chlorine burn in her nose and the warmth on her face and the sweet orange juice and bracing Absolut in her mouth…
“The hell is she doing?” Hardie asked.
“Absolutely mental, isn’t she?” Victor said. “I’m telling you. Keep your distance from that one. We call her Fatale, for obvious reasons.”
The smile didn’t last long. Whiskey unclipped something from her belt and sprayed something into Prisoner Two’s face that made her recoil.
The mace.
Yeah, that was the painful part of her little game. It sealed her eyes instantly and went to work on the pores of her skin, burning little trails that felt like they bored all the way to her skull. She choked down a scream; she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. They snapped her photo like that, her face a rictus of pain. That didn’t matter, though.
Her mask was off. And it would stay off for a while. A half victory.
The other half would come later.
Just as there was on the other side, there was an empty cell between the two prisoners. While Two curled up into a ball, hands on her face, Whiskey and Yankee moved down to the last prisoner.
“And there’s Prisoner Three. An absolute nightmare.”
The figure in the cell was a fearsome-looking bruiser type, even with the mask on. Tattoos of black bones ran up his arms and legs, as if he were the Visible Man from biology class. He had biceps enough to easily snap a neck. Thighs, too, for that matter. The inked-up monster was sitting on the floor of his cell, arms crossed, feet flat on the floor, and his knees locked together.
“Christ,” Hardie muttered. “What’s he in for?”
“Haven’t you been listening? They don’t tell us. Doesn’t matter. This one’s been trouble from the beginning. We usually have to shock him into submission just to get him to do something simple, like take a dump.”
“Shock him?”
“The metal floors of the cells are electrified, and we carry these bad boys,” Victor said, tapping the baton strapped to his belt.
“Doesn’t this guy have a cute nickname or anything?”
Victor made a sour face. “The word cute doesn’t even apply.”
Outside, Yankee and Whiskey prepared their routine. “Prisoner Three. Back against the bars.” Prisoner Three didn’t stir.
“Come on,” Yankee said. “Let’s not do this again. It always ends the same way. You know this.”
No response.
“Oh, so wanker’s being stubborn again, is he?” Victor muttered. “Showing off for the new warden. Well, he wants to play it this way, fine.”
Victor stabbed a blue button. Static popped. “Guards, stand clear.” His voice boomed throughout the facility. Yankee and Whiskey nodded and took three giant steps backward, as if playing a schoolyard game. Victor stabbed the next button in the row—a big red one.
ZZZZZZZZZZAT.
First you heard the shrieks, followed by the jerky movements of their bodies. Hardie could almost could smell the ozone and singed flesh. Prisoner Two had lost her Zen and was screaming in pain. Same with Prisoner Three. They seemed to want to do anything, anything at all, to avoid contact with the floor—which clearly was the source of the electrical shocks. Prisoner Three was shouting something—“All right! All right!”—but it was hard to tell over the screaming of the other prisoners.
“Goddamn it, that’s enough,” Hardie said.
“No, it’s not.”
Hardie balanced his weight on the cane and lunged out for Victor’s hand. He whipped it up and away before contact could be made.
“Don’t ever do that,” Victor said. “ Ever. All due respect, you don’t know how to handle these monsters. Show of mercy like that will get your shit twisted up down here.”
“You like torturing people? Is that it?”
“Hey, they know the rules, and they know they are expected to follow the rules. All our punishments are nonlethal. If one refuses, all will be punished. Leverage is the only thing that seems to work. They can take almost anything
“The hell is she doing?” Hardie asked.
“Absolutely mental, isn’t she?” Victor said. “I’m telling you. Keep your distance from that one. We call her Fatale, for obvious reasons.”
The smile didn’t last long. Whiskey unclipped something from her belt and sprayed something into Prisoner Two’s face that made her recoil.
The mace.
Yeah, that was the painful part of her little game. It sealed her eyes instantly and went to work on the pores of her skin, burning little trails that felt like they bored all the way to her skull. She choked down a scream; she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. They snapped her photo like that, her face a rictus of pain. That didn’t matter, though.
Her mask was off. And it would stay off for a while. A half victory.
The other half would come later.
Just as there was on the other side, there was an empty cell between the two prisoners. While Two curled up into a ball, hands on her face, Whiskey and Yankee moved down to the last prisoner.
“And there’s Prisoner Three. An absolute nightmare.”
The figure in the cell was a fearsome-looking bruiser type, even with the mask on. Tattoos of black bones ran up his arms and legs, as if he were the Visible Man from biology class. He had biceps enough to easily snap a neck. Thighs, too, for that matter. The inked-up monster was sitting on the floor of his cell, arms crossed, feet flat on the floor, and his knees locked together.
“Christ,” Hardie muttered. “What’s he in for?”
“Haven’t you been listening? They don’t tell us. Doesn’t matter. This one’s been trouble from the beginning. We usually have to shock him into submission just to get him to do something simple, like take a dump.”
“Shock him?”
“The metal floors of the cells are electrified, and we carry these bad boys,” Victor said, tapping the baton strapped to his belt.
“Doesn’t this guy have a cute nickname or anything?”
Victor made a sour face. “The word cute doesn’t even apply.”
Outside, Yankee and Whiskey prepared their routine. “Prisoner Three. Back against the bars.” Prisoner Three didn’t stir.
“Come on,” Yankee said. “Let’s not do this again. It always ends the same way. You know this.”
No response.
“Oh, so wanker’s being stubborn again, is he?” Victor muttered. “Showing off for the new warden. Well, he wants to play it this way, fine.”
Victor stabbed a blue button. Static popped. “Guards, stand clear.” His voice boomed throughout the facility. Yankee and Whiskey nodded and took three giant steps backward, as if playing a schoolyard game. Victor stabbed the next button in the row—a big red one.
ZZZZZZZZZZAT.
First you heard the shrieks, followed by the jerky movements of their bodies. Hardie could almost could smell the ozone and singed flesh. Prisoner Two had lost her Zen and was screaming in pain. Same with Prisoner Three. They seemed to want to do anything, anything at all, to avoid contact with the floor—which clearly was the source of the electrical shocks. Prisoner Three was shouting something—“All right! All right!”—but it was hard to tell over the screaming of the other prisoners.
“Goddamn it, that’s enough,” Hardie said.
“No, it’s not.”
Hardie balanced his weight on the cane and lunged out for Victor’s hand. He whipped it up and away before contact could be made.
“Don’t ever do that,” Victor said. “ Ever. All due respect, you don’t know how to handle these monsters. Show of mercy like that will get your shit twisted up down here.”
“You like torturing people? Is that it?”
“Hey, they know the rules, and they know they are expected to follow the rules. All our punishments are nonlethal. If one refuses, all will be punished. Leverage is the only thing that seems to work. They can take almost anything
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