Seven floors underground, the lift doors opened. Harmanda Barriere strode down a dimly-lit corridor and stopped at cell 612.

“Mason,” she barked.

The prisoner lay back on his bunk, hands folded behind his head. Another pair of hands toyed listlessly with a Rubik’s Cube. A third pair were bench-pressing four hundred pounds. The remaining hands were knitting a pair of bedsocks for his Aunt Phyllis in Maine.

“Mason,” she repeated, a little louder. She rapped on the bars with her clipboard. “C’mon, I don’t have all day here.”

The prisoner didn’t move. “Maybe you don’t.”

“Funny,” said Harmanda, though her scowl didn’t agree. She stole a glance back up the corridor. “Now listen up, ’cause I’m going to make you a proposal.”

He laid down the Cube, the barbell, the bedsocks. “And what makes you think I’ll be interested?”

“Oh, I know you’ll be interested. Just tell me, are you ready to make your country proud?”

Professor Manyarms sat up.

interesting.