11:37, deep into the night.
In the guards' break room of the remote-suburbs prison, Pero was sitting alone by the window, his gaze lazily drifting over the night sky, sleep eluding him.
The room was steeped in darkness, with only the moonlight feeble against the gloom. The room itself was starkly bare; apart from a few wooden beds, there was only a table and a few chairs remaining. Perhaps because of the hurried evacuation, the guards had left behind numerous personal belongings.
Cigarette packs, novels, professional books, magazines featuring provocative cover girls, and emptied cases of long gone compact discs were scattered around. They served as a grim testament to the mundane and dreary lives of the distant suburban prison's guards.
A knock on the door disrupted the silence.
