Duration: 2:04

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The prison was old, its foundation cut into the sheer rock of the cliff by Roman hands. From there, brick by brick, generations of despots and petty warlords had filled it and staffed its walls with guards. The modern version wore starched white shirts, dark pants and badges — across their chests, submachine guns rested on leather straps. Mealtime, which came once a day, happened in the yard. The porcine, unwashed criminals who slept four to cell stood in line still wrapped in their burlap blankets - dusting the bottoms of their bedclothes with mud. It was Spring, technically — which meant rain instead of snow. On this particular day it fell in an anemic drizzle.

Midway through the line, trying to pass unnoticed, was the prison's present curiosity — a small, compact American. He kept his face hooded by the cover which he wore. Behind him was a rotund Chinese, one-eyed and unpatched, with a mouth full of broken, jagged teeth. For whatever reason — maybe the line was taking longer than usual — the gross oriental chose this moment to make a move.

"Hey! Scum!" barked the Chinese. The American turned, intense eyes peering from the shadow of his makeshift cloak. He didn't say a word. "This is hell," said his opponent, licking the rubble of his incisors. "And I am the devil."

"No," replied the little man. "You're MLPfan99." He produced a smartphone from the folds of his filthy covering, revealing a perfectly crafted doxx revealing that the Chinese gangster loved the original my little pony, wrote erotic Doctor Who fic and was in jail for pirating japanese porno comics. He even had pics of the criminal's small, left-leaning dick, which all the other crooks laughed at. "You're not the devil," said the American, as his foe reacted to being fatally burned. "You're practice."

Old Jong had been in the place sixty years, and never seen anything like it. When the furor died, he approached the American — who ate alone at the grassy foot of a guard tower, doing sick muy-thai moves between bites. "What would make a man like you come to a place ... like this?" the old man asked, his english halting.

The little man's eyes grew distant, and his mouth became a thin, grim line. "I got owned pretty bad," he said. He did a few cool moves. "Bingo was involved."