The slammer was a depressing mixture of displeasing white and uncaring gray. In the last cell I found Professor Humphrey.
He jumped from his bunk and greeted me with wild eyes. "Jack!" he exclaimed. "Jack! Jack, I knew you would come!"
Why don't you first tell me why are they keeping you here and I'll bail you out," I proposed.
He squirmed in his wrinkled gray suit. "No, Jack, I called you because there's a favor I need to ask you. I ended up here trying to retrieve something that was stolen from me. A valuable historical artifact. And I need it back, badly."
My name is Jack Mills. This was going to become a long night.
9th place (out of 27) in the 13th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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