It started that summer

A Broken Bat

As I exhaled, wisps of smoke fell down from my parted lips, snaking their way past my chin before fading into the air. I flicked the cigarette onto the ground, where its red-orange ember died beneath my shoe. Adjusting my hat, I slipped into the stolen worker's uniform and approached the building, badge in hand. The tired guard nodded and unlocked the gate, letting me through.

I headed to the break room, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The room smelled of old coffee and stale air. A worker slumped in his chair, sighed, and grumbled, "I don't get paid enough for this."

"They're just—" The conversation stopped as they noticed me. Nervously shifting, one of them continued, "—just need a lot of therapy," taking a bite of his sandwich.

I closed the door and rummaged through the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. Turning back to them, I said, "Hey, your secret is safe with me. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," one replied, scratching his brown beard. "Rough day?"

"Rough life," I shrugged.

"No kidding, especially working here. I'm Sam, and this bozo is Jake," he said, pointing to his friend.

"Nice to meet you, Adam!" Jake said, reading my name tag. "Nice to meet you too!"

Sam offered me a bag of chips. "Which floor are you on? I don't think I've seen you around."

"Usually four, but tonight I'm covering floor five. What about you?"

"That's our floor, but we're stationed in the front," Sam said.

"What's it like there?" I asked, popping a chip in my mouth. They exchanged serious glances.

"Pretty grim," Sam said with a strained smile. "Our floor holds some notorious inmates—"

Jake cut him off. "The devil himself is in the back room. He's batshit crazy. We hear his demonic laughter from the front. Honestly, I don't get why we don't have the death penalty. Batman's great, my kids love him, but that thing back there should have been executed a long time ago."

"You didn't have to say that," Sam said, folding his arms. "What do you think, Adam?"

I set down my chips. "What do I think? No one's ever asked me that," I chuckled. "I think Jake's right. I've never understood it either. My dad and I argue about it all the time. That piece of human waste has caused so much suffering."

Sam ran a hand through his floppy blonde hair. "Yeah, no kidding." Glancing at his watch, he added, "Shoot, we're gonna be late. Nice meeting you, Adam. You should clean up that cut on your cheek. It looks pretty bad."

Jake grabbed a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet. "All the medical supplies are in here. I'll catch up with you later."

"Nice meeting you," I waved as they left. The door slammed shut behind them, and I dropped my head onto the table, groaning in pain. I shifted my shoulder, wincing. "Damn, that staple gun I swiped from the clerk is no replacement for Alfred's stitching." I emptied the box I had brought with me and adjusted my name tag.

I walked to the elevator, a guard peered out from his watch station. "I'm delivering some meds," I said, flashing my badge and the box. He gave a nod and let me through. I moved towards the elevator, each step feeling like a weight pulling me down. Exhaustion pressed on me, and I adjusted my collar as I took a deep, shuddering breath. My fear had sharpened into a cold, relentless anger. As the elevator doors finally opened, I moved toward the glass panel, my hands trembling slightly as I pulled out Tim's hacking device. With a few swipes, the alarm system triggered, sending staff scrambling toward the front. Below me, minor criminals were let out of their cells on the first floor—a small inconvenience for finally confronting this lunatic. I tossed the device aside, my heart pounding louder than the blaring alarms, and tapped on the glass.