Inauguration – Issue #04

Sydney

After Major Gordon’s introduction speech, the guards barked orders, corralling the new inmates into a sterile intake chamber. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, their harsh glow reflecting off cold steel walls that seemed to close in around them. A line of figures—guards and some seated inmates—watched impassively from the shadows beyond a grated divider.

“Strip,” a female guard ordered, her tone sharp, devoid of any humanity.

Sydney froze, her throat tightening. “What?” she managed, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound assertive.

“You heard me,” the guard snapped, stepping closer. Her baton tapped ominously against her palm. “Clothes off. Now.”

Sydney’s eyes darted around the room, her pulse quickening. Beyond the divider, she caught sight of inmates leering, their predatory gazes fixed on her as if she were some kind of spectacle. A knot formed in her stomach, hot and twisting. Her thoughts raced. {This can’t be happening. Elenai help me, this isn’t real. What did I do to deserve this? I didn’t even do anything!}

Another guard shoved her forward, the motion forcing her into the center of the room. “Don’t make us repeat ourselves, blondie.”

Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she hesitated, her fingers fumbling with the edges of her prison-issued shirt. Every movement felt like an eternity as she peeled it off, exposing her skin to the cold air and the even colder stares of her onlookers. She crossed her arms over her chest instinctively, her breath shallow and rapid.

“Everything,” the female guard barked, smirking faintly at Sydney’s pathetic attempt to shield herself. “We don’t do half-measures here.”

Sydney’s hands shook as she removed the rest of the coarse jumpsuit, her bare feet scraping against the grated floor. The steel beneath her toes was unforgiving, the chill seeping into her bones. She stood there, stripped of her dignity, stripped of her defense, the bristly hairs on her arms standing upright as her skin prickled with a mix of shame and fear. The muffled laughter of the inmates beyond the divider grated against her ears.

“Look at her,” one inmate called, his voice full of mockery. “Bet she’s a real tough one, huh?”

Another joined in, his voice oozing sarcasm. “Blondie’s first day, and she’s already the highlight reel.”

Sydney’s eyes stung with unshed tears, but she blinked them away furiously. {Don’t cry. Don’t let them see you cry. You’re stronger than this. You have to be stronger than this.}

The female guard circled her slowly, looking her up and down with clinical disinterest. She gestured to another guard, who approached with a handheld scanner. He waved it over Sydney’s body, the device emitting faint beeps as it passed.

“Spread ’em,” the female guard ordered, her tone brisk and impatient.

Sydney hesitated, her body trembling. “I—”

“Do it, inmate,” the guard snarled, her voice cutting through Sydney’s protest like a blade, her eyes showing a delight in her torture of the girl. “You want to spend your first night in the crowded rooms? A bunch of other inmates instead of a celly?”

Humiliation coursed through her veins as she complied, spreading her legs slightly and raising her arms. The scanner traced over her body again, pausing at her ankles and wrists. The guard’s gloved hands followed, roughly patting her down with no regard for decency or consent. Sydney flinched at the invasive touch, bile rising in her throat.

{This is dehumanizing. This is… this is hell. They can’t do this. They can’t treat me like this. I didn’t even do anything… Please, save me father.”}

When the search was finally over, the guard tossed a bundle of fabric at her. “Get dressed. And hurry up.”

The thin grey jumpsuit offered no comfort as she pulled it on, her movements jittery and shaky, her mind numb. She avoided the eyes of the guards, of the inmates, of anyone. A metalic collar-like device, specially designed with a serial number etched on it, gave a small buzz from around her neck as she zipped up the suit, the subtle vibration a constant reminder of her status here: powerless.

After nearly an hour of intaking all the new prisoners, a total of twenty prisoners went through the same process, with all the others being men of various shapes and sizes. They were finally turned and marched through a series of dimly-lit corridors, the walk hurt Sydney’s feet, being more accustomed to nicely etched woodfloors rather than the indented grated flooring that the prison’s walkways were mostly made of.

The noise of prison life slamming into her senses like a tidal wave. Voices ricocheted off the steel walls, a discordant symphony of catcalls, jeers, and laughter. The grated floors reverberated with the constant thrum of restless activity. Inmates lounged against the bars of their cells or pressed their faces between them, their eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and malice as they watched the newcomers.

“Fresh meat!” a voice bellowed from above, drawing raucous laughter.

“Hey, blondie! Hope you like company!” another inmate shouted, his leering grin visible through the bars.

“Good Elenai, let me get between those tits!” another voice echoed, her source unknown.

Sydney clenched her jaw, keeping her eyes locked on the ground. Her pulse hammered in her ears, each step forward feeling heavier than the last. The collar around her neck buzzed faintly. A sharp nudge from the guard behind her jolted her forward, her bare feet scraping against the cold, grated floor.

“Keep moving!” the guard barked, his tone devoid of sympathy.

Sydney’s heart raced as she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her shoulders hunched instinctively. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and each step forward felt heavier than the last. The guards’ heavy boots thudded behind her, their presence offering no comfort.

As they moved deeper into the cellblock, the voices only grew louder, the jeers and taunts coming from every direction. One inmate rattled the bars of his cell, his eyes gleaming with predatory delight. “You’ll last a day, tops,” he called out, his voice dripping with mockery.

Another shouted, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll take good care of you!”

Sydney clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. {This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. I’ll wake up, and it’ll all be over. I didn’t do anything. I don’t belong here. I’m innocent, damn it!}

A sharp nudge from the guard behind her jolted her forward, her bare feet scraping against the grated floor. “Keep moving!” he barked, his tone cold and devoid of sympathy.

She stumbled slightly but caught herself, forcing her feet to keep going. The grated floor vibrated faintly beneath her, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and despair. Every sound, every smell, every sensation was overwhelming, threatening to drown her in its suffocating embrace.

As they approached her assigned cell, her eyes flicked upward briefly. The towering walls and layers of steel grates seemed to stretch endlessly, a grim testament to her new reality. Her knees threatened to give out, but she forced herself to stay upright.

{You have to survive this. No matter what it takes. You have to survive.}

The door slid open with a mechanical whir. The inside was stark—bare steel walls, a bunked cot bolted to the floor, and a small sink in one corner. The air was thick with the lingering scent of metal and bleach. As she stepped inside, the door clanged shut behind her, the sound reverberating in her chest like a death knell.

Her cellmate sat on the top bunk, legs spread wide, radiating a territorial air. She was a butch woman, muscular and imposing, with a serpent tattoo curling around her neck and disappearing beneath the collar around her neck. She was in no jumpsuit like the rest of the inmates, she had a t-shirt and a pair of lounging sweats. Her cropped hair was streaked with gray, and her eyes were sharp, assessing Sydney with a look that bordered on disdain.

“Newbie, huh?” the woman said, her deep voice carrying a gravelly edge. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Don’t touch my stuff and we’ll get along fine.”

Sydney nodded mutely, too tired and overwhelmed to form a coherent response. The weight of the day—Major Gordon’s menacing speech, the helicopter ride, the hostile stares—pressed down on her, and all she wanted was to curl up and disappear.

The woman snorted, leaning back against the wall nearest her and folding her arms across her chest. “Figures. You’re one of those quiet types. Let me give you some advice, blondie. Don’t owe nobody nothing. Not a damn thing. That’s how they get you.”

Sydney finally managed a faint “Okay,” her voice barely above a whisper.

“And for the love of all the Gods,” She added, her tone dropping, “stay out of the guards’ way. They don’t care who you are or what you did. One wrong move, and you’re done.”

Sydney sank onto the edge of her bunk, her hands gripping the thin, rough blanket she was handed. She glanced at her celly, who was turning to lay down, seemingly having been waiting for Sydney but unfazed by the chaos just beyond their cell door.

As the dim lights of the cellblock flickered, Sydney lay back, staring at the bottom of the bunk just above her. The hum of the collar around her neck was a constant reminder of where she was—and where she wasn’t. She turned her head to the side, catching a glimpse of her celly’s serpent tattoo in the low light as her arm dangled off the side. Its coiled body seemed almost alive, a silent warning of the danger coiled within these walls.


The next morning, the blare of the cellblock alarm jolted Sydney awake. Shame, she only just got to sleep. The harsh, mechanical sound drilled into her skull as the cell door slid open with a metallic grind. Her celly barely glanced her way as she stood, rolling her shoulders and adjusting the collar around her neck.

“Breakfast,” Her celly grunted. “You’re on your own, blondie. Stick to the edges and keep your mouth shut. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Sydney watched as her celly disappeared into the stream of prisoners flooding the corridor, joining a group of rough-looking characters with matching serpent tattoos. The ease with which her celly blended in left Sydney feeling raw and exposed. Her stomach churned as she stepped out, the sea of bodies swallowing her whole.

The corridors were a maze of grated catwalks and concrete passages, each turn identical to the last. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, metal, and something acrid that burned her nose. Guards patrolled in pairs, their boots clanging against the steel floor, their eyes scanning the prisoners with thinly veiled contempt.

Sydney moved cautiously, keeping her head down as she navigated the crowded paths. Prisoners loitered in clusters, their conversations a mix of hushed whispers and coarse laughter. Every so often, she caught snippets of talk—deals being made, threats exchanged, rumors swirling about the fights held in the lower levels.

As she turned a corner, a group of men blocked her path, their predatory gazes locking onto her instantly. At their center stood a scrawny man with a disarming grin that didn’t reach his darting, feverish eyes. His appearance was uncanny—a sharp nose, slightly tousled brown hair, and an almost comedic lilt to his voice. He looked like someone who might’ve once sold bad jokes on stage, now completely unhinged.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he chirped, his voice erratic, as though his words couldn’t quite keep up with his thoughts. “Hey there, sugar plum, you lost or just lucky?” His entourage snickered, hyped by his energy.

Sydney stiffened, her pulse quickening. “Just passing through,” she muttered, her voice carefully neutral.

“Passing through?” His eyes widened dramatically, as if she’d just told him the punchline to a joke he didn’t like. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t ‘pass through’ Big Mitch’s corner. Nah, nah, nah.” He scratched at his arm absentmindedly, flakes of his skin drifting to the grated floor. “You see, this here’s my turf, my little slice of paradise, and you, doll, you look like you’d fit right in, or should I say… look like I’d fit right in—you.”

The entourage burst into laughter, egging him on. Sydney instinctively stepped back, her shoulders pressing into the cold steel wall. Her mind raced for an escape, but the path behind her was blocked by more inmates who had stopped to watch the spectacle unfold.

One of the bystanders whispered, “Big Mitch is at it again. Poor girl.”

Mitchel’s grin widened, his erratic energy bordering on manic. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart. You come with ol’ Mitch, and I’ll take real good care of you.” He licked his lips with exaggerated slowness, the scar that bisected his upper lip being his stopping point, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ll make it a party. I’ve got plenty to share.”

Sydney’s stomach twisted, a cold, nauseating knot forming deep inside her as Mitchel’s grin widened. {Oh Elenai. Oh no. This guy is unhinged. He’s not just gross—he’s dangerous.} Her mind raced as he licked his lips, the scar on his face pulling in a way that made her skin crawl. His words felt like oily tendrils wrapping around her, each syllable dripping with sleaze.

Her gaze followed his gesture to his cell, and the knot in her stomach tightened. The sight inside was worse than anything she could have imagined. The dim light barely illuminated the cramped, filthy space, but it was enough. Enough to see the bodies—men and women alike—lying scattered like discarded puppets. Their glassy eyes stared into nothing, their faces slack, as though life had been drained from them.

{What the hell is this? Are they drugged? Are they dead?} Sydney’s breath quickened, her chest tightening as panic clawed at the edges of her mind. One of the figures shifted slightly, their hollow gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before sliding away. The sheer emptiness in their expression sent a chill down her spine. {They look… broken. Like they’ve given up.}

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she forced herself to look away from the horrifying tableau, her eyes darting back to Mitchel. His grin hadn’t faltered; if anything, it had grown wider, more predatory. {Don’t freeze. Don’t show fear. He’ll pounce on it.}

Sydney squared her shoulders slightly, trying to suppress the trembling in her legs. But the buzzing collar around her neck felt heavier than ever, its hum a cruel reminder of her powerlessness. {I can’t do this. I can’t be one of them. There has to be a way out of this.}

She swallowed hard, her voice catching in her throat as she struggled to find the right words. But Mitchel’s expectant gaze bore into her, his manic energy practically crackling in the air between them. {Think, Clarke. Think. How do you get out of this alive?}

Sydney’s voice hardened, saying steadily despite the fear knotting in her chest. “Not interested.”

Mitchel’s grin faltered for a split second before snapping back, even sharper. “Oh, you will be,” he said, his voice carrying an unsettling sing-song quality. He stepped closer, his entourage closing ranks behind him.

Sydney’s heart pounded as she scanned the corridor for an escape route. The surrounding prisoners either turned away or watched with morbid curiosity, none of them willing to intervene.

But before he could move further, a sharp clang echoed down the corridor. A guard struck his baton against the railing, his voice booming. “Carradine! Back the hell off!”

Big Mitch froze mid-step, his expression flipping to one of exaggerated hurt as he looked toward the guard. “Aw, c’mon now, Officer Buzzkill,” he said, throwing his hands up dramatically. “We were just chatting. No harm, no foul, right?”

The guard’s glare hardened, his hand resting on the stun gun at his hip. “Move. Now.”

Mitchel held his hands up in mock surrender, backing away slowly. “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” He turned back to Sydney, his grin returning with a sinister edge. “Catch you later, sunshine.”

The crowd began to disperse, the tension dissipating but leaving an uncomfortable residue. Sydney exhaled, her breath uneven, her body trembling as the tension dissipated. Slipping away quickly, she passed the lingering onlookers and hurrying toward the main corridor, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Big Mitch’s territory.

Just before rounding a corner, her gaze flicked back. Mitchel was already lounging against the bars of his cell, gesturing animatedly to his entourage. The figures inside the cell shifted, some moving closer to him, while others remained frozen in eerie silence. Sydney shivered and quickened her pace, vowing to stay far away from Big Mitch’s domain.

As she ventured further, the oppressive atmosphere only deepened. She passed by a section where inmates lined up along a grated walkway, their hands outstretched through the bars as others traded scraps of food, contraband cigarettes, and even crude drawings. One of them—a gaunt man with wild eyes and yellowed teeth—leered at her as she passed.

“Hey, pretty thing,” he crooned, his hand snaking through the bars to grab at her arm. Sydney jerked away, her heart hammering.

“Watch yourself,” another prisoner muttered from behind her, his voice low. “Everyone here wants something, and you’ve got plenty to offer.”

She nodded stiffly, quickening her pace.


By the time she reached the cafeteria, her nerves were raw. The din of the room was overwhelming—voices shouting over one another, trays slamming against the tables, and the constant hum of machinery in the background. She hesitated at the entrance, scanning the packed room for a place to sit. Her eyes landed on a table in the far corner, unoccupied save for a small man hunched over his tray.

Sydney moved toward it, weaving through the chaotic mass of bodies. She set her tray down cautiously, the man glancing up at her with watery eyes and a suspicious expression.

“New?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the noise.

She nodded, sitting down. “Yeah.”

He shrugged and returned to his food, muttering something under his breath. Sydney forced herself to eat, the bland slop on her tray barely registering as food. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the fork, the events of the morning still racing through her mind.

She paused, the fork hovering mid-air, and drew in a slow, measured breath. {Get it together, Clarke. Weakness is blood in the water.} The trembling subsided as she steeled herself, her gaze sharpening. She began to take in her surroundings, forcing herself to focus on details rather than the overwhelming weight of fear pressing on her chest.

The cafeteria was a chaos of voices and movement, but patterns quickly emerged. Groups formed distinct clusters—gangs, loners, and those desperately trying to blend into the background. The guards patrolled with the detached air of zookeepers, their batons swaying at their sides like pendulums, a warning with every step.

Her eyes drifted to a group of women seated a few tables away. Their postures were rigid, their faces hardened, but they spoke in hushed tones as though strategizing. {They don’t look like they’re here to make friends. Potential allies? Maybe. But they’d eat me alive if I made the wrong move.}

Across the room, a larger group of men jostled one another, their laughter brash and pointed. One of them glanced her way, his grin stretching into something feral before turning back to his conversation. {That’s trouble waiting to happen. Keep your head down, don’t give them a reason.}

Her fork clinked against her tray as she deliberately forced another bite. The flavorless food was irrelevant—this was about control. {You need to think, not panic. Use your assets. You’ve always known how to turn heads, and now it’s not just for fun—it’s survival. Play it right, and you can keep the vultures circling instead of swooping.}

Sydney’s thoughts turned to her cellmate. The older woman had the air of someone who’d seen it all and survived to tell the tale. {She’s got a crew. If I can figure out where she stands, maybe I can stay under her umbrella for a while. But that’ll cost me. Nobody does anything for free here.}

She shifted her gaze to the guards. Their patrol routes were consistent, their eyes scanning the room without truly seeing it. {They don’t care about us beyond keeping the chaos manageable. But there’s a hierarchy here, even among them. The right one could be useful—if I can figure out who pulls the strings.}

Her grip on the fork tightened as a sense of determination settled over her. {This isn’t a sprint. It’s chess, and I need to start positioning my pieces. Step one: don’t let them see fear. Step two: find someone who can help me figure out the rules. Step three: make them play by mine.}

The cafeteria began to quiet as groups finished their meals and filed out. Sydney kept her head down, feigning indifference while her mind cataloged every movement, every interaction. She caught snippets of conversations—codes, threats, alliances forming in plain sight for those who knew how to read them.

{I’m not here to survive. I’m here to win.} With that thought burning in her mind, she took another bite of the unappetizing slop, her expression calm and controlled.


Sydney leaned against the cold metal wall of a shadowed corner in the larger, open yard, her eyes scanning the chaos before her. The grated floors above and below created a symphony of echoes—voices, footsteps, and the occasional clang of a fist on metal railings. She’d tucked herself away, unnoticed for now, her heart still racing from the day’s events. Her gaze shifted downward, catching the tail end of a scene she couldn’t quite process.

Maxwell Baxter, the pale-haired inmate she’d noticed earlier, was walking away with two guards flanking him, their expressions unreadable. He looked calm, almost bored, as if being escorted by guards was no more exciting than a walk to the mess hall. But Sydney knew better—she’d seen what he’d done.

Her mind replayed the scene: the lean Zenzawian man, Xubruse, ranting and posturing, his voice carrying across the levels as he shouted obscenities and claimed dominance. She hadn’t caught everything, but his body language was unmistakable—arrogance and aggression. Then, with just a few moves, Maxwell had reduced him to a bleeding, lifeless heap. The precision, the ease—it was as though he’d flipped a switch and shut Xubruse down without breaking a sweat.

{What the hell was that?} she thought, her fingers nervously tapping against the wall. She had heard murmurs about ‘eaftousia’ earlier—something the guards and other inmates spoke of in hushed tones—but no one had explained it. Was that what Maxwell had used? Some kind of power? Sydney bit her lip, her curiosity flaring alongside a strange, unbidden interest in the man. There was a businesslike fascination—he was clearly dangerous, and knowing dangerous people could be useful. But beneath that practicality lay something else, a faint spark of intrigue that made her stomach flutter against her better judgment.

Maxwell disappeared into the hallway with the guards, leaving the yard buzzing with murmurs and speculation. Sydney leaned further into the shadows, muttering under her breath, “This place just keeps getting stranger.”

Xubruse’s earlier rant echoed in her mind—how race didn’t seem to matter here, how the typical divides she’d read about in prisons didn’t apply. It was a stark contrast to everything she thought she knew. She glanced around the yard, her eyes flicking from group to group, noting the dynamics that were quickly becoming clear.

On one level, she saw a cluster of men huddled together, their attitudes tight and defensive. They weren’t gang members—at least, not yet. They were like her: newcomers, drifters as she heard, sticking close to others who shared the same uncertainty. Sydney’s gaze shifted upward to the grated layer above her, where a group of older inmates sat against the far wall, their conversation muted but intense. They carried themselves differently, as though they’d long accepted the rules of this brutal ecosystem and learned how to bend them to their will.

Her eyes wandered up again, to the open sky visible through the final layer of grating. There was only one level above hers, and it was sparsely populated. The prisoners there looked almost serene, walking leisurely as if the chaos below them didn’t exist. {The model prisoners,} she thought, narrowing her eyes. {Is that the reward for good behavior? Or are they just the least dangerous?}

Her attention shifted downward, to the levels below her. The noise there was harsher, the movements more frenetic. Inmates argued and fought openly, their aggression unchecked by the guards who stood by like indifferent spectators. {If the upper level is the safest, this must mean the lower levels are where they throw the worst of the worst. But who could be more dangerous than that albino guy who can kill with a touch?}

Sydney folded her arms, leaning her head back against the wall. The sheer complexity of Ashgate was overwhelming. The cliques and hierarchies weren’t based on race or territory but something else entirely—something she hadn’t quite pieced together yet. Her gaze drifted back to the layers of the yard, and she began systemizing the groups she’d seen so far.

There were the muscle-bound brutes who roamed in packs, the silent watchers who stayed to the edges, and the gangs with their tattoos and coded gestures. Every group seemed to have its own rules, its own unspoken contracts. Then there were the loners—like Maxwell—who moved through the chaos untouched, their presence enough to command space without a word.

Sydney’s lips pressed into a thin line. {I need to figure out where I fit into this. Or at least who I can align myself with. There’s no surviving this place alone.} Her thoughts lingered on Maxwell for a moment longer, her mind juggling the possibilities. Then, with a quiet exhale, she shifted her attention back to her level, observing, calculating, and waiting for her chance to make a move.

Spending a few minutes analizing everything she’d seen—the power dynamics, the cliques, the wandering eyes that never seemed to stop following her. Even the newcomers, those who had entered Ashgate only hours before alongside her, were starting to stare too long, their intentions clear.

{I can’t let them see me as prey,} she thought, her heartbeat quickening but her resolve hardening. {If I don’t make a move now, I’ll be a target forever. I need to show them I’m not some easy minx. I need to—}

Her eyes locked onto one of the new arrivals, a heavily tattooed guy, likely from the Caidanadian Concentration, standing with a couple of others from their intake group. His face was etched with a permanent scowl, his neck inked with crude, almost tribal patterns that climbed toward his jawline. He wasn’t the biggest guy, but he carried himself like he thought he was, leaning against the railing and laughing obnoxiously with the others.

{Perfect. A fight always gets you put in solitary, right? Give me a few days to think about things. A few days of peace.}

Sydney pushed herself off the wall and made a beeline toward him. Her stomach churned, her nerves fraying with each step, but she shoved the fear aside. She couldn’t afford hesitation. By the time she reached him, her expression had hardened into a mask of righteous fury.

“You!” she snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You think you can just stand there, looking tough, like you’re something special? What, those stupid-ass tattoos make you think you’re a king in here?”

The guy blinked, caught off guard, but his confusion quickly morphed into irritation. “The hell you talkin’ about?” he said, his voice low and threatening.

“You heard me, you piece of shit!” Sydney shouted, drawing the attention of several inmates nearby. “You’re nothing but a punk who probably cried for his mommy the second he got locked up! You think those inked-up arms mean anything? Pathetic.”

The tattooed man’s friends took a step back, smirking, clearly entertained. The man pushed himself off the railing, towering over her now, his eyes narrowing. “You better shut that mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Try me, bitch!” Sydney spat, adrenaline surging through her as she swung her fist without warning. Her knuckles connected with his jaw, a sharp crack echoing in the yard as her hand felt like it just shattered. She never punched a person before. The man staggered but didn’t go down, his expression darkening as he lunged forward, swinging wildly.

The fight was a blur. Sydney ducked one punch but failed to avoid the next, a blow to the side of her head sending her stumbling as he kicked her in the abdomen, sending her to the floor where he proceeded to jump onto her, wailing a rain of fists, pounding like an intense hail storm before suddenly she felt a numbness run through her body, forcing it to tense up.

Guards were on the guy before she even understood that she was even on the ground, the numbness as she was now finding out was them cracking him with the electricity of their batons, occasionally kicking and stomping him with their boots.

Rolling to her stomach, hair sticks to her bloodied and swelling face as she let out a few coughs, wanting nothing more than to let out a howling cry, but knowing that was the absolute last thing she should do.

She felt a hand run down her back, which she twitched at but found herself unable to fully react to it before she was forcibly rolled back over, where a pair of guards stood above her, it wasn’t until she say their mouths moving that she realized they were talking.

“Stop!” Wasn’t something she could hear, but she could tell that’s what one was saying, his hand pressing her shoulder into the steel frame that supported them as another knelt down with latex-gloved hands inspecting the side of her head.

“Lucky… didn’t split.. open.” Was all she could make out of what the guard had said, his tag read ‘Grast, Reyes’ and his accent was a latent Tamitan.

The guards had a small conversation as she felt the hand of the first lift from her shoulder to where it was just tickling her before slowly carressing down to her chest, hovering over her breast just enough that she could feel it, with a wide, toothy smile he she heard him ask “Should we take her.. Check that there was no lingering damage?”

Reyes however gave a shake of the head with a dissapointed look before standing. “DM-693… Warden won’t like this.”

The ringing finally beginning to die out, Sydney peered her surroundings, hoping that her move had gained some form of admiration, but instead she was met with looks of disgust and disdain, the kind you would give to an animal who had shat itself.

“What? Did… Did I.. I did it?” she asked, the words feeling strange in her mouth, her lips felt fat and her tongue was swollen and thick, not quite forming the words correctly, causing her to have to repeat the question before she could understand her own words.

“C’mon.” Reyes said as he motioned for a few more guards to come over, as the group of four roughly picked her up,

grabbing her arms and legs as if she weighed nothing. Sydney’s body protested every jarring movement, pain flaring from her ribs and head with each step the guards took. They carried her like cargo, their grips unyielding and mechanical, dragging her limp form toward the corridor leading out of the yard.

Her head lolled to the side, her gaze catching on the cluster of inmates she’d left behind. The tattooed man was being hauled away too, though he seemed to be putting up more of a fight despite his injuries. Sydney noticed the sneers of the other inmates as they watched her go. There was no respect in their eyes, no nod of acknowledgment. Instead, they regarded her with the same cold disinterest they might show to a piece of trash being removed from their space.

{What the hell was I thinking?} she thought, her mind a whirlwind of regret and self-recrimination. {I literally just saw someone get killed for mouthing off, and I thought I’d be the exception? That I’d be different? Gods, I’m so stupid.}

Her vision blurred for a moment, tears welling up but refusing to fall. She blinked them away angrily, unwilling to let herself cry in front of these men. {This isn’t me. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be like this.}

The corridor they entered was dimly lit, the flickering fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the cold steel walls. The faint hum of machinery somewhere deep in the prison filled the air, a constant, oppressive reminder of the facility’s unyielding power. Each step the guards took echoed hollowly, a rhythmic march that seemed to stretch endlessly.

As they moved deeper into the labyrinthine halls, Sydney’s thoughts spiraled. {What did I expect? That a fight would somehow get me out of this mess? That I’d earn some kind of respect, maybe scare people enough to leave me alone?} She winced as the guard holding her legs jostled her roughly, the pain in her ribs flaring again. {Stupid. So, so stupid. Now I’m just a bleeding, broken idiot who made a scene for nothing.}

The stretcher came into view ahead, a plain, steel slab on wheels with a thin, stained mattress. Sydney’s stomach churned at the sight. {God, what’s next? Are they going to dump me in solitary? What if they send me to the infirmary? Or worse? What if—}

Her spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the voice of one of the guards, the one who had been leering earlier. “She’s not much of a fighter, huh? Thought she’d be more exciting.” His words were casual, almost bored, as if discussing the weather.

Another guard chuckled. “Yeah, that was pretty pathetic. Can’t believe she even tried. Should have just went and become a slave.”

Sydney’s face burned with humiliation, but she bit down on her lip, refusing to react. {They’re trying to get a rise out of me. Just keep quiet. Keep your head down.}

The group reached the stretcher, and the guards unceremoniously dropped her onto it. The impact sent a jolt of pain through her body, but she managed to stifle a cry, clenching her teeth tightly. She lay there, her breaths shallow, as the guards began strapping her down with thick leather restraints. The cold, sticky sensation of blood pooling at the back of her neck made her stomach turn.

Reyes leaned over her, his expression unreadable. “You’re lucky you’re on the gold plan. Otherwise, you’d be in worse shape right now.” His voice was gruff but devoid of malice, almost like a teacher scolding a student for failing a test.

Sydney turned her head slightly, wincing at the movement. “I—” she began, but her voice cracked, weak and hoarse. She swallowed and tried again. “I didn’t mean…”

Reyes raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t mean what? To get your ass kicked? Or to waste our time hauling you out of there?”

The other guards laughed, their voices bouncing off the steel walls like cruel echoes. Sydney closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. {Why did I do this? Why didn’t I just stay quiet? I could’ve found another way to survive. I could’ve…}

But she didn’t have an answer. The only thing she knew was that she was in over her head, and every misstep felt like another nail in her coffin. The stretcher began to move, its wheels squeaking as the guards pushed her further into the depths of Ashgate.