the window that the disgruntled employee had just opened, tapping his fingers on the table attached to it while he awaited the return of his items. The employee returned with a pair of boxes, but upon seeing John so close, quickly gave the other guards a look who were quick to pull John back behind the yellow line that he had never noticed being there. The employee opened up one of the boxes, and began pulling items out whilst going through a list he had in his other hand.

“One cellular phone, with one case, black.” He took out John’s cellphone, placing it next to the box before reaching back in.

“One timex digital watch, broken.” John really should have gotten that watch fixed before he got into jail.

“One unused prophylactic.” The worker gave a look of disgust, pulling out an old pen and picking up the next item without touching it. “One soiled.”

Whoops. John had bought those as a safety measure before he realized that he had a setting in his menu to turn off his own fertility. Looks like he had forgotten to take one of them out of his pocket after use.

“Tennis shoes, black. Belt, black. One black windbreaker. One red graphic t-shirt. One pair of blue jeans, slightly damaged. One pair of brass seeing eye glasses, magically inscribed to read other languages.” The employee pulled out from beneath the desk John’s training blade, still in its scabbard. “One short sword, steel with a brown leather handle, and scabbard.” Finally he pulled out a small envelope. “Twenty three dollars and seven cents.” Loot John had found during the battle that he forgot to just put away in his inventory. The employee turned the clipboard to face John, and with an overly fake cheery tone, said “Sign here.”

John leaned forward, almost at a forty five degree angle, quickly scratching his name onto the paper.

“Congratulations, Mr. Newman,” the employee said with almost no emotion, “you’re free.”

_________________________________________________________________________

The sound of his shackles hitting the ground was, perhaps, one of the most glorious sounds that John had ever heard.

Now he wouldn’t say it was the best sound. That would either go to hearing Talia sleepily murmuring “I love you” before they went to sleep one night or the sound of Mavis laughing to one of his kinda stupid but funny jokes. But still, hearing the sharp metallic clang of his shackles hitting the concrete floor was almost melodious. It was the final symbol.

He was truly free.

There was a small part of him that desperately wanted to turn around and cast Surtr: The Fires of Ragnarok at the prison. Sure, it would incinerate him as he did not have nearly enough mana nor health to hardcast it, but it would be so worth it. To get rid of the place that he thought he would be trapped in forever, never to see Talia or Mavis or his mom ever again…

It would be worth the ****.

He could feel his fingers twitch, the mana surging through his body. Just as he began to raise his arm, to maybe cast just a basic Kenaz for the sake of closure, he heard a small cough behind him. He turned, and standing next to him was Moira with a look of both concern and guilt on her face.

“John? You… you okay there? You’ve been staring at the prison for… a while.”

John sighed, “I… I don’t think I am, Moira.”

Moira nodded, averting her gaze. “That’s fair. I-I read a bit more of your file while you were getting released. I… I…” She took in a deep breath before straightening her posture and staring straight at John, almost like a soldier giving a debriefing. “I AM SO SORRY!”

“...What?”

“Lady above, John, I am so sorry for what happened to you in there!” she said, her eyes starting to become glassy with tears. “I tend to stay out of the business of the prisons, as I have plenty to worry about with school and being the Warden of the Golden Rose. But I had no idea that they were so… disturbed in there! I mean, they treated you like a lab rat! Like they were villains straight out of a Holocaust movie!”

She continued to babble on and on, saying things like how she was going to go to her father about this and have the warden removed, and how this was no way to treat people, but John didn’t hear any of it. He was just standing there, and looked at her.

Well, looked is the wrong phrase in this instance. He looked at her when he was brought into the interrogation room with her, he looked at her when they fought a month ago, he looked at her when he surrendered in an attempt to end the fight with no fatalities and explain himself, only to be locked away with no final message to his compatriots.

No, this time he really focused on her. He tried to look past the Order and see the woman who stood before him, a fellow student of Ashcroft who probably was no different than him when in that hell-like building. Someone who was probably bored during Enklemen’s lectures, someone who hated the homework that Mrs. Wesling gave, someone who looked forward to the weekends as it would mean a brief moment of freedom before returning to Ashcroft’s halls.

When they had talked in that room, John thought of her as the Order, just another person who would represent the hell of a month he just lived through. A person who could represent all the evils and twisted ways of a religious cult.

Now, he saw a young woman who was trying to embody the good of her religion. He saw a fellow student who upheld morals.

He saw… Moira.

Without even thinking, John dashed forward, wrapping his arms around her. He could feel her freeze at his touch, but after a few moments, her own arms came to softly hug him back. As they stood there, hugging one another, John recalled a talk he had with another member of the Abyss, before the day he got arrested.

_______________________________________________________________________

“The first thing you must know, John, is that you cannot trust anyone in the Abyss.”

“Said the man from the Abyss.” John said, crossing his arms as he stood in Mr. Enklemen’s personal training arena. Turns out that the man was actually as old as he seemed to look, being the solid age of 400, but that look was only a disguise. In reality he was a mage in the employment of Mrs. Wentworth, or at least he had been in her employment for the past century or so. He was an illusionary mage, and apparently had gone to Wentworth many many years ago wanting to prolong his life. Then a hundred years ago, she came to collect on his debt to her, and he had yet to be released from her services.

“I know the irony of the situation, John, and the message still applies to me. Sure, I am helping you out now,” he walked over to a small weapons rack, pulling a pair of swords off, “but that doesn’t mean you can or should always trust me.”

“Why? Is it not in the self interests of everyone to cooperate? To extend a hand of trust and gain the same in turn?”

Enklemen chuckled, tossing John one of the blades. “John, have you ever heard of the prisoner’s dilemma?”

“I think we are covering that in a few weeks in Ethics class,” John said, giving the blade a few practice swings to get a feel for the weight. He figured it would be best to leave Mavis at home for these training sessions, as he was not keen on explaining to his teacher why he had a legendary blade with him yet such a lack in overall skill.

“Well, allow me to give you a headstart on that lesson. The dilemma is as follows.” He took the tip of his sword and drew a pair of stick figures in the sand beneath them. “Two men are placed in jail for a crime, but the officer has no idea who actually committed it between the two of them. Each of them is offered a deal, which they both know about. They can either remain silent or confess to the crime. If both of them remain silent, they will both receive a year in jail. If one rats the other out, the one who squealed will be set free, while the one that remained silent will stay in jail for twenty years. However, if both of them rat each other out, both will have to remain in jail for five years.”

“Okay… so apparently in this system justice is confusing, but what does this have to do with the Abyss?” John asked, looking at the infographic that Enklemen had drawn into the sand, which looked an awful lot like a Punnett square.

“Well, the dilemma is that they cannot discuss their decision beforehand, but they must make a choice. Now, based upon the possible outcomes, what is the best choice for them to make?”

“Both staying silent.”

“No, that’s the best overall. But in the short term, not thinking about what the consequences will be in 20 years time, the best possible outcome is just one of them squealing as it means they get to go free.”

“But if they both squeal, they both get five years.”

“Yes, but squealing can get them either five years or zero years in jail, with a chance at the best possible outcome. Staying silent may get them the worst possible outcome of twenty, and a still bad outcome of a year. It is in their best interests, thinking in the short term, to squeal as it has the chance to get them the best possible outcome or a slightly bad outcome.”

“So… the Abyss works like this?”

“Yes, but on a tenfold scale. Because mages are able to live so long, the “short term” for us is a helluva lot longer than that for mundanes, so the short term profits we get at the expense of others will be for decades, or even hundreds of years. The long term profits, the ones that the prisoners would get if they both stay silent, won’t be for millenia, and most mages don’t see a point in caring about that. So, when faced with any situation that can profit them now or profit everyone in a long term sense, the mages of the Abyss almost always choose to profit now, which means they will probably do things that directly harm you.”

“But…. they could do so much good-”

“Doesn’t matter. The short term benefits they get last the same amount of time that the long term benefits did in a mundane life. Mages would rather be a god for 300 years than see a better society built at their expense if that society wont come about for another 1500 years.”

“But… why are you-”

“Because, John,” Enklemen lifted the sword and took a stance, indicating that practice was about to begin, “you are an idealist. You are the man who sees the long term benefits and works towards that. But as long as everyone around you wants to take the short term benefits, you will face only the worst possible outcomes. Now, let’s begin.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

He had previously thought Enklemen was correct. After all, both the Scarlet Hand and the Order were quick to use and **** John. Maybe this was just the way the Abyss worked. Sure, Mavis and Talia were different, but the Council was not.

But now… he remembered the way that Talia’s parents treated him. He remembered Markas, the council member who stood up for him. He remembered Odin, Heimdallr, and even Baron Samedi from his vision all advocating for his best interests.

And now, Moira, who proved that there was some good in the Order after all.

“Thank you, Moira.”

She looked up at him, and for a brief moment John was lost in how beautiful the redhead was. “What for?”

John gave her a smile, placing a light kiss on her forehead.