"Honestly, I'm the kind of guy who can't go if someone's watching. Can you guys turn around?"
"Oh, really?" Igula glanced over, the corners of his mouth curling into a slight smirk. "I see. That explains a lot."
"Ugh, you're the worst!" Ash snapped before slamming the stall door shut behind him.
Ronna surveyed the restroom, his expression a mix of curiosity and confusion. "What's so special about this restroom that it caught the Conman's interest?"
"This restroom is no different from any other," Igula replied, rinsing his hands casually and wiping them on his shirt. "What makes it unique is that it serves as the perfect medium for deceiving the chips implanted in us."
Seeing the perplexed looks on their faces, Igula elaborated. "Perhaps you know I was a contract broker in the insurance business before I was imprisoned. Of course, my duties weren't just limited to writing up agreements. Selling policies was part of the job too. And when I wasn't selling insurance, I was dabbling in other commodities. A man's got to make a living, right? I was essentially working several jobs at once."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "That sounds oddly admirable for you. So why'd you get thrown in here?"
Igula sighed. "I still don't understand it myself. I simply helped my clients find products they genuinely wanted, yet somehow that got me convicted of a particularly egregious case of fraud."
Ronna interjected, "If I recall correctly, your most infamous 'deal' was convincing a billionaire to spend his entire fortune on a single glass of water."
"One glass? Just plain water?"
"Hardly plain. That water was the elixir of life, the cradle of all existence, the divine medium of miracles…"
Ash rolled his eyes. "Got it. You're one of those people who could ace the classic 'sell me this pen' interview question. Now let's focus—how do we use the restroom to trick the chips?"
Igula smirked. "Among the products I handled was a life-monitoring device. It worked by reading the signals emitted by miracle chips, analyzing the wearer's physical state. The device wasn't the interesting part. The revelation came when I discovered the chips themselves don't emit signals continuously. Instead, there's a default interval of 600 seconds—ten minutes."
"That interval can be adjusted, but the higher the frequency, the more demanding it is on the receiving device. For example, the premium model I sold could handle signals every five seconds, and even without a price markup, that thing cost a fortune."
"In Shattered Lake Prison, the chip processors monitoring our vital signs are undoubtedly military-grade. But even then, the prison wouldn't waste resources on continuous signals. The chips are primarily there to keep us confined. The interval only changes in specific circumstances—like if we suddenly drop dead."
Ash nodded, the puzzle pieces starting to come together. "And the only time the chips send continuous signals is during deathmatches, right? So they can immediately disable attack restrictions if someone's knocked out or killed."
"Exactly," Igula confirmed. "This shows that the chip's signal interval can adapt to circumstances, which is critical information for what we're planning."
"Fascinating," Ash admitted, though he still didn't see how it all connected. "But what does this have to do with escaping?"
Igula leaned closer, his tone dropping. "Suppose you disable your chip. The moment it stops emitting signals, what do you think the processors will assume? Remember—even a corpse sends signals."
Ash's eyes widened. "They'll detect the chip's removal and immediately trigger an escape alert!"
"Correct. But here's the thing: we must remove the chips to escape. Without doing so, we can't even step off the island."
Ash recalled the yellow line painted near the docks, marked with the polite warning: "Please do not cross the line."
Though phrased as a request, for inmates, that line was an unbreakable boundary. The moment any part of their body crossed it, their movements would seize entirely.
Igula continued, "Between the moment we disable the chips and the moment the processors detect our absence, we'll have a brief window of total freedom. During that time, the prison won't even know we've made our move."
"Ah," Ash said, nodding. "That time gap is our golden ticket."
"It's the most critical element of our escape plan. And so far, I've only been able to theorize. We'll have to hope the signal interval remains at the default ten minutes."
Ronna crossed his arms. "Still, your research is impressive. I thought this whole scheme was absurd, but Igula, you've actually given me hope."
Even Ronald, usually silent and detached, nodded along with a glimmer of renewed resolve.
Ash grinned. "Not bad. Gotta admit, you picked a good team leader. So, uh… back to the restroom. What exactly is it for?"
Igula rolled his eyes. "Restrooms are for relieving yourself, genius. Unless you're suggesting we eat in here?"
"Focus, please," Ash said dryly.
Igula smirked and launched into his explanation. "We know we can exploit the chip's signal intervals, but here's the problem: how do we determine when the last signal was sent? Not all inmates transmit signals simultaneously—that would overload the system. Instead, the intervals are staggered across the population."
He raised two fingers. "There are three locations in the prison where the processors adjust the signal intervals to 'real-time.' The first is the deathmatch arena. When the fight begins, the chips lift attack restrictions. When it ends, those restrictions are reinstated. Both events require an immediate signal to the processors."
Ash nodded, finally understanding. "So you can reset your interval by participating in a match. Got it."
"Yes, but fights are life-or-death," Igula pointed out. "The second location is much safer—and that's here, the restroom."
Ash blinked. "The restroom?"
Igula grinned. "The prison doesn't allow inmates to relieve themselves anywhere but designated facilities. Every time you enter a restroom, the processors temporarily lift your 'elimination restrictions.'"
Ronna chuckled, the absurdity sinking in. "So even this strict rule ends up helping us escape?"
"Exactly," Igula said, his voice laced with satisfaction. "In their attempt to control every aspect of our lives, the prison unwittingly gave us a loophole."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "And the third location?"
Igula glanced at Ronna, who replied with a wry smile. "The couples' rooms."
Like the restroom, the couples' rooms temporarily lifted certain restrictions—albeit for very different reasons.
"Yeah, no thanks," Ash muttered. "You're not dragging me into one of those with you, Igula."
Igula leaned against the wall, smirking. "Well, you now know the critical pieces of our plan. Let's move forward."
"What about a fifth teammate?" Ash asked. "We still need someone for support—mobility, healing, that kind of thing."
"We've looked," Igula said, shaking his head. "But time's running out. We can't afford to wait any longer. Besides…" He fixed Ash with a knowing look. "Can you afford to wait?"
Ash sighed. He knew Igula was right. Staying in Shattered Lake Prison meant staying under the thumb of Professor Sheerin—and he had no intention of letting that continue.
"Alright," Igula declared, sketching a small boat on the mirror with his damp fingers. "The plan is simple: sneak onto the transport ship and sail away. But to board the ship, we'll need to remove our chips and have legitimate identities."
He drew a crude crow's mask next to the boat.
"And who better to impersonate than the weakest group in this prison?"
Ash squinted at the mask. "The medics?"
Igula nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Exactly. The weak, expendable medics."