Dec 21, 2017 15:55:38 GMT
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 21, 2017 15:55:38 GMT
The cell was six feet wide, six feet wide, and eight feet high. It was bare concrete, except for a small drain in the middle that served as her toilet. Naked, she lay face down on the floor, head resting on her arms.
The blaring of an alarm made her look up and blink blearily at the door in front of her. It was a solid steel thing, dull gray and three inches thick with four moveable panels in it. The second panel from the top now slid open, and the barrel of a gun extended through.
"Put your back against the far wall," said a voice through the panel.
Shaking herself awake, 177 sat up and crab-walked until she was sitting against the far wall.
"Feet straight out in front of you," said the voice. Palms against the wall." She complied, and the lowest panel on the door slid open and a mask was pushed across the floor towards her.
"Put it on," said the voice, "Then with your feet out and your palms on the wall and lean forward and shake your head hard."
She moved slowly, cautious of doing anything that would be percieved as threatening. Once her mouth was covered by the mask and they were satisfied she had it on right a pair of cuffs separated by a bar were pushed towards her.
"Put them on your ankles," said the voice. "We need to hear them click."
She did, resuming her feet out, palms against the wall position without being prompted. This time a metal triangle was shoved her way.
"Neck first, then wrists," said the voice. "We need to hear the click."
She picked it up, a device sturdy enough to bludgeon a man to death, got it locked on, and waited for the next instruction. The metal was cold against her skin but she was used to that.
The voice said, "Come up to the door. Sit with your back and elbows against the door and your legs straight out in front of you."
She moved, half crawling and half slithering in her restraints and assumed the required position. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily.
Above her head, one of the panels slid open and a band was pushed down onto her head. Despite keeping her eyes closed she could feel the moment the inverted magnetic field took hold. A wave of dizziness went through her, followed by nausea.
The door opened. She wavered, the magnetic crown making it difficult to sit upright until two hands seized her and pulled her to her feet. She followed listlessly, eyes clenched shut against the way the world swam when they put the crown on her. Some steps. A few more. A turn here. They her go and she dropped to the floor, letting out her breath in a huff.
"Good morning, 177."
She opened her eyes and looked up at Sato Masushita. He was smiling. He had a gray beard trimmed to a point at his chin, thinning white hair, and soft brown eyes that gazed down at her from behind a pair of half-moon glasses. His voice was soft and lilting, comforting, speaking Russian with only the slightest trace of an accent. He looked like a grandfather from so old fable. At this moment she lacked even the energy to hate him.
"I hope you're doing well this morning," said Masushita. "I thought we'd begin with a new routine today, something to test your-"
-she woke up with a start, teeth bared in the beginnings of a snarl. She hurled herself up and for a moment glared around in confusion. What-
It came back to her then. Slowly she lowered herself to a sitting position. No more Masushita, never again. No more laboratory 1. No more Soviet Union, even. She was in her own room, sleeping in her own bed, and had been for several weeks.
Well, her own floor, anyway. So far she had found her bed uncomfortably soft. She felt like it would swallow her. For now, a blanket and pillow on the carpet would serve well enough. Her room was warm, and through the crack between her curtains a line of silver moonlight covered her floor.
She stretched and stood up. She wore a pink and white nightshirt with a frill at the bottom. She would need something to distract her mind before she could sleep again. Americans had a tradition that they called the "midnight snack", which she had found it to be delightful. And what she wanted for her midnight snack was Skittles and Coca-Cola. Just the thought of the fruit-and-chocolate candy made her mouth water. It was, without question, the greatest thjng she had ever tasted.
She crossed the living room to her fridge, bare feet padding silently on the wooden floor. She opened the fridge and-
Shock flooded her face. No! Her six-pack of Coke was empty! HOW COULD THIS BE?
Jack. Her eyes narrowed. He had been here today, and somehow the rotten bastard must have stolen her Coke. Quickly she strode over and checked the pantry. Yep, her Skittles were gone too.
Unacceptable! Completely unacceptable!
Her face scrunched up into a frown. Going back to bed without her Coke and Skittles suddenly seemed like surrender. No! No giving in! And that meant only one thing: it was time for a midnight Skittles-hunting expedition.
Her shoes and coat were by the front door. She slipped into her shoes. The coat was too large for her, with rolled-up sleeves and going down to her knees, but she put it on over her nightshirt anyway. Pulling on her baseball cap, she slipped outside.
The gas station was a few blocks down the road and she went there at a brisk jog. The night was quiet- even the insects were mostly still. The moon was out but currently behind a cloud. In the space between where the streetlights ended and the lights of the gas station took over she passed a parked car that freaked lightly on its shocks as she approached. In the shadows, she paused, listening. A man's voice.
"Aw yes, yes, see, that's what a real woman's like, yes, not like that cow I keep at home."
A airy laugh. "You know how to say the sweetest things to a girl."
"Screw sweetest things, that hundred and fifty bucks a pop better be the sweetest thing."
"Awww, but you know I'm worth every penny." Scuffling from inside the car.
"I'd pay that just to be free of the cow's crotch dropping's for a night. Getting you is just a bonus. Move over." More scuffling.
177 stood in the shadows for a long moment, listening to the movement in the car. She stared across the street with a glassy gaze. Memories floated through her mind, distant and scabbed over. Faces of her mother and father, faces she couldn't place, uncles or friends or neighbors she couldn't say. Even when her voice had been stolen she had been part of their lives for a good space of years. That was a love, she thought with a disgusted glance at the car, that you couldn't buy no matter how much money you had.
She crossed the street to the gas station. Three men in wool hats were lighting cigarettes next to the not smoking sign. One of them whistled to her. She paused long enough to flash both her middle fingers and proceeded into the gas station. It was bright and oddly humid and smelled of mildew inside.
She went to the racks and found her Skittles, then found a bottle of Coke in the fridge. There was one aisle devoted to snack foods and another aisle devoted to other necessities: pain pills, chapstick, tire pressure gauges. She heard one of the men from outside laugh at some joke.
She laid her Coke and Skittles in front of the Hindoo behind the counter, glancing out the window to her right. She could see the car parked just outside the light. It was rocking, slightly.
"Will that be all, ma'am?" said the man behind the counter.
She looked out the window again. A hundred and fifty dollars a pop. Wife and children dismissed with crude nomens. Whistles as she walked past. Faces from her past. And suddenly an immense anger seized her. How dare he. Did he even know what he was throwing away? How precious, how easy to lose? She turned from the counter and went to the aisle with the tire gauges. There was a row of tire irons, the L-shaped kind with a socket at one end and a flathead point on the other. She brought one back and set it on the counter, then paid her bill. She put the Skittles and the Coke in her pocket and walked outside with the tire iron. Crossed the street towards the car again- slamed the tire iron into the back windshield.
The woman inside screamed. A man's voice, swearing. A shout of confusion from the three smoking men. And she swung again. And again.
@jim
The blaring of an alarm made her look up and blink blearily at the door in front of her. It was a solid steel thing, dull gray and three inches thick with four moveable panels in it. The second panel from the top now slid open, and the barrel of a gun extended through.
"Put your back against the far wall," said a voice through the panel.
Shaking herself awake, 177 sat up and crab-walked until she was sitting against the far wall.
"Feet straight out in front of you," said the voice. Palms against the wall." She complied, and the lowest panel on the door slid open and a mask was pushed across the floor towards her.
"Put it on," said the voice, "Then with your feet out and your palms on the wall and lean forward and shake your head hard."
She moved slowly, cautious of doing anything that would be percieved as threatening. Once her mouth was covered by the mask and they were satisfied she had it on right a pair of cuffs separated by a bar were pushed towards her.
"Put them on your ankles," said the voice. "We need to hear them click."
She did, resuming her feet out, palms against the wall position without being prompted. This time a metal triangle was shoved her way.
"Neck first, then wrists," said the voice. "We need to hear the click."
She picked it up, a device sturdy enough to bludgeon a man to death, got it locked on, and waited for the next instruction. The metal was cold against her skin but she was used to that.
The voice said, "Come up to the door. Sit with your back and elbows against the door and your legs straight out in front of you."
She moved, half crawling and half slithering in her restraints and assumed the required position. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily.
Above her head, one of the panels slid open and a band was pushed down onto her head. Despite keeping her eyes closed she could feel the moment the inverted magnetic field took hold. A wave of dizziness went through her, followed by nausea.
The door opened. She wavered, the magnetic crown making it difficult to sit upright until two hands seized her and pulled her to her feet. She followed listlessly, eyes clenched shut against the way the world swam when they put the crown on her. Some steps. A few more. A turn here. They her go and she dropped to the floor, letting out her breath in a huff.
"Good morning, 177."
She opened her eyes and looked up at Sato Masushita. He was smiling. He had a gray beard trimmed to a point at his chin, thinning white hair, and soft brown eyes that gazed down at her from behind a pair of half-moon glasses. His voice was soft and lilting, comforting, speaking Russian with only the slightest trace of an accent. He looked like a grandfather from so old fable. At this moment she lacked even the energy to hate him.
"I hope you're doing well this morning," said Masushita. "I thought we'd begin with a new routine today, something to test your-"
-she woke up with a start, teeth bared in the beginnings of a snarl. She hurled herself up and for a moment glared around in confusion. What-
It came back to her then. Slowly she lowered herself to a sitting position. No more Masushita, never again. No more laboratory 1. No more Soviet Union, even. She was in her own room, sleeping in her own bed, and had been for several weeks.
Well, her own floor, anyway. So far she had found her bed uncomfortably soft. She felt like it would swallow her. For now, a blanket and pillow on the carpet would serve well enough. Her room was warm, and through the crack between her curtains a line of silver moonlight covered her floor.
She stretched and stood up. She wore a pink and white nightshirt with a frill at the bottom. She would need something to distract her mind before she could sleep again. Americans had a tradition that they called the "midnight snack", which she had found it to be delightful. And what she wanted for her midnight snack was Skittles and Coca-Cola. Just the thought of the fruit-and-chocolate candy made her mouth water. It was, without question, the greatest thjng she had ever tasted.
She crossed the living room to her fridge, bare feet padding silently on the wooden floor. She opened the fridge and-
Shock flooded her face. No! Her six-pack of Coke was empty! HOW COULD THIS BE?
Jack. Her eyes narrowed. He had been here today, and somehow the rotten bastard must have stolen her Coke. Quickly she strode over and checked the pantry. Yep, her Skittles were gone too.
Unacceptable! Completely unacceptable!
Her face scrunched up into a frown. Going back to bed without her Coke and Skittles suddenly seemed like surrender. No! No giving in! And that meant only one thing: it was time for a midnight Skittles-hunting expedition.
Her shoes and coat were by the front door. She slipped into her shoes. The coat was too large for her, with rolled-up sleeves and going down to her knees, but she put it on over her nightshirt anyway. Pulling on her baseball cap, she slipped outside.
The gas station was a few blocks down the road and she went there at a brisk jog. The night was quiet- even the insects were mostly still. The moon was out but currently behind a cloud. In the space between where the streetlights ended and the lights of the gas station took over she passed a parked car that freaked lightly on its shocks as she approached. In the shadows, she paused, listening. A man's voice.
"Aw yes, yes, see, that's what a real woman's like, yes, not like that cow I keep at home."
A airy laugh. "You know how to say the sweetest things to a girl."
"Screw sweetest things, that hundred and fifty bucks a pop better be the sweetest thing."
"Awww, but you know I'm worth every penny." Scuffling from inside the car.
"I'd pay that just to be free of the cow's crotch dropping's for a night. Getting you is just a bonus. Move over." More scuffling.
177 stood in the shadows for a long moment, listening to the movement in the car. She stared across the street with a glassy gaze. Memories floated through her mind, distant and scabbed over. Faces of her mother and father, faces she couldn't place, uncles or friends or neighbors she couldn't say. Even when her voice had been stolen she had been part of their lives for a good space of years. That was a love, she thought with a disgusted glance at the car, that you couldn't buy no matter how much money you had.
She crossed the street to the gas station. Three men in wool hats were lighting cigarettes next to the not smoking sign. One of them whistled to her. She paused long enough to flash both her middle fingers and proceeded into the gas station. It was bright and oddly humid and smelled of mildew inside.
She went to the racks and found her Skittles, then found a bottle of Coke in the fridge. There was one aisle devoted to snack foods and another aisle devoted to other necessities: pain pills, chapstick, tire pressure gauges. She heard one of the men from outside laugh at some joke.
She laid her Coke and Skittles in front of the Hindoo behind the counter, glancing out the window to her right. She could see the car parked just outside the light. It was rocking, slightly.
"Will that be all, ma'am?" said the man behind the counter.
She looked out the window again. A hundred and fifty dollars a pop. Wife and children dismissed with crude nomens. Whistles as she walked past. Faces from her past. And suddenly an immense anger seized her. How dare he. Did he even know what he was throwing away? How precious, how easy to lose? She turned from the counter and went to the aisle with the tire gauges. There was a row of tire irons, the L-shaped kind with a socket at one end and a flathead point on the other. She brought one back and set it on the counter, then paid her bill. She put the Skittles and the Coke in her pocket and walked outside with the tire iron. Crossed the street towards the car again- slamed the tire iron into the back windshield.
The woman inside screamed. A man's voice, swearing. A shout of confusion from the three smoking men. And she swung again. And again.
@jim
