Annoying Prison Life
Marcela had entangled the high-ranking officials beautifully. How did I know? The dozens of armed police cruisers screaming after me were answer enough. The Doctor had surely slipped away by now. Time to let them take me.
I had been flooring the accelerator in my desperate flight, but I deliberately eased off the gas. An armored police car slid up beside me and—bang!—slammed into my flank with brutal force. The window exploded, spraying glass across my face. My neck whipped sideways as a bone-rattling shock tore through every inch of my body. Still, the seatbelt kept me from being flung out. Good thing people are supposed to wear those.
The car tumbled across the grassy shoulder two or three times before flipping onto its roof. Hanging upside-down in the driver’s seat, blood pouring from my face, I waited until the officers sprinted over and wrenched the door off its hinges. Then I played the part of a fugitive who had completely lost the will to fight.
Two cops hauled me out and slammed me face-first into the grass. Cold steel clicked around my wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
Watching the cop earnestly recite the Miranda warning almost made me laugh out loud. A lot of absurdities were coming my way now. No trial before being shipped to prison. Charges inflated to cartoonish proportions. The corrupt politicians at the top saw me as a thorn that needed removing.
But they couldn’t kill me. Marcela would make sure of that. She would rig the system so I ended up in a normal prison where I could rub shoulders with the general population.
“Hrrk…!” Blood spilled from my mouth, probably from ruptured tissue inside. My whole body felt bruised and stiff. A few bones had definitely snapped from the crash. Still, the Demon King’s body was already knitting itself back together.
They dragged me upright and shoved me into the back of a cruiser. I leaned my sweat-soaked head against the window and wondered exactly how many days it would take before I was behind bars. Time would tell. With that thought I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes.
The bureaucratic machinery moved with un-American swiftness where I was concerned. In just two days I was delivered to a maximum-security penitentiary for violent offenders. The process made no sense on the surface, but it made perfect sense underneath. Five different states wanted me gone as fast as humanly possible. Marcela’s invisible hand had obviously been at work.
The intelligence agent who came to interrogate me claimed I would await trial here. I didn’t believe a word of it, nor did I bother arguing. Ordinary people would have screamed about injustice, but for me this was ideal. The more unfairly I was treated, the more furious the Doctor would become.
Thud!
The transport bus jolted again and I frowned. The driver had been pulling this shit for the entire ride. Absolute garbage behind the wheel.
After staring out the window for what felt like hours, the Florida State Prison finally came into view. The walls were high enough to be called battlements. Gun-armed drones drifted along their tops while watchtowers bristled with guards. Exactly what a high-security facility should look like.
“Ughhh… fuck…! Fuck…!”
The inmate beside me stared at the prison and spat curses like a man wronged. The others wore the same expression—faces gone dead black. What were they pretending to be innocent about? Every last one of them was a serious felon. If they hadn’t wanted to end up here they shouldn’t have committed the crimes.
A few wore the dry, familiar look of veterans. Some even seemed excited, chests puffed with anticipation.
Soon the bus stopped at the entrance. The front gate opened and the waiting correctional officer unlocked the cage door. In a flat voice he ordered, “Any funny business and you’ll be turned into Swiss cheese. Stand up and get off.”
The prisoners rose with obvious reluctance. Most of them had already started sobbing. For hardened criminals to react like this, the place clearly lived up to its reputation.
How long until the Doctor comes?
If he was thinking about me he would visit as quickly as possible and start working to pull me out. Until then I would have to play the part of a man slowly being ground down.
After a body search that cheerfully violated every concept of human dignity, I changed into the shit-brown prison uniform. My inmate number was 7777. Couldn’t have been a more perfectly cursed number. I had been hoping for 4444… or at least the Western classic 1313. Prison really was no place for me.
“Next! Inmate 7777!”
I had been examining the outdated facility with curious eyes when the supply officer’s bark snapped me back to attention. The supplies I received amounted to exactly two rolls of toilet paper.
I stared in disbelief. “That’s it? The guy before me got a blanket.”
The officer, clearly used to these complaints, didn’t even glance at me while preparing the next roll.
“He bought it with commissary funds. You, 7777, have zero money in your account, so you’ve got nothing to buy with. Work for your cash or ask visitors to deposit money during visitation. And don’t expect even a scrap of toilet paper from me in the future.”
“What about a toothbrush and toothpaste?”
Clang! The baton slammed against the bars as the officer jerked his thumb for me to move on. I had wondered about the earlier commotion; apparently several inmates had lost their tempers at exactly this treatment. Looked like everything here had to be purchased from the commissary. No money meant sleeping on concrete and brushing your teeth with your finger.
The system was actually pretty solid. Giving criminals free supplies really would be a waste of taxpayer money.
With a small sigh I followed the officer and received my housing assignment: Section H.
Standing at the entrance with one other new arrival, I heard a loud beep! as the gate slid open. I surveyed the block. It was the three-tiered nightmare I had only seen in movies and TV. The long corridor stretched in one direction, designed so that inmates couldn’t even talk to the cells directly across from them.
I felt eyes crawling over every inch of me. The atmosphere was vicious.
The section looked like it held around two hundred men. Behind me came an audible gulp. My fellow newcomer was already terrified. He wouldn’t last long. I wished him luck surviving on his own.
The officer pressed his baton lightly into my back, so I stepped into Section H.
A sharp whistle cut the air. I turned and saw a massive Hispanic man in the end cell on the first floor licking his lips at me. Planning to tap my ass? Touch me and I’ll tear you apart.
My cell was at the far end of the second-floor walkway. Cell number 77. Prisoner number 7777, cell 77… today’s luck was absolute garbage.
“Good luck surviving,” the officer behind me sneered.
I half-turned. “Aren’t there any rules I should know?”
“Figure them out yourself.”
Charming. Not that I expected anything else.
The officer shouted toward the control room to open cell 77. A softer beep sounded. The bars slid back. The officer who had prodded me gave a sly grin and locked the gate behind me. His expression said he expected me to break quickly. If I had been human, he would have been right. But I was not human anymore.
This was going to be a very entertaining prison stay.
The cell contained a bunk bed, a sink, and a toilet. That was all. In the stale, sour-smelling air, my roommate waited. A white man in his late twenties watched me with curious, predatory eyes. He was bigger and more muscular than I was. The moment the door clanged shut and the officer walked away, he stood and offered his hand.
“Name’s Jacob. Jacob Pope.”
I shook it. “Alex Song.”
“Asian?”
“That’s right.”
Jacob grinned. Asians were not a common sight in American prisons. During faction-forming they were the race that fit nowhere and got pushed aside. Disrespect was the default, and if there were any homosexuals around, Asians were their first targets. Of course, that only applied if you couldn’t take care of yourself.
“You’re good-looking,” Jacob said.
He had already marked me as prey. The lecherous glint in his eyes made it obvious. I scanned the cell. No cameras. Interesting. I had expected a felon supermax to have zero regard for human rights, but apparently not.
“Manslaughter? Or fraud?” Jacob asked. The very question dripped with contempt.
I shrugged. “Who knows.”
“First time inside?”
“Yeah.”
“How long they give you?”
“Never had a trial, so I wouldn’t know.”
Jacob snorted. “They sent you here without a trial? Not even county jail?”
“Doesn’t make sense to me either.”
“Sure, sure. That can happen.”
He was convinced I was lying. I had heard that people who committed the most despised crimes—especially the kind that got you targeted even inside prison—never wanted to reveal their charges. Jacob clearly thought I was one of those.
The man who had stayed relaxed the entire time continued, “I’ve been here nine years.”
“Long time.”
“This place is hell. Guards only care about bribes. Pay enough and you get minimal protection. If you don’t…”
“They won’t give a shit what happens to me. That about right?”
“Quick learner.”
Jacob studied me with the eyes of a viper. Since my only supplies were two rolls of toilet paper, he obviously assumed I was broke.
I kept my friendliest smile. “So what happens if a guy with zero money hurts someone?”
“If the person you hurt was paying protection to the guards or one of the big factions, you become a retaliation target.”
“Really? You paying protection right now?”
“I’m the one collecting it.”
“Ah…” So he was one of the powers in here.
“How do you pay protection?” I asked.
“Other factions take tradable goods. Me? I’m a little different. I take goods… and services.”
“Services?”
“You know. Sexual favors. You look soft-hearted. Be good to me and I’ll make sure nobody touches you. You’ll live comfortably.”
“So you want me to be your pet dog?”
Jacob’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “Saying it that blunt is embarrassing. But yeah. Want to be my pet?”
This fucking piece of shit. Prisoner number 7777, cell 77, and now a roommate giving me bedroom eyes in that effeminate voice while being gay… today really was the unluckiest day imaginable.
Verdict: death penalty.
I cracked my neck left and right, then exploded forward and slammed Jacob to the floor.
“Ugh!”
As I rained down punches he reached for his pocket. Weapon there, huh? I drove my knee into his wrist.
Crack!
“Aaaaaaargh!!”
The scream was loud enough to silence the entire noisy section. Section H went quiet for a beat, then the usual clamor resumed. Just another Tuesday. But the inmates who realized the scream had come from Jacob’s cell were visibly shaken. The neighboring cell immediately started shouting, asking if he was okay.
I wrapped one hand around Jacob’s throat while he thrashed.
“Kuhk! Kk…”
Grinning, I pressed my fingers against his eye. I could feel the large, round orb beneath my thumb, index, and middle finger. His gaze flooded with terror.
“What good are eyes if you can’t even see? Right?”
“Kk! Kkhk!”
Even while choking, survival instinct kicked in. His unbroken hand flailed uselessly against me. Like being hit with a toy hammer. The Demon King’s body really was wonderful.
Gouge first, then kill? Or kill first? The former.
I ripped the eyeball out in one clean motion.
Splurt!
“Kuuuuh! Kuaaaaaaaaagh!”
Bright arterial blood jetted from the empty socket. I examined the dripping eyeball for a moment, then tossed it through the bars.
Plop.
A second later someone screamed “It’s an eye!” and Section H became so quiet you could have heard a cockroach crawl.
Pulling out someone’s eyeball wasn’t a common occurrence after all. I had expected the place to be more hardcore.
Crack!
I snapped Jacob’s neck before he could faint, then sat down on the bed. I had planned to act weak, to get beaten and look miserable when the Doctor finally visited. Unfortunately my roommate turned out to be a predatory homosexual, so that plan died with him. I couldn’t risk my ass getting torn open just to stoke the Doctor’s anger and sympathy.
Since it had come to this, I would improvise. When the Doctor arrived I could always smash my head against the bars or beg someone to beat me.
Use his bedding? No. Too filthy. I wiped my bloody hands on the edge of Jacob’s blanket.
Beep!
The cell door slid open automatically. I thought a guard was coming, but it was free time. Prisoners poured out, whispering among themselves.
A few minutes later a group of skinhead white guys gathered in front of my cell. Jacob’s crew. They stared back and forth between their dead, one-eyed leader with the grotesquely twisted neck and me sitting casually on the bed. Their expressions were comically blank.
Perfect timing.
I needed daily necessities until the Doctor came to visit. Might as well take them from these idiots.
I stood up slowly, lifted one corner of my mouth, and said, “Bedding, toothpaste, toothbrush… Whoever brings me those gets my protection.”