with yours.”
Maximillia exhaled, looking down. “Thanks.”
The Angel Falls shuttle hovered in, flashing landing lights and a whooping siren announcing its arrival. Maximillia looked at Taryn and they shared another hug. “Keep in touch, okay? Be strong. For both of you,” Maximillia offered, glancing down at her budding belly.
“I will. You stay strong, too.”
The two friends giggled, their eyes welling up with tears. Sniffles followed, but there wasn’t time left for that.
“Prisoner, your shuttle has arrived,” Maximillia’s guard reminded.
The girls waved goodbye to each other as the guard escorted Maximillia through the shuttle’s open doors and helped her buckle in. She never took her eyes off of her friend; the two of them shar ed weak, hopeful smiles through the shuttle door’s plasma-glass window.
The door slid shut and the shuttle rose with a throbbing whine, barreling off into the sky. Maximillia would never see Taryn again.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Angel Falls Correctional Facility for Women had all the charisma of a cinderblock. It had the architectural design of a hospital but exuded the oppressively haunting vibe of a militaristic reeducation camp.
New inmates were forced to undergo a birth control procedure, completely temporary and reversible, but mandatory upon arrival, as well as undergoing an "ultra rapid" detoxification therapy for those who were hooked on whatever Mandra Bay and the outlying districts lured them into. Maximillia was technically still addicted to Gatekeeper, but by that point she'd been so saturated in the drink that it had lost much of its efficacy and she'd become numb to it. She still craved it from time to time but it was a diluted lust. Even still, she went through rapid detox and purged what little hungering she had for it, once and for all.
After the preliminary processing, Maximillia was finally introduced to her cell, which was an open bay living area with five other girls. They were largely low-threat D-level criminals whose transgressions involved public drunkenness, trespassing, public indecency and disturbing the peace. Regretful singular choices. Most of them wouldn’t be back inside. The conditions were cold and uninviting enough to scare them straight.
Mardo, Dom and most of her clientele at Xartha’s used to bombard Maximillia with compliments about her long, dark head of hair. It was a physical attribute of hers that they’d fetishized, one that had made her invaluably exotic. Her hair had absorbed gallons of semen from both humans and aliens. The mane that had attracted her so much attention had become a parasitic albatross. She had a love/hate relationship with it and had stopped brushing it months ago; it had become a tangled, bushy mess. Still beautiful, but dangerously so.
One of the first choices she made upon arriving at the facility was to visit the on-site hairdresser. She made the clinical decision to part with those thick tresses and had her head shaved. When she looked in the mirror for the first time and saw her shorn head, she had no regrets; she was liberated from that thing she was so wholly coveted for. It was an impediment she reveled in ridding herself of. She rubbed her bald head and a sense of celebratory liberty washed over her.
Not all of the girls were one-time visitors just itching to get rehabilitate themselves, get back into the world and become productive members of society, though. Some of the girls were irredeemably scarred. There were cliques, as there always are. Maximillia steered clear of most of them. They were attention-seeking, trouble-attracting vortices of mutual misery. Most of the girls in these cliques craved the lack of freedom and the tyrannical rule of the state’s ineffectual correctional programming. They didn’t want to be out. Angel Falls was their home. Maximillia had little in common with them.
Still, though, their interests bled over into hers and she had to deal with
Maximillia exhaled, looking down. “Thanks.”
The Angel Falls shuttle hovered in, flashing landing lights and a whooping siren announcing its arrival. Maximillia looked at Taryn and they shared another hug. “Keep in touch, okay? Be strong. For both of you,” Maximillia offered, glancing down at her budding belly.
“I will. You stay strong, too.”
The two friends giggled, their eyes welling up with tears. Sniffles followed, but there wasn’t time left for that.
“Prisoner, your shuttle has arrived,” Maximillia’s guard reminded.
The girls waved goodbye to each other as the guard escorted Maximillia through the shuttle’s open doors and helped her buckle in. She never took her eyes off of her friend; the two of them shar ed weak, hopeful smiles through the shuttle door’s plasma-glass window.
The door slid shut and the shuttle rose with a throbbing whine, barreling off into the sky. Maximillia would never see Taryn again.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Angel Falls Correctional Facility for Women had all the charisma of a cinderblock. It had the architectural design of a hospital but exuded the oppressively haunting vibe of a militaristic reeducation camp.
New inmates were forced to undergo a birth control procedure, completely temporary and reversible, but mandatory upon arrival, as well as undergoing an "ultra rapid" detoxification therapy for those who were hooked on whatever Mandra Bay and the outlying districts lured them into. Maximillia was technically still addicted to Gatekeeper, but by that point she'd been so saturated in the drink that it had lost much of its efficacy and she'd become numb to it. She still craved it from time to time but it was a diluted lust. Even still, she went through rapid detox and purged what little hungering she had for it, once and for all.
After the preliminary processing, Maximillia was finally introduced to her cell, which was an open bay living area with five other girls. They were largely low-threat D-level criminals whose transgressions involved public drunkenness, trespassing, public indecency and disturbing the peace. Regretful singular choices. Most of them wouldn’t be back inside. The conditions were cold and uninviting enough to scare them straight.
Mardo, Dom and most of her clientele at Xartha’s used to bombard Maximillia with compliments about her long, dark head of hair. It was a physical attribute of hers that they’d fetishized, one that had made her invaluably exotic. Her hair had absorbed gallons of semen from both humans and aliens. The mane that had attracted her so much attention had become a parasitic albatross. She had a love/hate relationship with it and had stopped brushing it months ago; it had become a tangled, bushy mess. Still beautiful, but dangerously so.
One of the first choices she made upon arriving at the facility was to visit the on-site hairdresser. She made the clinical decision to part with those thick tresses and had her head shaved. When she looked in the mirror for the first time and saw her shorn head, she had no regrets; she was liberated from that thing she was so wholly coveted for. It was an impediment she reveled in ridding herself of. She rubbed her bald head and a sense of celebratory liberty washed over her.
Not all of the girls were one-time visitors just itching to get rehabilitate themselves, get back into the world and become productive members of society, though. Some of the girls were irredeemably scarred. There were cliques, as there always are. Maximillia steered clear of most of them. They were attention-seeking, trouble-attracting vortices of mutual misery. Most of the girls in these cliques craved the lack of freedom and the tyrannical rule of the state’s ineffectual correctional programming. They didn’t want to be out. Angel Falls was their home. Maximillia had little in common with them.
Still, though, their interests bled over into hers and she had to deal with
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