The view through the bars was dismal. It was a dimly lit, gray, concrete room with a steel security door directly across from the cell. It was cold, and it was humid, and Keith desperately wanted out. The instrumental rendition of Jonathon Coulton’s Code Monkey playing in the background didn’t relax him. Unfortunately, the cage he was in was locked, and, despite his best efforts, the steel padlock remained immune to his feeble attempts to open it with the paper clip that he had found in the mess of discarded memos, computer print outs and straw that covered the floor. He instinctively knew that he if he didn’t open the door soon, some dire fate would befall him, but he couldn’t imagine what it might be.