Sureity

“Okay, but, just hear me out maybe?” Lance wriggled nervously beside her, like some kind of nervous worm sensing the ominous proximity of some great beak. “Do we know, for a fact, that fifteen years of prison is really so bad?”

“We do.”

“But how can we know? How can we know anything?” Lance gestured dramatically at the wooden structures surrounding them, the shops and saloons that filled their view for blocks in every direction like some gaudy rustic theme park. “This could all be a simulation, after all. It would explain so much. Like why anyone would choose to live here.”

“It’s not.”

“But you can’t be sure, is my point. And if you can’t be sure, how could you be sure that prison is really so bad? And how can you be sure that Dianne will be able to help you, and not just, you know…” he made a jerking motion, pantomiming hanging himself with a squirk.

“I’m sure.”

Lance continued to choke on his imaginary noose for a few seconds, while she stood motionless beside him, studying the building. Finally satisfied, she strode in confidently, pushing the swinging doors wide and disappearing into the dim interior.

Lance slowly dropped his hands to his sides, and slumped.

“Yeah. You probably are.” He petulantly sighed as he followed his companion in like a man condemned.