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Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It's almost noon. At least that's what the rusted out clock hanging above the two way mirror says. I turn my head and smile at my reflection, knowing someone else is behind there watching.
A nurse, at least I think she's a nurse, short and a bit chunky comes over to the bed I'm strapped to and starts looking at the monitor by my head. "How long did you get?" she asked. Her voice is breathy and sweet with a southern twang. She fusses with the saline drip.
I clear my throat. "Forty five years," I say.
She looks at me double and I say, "What is it?"
She asks, "How old are you?"
And I say, "Fifty." Even though I ain't fifty, I'm fifty six, but that ain't none of her goddam busness.
She looks nervous and mouths something I don't catch.
"What? You got a problem with me?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just nothing. It's nothing."
There's a tapping on the mirror I can't see through. "Jenny, It's almost time for lunch," a guy says. "Let get this one done, I'm starving."
She nods and does something with a syringe, then says. "We'll see you tomorrow."
All I feel is cold from the needle spreading down my arm and to my shoulder and over my chest. That's when things stopped, but only for a moment. Like a blip in a cut film reel. Nothing really happens.
I wake up. Slowly. My eyes open, sticky with sleep. I turn my head. God, my body doesn't want to cooperate. My neck is so stiff. Must be the drugs wearing off.
When the haze clears form my eyes, I can see that the clock read quarter past noon. I look around the room. Did something go wrong? Did it not work?
The door opens and in walks that nurse from before. She looks tired and doesn't look at me. "Are you alright?" she asks.
I nod.
"Let me sit you up." She presses a few buttons and removes the needle from my arm. "A cab is waiting for you after you sign out."
"That was it?"
She doesn't answer. "They're bringing a wheelchair for you in just a moment."
She presses a button on the floor with her foot and slowly the bed I'm strapped to sits up. I'm looking at the two way mirror. I know that what I see is a reflection. I know that it's me. But it ain't me too, because the face staring back at me is old. Not fifty-six.
"What is this?" I shout to the nurse, but she's already at the door. Already leaving and giving me one last sorry look. "What the hell?"
The face staring back at me looks like one you'd find on the Today Show Smucker Jars. Except they'd gloss over my looks because I ain't much to look at. And what would they say of my life?
Nothing. Goddammit. Because I didn't get to live it.
| It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | (I am taking a very different take on it as IMHO prison's goal is rehabilitation, not revenge)
You know this would happen, but what can you do? You did what you had to do because you could. And now you reap the consequences. Had to happen sooner or later and in your case, it happened later. The prison is one of these new buildings, federal money and regional construction companies who just happen to belong to the brother of the major. A place built on crime: corruption, nepotism, probably election fraud (at least you know no one who voted for the CSU, nevermind repeatedly). A fitting place for a criminal, which the state decided you are. As the police car, the catlle transporter (pigs in front, poor dogs in the back), reaches the prison gate, you realize that the place looks more like a school than like a prison. You had binged on *Ami* prison shows to steel yourself for the worst when you were still free. This looks more like a school: big windows, happy colors, happy little trees. Even a structure to climb on. But no one outside to play there. You are led by your handcuffs into a small door on the left side of the building.
The inside looks like the cube of your contact person at the unemployment office to you: Desk, computer, forms, pens, stamps. Bureaucrats in their short-haired, standard-faced, suit-wearing glory. "You know why you are here," one of the bureaucrats said, "however, you did not know so far that there is a way to shorten your sentence. This will just get more ... uncomfortable for you."
That is new to you and smells like a trap: "What is the earliest you can let me out?"
"Tomorrow," the bureaucrat smiled like a funeral director on a day with great business.
"Whom do I need to betray for that?" you ask suspiciously.
"We do not want you to betray anyone. We want you to gain new ethical insights from the stay here. If we can convey these things quicker, you are out faster, and we can save money. We can also tailor your experiences better to your needs."
You let out a short guffaw at that last thing. You used to be great at getting things into prisons which the wardens don't want there: knifes, drugs, booze, fags, pr0n and peanut-containing treats. "So? Why doesn't everyone do this?" you ask.
"Comfort is a powerful thing. You could of course sleep on the floor, but a bed and a blanket is much more pleasant. Metaphorically speaking the shorter version is the equivalent of sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. The longer version equals sleeping in a warm bed, with blankets, down pillows and a pink snuggie."
You turn beet red. No one was supposed to know that you do just that. "I take the shorter route. I have places to be tomorrow."
"Very well. We just need a bit of information and we can commence the procedure."
You answer their questions and someone shaves your hair completely off. You let it happen without protest. If they get off on that an let you out earlier, so be it. Eventually, they lead you to a small room, barely enough to stretch out your arms, with black, padded walls. In the middle a chair which looked like an electric chair in that it had restraints for arms and legs and a weird metal head covering. You gulp. One of the bureaucrats hears this: "It won't kill you. It will stimulate your brain, not fry it."
You feel unsteady: "If you say so." You realize that this has become much more out of your control than you liked but you have to grin and bear it.
You sit down in the chair and the bureaucrats fix your arms and legs in place. Then they fix that weird brain thing to you. It feels cold and hard. Then they wordlessly leave you and close as well as lock the door. You realize how eerily quiet it is in here. Then the light turns off. You just wait. You can wait in the dark. There were enough times when you had to listen for a signal, listen for a .... bell? Do you hear a tiny bell? A quiet, high-pitched sound reminding of a sleigh approaching. Like on... Christmas in 2023? When your younger sister, Lena, was still around? And when it snowed on Christmas Eve and you ran through the snow with sleighbells, trying to catch Santa in an elaborate scheme. When you were young and innocent. Before they killed her. You feel anger rising again. You shouldn't because these people from the rivalling gang died by your hand, but you still cannot stop the anger you feel in that moment. Your hands cleench to fists. Your heart rate quickens. Your breath goes faster. You struggle against the restraints. You scream. No one can probably hear you. The room looked as if it hadvery good noise insolation. Eventually, your anger dies down, you don't know whether it was an eternity or fifteen seconds later. Does the room light up? Is there actual light in here or is this just an illusion as well? You scantly make something out. A roadsign towards an unpronouncable Welsh town. You realize that this thing knows where to prod to hurt you. You cry - also for the times you had to keep up appearances, not be considered weak, not be considered a fag. You start to see more and more mental shortcuts of things which make you angry, or sad, or jealous. but strangely enough, you don't rage, you allowed yourself to feel your emotions and then moved away from it. Then you slip into a calmness and quietness where nothing perturbs you. You feel like falling asleep. Your mind idly conjures pictures which are not bad. Fragments. houses, shoes, a tree which has other trees growing on him as if they were fruit, a book with eyes, a baseball bat. "OUCH!" you scream as the worst pain you experienced in a long time jolts you awake. Other mental images also cause you pain, images related to violence, to drugs, to your criminal companions, to smuggling, to the organization you worked for.It all hurts so much. Not in a particular place of your body but everywhere at once. Even between your toes. Even between your legs. Other more neutral images make the pain go away, but as soon as another bad image arrives, the pain starts again. You no longer want this.Your eyes tear but yousee the images clearly through the tears, even closing your eyes does not make them go away. It is too much, too much, too much!
The images stop and for a while, all you have is the blissful dark. Then you hear another noise. A key. Your retinas are flooded with light. You see bureacrats, wardens and feel the restraints being loosened and then removed. "You are free to go!" one of them says. You nod, slowly. Your legs can still carry you. You were not sure about that. the time in this room felt like an eternity. You follow the group and the exit formailties happen. Afterwards, you can leave. one of the people offers to hire you a cab and you gladly accept. Walking in the crisp air of a winter's day feels marvellous after the nightmare you were in. A good night's sleep will as well. Just as you are almost out of the prison, you consciously notice the holsters of the wardens. You realize that there are guns in these and the thought of being that close to a gun gives you panic. In that moment, you clearly realize that you will never hold a gun anymore, the thought of it makes you want to vomit. Your old life is only one day away but incredibly far. | Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "Good evening, Mister Lane."
The woman standing in front of Gregory Lane was surprisingly beautiful for a jail warden. His first assumption was that there would be something wrong with her in the head...but so far, nothing. "Good evening, ma'am," he said, curious.
"I understand you have chosen to reduce your life sentence to a day in prison. Is this correct?" He nodded, and she smiled. "You've probably heard that this is the most horrible sentence reduction available to anyone with a life sentence. I am here to tell you that those people are wrong."
*...Wrong?*
She continued. "This prison thrives on a firm policy of rehabilitation, not punishment. At another facility you would be suffering terribly -- but that is not how I do things." Lane was suspicious, as he rightfully ought to be. *This must be some kind of trick.* He voiced his concerns, and she laughed softly. "No, really, Mister Lane, we don't punish criminals here, however bad the crimes they are convicted for. Haven't you suffered enough waiting for your trial to end? Waiting, waiting, all they want anyone to do is wait. I never liked those methods -- I became a warden to effect change."
This had to be a joke. What were they going to do? *Just start it already.* "Ma'am, I'm having trouble understanding this. I'm not going to be tortured? Or drugged? Or anything? How do you plan to rehabilitate me?"
The guards turned and left. The warden remained, but she was silent, only staring at Lane with half-lidded eyes, a smile on her face. He slowly began to realize that she was staring at him in *that* way...
The guards stationed outside could hear nothing through the soundproofed walls, but they knew that what was happening inside could be considered the epitome of earthly pleasures, "a taste of heaven." Two changes of the guard later, twenty-four hours had passed, and they were sent in to retrieve the man. As usual, he didn't want to leave, and they had to drag him, screaming, begging to return, out into the world of man, where he would perhaps never find anything so wonderful as he had found behind prison walls.
The law that allowed for one-day sentences had a caveat with regards to this prison -- one that the warden would certainly know, having negotiated for it herself. Gregory Lane, like the many others who had taken the one-day sentence, would have his criminal record hidden away. He would be allowed to live a normal life, no matter the severity of his crimes. The warden's system had never failed to work: looking for the quality of life he had gotten such a small taste of, Lane would find himself driven to an honest lifestyle, a career, perhaps a family, all to achieve the self-fulfillment that the warden had given him.
None of the guards knew exactly what went on behind closed doors, but whatever had happened inside, it had changed Lane, had changed the many before him, into common people, striving for that long-lost dream. | Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Fifteen years into a 90 year sentence there was nothing that could get me down. I had enough books to keep me happy for what seemed like decades. I had internet--albeit restricted-- once a month. My time in Max-sec had been relatively relaxed. When crime rates skyrocketed, that's when the trouble began. You see a lot in 15 years, but I had earned everything I owned. I kept to myself, and for the most part so did the others. I learned all too well it's not the murderers you have to worry about, it's the punks looking to make a name for themselves. Drug addicts with daddy issues.
I closed my book, the buzzing of the cell doors put my teeth on edge. I reached behind me, a gift for any visitors with a penchant for trouble.
"I'm Danny." The cheery face looked up to me. Bony features, almost bird like to an extent.
"Grandfather," I introduce myself with the archaic nickname. It was bestowed upon me after my ten year aniversary. "If you're looking to share your sob story about how you 'didn't do it' save your breath kid." I added turning back to my book. He couldn't be more than 20. He zipped his trap and climbed into the bunk above me. Gangly legs, all elbows and knees. I began to wonder if he might just tear through the mattress with boney limbs like that.
"Can I ask you a question?" The kid asked after a long pause.
"No."
"They offered me a deal." The kids went on, ignoring me. I hate being ignored. It would appear the kid was going to share his tale whether I liked it or not.
"And?" I took the bait.
"They said I could finish my sentence tonight, just one night." As the kid spoke his voice was jittery.
"How many years you got left?" I asked, damning my curiosity.
"Life." The boy said glumly. "I guess I don't have anything to lose really."
"It's none of my business kid. Life in here isn't so bad." I said awkwardly. I may have been in here a dime and a half, and I wasn't heartless but I wasn't his damn therapist.
Last call came, the lights flicked off. I turned over, my hand protectively wrapped around the book I could no longer see. For the benefit of my own state of mind I had stopped keeping track of the days and hours I would spend in this metal cage. I drifted off, my eyelids weary from a long day of minding my own business.
I awoke to whispers and shuffling of feet. My new cellmate stood at the bars looking out. It wasn't uncommon for newbies. Especially long timers. I turned over and lie awake. Fifteen years and still the idea of whatever the other inmates did to get time off their sentences still didn't seem worth it to me.
"Daniel Longsworth." A guard, Mark if I remember correctly, said gruffly. The door slid open, no buzzer. I whispered a quick prayer for his soul, I'd been a retired catholic for years, but Mother Mary have mercy on my soul I wasn't heartless.
Footsteps receded down the hall. I shifted in the dark, the door secured behind them. I grabbed the pillow, still warm from the kids bunk. He wouldn't be back before morning. I may not be heartless, but I'm not an idiot either.
Morning came and everything was like it was the day before. We wouldn't get another van of transfers until next Thursday. I could easily wait that long before being reassigned a bunkmate. The food was as usual tasteless and an oddly concerning texture. I had given up imagining better food years ago. I sat and shoveled. It went down best with chocolate milk, a small comfort some of us oldies were afforded. I saved it til the very end, the tasteless mash was less disapointing if you ate it quickly.
After our shortened rec time we all headed back to our cells for an emergency bunk toss. Some bastard was going to get it later, not from me, but it's best not to make enemies with people with nothing left to lose.
I stood by my bunk waiting to be padded down diligently by a guard as one by one they tossed my books and rifled through my things. It was the same old shit that had been going on since I walked through the loudly buzzing door.
"All clear!" The call was greeted with a sigh of relief. No shenanigans for this old man.
"Hey Grandpa!" The guard called out to me. I raised my eyebrows not saying a word, head down, mind your business style. "You've got a new roomie."
A scrawny boy stood in the doorway. "My name's Danny." The foggy face looked up to me. Angular features seemed almost bird like. He smiled and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
I crawled into my bunk and muttered shaking under my breath: "Twelve more hours." | Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It's almost noon. At least that's what the rusted out clock hanging above the two way mirror says. I turn my head and smile at my reflection, knowing someone else is behind there watching.
A nurse, at least I think she's a nurse, short and a bit chunky comes over to the bed I'm strapped to and starts looking at the monitor by my head. "How long did you get?" she asked. Her voice is breathy and sweet with a southern twang. She fusses with the saline drip.
I clear my throat. "Forty five years," I say.
She looks at me double and I say, "What is it?"
She asks, "How old are you?"
And I say, "Fifty." Even though I ain't fifty, I'm fifty six, but that ain't none of her goddam busness.
She looks nervous and mouths something I don't catch.
"What? You got a problem with me?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just nothing. It's nothing."
There's a tapping on the mirror I can't see through. "Jenny, It's almost time for lunch," a guy says. "Let get this one done, I'm starving."
She nods and does something with a syringe, then says. "We'll see you tomorrow."
All I feel is cold from the needle spreading down my arm and to my shoulder and over my chest. That's when things stopped, but only for a moment. Like a blip in a cut film reel. Nothing really happens.
I wake up. Slowly. My eyes open, sticky with sleep. I turn my head. God, my body doesn't want to cooperate. My neck is so stiff. Must be the drugs wearing off.
When the haze clears form my eyes, I can see that the clock read quarter past noon. I look around the room. Did something go wrong? Did it not work?
The door opens and in walks that nurse from before. She looks tired and doesn't look at me. "Are you alright?" she asks.
I nod.
"Let me sit you up." She presses a few buttons and removes the needle from my arm. "A cab is waiting for you after you sign out."
"That was it?"
She doesn't answer. "They're bringing a wheelchair for you in just a moment."
She presses a button on the floor with her foot and slowly the bed I'm strapped to sits up. I'm looking at the two way mirror. I know that what I see is a reflection. I know that it's me. But it ain't me too, because the face staring back at me is old. Not fifty-six.
"What is this?" I shout to the nurse, but she's already at the door. Already leaving and giving me one last sorry look. "What the hell?"
The face staring back at me looks like one you'd find on the Today Show Smucker Jars. Except they'd gloss over my looks because I ain't much to look at. And what would they say of my life?
Nothing. Goddammit. Because I didn't get to live it.
| Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| Thirty years. That is how long I would stay in a maximum security prison. My kids would be grown. I would miss my wife of course, but the thought of not seeing my kids grow was ultimately why I chose the harshest punishment society could muster.
Not a soul has ever survived the Day plan. Very few people are willing to go through the process to be admitted in the first place. They test you and send in counselors to convince you to take a five or ten year tour. Most people cave when they hear that in the one year plans you are kept in total darkness. They do medical tests to make sure you are fit enough to endure it. They show you photographs of former participants. The eyes gave me the chills.
The officers transporting me to the Jackson Municipal Rehabilitation Center spoke in hushed whispers the entire ride from the county jail. I overheard them making a bet on how many minutes I would make it. I heard them mention some of the horrors I had in store for me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan was simple, meditate myself in a trace like state. I would try to ignore it. How foolish.
When I arrived at the facility I was in leg irons, handcuffs and a belly chain. When I entered the receiving door all I saw was a plain concrete room. There was a bench and a toilet, it looked very much like a county jail, except for one thing. There was no one else there.
A short plump man with greasy black hair walked to meet the officers who were holding me. "Identification" was the only thing he said to the officers. They showed him some paperwork and their state issued ID. He instructed the officers to take off my restraints, signed some copies of the paperwork they brought and the officers left.
"I'm Captain Jones, take a seat while I finish some paperwork and we will begin shortly." It was really odd I was expecting absolute torture, yet nothing unusual had happened. In fact to this point my stay was more pleasant than a county jail."Alright inmate, we are going to walk down this hallway and take a right, if you resist it will make your punishment worse, just listen to my instructions and you will get out of this alive." At least this made sense, I expected them to threaten me, but something about the way he spoke was not right.
We headed down a series of halls in absolute silence. We arrived at a door that looked like it could handle an explosion. He punched some buttons on a security keypad, the door beeped and slid back and into a recess in the wall. When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was The chair. "Sit down, do not speak, we are about to begin". The chair was made from iron, but it had cushions on the back, and armrests. It had very straight edges, everything looked very squared measured and exactly proportioned. When I sat down in it, a belt automatically came across my lap, and two straps clamped down on my wrists. "This is for your safety, if you pull on the restraints the automatically tighten so just relax".
Captain Jones opened a small drawer and pulled out a Smith and Wesson 45 revolver. He opened the cylinder and placed exactly one bullet in it, then placed in on the table in front of me. I asked him why, but he did not directly answer me. He muttered under his breath something but I couldn't understand it. He turned around, pressed some buttons on the keypad and left through the door we entered.
I began looking around the room. It was not very large, maybe 5 meters in each direction. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows. The ceiling looked like plastic, but the entire thing was illuminated in a bright white light. The only furniture in the room was The Chair and table I already mentioned. Overall it was just a very plain room. I did not notice when I came in, but apparently there was a speaker behind my head because I heard a woman's voice behind me. "Inmate, remain seated and we will start the counter for the delivery of your sentence."
A woman who appeared to be a nurse entered the room. "This injection will help with the pain" is all she said before she pushed a syringe deep into my neck. Lying bitch.
Just then, a screen comes down in front of me I hear a click and a projection of Oprah Winfrey appears. I tried to ignore it, to follow my plan. It just got louder. My stomach rolled and my head ached after a few minutes. My eyelids were paralyzed I tried to blink, but I couldn't. "Baby, baby, baby oooh Like baby, baby, baby nooo Like baby, baby, baby oooh I thought you'd always be mine" blasted over the speakers. To my right another screen came down out of the ceiling. This one was playing C-Span. I started to smell something. The room filled with a noxious gas that was unmistakable. Cheap mall kiosk perfume I gagged. To my left another screen, this one had some sort of news feed. The headlines that appeared all looked like posts from Tinder.
I made it 14 minutes and then suddenly the straps on my chair released. I stumbled moving towards the door and started banging it. I pressed all the buttons on the security panel. Suddenly I hear "We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy". Just then I remembered the gun on the table.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Fifteen years into a 90 year sentence there was nothing that could get me down. I had enough books to keep me happy for what seemed like decades. I had internet--albeit restricted-- once a month. My time in Max-sec had been relatively relaxed. When crime rates skyrocketed, that's when the trouble began. You see a lot in 15 years, but I had earned everything I owned. I kept to myself, and for the most part so did the others. I learned all too well it's not the murderers you have to worry about, it's the punks looking to make a name for themselves. Drug addicts with daddy issues.
I closed my book, the buzzing of the cell doors put my teeth on edge. I reached behind me, a gift for any visitors with a penchant for trouble.
"I'm Danny." The cheery face looked up to me. Bony features, almost bird like to an extent.
"Grandfather," I introduce myself with the archaic nickname. It was bestowed upon me after my ten year aniversary. "If you're looking to share your sob story about how you 'didn't do it' save your breath kid." I added turning back to my book. He couldn't be more than 20. He zipped his trap and climbed into the bunk above me. Gangly legs, all elbows and knees. I began to wonder if he might just tear through the mattress with boney limbs like that.
"Can I ask you a question?" The kid asked after a long pause.
"No."
"They offered me a deal." The kids went on, ignoring me. I hate being ignored. It would appear the kid was going to share his tale whether I liked it or not.
"And?" I took the bait.
"They said I could finish my sentence tonight, just one night." As the kid spoke his voice was jittery.
"How many years you got left?" I asked, damning my curiosity.
"Life." The boy said glumly. "I guess I don't have anything to lose really."
"It's none of my business kid. Life in here isn't so bad." I said awkwardly. I may have been in here a dime and a half, and I wasn't heartless but I wasn't his damn therapist.
Last call came, the lights flicked off. I turned over, my hand protectively wrapped around the book I could no longer see. For the benefit of my own state of mind I had stopped keeping track of the days and hours I would spend in this metal cage. I drifted off, my eyelids weary from a long day of minding my own business.
I awoke to whispers and shuffling of feet. My new cellmate stood at the bars looking out. It wasn't uncommon for newbies. Especially long timers. I turned over and lie awake. Fifteen years and still the idea of whatever the other inmates did to get time off their sentences still didn't seem worth it to me.
"Daniel Longsworth." A guard, Mark if I remember correctly, said gruffly. The door slid open, no buzzer. I whispered a quick prayer for his soul, I'd been a retired catholic for years, but Mother Mary have mercy on my soul I wasn't heartless.
Footsteps receded down the hall. I shifted in the dark, the door secured behind them. I grabbed the pillow, still warm from the kids bunk. He wouldn't be back before morning. I may not be heartless, but I'm not an idiot either.
Morning came and everything was like it was the day before. We wouldn't get another van of transfers until next Thursday. I could easily wait that long before being reassigned a bunkmate. The food was as usual tasteless and an oddly concerning texture. I had given up imagining better food years ago. I sat and shoveled. It went down best with chocolate milk, a small comfort some of us oldies were afforded. I saved it til the very end, the tasteless mash was less disapointing if you ate it quickly.
After our shortened rec time we all headed back to our cells for an emergency bunk toss. Some bastard was going to get it later, not from me, but it's best not to make enemies with people with nothing left to lose.
I stood by my bunk waiting to be padded down diligently by a guard as one by one they tossed my books and rifled through my things. It was the same old shit that had been going on since I walked through the loudly buzzing door.
"All clear!" The call was greeted with a sigh of relief. No shenanigans for this old man.
"Hey Grandpa!" The guard called out to me. I raised my eyebrows not saying a word, head down, mind your business style. "You've got a new roomie."
A scrawny boy stood in the doorway. "My name's Danny." The foggy face looked up to me. Angular features seemed almost bird like. He smiled and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
I crawled into my bunk and muttered shaking under my breath: "Twelve more hours." | "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It's almost noon. At least that's what the rusted out clock hanging above the two way mirror says. I turn my head and smile at my reflection, knowing someone else is behind there watching.
A nurse, at least I think she's a nurse, short and a bit chunky comes over to the bed I'm strapped to and starts looking at the monitor by my head. "How long did you get?" she asked. Her voice is breathy and sweet with a southern twang. She fusses with the saline drip.
I clear my throat. "Forty five years," I say.
She looks at me double and I say, "What is it?"
She asks, "How old are you?"
And I say, "Fifty." Even though I ain't fifty, I'm fifty six, but that ain't none of her goddam busness.
She looks nervous and mouths something I don't catch.
"What? You got a problem with me?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just nothing. It's nothing."
There's a tapping on the mirror I can't see through. "Jenny, It's almost time for lunch," a guy says. "Let get this one done, I'm starving."
She nods and does something with a syringe, then says. "We'll see you tomorrow."
All I feel is cold from the needle spreading down my arm and to my shoulder and over my chest. That's when things stopped, but only for a moment. Like a blip in a cut film reel. Nothing really happens.
I wake up. Slowly. My eyes open, sticky with sleep. I turn my head. God, my body doesn't want to cooperate. My neck is so stiff. Must be the drugs wearing off.
When the haze clears form my eyes, I can see that the clock read quarter past noon. I look around the room. Did something go wrong? Did it not work?
The door opens and in walks that nurse from before. She looks tired and doesn't look at me. "Are you alright?" she asks.
I nod.
"Let me sit you up." She presses a few buttons and removes the needle from my arm. "A cab is waiting for you after you sign out."
"That was it?"
She doesn't answer. "They're bringing a wheelchair for you in just a moment."
She presses a button on the floor with her foot and slowly the bed I'm strapped to sits up. I'm looking at the two way mirror. I know that what I see is a reflection. I know that it's me. But it ain't me too, because the face staring back at me is old. Not fifty-six.
"What is this?" I shout to the nurse, but she's already at the door. Already leaving and giving me one last sorry look. "What the hell?"
The face staring back at me looks like one you'd find on the Today Show Smucker Jars. Except they'd gloss over my looks because I ain't much to look at. And what would they say of my life?
Nothing. Goddammit. Because I didn't get to live it.
| "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| "Are you sure you want to do this? This is your last time to change how long your sentenced to jail." A booming voice asked me. "Yes, I'm sure." I replied, responding only after I had made up my mind for the final time. "Okay. Amanda, release the beasts." The voice stated. I could tell that the person who was talking had a slight grin plastered onto their face due to their voice's tone.
Within a minute, the cell was filled with, well, beasts. There were black widow spiders, King cobras, angered tigers, just about anything deadly you could think of. It was life or death, I was staring right at the "death" part with choosing to have a one day sentence instead of a ten year one.
What seemed like an eternity passed. At that point I had been mauled by tigers, bitten by multiple creatures, and most likely poisoned. I knew I would die soon, and the thought of me not being able to say a simple goodbye to my friends and family only made it worse, but I refused to give up. Some people would assume that just because I'm female I couldn't do half of the things men could do. Oh how wrong they were. Apparently I had stared death right in the face, challenged him to a battle, and miraculously won.
By the time I exited the cell, I had already bled nearly five ounces. However, even though I had won the fight for my life it didn't end there. The warden had come towards me. It was then that I realized who exactly he was. The warden was the man I thought I had murdered. I had never feared anything more than i have then in the entire time I was alive. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Fifteen years into a 90 year sentence there was nothing that could get me down. I had enough books to keep me happy for what seemed like decades. I had internet--albeit restricted-- once a month. My time in Max-sec had been relatively relaxed. When crime rates skyrocketed, that's when the trouble began. You see a lot in 15 years, but I had earned everything I owned. I kept to myself, and for the most part so did the others. I learned all too well it's not the murderers you have to worry about, it's the punks looking to make a name for themselves. Drug addicts with daddy issues.
I closed my book, the buzzing of the cell doors put my teeth on edge. I reached behind me, a gift for any visitors with a penchant for trouble.
"I'm Danny." The cheery face looked up to me. Bony features, almost bird like to an extent.
"Grandfather," I introduce myself with the archaic nickname. It was bestowed upon me after my ten year aniversary. "If you're looking to share your sob story about how you 'didn't do it' save your breath kid." I added turning back to my book. He couldn't be more than 20. He zipped his trap and climbed into the bunk above me. Gangly legs, all elbows and knees. I began to wonder if he might just tear through the mattress with boney limbs like that.
"Can I ask you a question?" The kid asked after a long pause.
"No."
"They offered me a deal." The kids went on, ignoring me. I hate being ignored. It would appear the kid was going to share his tale whether I liked it or not.
"And?" I took the bait.
"They said I could finish my sentence tonight, just one night." As the kid spoke his voice was jittery.
"How many years you got left?" I asked, damning my curiosity.
"Life." The boy said glumly. "I guess I don't have anything to lose really."
"It's none of my business kid. Life in here isn't so bad." I said awkwardly. I may have been in here a dime and a half, and I wasn't heartless but I wasn't his damn therapist.
Last call came, the lights flicked off. I turned over, my hand protectively wrapped around the book I could no longer see. For the benefit of my own state of mind I had stopped keeping track of the days and hours I would spend in this metal cage. I drifted off, my eyelids weary from a long day of minding my own business.
I awoke to whispers and shuffling of feet. My new cellmate stood at the bars looking out. It wasn't uncommon for newbies. Especially long timers. I turned over and lie awake. Fifteen years and still the idea of whatever the other inmates did to get time off their sentences still didn't seem worth it to me.
"Daniel Longsworth." A guard, Mark if I remember correctly, said gruffly. The door slid open, no buzzer. I whispered a quick prayer for his soul, I'd been a retired catholic for years, but Mother Mary have mercy on my soul I wasn't heartless.
Footsteps receded down the hall. I shifted in the dark, the door secured behind them. I grabbed the pillow, still warm from the kids bunk. He wouldn't be back before morning. I may not be heartless, but I'm not an idiot either.
Morning came and everything was like it was the day before. We wouldn't get another van of transfers until next Thursday. I could easily wait that long before being reassigned a bunkmate. The food was as usual tasteless and an oddly concerning texture. I had given up imagining better food years ago. I sat and shoveled. It went down best with chocolate milk, a small comfort some of us oldies were afforded. I saved it til the very end, the tasteless mash was less disapointing if you ate it quickly.
After our shortened rec time we all headed back to our cells for an emergency bunk toss. Some bastard was going to get it later, not from me, but it's best not to make enemies with people with nothing left to lose.
I stood by my bunk waiting to be padded down diligently by a guard as one by one they tossed my books and rifled through my things. It was the same old shit that had been going on since I walked through the loudly buzzing door.
"All clear!" The call was greeted with a sigh of relief. No shenanigans for this old man.
"Hey Grandpa!" The guard called out to me. I raised my eyebrows not saying a word, head down, mind your business style. "You've got a new roomie."
A scrawny boy stood in the doorway. "My name's Danny." The foggy face looked up to me. Angular features seemed almost bird like. He smiled and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
I crawled into my bunk and muttered shaking under my breath: "Twelve more hours." | *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It's almost noon. At least that's what the rusted out clock hanging above the two way mirror says. I turn my head and smile at my reflection, knowing someone else is behind there watching.
A nurse, at least I think she's a nurse, short and a bit chunky comes over to the bed I'm strapped to and starts looking at the monitor by my head. "How long did you get?" she asked. Her voice is breathy and sweet with a southern twang. She fusses with the saline drip.
I clear my throat. "Forty five years," I say.
She looks at me double and I say, "What is it?"
She asks, "How old are you?"
And I say, "Fifty." Even though I ain't fifty, I'm fifty six, but that ain't none of her goddam busness.
She looks nervous and mouths something I don't catch.
"What? You got a problem with me?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just nothing. It's nothing."
There's a tapping on the mirror I can't see through. "Jenny, It's almost time for lunch," a guy says. "Let get this one done, I'm starving."
She nods and does something with a syringe, then says. "We'll see you tomorrow."
All I feel is cold from the needle spreading down my arm and to my shoulder and over my chest. That's when things stopped, but only for a moment. Like a blip in a cut film reel. Nothing really happens.
I wake up. Slowly. My eyes open, sticky with sleep. I turn my head. God, my body doesn't want to cooperate. My neck is so stiff. Must be the drugs wearing off.
When the haze clears form my eyes, I can see that the clock read quarter past noon. I look around the room. Did something go wrong? Did it not work?
The door opens and in walks that nurse from before. She looks tired and doesn't look at me. "Are you alright?" she asks.
I nod.
"Let me sit you up." She presses a few buttons and removes the needle from my arm. "A cab is waiting for you after you sign out."
"That was it?"
She doesn't answer. "They're bringing a wheelchair for you in just a moment."
She presses a button on the floor with her foot and slowly the bed I'm strapped to sits up. I'm looking at the two way mirror. I know that what I see is a reflection. I know that it's me. But it ain't me too, because the face staring back at me is old. Not fifty-six.
"What is this?" I shout to the nurse, but she's already at the door. Already leaving and giving me one last sorry look. "What the hell?"
The face staring back at me looks like one you'd find on the Today Show Smucker Jars. Except they'd gloss over my looks because I ain't much to look at. And what would they say of my life?
Nothing. Goddammit. Because I didn't get to live it.
| *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| *im drunk / pt. 1 (listening to the kung fury soundtrack does things to u)*
The Cut - the shortening of one's prison sentence in exchange for moving to a different block.
This offer was only available at the New Brooklyn Penitentiary, transitioning the surrounding areas from bustling utopias and famous tourist attractions into a nest for criminals who fought for nothing but notoriety. New Brooklyn was a warzone; NBP controlled the frontlines. In the prison, the prisoners were assigned a certain block based on their traits and level of potential danger they held.
Block D was composed of the common street thug you'd find on any street of New Brooklyn. They ran their block exactly how they ran their streets; they didn't. Block C contained the potential of the prison. A step up in danger from Block D, Block C consisted of prisoners who made The Cut. Anyone can make The Cut, everyone you see walking down Block C actually survived it. The aftertaste of success still stuck behind their tongues, they often gained the confidence to climb even higher. Block B - the big leagues. Savages with a taste for blood and the mind to survive, the members of Block B were often ranking officials in the city gangs. Though the majority of the prisoners were seemingly fearless barbarians with unquenchable bloodlust, they were all wary of one particular group in the prison: The Kings of Block A. Block A was the most dangerous and notorious group in the prison. The block held only three people; Pops happened to be one of them. An old fisherman who came to the city for reasons no one knew, his mere presence would force weaker minds into submission.
On that day, Pops had gone to the cafeteria. The entire cafeteria went silent upon his entry before slowly bringing upon a chaos only an entity such as himself could bring. The war continued. Pops gulped down a cup of the finest gravy in the whole cafeteria, and started back for his cell. Not even a second after turning his back, he felt a presence coming closer.
"Where do ya think you're goin', old man?" a thin and lanky man a few inches taller than Pops approached. "Block B is different old man, times are changin'. You wouldn't last here." he spit out, obviously aching for a fight.
Pops blankly stared the annoyance down, not preparing any sort of defense.
"Let's fight!" yells skinny dude, his hands clenched, his face ugly with rage.
"Get some." says Pops as he thrusts his right first straight into the gut of twig man who was launching a full frontal assault. It was a dumb plan, and he paid full price for it.
"Get lost little tuna." says Pops as he continued walking away, the eyes of everyone fixated on him throughout the duration. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Fifteen years into a 90 year sentence there was nothing that could get me down. I had enough books to keep me happy for what seemed like decades. I had internet--albeit restricted-- once a month. My time in Max-sec had been relatively relaxed. When crime rates skyrocketed, that's when the trouble began. You see a lot in 15 years, but I had earned everything I owned. I kept to myself, and for the most part so did the others. I learned all too well it's not the murderers you have to worry about, it's the punks looking to make a name for themselves. Drug addicts with daddy issues.
I closed my book, the buzzing of the cell doors put my teeth on edge. I reached behind me, a gift for any visitors with a penchant for trouble.
"I'm Danny." The cheery face looked up to me. Bony features, almost bird like to an extent.
"Grandfather," I introduce myself with the archaic nickname. It was bestowed upon me after my ten year aniversary. "If you're looking to share your sob story about how you 'didn't do it' save your breath kid." I added turning back to my book. He couldn't be more than 20. He zipped his trap and climbed into the bunk above me. Gangly legs, all elbows and knees. I began to wonder if he might just tear through the mattress with boney limbs like that.
"Can I ask you a question?" The kid asked after a long pause.
"No."
"They offered me a deal." The kids went on, ignoring me. I hate being ignored. It would appear the kid was going to share his tale whether I liked it or not.
"And?" I took the bait.
"They said I could finish my sentence tonight, just one night." As the kid spoke his voice was jittery.
"How many years you got left?" I asked, damning my curiosity.
"Life." The boy said glumly. "I guess I don't have anything to lose really."
"It's none of my business kid. Life in here isn't so bad." I said awkwardly. I may have been in here a dime and a half, and I wasn't heartless but I wasn't his damn therapist.
Last call came, the lights flicked off. I turned over, my hand protectively wrapped around the book I could no longer see. For the benefit of my own state of mind I had stopped keeping track of the days and hours I would spend in this metal cage. I drifted off, my eyelids weary from a long day of minding my own business.
I awoke to whispers and shuffling of feet. My new cellmate stood at the bars looking out. It wasn't uncommon for newbies. Especially long timers. I turned over and lie awake. Fifteen years and still the idea of whatever the other inmates did to get time off their sentences still didn't seem worth it to me.
"Daniel Longsworth." A guard, Mark if I remember correctly, said gruffly. The door slid open, no buzzer. I whispered a quick prayer for his soul, I'd been a retired catholic for years, but Mother Mary have mercy on my soul I wasn't heartless.
Footsteps receded down the hall. I shifted in the dark, the door secured behind them. I grabbed the pillow, still warm from the kids bunk. He wouldn't be back before morning. I may not be heartless, but I'm not an idiot either.
Morning came and everything was like it was the day before. We wouldn't get another van of transfers until next Thursday. I could easily wait that long before being reassigned a bunkmate. The food was as usual tasteless and an oddly concerning texture. I had given up imagining better food years ago. I sat and shoveled. It went down best with chocolate milk, a small comfort some of us oldies were afforded. I saved it til the very end, the tasteless mash was less disapointing if you ate it quickly.
After our shortened rec time we all headed back to our cells for an emergency bunk toss. Some bastard was going to get it later, not from me, but it's best not to make enemies with people with nothing left to lose.
I stood by my bunk waiting to be padded down diligently by a guard as one by one they tossed my books and rifled through my things. It was the same old shit that had been going on since I walked through the loudly buzzing door.
"All clear!" The call was greeted with a sigh of relief. No shenanigans for this old man.
"Hey Grandpa!" The guard called out to me. I raised my eyebrows not saying a word, head down, mind your business style. "You've got a new roomie."
A scrawny boy stood in the doorway. "My name's Danny." The foggy face looked up to me. Angular features seemed almost bird like. He smiled and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
I crawled into my bunk and muttered shaking under my breath: "Twelve more hours." | *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It's almost noon. At least that's what the rusted out clock hanging above the two way mirror says. I turn my head and smile at my reflection, knowing someone else is behind there watching.
A nurse, at least I think she's a nurse, short and a bit chunky comes over to the bed I'm strapped to and starts looking at the monitor by my head. "How long did you get?" she asked. Her voice is breathy and sweet with a southern twang. She fusses with the saline drip.
I clear my throat. "Forty five years," I say.
She looks at me double and I say, "What is it?"
She asks, "How old are you?"
And I say, "Fifty." Even though I ain't fifty, I'm fifty six, but that ain't none of her goddam busness.
She looks nervous and mouths something I don't catch.
"What? You got a problem with me?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just nothing. It's nothing."
There's a tapping on the mirror I can't see through. "Jenny, It's almost time for lunch," a guy says. "Let get this one done, I'm starving."
She nods and does something with a syringe, then says. "We'll see you tomorrow."
All I feel is cold from the needle spreading down my arm and to my shoulder and over my chest. That's when things stopped, but only for a moment. Like a blip in a cut film reel. Nothing really happens.
I wake up. Slowly. My eyes open, sticky with sleep. I turn my head. God, my body doesn't want to cooperate. My neck is so stiff. Must be the drugs wearing off.
When the haze clears form my eyes, I can see that the clock read quarter past noon. I look around the room. Did something go wrong? Did it not work?
The door opens and in walks that nurse from before. She looks tired and doesn't look at me. "Are you alright?" she asks.
I nod.
"Let me sit you up." She presses a few buttons and removes the needle from my arm. "A cab is waiting for you after you sign out."
"That was it?"
She doesn't answer. "They're bringing a wheelchair for you in just a moment."
She presses a button on the floor with her foot and slowly the bed I'm strapped to sits up. I'm looking at the two way mirror. I know that what I see is a reflection. I know that it's me. But it ain't me too, because the face staring back at me is old. Not fifty-six.
"What is this?" I shout to the nurse, but she's already at the door. Already leaving and giving me one last sorry look. "What the hell?"
The face staring back at me looks like one you'd find on the Today Show Smucker Jars. Except they'd gloss over my looks because I ain't much to look at. And what would they say of my life?
Nothing. Goddammit. Because I didn't get to live it.
| *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| *It's funny, some people find ways of getting around laws, and you call them criminals. Others do the same, and you call them politicians.*
*Capital punishment had been outlawed. No-one could be sentenced to die. Yet still some people had come up with ways of ensuring certain people never lived past their sentence.*
---
"Come in, Mr Anthony. I understand you wish to take advantage of the new sentencing laws? Your lawyer has informed me that you wish for your sentence to be reduced to a single day."
"That's correct."
"I am required to inform you of the conditions you will spend your sentence in. Despite being only 24 hours long, your time will consist of the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. It will not be a pleasant night."
"I understand. I've made my decision. I want the single day."
"Then let it be so. Guard, please return Mr Anthony to his cell."
---
*"The most excruciating pain you have ever experienced." It wasn't just hyperbole - scientists had developed a drug that heightened the body's response to physical harm. It was actually very convenient, we had to inflict very little actual harm upon the prisoner, certainly nothing that would affect their quality of life in any future after prison. Not only did this make the punishment sound much more humane, it was also easier on those who had to inflict it. There was no longer a choice between choosing 'torturers' who were already mentally unsettled, and choosing those who would become so after a certain amount of time in the job.*
---
I watched the nurse enter with the syringe. Mr Anthony was sitting on the only chair in his cell, quite calmly. Why would he fight? He thought he had chosen the easy option. The nurse asked him to extend his arm, and he did so,
receiving the injection. The nurse left, and the guard made a small cut on Mr Anthony's arm before setting the knife on the table and leaving himself.
---
*A small incision into the flesh, repeated hourly. That is the only physical harm done to the prisoners. The drug takes a while to slowly ramp up in intensity, so the prisoners themselves are surprised at the seeming ease of their sentence. "24 hours of this? A walk in the park!". I bet that's what they're thinking to themselves as the time begins. Of course, as the drug takes effect it becomes harder and harder to bear.*
---
It was two hours into Mr Anthony's sentence, and time for the 3rd shallow incision. The guard walked in, picked up the knife, made his cut, and walked out. The drug was clearly beginning to take effect - Mr Anthony was experiencing visible discomfort, gritting his teeth and scratching at his three wounds. It was almost amusing - little more than a few scratches, and a grown man was squirming in his seat.
---
*You might find it curious that the knife was left in the room with Mr Anthony. Really, it just makes the most sense for the prison. The guard must wear full body protective armour in either case, some of the prisoners are dangerous enough with their bare hands - while they're still lucid, anyway. Once you start removing the knife from the cell each time, you then run into health and safety concerns - the knife must be sterilised in between, any blood on it must be cleared up immediately, lest any staff catch something off a prisoner, or even just slip on some standing fluid. Health and Safety brings about a whole number of issues, far easier to just keep the knife in with the prisoner and deal with it after the sentence. After all, who would willingly inflict* further *harm upon themselves? Who indeed...*
---
Mr Anthony cried out. He was almost halfway through the fourth hour of his time. Someone with a better head for numbers than me tells me that the drug works 'exponentially'. The longer it spends in your bloodstream, the faster the pain increases. In the first hour it's almost unnoticeable, but by this point Mr Anthony would feel the pain growing every minute of his time, and he would be able to tell that it was only getting faster. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming from his face. Any thoughts he had once had about this being an easy route had been dispelled long ago. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of the one-way mirror, leaning heavily on it.
"Make it stop! Please, I beg you, just make it stop! I don't want this any more!"
One of the technicians looked visibly distressed. I motioned her boss over and requested that her shift be ended early, and a more experienced technician be brought in as her replacement. No matter how bad a person is, watching them suffer like this can be hard, but over the years you get used to it.
---
*In fact, even if we had wanted to end the punishment there and then, we couldn't have. We don't tell the prisoners this, but there is actually no currently-known way of reversing the effects of the drug. As soon as you administer it, the subject is stuck with ever increasing pain, even after the theoretical end of their 24 hour sentence. In reality, this is never a big problem for us:*
---
At 5 hours and 17 minutes into his sentence, Mr Anthony dragged himself up onto the chair, reached for the knife, and in a single motion slit his throat. By this stage the pain will have been so intense that there will have been little difference to him between the four small scratches on his arms and the large gash severing the major arteries in his neck. Within seconds he will have bled out, and his suffering was over. The technicians waited a while longer before moving in and clearing up the mess in the cell. I made a call to the guard office to let them know that no-one would need to come and administer the fifth incision. It was barely necessary, only once before had we had anyone last more than 6 hours of their sentence. I had heard rumours of an inmate in another prison lasting almost 9 hours, but I don't believe them one bit. I left the observation room, and walked along the largely-empty corridors of my prison, back to my office.
---
*And so, without sentencing a single death (at least not directly), those in power ensure that people who commit heinous crimes never survive beyond their sentence. Any life taken is done so by the prisoner themselves, and ever since the legalisation of euthanasia a couple of decades back, we're even legally protected against that fact. Once again, politicians have bent rules to ensure they achieve their ideologically illegal aims, though there is no chance they will ever be facing up to this punishment.* |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | Charles leaned his shoulder blades back into the cement wall, recoiling slightly at the cold, the dampness permeating his t-shirt, and rested his palms on his bent knees in the dark.
I can do this. I asked for this. A deep breath, another. He longed desperately to see his wife and son again, to rectify the pain he had put them through. The death was an accident, a stroke of bad luck in a bar fight gone wrong. He had seen the miscreant drop a pill in the drink of the woman sitting next to him, knowing his nefarious intentions. Charles pushed his chair back, walked across the bar and grabbed the man by his hooded sweatshirt, yanking him down off his bar stool, hard, and swinging his left hand around in a fast arc to connect with the man's chin, speeding his descent into the worn maple floor of the tavern. Only the man had fallen wrong; The doctors said he had struck his neck at just the right angle to separate the vertebrae in his neck and crushing his brainstem.
That seemed so long ago. It had only been seven months, but that seemed an eternity to be away from Janie and little Ted. Oregon had passed the Prisoner Accelerant legislature some two months ago and he had been one of the first to sign up. Frank Bellowitz, a mid-level drug lord out of Sacramento doing twenty-five for moving H and offing two of his rival gang members was the first to go. He commuted his sentence to two weeks and word had passed up block Nine-B that he had spent it in a dirt pit lit by a single shop floodlight. He was provided a bucket of water that the guards pissed in, and had to sustain his calorie intake from eating his cellmates - thousands upon thousands of wolf spiders poured through the PVC ducts in the side of his cell walls. "Unhinged" is a kind way of describing how he walked out of Miller High Security's front gates.
Bob Chutney, serving a similar lengthy sentence, commuted his term down to only six days, and he spent it in an oversized coffin that had just enough room to move around without being able to turn on your side. The box variated extreme conditions, sometimes being as cold as a glacial stream in Norway with water actually flowing through the bottom an inch deep, others being as hot as the Afghan desert. The humidity was subject to change, one hour so dry he can do nothing but cough and wheeze and wish for the arctic water flow, another so cold and humid that his bones were imploding with ache and he could think only of the sun's warmth.
Charles sits in his cold damp concrete cell, snaps out of his reverie; He has chosen one day. A single day. What does Miller have in store for him, he wonders? He can't help but visually take inventory of his surroundings. The cell is roughly the size of a child's bedroom, on the larger side. It is barren save for the toilet hole across from him and a tray with some moldy Arby's and turbid looking water in a drinking cup on the floor near the large metal door- steel, by the lack of rust. He notices the faint outline of a circular shape, patterned all around the room near the ceiling at twelve inch intervals.
Just as he begins to wonder the purpose of the decor, he hears something. A faint thrumming, a beat. He hears drums coupled with a synthesized instrument, perhaps two of some kind he does not know. The sound becomes louder, all indications pointing to the circles as the source of the noise. The music becomes almost deafening, for a bizarre instant causing Charles to wish he had earplugs. He steps to his feet, putting his fingers in his ears. As soon as he does so, the sound in his chamber is cranked so loud it is as if he didn't put his fingers in his ears at all; He can feel the reverberations in his chest, in each of his organs - pounding, thrumming, vibrating, shaking.
Then he hears Justin Beiber's voice rifle through the speakers.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | Charles leaned his shoulder blades back into the cement wall, recoiling slightly at the cold, the dampness permeating his t-shirt, and rested his palms on his bent knees in the dark.
I can do this. I asked for this. A deep breath, another. He longed desperately to see his wife and son again, to rectify the pain he had put them through. The death was an accident, a stroke of bad luck in a bar fight gone wrong. He had seen the miscreant drop a pill in the drink of the woman sitting next to him, knowing his nefarious intentions. Charles pushed his chair back, walked across the bar and grabbed the man by his hooded sweatshirt, yanking him down off his bar stool, hard, and swinging his left hand around in a fast arc to connect with the man's chin, speeding his descent into the worn maple floor of the tavern. Only the man had fallen wrong; The doctors said he had struck his neck at just the right angle to separate the vertebrae in his neck and crushing his brainstem.
That seemed so long ago. It had only been seven months, but that seemed an eternity to be away from Janie and little Ted. Oregon had passed the Prisoner Accelerant legislature some two months ago and he had been one of the first to sign up. Frank Bellowitz, a mid-level drug lord out of Sacramento doing twenty-five for moving H and offing two of his rival gang members was the first to go. He commuted his sentence to two weeks and word had passed up block Nine-B that he had spent it in a dirt pit lit by a single shop floodlight. He was provided a bucket of water that the guards pissed in, and had to sustain his calorie intake from eating his cellmates - thousands upon thousands of wolf spiders poured through the PVC ducts in the side of his cell walls. "Unhinged" is a kind way of describing how he walked out of Miller High Security's front gates.
Bob Chutney, serving a similar lengthy sentence, commuted his term down to only six days, and he spent it in an oversized coffin that had just enough room to move around without being able to turn on your side. The box variated extreme conditions, sometimes being as cold as a glacial stream in Norway with water actually flowing through the bottom an inch deep, others being as hot as the Afghan desert. The humidity was subject to change, one hour so dry he can do nothing but cough and wheeze and wish for the arctic water flow, another so cold and humid that his bones were imploding with ache and he could think only of the sun's warmth.
Charles sits in his cold damp concrete cell, snaps out of his reverie; He has chosen one day. A single day. What does Miller have in store for him, he wonders? He can't help but visually take inventory of his surroundings. The cell is roughly the size of a child's bedroom, on the larger side. It is barren save for the toilet hole across from him and a tray with some moldy Arby's and turbid looking water in a drinking cup on the floor near the large metal door- steel, by the lack of rust. He notices the faint outline of a circular shape, patterned all around the room near the ceiling at twelve inch intervals.
Just as he begins to wonder the purpose of the decor, he hears something. A faint thrumming, a beat. He hears drums coupled with a synthesized instrument, perhaps two of some kind he does not know. The sound becomes louder, all indications pointing to the circles as the source of the noise. The music becomes almost deafening, for a bizarre instant causing Charles to wish he had earplugs. He steps to his feet, putting his fingers in his ears. As soon as he does so, the sound in his chamber is cranked so loud it is as if he didn't put his fingers in his ears at all; He can feel the reverberations in his chest, in each of his organs - pounding, thrumming, vibrating, shaking.
Then he hears Justin Beiber's voice rifle through the speakers.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | Charles leaned his shoulder blades back into the cement wall, recoiling slightly at the cold, the dampness permeating his t-shirt, and rested his palms on his bent knees in the dark.
I can do this. I asked for this. A deep breath, another. He longed desperately to see his wife and son again, to rectify the pain he had put them through. The death was an accident, a stroke of bad luck in a bar fight gone wrong. He had seen the miscreant drop a pill in the drink of the woman sitting next to him, knowing his nefarious intentions. Charles pushed his chair back, walked across the bar and grabbed the man by his hooded sweatshirt, yanking him down off his bar stool, hard, and swinging his left hand around in a fast arc to connect with the man's chin, speeding his descent into the worn maple floor of the tavern. Only the man had fallen wrong; The doctors said he had struck his neck at just the right angle to separate the vertebrae in his neck and crushing his brainstem.
That seemed so long ago. It had only been seven months, but that seemed an eternity to be away from Janie and little Ted. Oregon had passed the Prisoner Accelerant legislature some two months ago and he had been one of the first to sign up. Frank Bellowitz, a mid-level drug lord out of Sacramento doing twenty-five for moving H and offing two of his rival gang members was the first to go. He commuted his sentence to two weeks and word had passed up block Nine-B that he had spent it in a dirt pit lit by a single shop floodlight. He was provided a bucket of water that the guards pissed in, and had to sustain his calorie intake from eating his cellmates - thousands upon thousands of wolf spiders poured through the PVC ducts in the side of his cell walls. "Unhinged" is a kind way of describing how he walked out of Miller High Security's front gates.
Bob Chutney, serving a similar lengthy sentence, commuted his term down to only six days, and he spent it in an oversized coffin that had just enough room to move around without being able to turn on your side. The box variated extreme conditions, sometimes being as cold as a glacial stream in Norway with water actually flowing through the bottom an inch deep, others being as hot as the Afghan desert. The humidity was subject to change, one hour so dry he can do nothing but cough and wheeze and wish for the arctic water flow, another so cold and humid that his bones were imploding with ache and he could think only of the sun's warmth.
Charles sits in his cold damp concrete cell, snaps out of his reverie; He has chosen one day. A single day. What does Miller have in store for him, he wonders? He can't help but visually take inventory of his surroundings. The cell is roughly the size of a child's bedroom, on the larger side. It is barren save for the toilet hole across from him and a tray with some moldy Arby's and turbid looking water in a drinking cup on the floor near the large metal door- steel, by the lack of rust. He notices the faint outline of a circular shape, patterned all around the room near the ceiling at twelve inch intervals.
Just as he begins to wonder the purpose of the decor, he hears something. A faint thrumming, a beat. He hears drums coupled with a synthesized instrument, perhaps two of some kind he does not know. The sound becomes louder, all indications pointing to the circles as the source of the noise. The music becomes almost deafening, for a bizarre instant causing Charles to wish he had earplugs. He steps to his feet, putting his fingers in his ears. As soon as he does so, the sound in his chamber is cranked so loud it is as if he didn't put his fingers in his ears at all; He can feel the reverberations in his chest, in each of his organs - pounding, thrumming, vibrating, shaking.
Then he hears Justin Beiber's voice rifle through the speakers.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| Charles leaned his shoulder blades back into the cement wall, recoiling slightly at the cold, the dampness permeating his t-shirt, and rested his palms on his bent knees in the dark.
I can do this. I asked for this. A deep breath, another. He longed desperately to see his wife and son again, to rectify the pain he had put them through. The death was an accident, a stroke of bad luck in a bar fight gone wrong. He had seen the miscreant drop a pill in the drink of the woman sitting next to him, knowing his nefarious intentions. Charles pushed his chair back, walked across the bar and grabbed the man by his hooded sweatshirt, yanking him down off his bar stool, hard, and swinging his left hand around in a fast arc to connect with the man's chin, speeding his descent into the worn maple floor of the tavern. Only the man had fallen wrong; The doctors said he had struck his neck at just the right angle to separate the vertebrae in his neck and crushing his brainstem.
That seemed so long ago. It had only been seven months, but that seemed an eternity to be away from Janie and little Ted. Oregon had passed the Prisoner Accelerant legislature some two months ago and he had been one of the first to sign up. Frank Bellowitz, a mid-level drug lord out of Sacramento doing twenty-five for moving H and offing two of his rival gang members was the first to go. He commuted his sentence to two weeks and word had passed up block Nine-B that he had spent it in a dirt pit lit by a single shop floodlight. He was provided a bucket of water that the guards pissed in, and had to sustain his calorie intake from eating his cellmates - thousands upon thousands of wolf spiders poured through the PVC ducts in the side of his cell walls. "Unhinged" is a kind way of describing how he walked out of Miller High Security's front gates.
Bob Chutney, serving a similar lengthy sentence, commuted his term down to only six days, and he spent it in an oversized coffin that had just enough room to move around without being able to turn on your side. The box variated extreme conditions, sometimes being as cold as a glacial stream in Norway with water actually flowing through the bottom an inch deep, others being as hot as the Afghan desert. The humidity was subject to change, one hour so dry he can do nothing but cough and wheeze and wish for the arctic water flow, another so cold and humid that his bones were imploding with ache and he could think only of the sun's warmth.
Charles sits in his cold damp concrete cell, snaps out of his reverie; He has chosen one day. A single day. What does Miller have in store for him, he wonders? He can't help but visually take inventory of his surroundings. The cell is roughly the size of a child's bedroom, on the larger side. It is barren save for the toilet hole across from him and a tray with some moldy Arby's and turbid looking water in a drinking cup on the floor near the large metal door- steel, by the lack of rust. He notices the faint outline of a circular shape, patterned all around the room near the ceiling at twelve inch intervals.
Just as he begins to wonder the purpose of the decor, he hears something. A faint thrumming, a beat. He hears drums coupled with a synthesized instrument, perhaps two of some kind he does not know. The sound becomes louder, all indications pointing to the circles as the source of the noise. The music becomes almost deafening, for a bizarre instant causing Charles to wish he had earplugs. He steps to his feet, putting his fingers in his ears. As soon as he does so, the sound in his chamber is cranked so loud it is as if he didn't put his fingers in his ears at all; He can feel the reverberations in his chest, in each of his organs - pounding, thrumming, vibrating, shaking.
Then he hears Justin Beiber's voice rifle through the speakers.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | 2127... That's my name, or at least it is now. I've been locked up for 13 years so far for a mistake I made. Drunk me thought it was fine to drive and whose and hehold, I killed a lady and her 4 kids. Life with no parol, I guess I deserve it, but I miss my family. I would do anything to see them.
The distinctive click of his cell lock opening woke him from his sleep. Exhaustion gripping him tightly as if he had only slept for an hour or so. He quickly examined himself to check for any scarring. This inmate is known to hurt himself in his sleep.The guard called into his radio to turn the lights on in cell 307. As the light blinded the inmate, the guard began to speak.
"2127, get up! The warden wants a word with you."
Still struggling to see through the sudden bright light, 2127 rose to his feet. The guards were abnormally quiet and the hall isn't filled with its usual noise of inmates yelling and fighting. Finally they reached the garden's office.
The guard opened the door and there stood the warden, gazing out of his window as if this was a movie. The guards left them and shut the door behind them. The warden was a short stocky man, dressed in what appeared to be a cheap tan suit. He turned and smiled, "2127, he'll I haven't seen you since one of your 'episodes'." The stocky man chuckled a bit.
The prisoner knew better than to speak unless told to. He nervously traced the scars on his arms left by his last 'episode' waiting for permission to speak.
"I personally don't think you're a bad man. I read your file and know it was merely an accident. I have decided to adopt a new program that will allow you your freedom." The excited tone did nothing to help the uneasy grin off the warden's face. "This of course comes at a price. Shorten your sentence and the worse things will become for you here. I can even shorten it to one day, if you would like. I'm pretty sure I already know the answer anyways, what about it champ?"
2127 didn't even blink before nodding yes. Quickly the warden stood up and grabbed the inmate's arm. "I knew it, I'll even be nice and start the 24 hours now. Follow me."
More and more hallways, all of them just plain white. After a while the halls appear almost endless. Finally we stop at a door that was way too far from any other door, this made the inmate uneasy. The warden slaps the prisoner on the back, "24 hours... Then you're free." The warden performed some knock that the inmate could gather was a sign the warden was giving to the person inside. Suddenly the door slowly opened and to the inmate's surprise, a tall man wearing a lab coat appeared from the darkness of the doorway. The warden greeted him with a handshake, "All right doc, you got 21 hours." Quickly the doctor hurried the inmate in. Before 2127 could even speak, the doctor managed to hit the prisoner in the neck with a syringe.
Blood... That's what the warm liquid on his pants was. Pain wracked his body as he began to feel old wounds open again. The inmate screamed in a mix of terror and pain. He looked down to watch the doctor peeling back the skin of the prisoner's right pinky. Everything was so dark, but the pain and screams seemed to make that detail moot.
Slice after slice, now 3 fingers were peeled back. The peel was definitely done by a professional as it appeared you could slimply slip the skin back on. The pink flesh pulsated as the air began to touch the wound. 2127 throws up again.
The doctor removed his mask and looked the inmate in the eye, "You wanted the shorter sentence, and you were warned." A smile crept over his face. "I can honestly say I do enjoy this. Especially for you. I have opened a majority of your wounds, I hope the pain is worth it." The doctor just casually spoke as 2127 shook and vomited in front of the doctor, the pain causing screams.
The demeanor of the doctor suddenly changed as he grabbed the inmate's hair, "Maria... Chelse... Tiffany... Eli... And of course my wife, Amanda. Do these names ring a bell to you?" After a moment without a visual response from the tortured prisoner, the doctor grabbed a skinned finger and squeezed. The slick flesh bled like a sponge and the inmate cried out in agony. Quickly 2127 shook his head.
"They are the ones you killed. I found you and now I swore to make you feel this pain." The doctor smiles, "You think this is your first time here? Sorry, Jake." The doctor grabbed a drill from the table, "I have been a brain doctor for quiet some time, and after I'm done torturing you, I'm going to use this to drill at the back of your scull. I will ensure that all of this is just another 'episode'. But I always like to have this chat with you before I make you forget. It is true about your sentence, but I won't let you do it, I want you to pay."
Screams... Horrible screams. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The new prisoners showed up today. Mostly murderers and violent offenders, all of them looked tough, weathered almost by the life of crime they chose.
Prisoner A was first, letters given from the order the came to our facility. He was acting tough, glaring at the guards and even spitting on one. I still had to give him the option of the one day pass, and based on his actions I didn't mind.
"Your choice?" I asked, pointing at what looked like a menu in front of him.
"One day" he said with a smirk.
"You understand this will be agony and sheer brutality, yes?"
"I can handle it" he said with a laugh, "I've been through hell already".
"If you say so" I said, shaking my head.
Prisoner A was taken by the guards to the elevator, down to the lower level, I followed as usual.The elevator doors opened with a ring, its an older elevator and I still get nervous taking the old cage.
We stepped out into the dark hallway. It had a pungent smell, like feces, burnt flesh and decaying bodies. The first door we came to was like an old bank vault, it had large handle to spin for opening it once the lock was disengaged. Inside was a small room with another large vault door at the other side. This one had a window at eye level, to ensure the process goes correctly.
Prisoner A went through the 2nd door willingly, but stopped and looked at the floor, spinning around to say he changed his mind in a panic. The floor was covered with blood and strange patterns. We've never seen them clearly due to the limited light in the chamber, and we will never cross the second vault door.
It was too late for him. "You've already chosen" I said via the intercom.
"What is this!?" He yelled.
"You are in a former military testing area" I said.. "the military found this on accident and built a secure lab over it. Decades ago, a portal was found, which is directly below you. It was only recently confirmed what exactly is inside. It is a place of torment, of pain..and fear."
"Oh god, oh god please!!!" He yelled as the cracks in the floor started to glow.
"We made a deal with the...thing...inside" I said. "With our offerings on a daily basis, it will not cross the portal"
Chains wrapped around Prisoner A's wrists and the glow in the floor became brighter, covering his body with an orange glow.
"It feeds on fear, but after one day you can return. It doesn't like to kill, when it kills it's no longer enjoyable as there is no longer fear to feed on. You will experience horrors beyond your imagination but you will *most likely* survive"
The floor had now opened and Prisoner A was screaming and crying.
"Today starts one day in hell" I said as he was lowered into the glow. "Time goes very slow in hell, one day will feel like an eternity" | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | They call me sociopath. Psychopath. Monster. Something not quite human. Well, I agree. I am not of the same species as these mindless sheep who walk upon two legs. Yet they presume to judge me. Well, they caught me, and as we know, might makes right.
Just now, the judge is bleating something at me. My court appointed lawyer motions at me to stand. Rolling my eyes somewhat, I do so. The armored troopers in the courtroom all stiffen, tightening their grips on their laser rifles and adjusting the sights of their crew served weapons. Fools. When have I ever tried to escape during trial? Except that one time. No, these pathetic beings know my weakness, and the courtroom is packed with cameras and reporters. I'll listen with undisguised contempt to the judge's sentence, monologue at the cameras a bit, take a month or two off for quiet contemplation, and, when I'm ready, break out of prison and attempt to take over the world again.
In truth, I rather enjoy my little vacations. Accommodations are rather Spartan, true, but it's the only time I get to myself without the Terror Brigades interrupting me every fifteen minutes asking for further instructions. And the chef at the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, which they built specifically to hold me, is quite skillful within the very limited budget the federal government allows. I think tonight must be Taco Tuesday, although admittedly I am a bit fuzzy on how much time had passed since The Black Flame had hit me in the back of the head with that restored stream locomotive. Perhaps today is Spaghetti Friday.
Oh, the judge is getting angry. "Are you listening, Professor Static?" Yes, yes. Blah de blah blah, pretended to be the Commissioner of Baseball so I can kidnap and sell the New York Yankees to that alien circus. We all know. "Get on with it, will you? I've got an escape to plan!"
The judge sputters at me for a little bit. I wait superciliously until he can get ahold of himself. Finally, he gets to his point, and puts forth a most intriguing proposition. I may pick the length of my sentence! The longer, the more comfortable, and vice versa. Well, being that I am effectively immortal, or at least no one has been able to figure out how to kill me and only a very few superpowered beings can inconvenience me, then we have an obvious choice here.
"Your Honor" I say, the words dripping with sarcasm "I choose a sentence of a single day!"
Gasps in the courtroom. Judge gavels. A Terror Brigadier calls from the gallery "he'll be out by Thursday, you fools, and then you'll all feel Static's sting! All hail our dark lord, Professor Static!" Three armored troopers pull him from his seat and execute him. Ignoring the excitement, the judge stares at me. Finally, he says "so be it, and may God have mercy on your soul, if you have one".
The bag descends over my head. I'm being wheeled into a vehicle. We lift off- it's a helicopter, no doubt an Earth Defense Corp bird. We fly a bit, and land, and I get wheeled around a bit. We go up ramps and down elevators and hither and yon and presently, my hood is removed.
I'm in a living room. There's a comfortable looking couch. There's some mediocre artwork on the walls. There's a commercial grade carpet of the kind you'd see in a cheap motel. In other words, not my usual cell.
My bonds come loose, and I flex a bit. No one else is in the room. I turn on a lamp (cheap IKEA knockoff), choose a People magazine, and sit on the couch.
An easy listening version of Welcome to the Jungle plays via unseen speakers. The People magazine is nearly a year old.
Ah. I see what they're doing. Ennui and boredom. Waiting for the dentist who never shows. Yes, yes, very clever. I'm sure this would be sheerest torture to a street thug or hang banger, but I am Professor Static, who-
"Hello?" says a voice, hesitantly.
Yes?
"Can you hear me?"
I can.
"Prisoner 137, you are hereby to be informed of your rights under title blah blah blaaaaah…"
I don't think 'hereby to be informed' is grammatically correct.
"Yes. Well. Anyway, you've been injected with a drug that will bring you total self awareness. After 24 hours, you will receive the antidote. You will then be free to go. You will not be physically harmed during those 24 hours, and will be made as physically comfortable as possible. Do you have any questions?"
Did you say total self awareness?
"I did."
What kind of lame punishment is that?
"Not for me to say. Please press the red button located on the wall if you feel yourself in any physical danger. On behalf of the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, please let me say OH GOD SNAKES THE SNAKES ARE ALL OVER ME HELP ME HELP ME CAN YOU HEAR ME WENDY WENDY ARE YOU OKAY IF YOU CAN HEAR ME SAY SOMETHING WENDY WENDY WENDY OH GOD WENDY (extended sobbing)"
I can hear them. I can hear all of them. I can see them. I can smell them. Every hero. Every hostage. Every spy and double agent and civilian caught in the crossfire. I can see their final moments. They cry, they evacuate their vowels and their bladders, they beg for mercy and call for their gods for mercy and for their mothers to stop the hurting. I can feel their pain, their suffering, their fear.
I am surrounded by images as well. I see myself torturing couriers and secretaries for information. I see myself murdering superheroes in a thousand ways, each more creative and cruel than the last. I see myself murdering countless armed guards and lab technicians and sidekicks. And in every case, I am the victim.
I am a college student now. A professor belittles my theory of Ninth Dimensional travel. A girl responds to my request for a date with incredulous laughter. A jock spills my soda all over my pants and doesn't even notice.
Then I hear it.
"Uncle Steve's home! Where are you, you little homo?"
Uncle Steve.
He's drunk.
He's taking off his belt.
He holds up the vacuum tube, the one I hadn't had a chance to put back into the television l was disassembling.
"Don't you know MASH is on tonight, you little homo?"
I'm Professor Static, and I killed Ikon Girl with a single punch to the jaw, I try to say.
Instead, what comes out is "…please don't hit me again, Uncle Steve. I'll be good…"
He takes a good, long look at me, and says "if you're so smart, why'd you take the one day option?"
And swings. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The gavel still ringing in my ears, the cold sweat poring out of every gland my body had, and the sudden realization "I chose the 24 hour stay" had all sent me into sensory overload. As I was ushered out of the court room I heard the bailiff mutter something to the effect of "I would've at least taken a week". As I walked, cuffed and shackled, down the hallways of the courthouse and into the detention center in back I felt real fear. The guys who choose the "shortest allowable time by law" got it the worst, and those who tried either couldn't stand it or went insane in the process of completion of the punishment. The hardest guys in the back kept muttering "I'll pray for you", every step I got closer and closer to the back door. The door was a large, very imposing, cast iron, rusted door with six large hinges and four large bolts at the top and bottom of the door. As the bailiff opened the heavy door the hinges let out a loud moan and creak from the lack of use. When he opened the door I could see a dimly lit room with a shovel and a soft dirt floor. The bailiff turned and grimly looked at me and said, "You dig until I say stop, you must dig a 6ft deep hole by 4ft long by 4ft wide." I started to dig the hole, the work seemed easy and I thought to myself "If this is it what's the big deal? It's just a hole." I finished up in a couple hours, easy. The bailiff looked at me and said, were not done yet. He brought in a 4ft by 4ft crate and put it in the bottom of the hole, the lid had a hole large enough to fit a pipe. The bailiff told me "Get in the box, I'll close it on top of you. Once it's closed we will begin your time." Startled and fairly nervous, I got inside the crate. The bailiff closed the lid in on top of me and put a tube inside the hole in the lid. What I had feared began to come true, the bailiff was going to bury me alive in an extremely tight box. I could hear him pick up the shovel and "thunk" the first spade full of dirt was tossed in on top of me. "Thunk" every few seconds "thunk". The tiny streams of light soon faded as the crate was buried. With every shovel full, the crate began to groan and creak from the weight of the dirt. It began to get more and more difficult to breath. The "thunks" began to fade and all I was left with was the sound of my own breathing. The tube started to vibrate and I could feel water. The water started to fill the crate, and slowly subsided. The water was up to my face, it began to get hard to breathe. I started hearing my own thoughts, my mind was forced to accept that I might die. Mind racing, thoughts screaming, and body trembling I started second guessing my reason for choosing this Hell. I started wondering "how in the hell did I get so messed up to be in this position." Time slipped by without any reference as if time itself had died. Every second felt like a day, every minute felt like a decade. Between the amplified sound of my heart beating in the water and the screams of all of my fears in my head, I could feel that I was loosing my grip on my own sanity. After what felt like an eternity I started to hear whispers, as if someone else was in this crate with me. My eyes strained to focus on anything as the whispers began to grow louder. The whispers continued, the rhythmic beat of my heart grew louder, and my mental screams turned into shrill shrieks. After an eternity in what seemed to be a progressively new hell I could hear a "thunk". I could hear a shallow, rhythmic, "thunk" the same "thunk" from the shovel. It was over, my sentence was over. It took the bailiff 45 minutes to dig me free. I had lasted 24 hours, and I was free. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Charlie squirmed on the cool metal seat in a grey room not big but not small, one light slightly swinging over him.
"So here we are Charlie," said one of the two men in matching pastel blue jumpsuits.
"You have a base 5 year sentence," the other chimed in.
"And you have a choice."
Charlie looked between both of their darkened, bored eyes and then stared intently at an imaginary spot of the steel table between them.
"Take five years and get your normal prison experience or..."
"Or you can choose to fit 5 years worth of suffering into any amount of time you want."
They both smiled slightly, which would have been warming if it had no been in perfect unison and had the eyes been a little less glazed over."
"Pick a year, and you get 5 years worth of prison suffering. Your bed will be 5 times harder, the meals 5 times worse, your fellow inmates 5 times as pissed off."
"Pick a day, and it'll be solitary, hot coals, and Scorpions."
"Pick a moment and you'll be dead."
"Or..."
And the two looked at each other, again with slight. Charlie noticed a burning sulfur smell overcome the cool odors of steel, asphalt, and fabric softener.
"Or you could pick a longer sentence and pack the pain into a bigger box,"
"Pick 10 years and you have a softer bed and better food,"
"Pick 100 and we'll keep you comfortable for the rest of your days, but you'll be imprisoned until you..."
"Well presumably."
"This will take awhile to decide, I'm sure. And you'll be in temporary holding until then."
Suddenly Charlie's fidgeting stopped and his eyes raised slowly toward the two men in jumpsuits, now looking mildly interested, and said in a voice low and unlike his own.
"I don't need time. I know what fate I want,"
A smile inched it's way towards his ears as his eyes darkened with a spark of madness.
"I want a sentence of infinite years."
And the world dissolved in a furor of light. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | With prisons overfilling, conditions had to drop, there was no way we could afford it otherwise. The best way? Offer all those found guilty reduced sentences at the cost of worsened (and usually cheaper) conditions.
Based on the fraction amount of time taken off you get put in with worse and worse inmates and prisoners.
Once you hit a 'super max' prison standard, anything beyond that was now officially considered that the prisoner was willingly giving up his basic -human- rights for the duration of his stay and were transported to a special facility.
Each state had one such facility. It was all that was needed, people weren't there long after all.
It's agreed that after you reduce your sentence by a tenth or more you lose -all- rights, including those given to animals. Torture is now not only legal, it's mandatory, it went from casual beatings to permanent scars and pain that would knock you unconscious only minutes after you've woken up.
Generally that sort of information doesn't get out to the media in much detail - however I know it all. I work there. Have done for ten years. Yet in all my time here, there have been only two guys and one woman in my facility who thought they were hard who took the 'one night stay' approach (the minimum sentence).
The first was a simple thief, he'd robbed a house but was caught robbing a small corner shop. Sentenced originally to fifteen years.
He was an idiot - he was told what rights he'd lose multiple times, including those long term - including the main big one of 'After reducing your sentence below a twentieth of its original amount, any damage done in your stay can legally be permanent.'
Within the first hour he'd lost all his teeth, begging us to stop until he was coughing up too much blood to talk - he'd reduced his sentence by over 5000 days. He was going to feel them for far longer. After three hours, we were done with the acid treatment.
I'll skip the rest... but he left a different man, his face was deformed, his medical bills to get everything fixed would be more than he'd ever earn in his lifetime. But by god I've never heard of him committing a crime again. It worked. The facility always did.
The other man was a soldier stationed overseas gone rogue. He'd shot civilians - it claims he knew they were innocent but due to our shitty system he was only sentenced to a year on the basis of 'They appeared to be a threat'.
But I digress. Other than his psychotic tendencies, he was a good man - he wanted to get back home to his family. He shot innocent people considering them 'terrorists' so we terrorized him.
We doped him up on stuff so strong it makes minutes feel like hours. We then got in high quality actors, who pretended to be his kids -we then faked torturing -them- right in front of him, he was telling us we could kill him if we let them go within just three hours. Of course we threw in a little pain on his side too, but nothing permanent - the mental trauma would be more than enough. Especially given how we didn't tell them they were actors. He found that out only after he called his wife the moment he got out, crying.
Of course he tried to sue us - but he'd been read his rights, he'd thought being ex-military he could handle it. He was wrong. We crack all of them. In fact I hear he's raised his kids so well one of them has been nominated for a Nobel Prize.
Finally the lady. I was a little sad she'd made it to us. Her sentence had been pathetic - just three weeks for the shop-lifting repeatedly for her son. But reducing 21 days to 1... that was over a twentieth, she wasn't going to receive hell, but it wasn't pleasant.
We double-checked when we heard about her and looked her up -we prepared special treatments for those who go for anything shorter than a week and made it to us-. She was a single mom struggling to make ends meet, she stole because she had to. She repeated the offense because her kids wouldn't make be able to live a decent life without it. She even claimed to take the one-day sentence just so she could get back to them as soon as possible.
Our team argued on what to do with her for a good week before she arrived. We just needed to shake her up so she never came back, but she didn't deserve the sort of terror we inflicted on our other victi- I mean inmates.
In the end we resorted to terrifying her, we stripped her naked and threatened to rape her -of course we didn't come even close to it, we knew she didn't deserve that- then after she realized the threats were idle she cursed at us until we moved onto the second bit of our plan. Simple, straight to the point.
We took her hand, tied it to a table, pulled out a knife and asked her 'You know what they used to do with thieves in some country's before the UN stepped in?'. She pleaded for mercy. But we took what we knew she deserved - the top 1 inch or so of her little finger. We left it bleeding and her in pain for the rest of her sentence. Our parting words as we left her for the night 'If we ever see you again, we'll take the whole hand'.
We'd all apologized to people after they left at some point. Usually just once or twice for the media - but we always said the same thing 'They knew what they were getting into. I was just doing my job'.
But her... I got in contact with her personally. Phoned her the next day at a time I knew she'd be likely just done with taking her kids to school.
"Hello? Look Frank, I've had a hell of a weekend, I can't come in for overtim-"
"It's not Frank. It's... well you don't know my name. I'm one of the Guards from the prison you went to. I just wanted to say I'm really sorry, if the law had required me to do less, I would have. "
There was a pause. I hung up. Assuming she would if I didn't -or worse yell at me. After all - everyone hates us, nobody likes being punished, and what we do is quite literally inhumane.
I had the day off so I went about my business, not much to do - I was a single man at the time, nobody could stand my job, but it paid so well I couldn't give it up - in a few short years, I'd have enough to buy a house outright, then I could get some savings and start a family without it.
Five hours later I got a text -I assumed it was one of my colleagues from the facility-, I checked the number, didn't recognize it, then realized it was the woman I'd called.
'I didn't really expect an apology. I knew what I was getting into. I should have known better.'
So surprised to get a reply, before I knew it I'd replied, thanking her for being understanding.
Several texts and a couple of hours later, late in the evening she had some precious spare time and she called up and we got chatting. I helped her through the worse of the trauma -which was technically illegal, as it ruins the experience of the facility, but the fellow guards never told anyone else once they'd found out-.
A week later I was in her City, and we were on a date. A year later we were an official couple. And... Ooh lets see... three days ago? I was married to her.
I stretch my arms and yawn.
"Sweetheart get off the laptop and go to bed. It's our honeymoon. If the kids can wait a week your bloody auto-biography can wait too."
I put it away and smiled at her with love. Thinking to myself 'Our system works so well, it even made a good Man out of me'.
The End. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | 12 hours is all it takes for an inmate to be freed of his sentence. A man convicted for 25 years can be out in a single night. It is a miracle and a testament to our prison reform. We were encouraged by the constant criticism we faced from those goddamn Europeans. We were sick of being told how massive our prison problem was. We were tired of hearing them throw around that buzzword "rehabilitation". So, we changed the definition of rehabilitation.
Due to changes in government a shift came about in our industry. Sure keeping prisons stuffed was profitable, but rehabilitation become extremely lucrative. The Wint Bill incentivized rehabilitation, it just didn't define rehabilitation. So that's where we came in. We introduced the Sandburg-Forsythe procedure and we changed the prison system.
Imagine a single procedure can not only shorten a prison sentence down to one night. Imagine a rehabilitation method that is so effective the repeat offender rate of those who have undergone it is less than 10%. Imagine all it takes to fix the prison systems is one cocktail administered intravenously over 12 hours. In the end you have a prisoner who is perfectly complacent, lacks any aggression and is highly suggestible. There is no visible brain damage and very few cases have ever complained about the procedure. In one night, a dangerous animal can become a pleasant worker.
Let me ask you Mr. Nakamura, can you afford to not adopt or system? | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | For the murder of 20 people, I have been sentenced to 120 years. I choose to compress this to 1 hour and 35 minutes. I am forced to watch *Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance*, the only suitable punishment. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It was only supposed to be one day. I made that choice easily. One day versus fourty years of prison? Who would pick otherwise?
I was worried at first that I'd be subjected to the worst possible torture. But they assured me I'd merely have to test a single experimental invention. Some mumbo jumbo about "manipulating space time". I took the gamble and chose to get out tomorrow instead of spending most of my life behind bars.
But they cheated. I should have realized something was wrong by the unusual warehouse like building that was apparently my cell. The men who locked me up wouldn't tell me what the experiment was, but I would never have chosen it if I knew.
Only one day had passed, but that was for them. For me, it was so much longer. It didn't just feel like eternity; it was eternity. I went in a scheming young man and came out withered and aged. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | One count of sexual child abuse and kidnapping, at least that's all they got me for, hell I don't even remember her name, I think it was Emma or something. Anyway, law enforcement is a joke these days, I mean, it takes more time to process an inmate than it takes to serve a sentence. A day in jail, that's my plan. Depending on how well it goes, I might come back for seconds, if you catch my drift.
So I half-ass my way through the process, I don't catch much of what the judge says, can't help daydreaming of my freedom. After I sign a few things I get escorted to a van and off we go. I figure they are sending me to hang out with some real criminals, I'd lay low and be home for breakfast the next morning.
About 20 minutes into the drive I start to question where we are going. We left the highway and are heading into some suburban area. We park outside a real nice place; two stories, big yard, looked empty though. Can't hear what the guards are saying, but next thing I know they are pulling me from the van, handcuffing me and marching me to the front door. "Welcome home" one of the guards say to me. I don't understand a damn thing that's going on. The other guard opens the door and they motion me in.
I start to walk through the dark house, it's pretty dusty and obvious that the previous owner let things go. Why would they leave me here though? I never served my time. Eh, no use dwelling on an empty stomach, so I go to check the fridge, maybe they stocked some food for me? As I make it to the kitchen I hear the front door slam shut. I chalk it up to the wind and open the fridge; nice, fresh food. I load my arms up with goodies and take a step back to close the door, when I bump into something. "Shit" I yell, dropping the food on the ground, my body shaking as I turn around. "The hell are you doing here?" I ask the guy as I push him back, "Get out of my house before I call the cops".
"My wife killed herself" The man muttered.
"Alright" I responded. This guy looks familiar, I think I saw him at booking back when I got caught. Probably a nut they stuck me with as a catch to my freedom.
The man's head starts rapidly shaking back and forth as he stares at the ground. "This is your fault"
"Dude, I went through the same shit as you, we are stuck here, but free, so let's try and get along" I wonder how long I'd be in for killing this guy if things don't work out; oh yeah, a day. I chuckle to myself.
The man lifts his head and stares at me like nothin' I've ever seen. I feel chills run down my spine. I gotta get out of here now.
"You took my daughter Emily from me! You took my wife from me! You took my life from me!" He screamed while brandishing a knife from behind his back. It was about then that I realized, if I was lucky he would end it quick and I wouldn't have to serve my 24 hour sentence. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "Alright Lenny, it's simple. He's unconscious; we gave him enough tranquilizer to kill a horse."
"Okay, okay... ah, um, mmm, here... we..."
"Hold on! Careful with those wires! Remember, the blue wire goes into the OUTPUT port, and the red wire goes to the INPUT port. We don't want his brain to splatter all over the helmet."
"Wait, can that really happen?"
"It can. Trust me, you don't want to mix up the wires. Pay attention from now on!"
"R-right. OK. Blue wire to OUTPUT, red wire to INPUT..."
"Excellent. Good job, Lenny. We'll make a techie out of you yet. There's a DESCARTES practice helmet in your quarters. Use it to practice the wiring from now on. Come on, now it's time to show you how to program the simulation."
______________________________________________________________
"All right. Programming DESCARTES is really easy. Fire and forget. There's already a bunch of pre-programmed simulations set up here. Now, since we have a serial killer on our hands, we need to go for the ironic punishment. This simulation here, all the NPCs are programmed to ignore the 'player'. Forever."
"Whoa... that seems kind of harsh, don't you think sir?"
"Harsh sentences for hardened criminals, Lenny. Besides, he'll only be in it for a day."
"Oh. Only a day?"
"Well, he'll be living something close to a thousand lifetimes of being ignored."
"What? How?"
"That's the beauty of DESCARTES. You ever hear of him? Rene Descartes? He was a philosopher from a thousand years ago who said *'I think, therefore I am'. Anyways, DESCARTES stimulates the brain to experience virtual reality as real life,just super-fast. He won't remember that he's a convicted criminal, he'll think he's being ignored. For thousands of lifetimes. And he won't remember any of those lifetimes, but they'll build up. In the back of his mind. It'll be like a dream. Like that old movie, what's it called? It'll be like that movie."
"Jeez, sir, that seems... kind of unethical."
"Lenny, this man raped and murdered ten kids. Elementary school kids, Lenny. He deserves this. Don't feel bad for him."
"R-right."
"Back to business. All you need to do is double-click the world labeled 'Apathy'. Simple. DESCARTES will take care of the rest. Go for it."
"..."
*click*
*chk-chk*
*whirr*
"Ok sir, all set."
"Good work Lenny. We'll come back tomorrow to pick him up. Let's hope seventy-thousand years of being ignored will do the trick, yeah?" | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Ava Rice stood in the courtroom, hair perfectly coiffed and styled, makeup and nails complimenting the tailored Armani business suit which, in turn, accentuated her ample surgically-augmented cleavage. A broad smile creased her middle-aged face, but botox kept it confined to her lips.
She had a plan.
There was no way she would get away with the crime, but thanks to a loophole in the law, she'd be out in twenty-four hours and free to collect the prize: Two hundred and thirty million dollars. It was a fraction of the sum she had fleeced from investors and the government and laundered into off-shore accounts around the globe; but the feds hadn't found all of it, and that's what she'd been counting on.
She had purposely spent little time and resources on hiding her crimes, the faster they could convict her, the less likely they were to find all the money. It had been a brilliant plan, genius even. She was quite proud of herself.
As the judge spent nearly an hour reading the jury's verdicts one by one, Ava smirked smugly. They could do their worst and she would still walk, in perfect health, out of the detention center by dinner time tomorrow. *Fools*. She wasn't even listening after the first five minutes, her thoughts had turned to dreams of sunbathing on the deck of a new yacht while sipping tropical drinks off the coast of some exotic country. She glanced at the Rolex on her wrist, a seven thousand dollar reminder of the feds' haste to bring her to trial. So intent on putting her away, they were, that the idiots hadn't even confiscated the obviously valuable time piece.
While sentences were designed to punish and deter future crime, the law stated that prisoners must be kept in good health and released without a scratch. So while Ava knew she faced a long sentence, the forty year old knew there was no threat of torture, death, or dismemberment. They couldn't even leave a single pinprick on her skin. *What could they possibly do? Scare me with harmless snakes? Lock me in a dark room? Make me watch the Kardashians?*
Ava realized the judge was asking her a question and came out of her revery. "... may choose your sentence, Miss Rice. The maximum sentence of one hundred and twenty years, or you may spend as much of it as you like in Time Compensation. What is your choice?"
"I'll take 24 hours in Time Compensation, your Honor."
The look of shock on their faces was priceless. A quick glance at her watch told her it was nearly 5 pm. *I'll think of you all fondly while I'm eating some endangered species for dinner tomorrow* She didn't even bother to listen to a response, she stood up and offered her wrists to the bailiffs.
The two uniformed men led her out of the courtroom and into a dimly lit corridor. They didn't even bother to cuff her, they simply urged her on ahead of them. Doors opened automatically as she approached and closed softly behind her, sometimes she was instructed to turn down side corridors. Their steps reverberated loudly, becoming a monotonous tapping drone that began to grate on the nerves. The hall stretched on much longer than she thought it would, and had taken so many turns she gave up trying to remember them all. It didn't matter, they would show her the way out in just 24 hours.
After what must have been an hour of traipsing through the increasingly dark and labyrinthine hallway, her patience grew thin, "Hey, how much further-" the words froze in her throat. She had turned to ask the question, but no guards stood behind her. Straining to see in the wane light, her eyes couldn't make out anyone near her. How long ago had they disappeared? The sound of their footsteps continued to echo even as she stood there, unmoving. *Great. So this is their idea of punishment? Let me wander aimlessly in a dark maze for a day? Pathetic. Well, that was at least an hour, only twenty three left to go!* She grinned broadly and glanced at the glowing hands of her Rolex. *That's odd, it stopped.*
The prisoner had long given up on keeping track of the time, the Rolex had barely moved in what felt like at least a couple days. At first she wandered aimlessly, certain someone else must be here somewhere, as the sound of footsteps never ceased. They grew quieter or louder at times, but she couldn't find their source. *Damn those bastards! They lied to me! They can't keep me here, the law says twenty four hours! Oh they'll be hearing from my lawyer.*
Another living soul never appeared, except for the occasional rat or cockroaches scuttling away as she neared. She had found that she could open some doors along the way, though the corridors beyond were either filled with searing heat or freezing cold. Once, she had found a door with bright light streaming under it, but when opened found the other side a vast open space, painfully illuminated, like the sun itself streamed forth to stab knives into her retinas. She avoided those doors after that; darkness wasn't painful.
Portions of the corridor smelled of sewage and human waste, while others were thick with the aroma of grilled steak, baked potatoes and fresh bread. At first, the criminal relished in the pleasant odors, but it only made the hunger pangs worse. The only source of water dripped from rusty pipes overhead or oozed down the walls, and she was loathe to slake her thirst, but necessity soon overcame her repugnance. It was like drinking urine but she held back from retching and let the warm liquid hydrate her drip by drip. It took another week before she tried licking the walls. It tasted like blood.
Hunger was gnawing at her, it had been weeks since she'd eaten. Ava avoided the obvious solution until it became apparent that her ruined clothes were very loose; she had lost at least fifteen pounds and hadn't been very large to begin with. Getting liposuction a few months back was starting to seem like a really bad choice right about now. Her third week in marked the first of many rat dinners. Six months later she discovered they went nicely with crunchy cockroaches.
Time was meaningless now, hours, days, weeks were arbitrary designations that held no context here. She slept whenever and wherever she liked. The rats and cockroaches crawling and nipping at her no longer mattered, and besides, it was easier to catch them if she waited until they swarmed over her.
A beep startled her out of sleep. It had been so long since she had heard anything like it, it took a moment to realize what it was. Her watch beeped. A casual glance at her it made her take a second, harder look. It had been nearly 5pm when she was taken from the court room, the watch currently read 6 pm.
The horror of realization washed over and the taste of bile rose in her throat. The Rolex wasn't broken. She was due to be released in twenty three hours, as promised, but every minute that passed on her watch represented a month.
Only one hundred fifteen years to go.
| The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You went too far Joe," said the Warden as they dragged the unconscious, limp body of the ex-convict onto an ambulance. Joe's body would still occasionally spasm, shaking for many seconds until it becomes too tired to do so. There was saliva all over the bed, and the smell of human waste was overpowering.
The Medical Officer shook her head and glared at the Warden. "Why did you let him do it? This man had a ten-year sentence condensed into a single night. Why didn't you stop him?" she asked the Warden, who only shrugged.
"He was very insistent. I tried to warn him, but he was sure that he could survive the night. The operators of the Simulation Room were quite pleased though, they finally had a chance to press their 'One Night Stand' button."
He paused to light up a cigarette. "Looking at the results, pretty sure none of the other inmates would be crazy enough to try that again." Another pause. "Though that Greg person might give it a try."
He and the Med Officer looked at the swarm of doctors working on the vegetable that was formerly Joe. "So, any chance of a recovery?"
"Zero. He's practically brain-dead. I'll inform his relatives later, just to give them the bad news."
She gave the Warden another look. "Hopefully this will be the last, I hate to see good men die."
"I'll try and keep it that way."
The ambulance was now ready and the Med Officer got on board. "Well, it was nice seeing you again Mister Warden, keep up the good work."
"Good night to you as well, my lady."
---
*Might try to edit this later, if I find the time.* | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Being a sweeper reduced my time from 25 years to 15 and that was fine with me. an entire ten years taken off my sentence for cleaning up the pit.
The pit.
my stomach turned at the thought of the cleaning today. It's a choice anyone is given, 1 day surviving in the pit for freedom. It seems so pleasant, such an easy choice when said that way. I hear the alarm buzz on the other side of the metal door. Followed by a booming recorded voice "STATE YOUR NAME." The alarm and announcement is usually followed by silence, in my 5 years of pit duty I have never heard anything other than silence.
"Micheal Kent" a voice said, muffled from the door, but I could hear. followed by another voice, smaller this time. So small I could not hear the name it offered.
*Two?* I thought to myself. *Impossible* A metallic click and the door in front of me opened. My standard issue green rain boots were already stained with blood from my first days here, something I no longer notice or pay any attention to, but I can not help but stare at my boots, afraid to look at whatever monsters lurk inside the darkness of the pit.
I get over my fear and look up to the darkness that looms in front of me, "I'm going to turn the lights on now." I say. My hand brushes against the wall and I already feel the thickness of blood or flesh through my rubber gloves. I turn the light on using a code.
"We thought." the small voice started, "We thought if all of us did nothing, we would be able to leave." I turn around and am shocked to see a child. *what crime could a child do to be put here?* I did not ask, but I stood frozen in front of a small genderless creature in blood stained orange scrubs.
"That's enough." the man who introduced himself and Michael stopped her. "He has nothing to do with this, he is also a prisoner." He turned to the child, "We get to leave now."
"Actually." I start, my voice is rigid, "There is a matter of paperwork, I am supposed to offer you a shower though, first."
"Please!" the small voice spoke.
I look to the camera and make a large wave, in a few moments one of the officers comes and escorts them out of the blood bath of a room. I look to my feet again and squish the toes of my boots into the blood. the body removers come and gather the large pieces and I am numb to it as they chuck legs and torsos into bins marks "hazardous waste: HUMAN REMAINS"
"Did you see them?" I asked the nameless crew, "The winners, I mean...did anyone see them"
"Oh ya, wicked fucked up right?" one of them says. A puzzled look crosses my face and he continues, "Oh you didn't hear? Father and daughter that pair." He bends down to scoop up a large intestine from the floor and attempts to toss it in the bin, "dicks." he says when he misses. "They are a right awful pair. I heard they are cannibals, and when offered the pit they both jumped for joy." He pointed to the bloody mess around, "I wonder if they ate any of them."
"Oh Thomas shut up, they aren't cannibals!" A woman I know to be named Mary or Mercy or Martha spoke, "They were a priest and just some girl." She shrugged, "People say the little girl lured men interested in doing terrible thing to little girls to an alley and the priest... well he absolved them of their sins."
"So much for *thou shalt not kill." I mutter.
"I don't believe that for a second. A killer priest? That's so cliche." The first one says, "I'm stickin' to cannibals." He kicks feet and hands to the center of the room and scoops them up.
I begin mopping and the crew leaves with the bins. blood. blood. blood. Was this worth it? Every other day of this for the next ten years. *I could probably do it.* I think. *survive in the pit for 24 hours... a little girl did it.*
I start my morning by shaving my head, as many who enter the pit decide to do. *less to grab onto I guess* My best chance at survival is to enter last minute, and I have 6 minutes left to sign up or to change my mind. I pace quickly down the corridor and to the office. I utter my name, "Jason Rider" to the clerk and she looks at me with disgust.
"Last chance to change your mind." An officer says to us. No one moves, we have all made our choice to die today... *or to live*
They lock us in the room, and we follow instructions to sit on the floor with our backs to the wall. there are 13 of us today, 12 other people I need to convince to stay still for 24 hours in complete darkness.
"All of you can leave or none of you can." The officer says, "When I leave this room, the lights will shut off and you will be forced to stay in here until that clock up there reaches zero." He pointed to a timer on the wall in a cage... too far to reach.
"Pshh, easy" one of my new cell mates says as the officer leaves.
"Oh, and one more thing." He points to the ceiling and there is a large bundle that drops to the ground loudly. "all of you who exit will be splitting a prize of 3 million dollars." He doesn't need to say the rest, we get it.
The cameras focus on us and I know we are being broadcast to millions of homes. A fight to the death over money. A fight to the death between murderers and rapists and terrible human beings who have nothing waiting for them on the outside except homelessness and poverty. A fight to the death for people who were already prepared to die.
The lights shut off and I do not move at first. None of us do. There is a moment that seems to last an eternity were we are all waiting for someone else to break the trust. "No one has to die." A voice said. "We can divide it all up between all of us."
Everyone agrees. At first.
The speakers turn on after three hours and begin to play pop music. After about five minutes it becomes clear that it will be the same song on loop. thirty minutes in and it gets unbearably loud.
*I could grab a weapon. I could shoot the speaker out. I know where it is* I do not offer this at first, but after another 20 minutes I can not stand it anymore.
"Guys. I... I've been a sweeper of the pit for the last five years." I am shouting over the music and I feel absurd, "I believe I can damage the speaker if I can get something out of the bundle."
"Why didn't you say something earlier?" the darkness asks.
"It's extremely suspicious."
"Don't let him get up." the darkness is a cunt, I decide, and stay still. Another hour passes and my ears are ready to bleed.
"Jesus fuck" a voice bellows over the music, "Let that sweeper up, I can't do this anymore."
I stand, "I promise all of you, I won't hurt anyone." I go to the middle of the room and feel in the darkness for the bundle. "Fuck." I say. "IT'S NOT HERE! Someone took it!!" I roll out of the way and press myself against were I think the door is.
frantic yelling. I feel blood against my face. "you all are going to die." the darkness answers my fear.
"we were free, how could you?" a mans dying words, followed by a scream that pierced me. The prisoner with whatever weapon(s) might have been in the sack has not found me yet. *Can I really hide in this tiny square room for...* I look to the clock, *another ten hours?*
Screams and blood. That's it, that's my life now. I feel a body thump to the ground next to me and take shelter under it's weight.
"8" the voice says and I feel more blood splatter, a few moments pass "9" a scream is muffled.
I have decided his weapon must be a sword. I hope that is the only weapon, and not anything that might emit light. two hours pass of him trying to kill us. there are 3 of us left.... somewhere.
The music stops playing when the clock strikes 7:45. seven hours and forty five minutes left. Can I truly survive that long? I remember I can turn the lights on. Would that help me? I might be able to over power him if I can see. I stick my foot out slowly from the body on top of me to try to feel the wall. I touch the crack in the door and know exactly where I am. I need to make a decision.
"10" the voice says. I know the monster will begin tearing into the corpses to get all of us, they always do. one other murderer.... that I know of. They could be a team... like that little girl and man...
"Okay Jason, you can turn the lights on now." I freeze. My chest fills with anxiety and I can not move. "Jay?" I hear a metal clink as the monster drops his sword, "Well shit, I don't think I killed him, Martha."
"Nah, he's somewhere." the anxiety inside me is released when I realize it's the voices of the body chuckers. I roll the human off of me and reach for the control panel -166892- the lights stay off.
"I believe they changed the code." I mutter.
"Figures, it would only be fair since they knew you was comin' n' all." I hear a large sigh, "Well 6 more hours of silence and we get our showers."
"How do you know I won't kill you?" I say.
"You won't. we've been waiting for you to enter." Martha says. "You are the only other person in this prison that is innocent, you've never hurt anyone."
"I... I'm not innocent." I say.
"Awww money this and money that. She means you've never killed anyone."
we get to leave. I've made it.
| The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | At this end of the jail everything smells bad.
The warden's aide takes me past the 6 month room. It's lowered below the floor a couple meters. Inside, I see a room full of prisoners up to their waist in liquid shit. The smell is unbearable
Then the 3 month room. Much like the last, except here they're up to their chest in shit.
The one week room has the prisoners up to their necks in shit. Just one room left.
I was surprised by the one day room. Everyone was standing around drinking coffee, and only up to their knees in shit.
"I'll take it!" I said to the warden's aide.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely, how bad could it be?"
I climbed down into the room, waved to the other prisoners, poured myself a cup of coffee.
Before I could drink it, the lights dimmed and brightened three times. A guard with an SMG came through the door.
"ALRIGHT YOU MAGGOTS!" he bellowed "BREAK TIME IS OVER! BACK TO STANDING ON YOUR HEADS!" | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I killed them. I know I did. I admitted it.
During the trial I tried to convince myself that it was an accident. That I was still a good person who just made a mistake.
I lied to myself over and over again, but I failed. I chose to pick up the keys. I chose to get behind the wheel. I chose to drive while I was drunk out of my mind, and now a family has to live without their children, children who will never go to prom, or get married, or have kids of their own.
Because of me.
On the last day of the trial, my conscience got the better of me. I elected to testify, and poured all of my guilt on the stand. My lawyer had fought so hard to get me a light sentence, to find a silver lining to my actions and sell it, but her work was now out the window.
After my confession, the jury went into deliberation. They found me guilty on all charges, with the note that I should be given some leniency due to my guilt. I was sentenced under the rehabilitation laws.
My choices were: life in minimum security prison, no parole, but not allowed to see my family. Twenty-five years in normal security, parole available after fifteen years but given biannual visitation. Ten years in Supermax, parole after seven years but monthly visitation, or a day in ultra.
I was tempted to take life in prison. No one who does what I did deserves a life, but my lawyer spoke to me and said, "Being in prison won't pay for what you've done. Living a half life will not bring them back. If you really and truly want to pay for your crimes, you will take the day in ultra and then get back to living, and live enough for yourself and both of them. That's your punishment. Even in ultra, nothing they do to you will compare to what you do to yourself every day from here on."
Somehow at the time it made sense, and so I elected for ultra.
A week later I was standing at the door to my cell in Ultra. I had signed the forms, and I knew that many of the people who go in go insane and die, so worst case I walk through this door and never walk out again.
I was given one last chance to change my mind, declined, and stepped in.
The guard said, "Good luck", as he closed the door silently behind me and I was left in darkness.
What felt like hours passed in dark and silence, when a gentle amber light washed over my cell like a sunrise. The room had no place to sit, and I was standing when the light bloomed, and it increased in intensity slowly at first, and then suddenly flashed to brilliant blinding light so bright I could still see it clearly through the space in between the bones in my arms with my arm shielding my closed eyes.
And then it got brighter.
And brighter.
And somehow still brighter, until light lost all meaning to me.
What felt like hours passed with my entire body so suffused with light that I could not attenuate it. I was transfixed. My limbs wouldn't move, my mind screamed but my mouth couldn't make a sound. Every muscle in my body shook with a tremor of tension so strong it was a wonder they did not tear completely away from the bone.
And hours more passed.
And hours more...
And in the light, a pattern emerged. Hazy, pixelated shadows flittered in the brilliance like faint static in an old television. More and more they came, over time acquiring color and shape, my mind forming pareidolia until they began to coalesce into...
into...
into memories?
But not my memories.
A jolt struck me. Somebody else's life began to flash before my eyes, their every thought, experience and emotion searing itself permanently into my brain. I learned to walk again. I fell off my bike, I saw my first playboy, I kissed a girl, I struck out in my first game. Faster and faster and faster and faster IgotstungbyabeeIgotpunchedbymyfriendIfailedatestIpassedaclassIlearnedtodriveIhavetotakemysisterout....
And then I got hit by a car.
And I spent three days in the ICU while my parents cried and prayed.
And then I died.
And then nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
And then it hit again. IlearnedtowalkIlearnedtotalkIlearnedmathIkissedaboyItookdancelessonsIwonaraceIlostafriendIpassedaclassIpickedonmybrotherIputonmakeupIlovedmymommyImgoingtomyfriendsIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
And then I saw my brother get hit by a car as he tried to shove me out of the way. And failed.
And then I saw the tire that crushed my skull, felt the hot muffler of the car burn my chest until it sizzled and turned black.
I breathed my last breath full of car exhaust and terror.
And then I died.
And then everything faded to black and I fell into nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
Hours passed as my brain struggled to absorb the lives and memories forced into them. I wept where they wept. I laughed where they laughed. I hurt where they hurt, or rather, where we hurt.
I was no longer me. We were me.
The door opened, and we were carried out of the room, and back into the world of life. | The "one night sentence" pfft, it sounded great compared to 50 years, unfortunately I didn't know that it would be hell...
Literally.
I remember, I was in the wardens office, he was telling me that, while, yes, prison was bad, it didn't have to be... Awful. Liar.
He claimed that I could have a shortened stay, no catch, I just had to stay in a "special room", Bastard. I agreed, who wouldn't? He grinned maliciously, eyes twinkling in a worryingly unsettling way, and asked the guards to escort me to my... Room, kinda.
They were unusually grim, I know, their job sucks, but still.
"Why so grumpy?" I joke
The guard on my left sighs
"I'm sorry." he says *I'm sorry?* why would he be *sorry*?
We reach the end of the corridor there's one door slap bang in the middle
*this is my "special room"? The guard sighs again,
"Well, in ya go... I'll see you in the morning...I hope..." He opens the door and inside is... oh god...* fire, fire *everywhere*, the heat is unbearable. Then, a monstrosity rises in front of me
"*Welcome, Methias, your stay is going to be... Hell, and I can make it last... for ever*! He starts to cackle, and i start to scream. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The new prisoners showed up today. Mostly murderers and violent offenders, all of them looked tough, weathered almost by the life of crime they chose.
Prisoner A was first, letters given from the order the came to our facility. He was acting tough, glaring at the guards and even spitting on one. I still had to give him the option of the one day pass, and based on his actions I didn't mind.
"Your choice?" I asked, pointing at what looked like a menu in front of him.
"One day" he said with a smirk.
"You understand this will be agony and sheer brutality, yes?"
"I can handle it" he said with a laugh, "I've been through hell already".
"If you say so" I said, shaking my head.
Prisoner A was taken by the guards to the elevator, down to the lower level, I followed as usual.The elevator doors opened with a ring, its an older elevator and I still get nervous taking the old cage.
We stepped out into the dark hallway. It had a pungent smell, like feces, burnt flesh and decaying bodies. The first door we came to was like an old bank vault, it had large handle to spin for opening it once the lock was disengaged. Inside was a small room with another large vault door at the other side. This one had a window at eye level, to ensure the process goes correctly.
Prisoner A went through the 2nd door willingly, but stopped and looked at the floor, spinning around to say he changed his mind in a panic. The floor was covered with blood and strange patterns. We've never seen them clearly due to the limited light in the chamber, and we will never cross the second vault door.
It was too late for him. "You've already chosen" I said via the intercom.
"What is this!?" He yelled.
"You are in a former military testing area" I said.. "the military found this on accident and built a secure lab over it. Decades ago, a portal was found, which is directly below you. It was only recently confirmed what exactly is inside. It is a place of torment, of pain..and fear."
"Oh god, oh god please!!!" He yelled as the cracks in the floor started to glow.
"We made a deal with the...thing...inside" I said. "With our offerings on a daily basis, it will not cross the portal"
Chains wrapped around Prisoner A's wrists and the glow in the floor became brighter, covering his body with an orange glow.
"It feeds on fear, but after one day you can return. It doesn't like to kill, when it kills it's no longer enjoyable as there is no longer fear to feed on. You will experience horrors beyond your imagination but you will *most likely* survive"
The floor had now opened and Prisoner A was screaming and crying.
"Today starts one day in hell" I said as he was lowered into the glow. "Time goes very slow in hell, one day will feel like an eternity" | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | They call me sociopath. Psychopath. Monster. Something not quite human. Well, I agree. I am not of the same species as these mindless sheep who walk upon two legs. Yet they presume to judge me. Well, they caught me, and as we know, might makes right.
Just now, the judge is bleating something at me. My court appointed lawyer motions at me to stand. Rolling my eyes somewhat, I do so. The armored troopers in the courtroom all stiffen, tightening their grips on their laser rifles and adjusting the sights of their crew served weapons. Fools. When have I ever tried to escape during trial? Except that one time. No, these pathetic beings know my weakness, and the courtroom is packed with cameras and reporters. I'll listen with undisguised contempt to the judge's sentence, monologue at the cameras a bit, take a month or two off for quiet contemplation, and, when I'm ready, break out of prison and attempt to take over the world again.
In truth, I rather enjoy my little vacations. Accommodations are rather Spartan, true, but it's the only time I get to myself without the Terror Brigades interrupting me every fifteen minutes asking for further instructions. And the chef at the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, which they built specifically to hold me, is quite skillful within the very limited budget the federal government allows. I think tonight must be Taco Tuesday, although admittedly I am a bit fuzzy on how much time had passed since The Black Flame had hit me in the back of the head with that restored stream locomotive. Perhaps today is Spaghetti Friday.
Oh, the judge is getting angry. "Are you listening, Professor Static?" Yes, yes. Blah de blah blah, pretended to be the Commissioner of Baseball so I can kidnap and sell the New York Yankees to that alien circus. We all know. "Get on with it, will you? I've got an escape to plan!"
The judge sputters at me for a little bit. I wait superciliously until he can get ahold of himself. Finally, he gets to his point, and puts forth a most intriguing proposition. I may pick the length of my sentence! The longer, the more comfortable, and vice versa. Well, being that I am effectively immortal, or at least no one has been able to figure out how to kill me and only a very few superpowered beings can inconvenience me, then we have an obvious choice here.
"Your Honor" I say, the words dripping with sarcasm "I choose a sentence of a single day!"
Gasps in the courtroom. Judge gavels. A Terror Brigadier calls from the gallery "he'll be out by Thursday, you fools, and then you'll all feel Static's sting! All hail our dark lord, Professor Static!" Three armored troopers pull him from his seat and execute him. Ignoring the excitement, the judge stares at me. Finally, he says "so be it, and may God have mercy on your soul, if you have one".
The bag descends over my head. I'm being wheeled into a vehicle. We lift off- it's a helicopter, no doubt an Earth Defense Corp bird. We fly a bit, and land, and I get wheeled around a bit. We go up ramps and down elevators and hither and yon and presently, my hood is removed.
I'm in a living room. There's a comfortable looking couch. There's some mediocre artwork on the walls. There's a commercial grade carpet of the kind you'd see in a cheap motel. In other words, not my usual cell.
My bonds come loose, and I flex a bit. No one else is in the room. I turn on a lamp (cheap IKEA knockoff), choose a People magazine, and sit on the couch.
An easy listening version of Welcome to the Jungle plays via unseen speakers. The People magazine is nearly a year old.
Ah. I see what they're doing. Ennui and boredom. Waiting for the dentist who never shows. Yes, yes, very clever. I'm sure this would be sheerest torture to a street thug or hang banger, but I am Professor Static, who-
"Hello?" says a voice, hesitantly.
Yes?
"Can you hear me?"
I can.
"Prisoner 137, you are hereby to be informed of your rights under title blah blah blaaaaah…"
I don't think 'hereby to be informed' is grammatically correct.
"Yes. Well. Anyway, you've been injected with a drug that will bring you total self awareness. After 24 hours, you will receive the antidote. You will then be free to go. You will not be physically harmed during those 24 hours, and will be made as physically comfortable as possible. Do you have any questions?"
Did you say total self awareness?
"I did."
What kind of lame punishment is that?
"Not for me to say. Please press the red button located on the wall if you feel yourself in any physical danger. On behalf of the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, please let me say OH GOD SNAKES THE SNAKES ARE ALL OVER ME HELP ME HELP ME CAN YOU HEAR ME WENDY WENDY ARE YOU OKAY IF YOU CAN HEAR ME SAY SOMETHING WENDY WENDY WENDY OH GOD WENDY (extended sobbing)"
I can hear them. I can hear all of them. I can see them. I can smell them. Every hero. Every hostage. Every spy and double agent and civilian caught in the crossfire. I can see their final moments. They cry, they evacuate their vowels and their bladders, they beg for mercy and call for their gods for mercy and for their mothers to stop the hurting. I can feel their pain, their suffering, their fear.
I am surrounded by images as well. I see myself torturing couriers and secretaries for information. I see myself murdering superheroes in a thousand ways, each more creative and cruel than the last. I see myself murdering countless armed guards and lab technicians and sidekicks. And in every case, I am the victim.
I am a college student now. A professor belittles my theory of Ninth Dimensional travel. A girl responds to my request for a date with incredulous laughter. A jock spills my soda all over my pants and doesn't even notice.
Then I hear it.
"Uncle Steve's home! Where are you, you little homo?"
Uncle Steve.
He's drunk.
He's taking off his belt.
He holds up the vacuum tube, the one I hadn't had a chance to put back into the television l was disassembling.
"Don't you know MASH is on tonight, you little homo?"
I'm Professor Static, and I killed Ikon Girl with a single punch to the jaw, I try to say.
Instead, what comes out is "…please don't hit me again, Uncle Steve. I'll be good…"
He takes a good, long look at me, and says "if you're so smart, why'd you take the one day option?"
And swings. | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The gavel still ringing in my ears, the cold sweat poring out of every gland my body had, and the sudden realization "I chose the 24 hour stay" had all sent me into sensory overload. As I was ushered out of the court room I heard the bailiff mutter something to the effect of "I would've at least taken a week". As I walked, cuffed and shackled, down the hallways of the courthouse and into the detention center in back I felt real fear. The guys who choose the "shortest allowable time by law" got it the worst, and those who tried either couldn't stand it or went insane in the process of completion of the punishment. The hardest guys in the back kept muttering "I'll pray for you", every step I got closer and closer to the back door. The door was a large, very imposing, cast iron, rusted door with six large hinges and four large bolts at the top and bottom of the door. As the bailiff opened the heavy door the hinges let out a loud moan and creak from the lack of use. When he opened the door I could see a dimly lit room with a shovel and a soft dirt floor. The bailiff turned and grimly looked at me and said, "You dig until I say stop, you must dig a 6ft deep hole by 4ft long by 4ft wide." I started to dig the hole, the work seemed easy and I thought to myself "If this is it what's the big deal? It's just a hole." I finished up in a couple hours, easy. The bailiff looked at me and said, were not done yet. He brought in a 4ft by 4ft crate and put it in the bottom of the hole, the lid had a hole large enough to fit a pipe. The bailiff told me "Get in the box, I'll close it on top of you. Once it's closed we will begin your time." Startled and fairly nervous, I got inside the crate. The bailiff closed the lid in on top of me and put a tube inside the hole in the lid. What I had feared began to come true, the bailiff was going to bury me alive in an extremely tight box. I could hear him pick up the shovel and "thunk" the first spade full of dirt was tossed in on top of me. "Thunk" every few seconds "thunk". The tiny streams of light soon faded as the crate was buried. With every shovel full, the crate began to groan and creak from the weight of the dirt. It began to get more and more difficult to breath. The "thunks" began to fade and all I was left with was the sound of my own breathing. The tube started to vibrate and I could feel water. The water started to fill the crate, and slowly subsided. The water was up to my face, it began to get hard to breathe. I started hearing my own thoughts, my mind was forced to accept that I might die. Mind racing, thoughts screaming, and body trembling I started second guessing my reason for choosing this Hell. I started wondering "how in the hell did I get so messed up to be in this position." Time slipped by without any reference as if time itself had died. Every second felt like a day, every minute felt like a decade. Between the amplified sound of my heart beating in the water and the screams of all of my fears in my head, I could feel that I was loosing my grip on my own sanity. After what felt like an eternity I started to hear whispers, as if someone else was in this crate with me. My eyes strained to focus on anything as the whispers began to grow louder. The whispers continued, the rhythmic beat of my heart grew louder, and my mental screams turned into shrill shrieks. After an eternity in what seemed to be a progressively new hell I could hear a "thunk". I could hear a shallow, rhythmic, "thunk" the same "thunk" from the shovel. It was over, my sentence was over. It took the bailiff 45 minutes to dig me free. I had lasted 24 hours, and I was free. | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Charlie squirmed on the cool metal seat in a grey room not big but not small, one light slightly swinging over him.
"So here we are Charlie," said one of the two men in matching pastel blue jumpsuits.
"You have a base 5 year sentence," the other chimed in.
"And you have a choice."
Charlie looked between both of their darkened, bored eyes and then stared intently at an imaginary spot of the steel table between them.
"Take five years and get your normal prison experience or..."
"Or you can choose to fit 5 years worth of suffering into any amount of time you want."
They both smiled slightly, which would have been warming if it had no been in perfect unison and had the eyes been a little less glazed over."
"Pick a year, and you get 5 years worth of prison suffering. Your bed will be 5 times harder, the meals 5 times worse, your fellow inmates 5 times as pissed off."
"Pick a day, and it'll be solitary, hot coals, and Scorpions."
"Pick a moment and you'll be dead."
"Or..."
And the two looked at each other, again with slight. Charlie noticed a burning sulfur smell overcome the cool odors of steel, asphalt, and fabric softener.
"Or you could pick a longer sentence and pack the pain into a bigger box,"
"Pick 10 years and you have a softer bed and better food,"
"Pick 100 and we'll keep you comfortable for the rest of your days, but you'll be imprisoned until you..."
"Well presumably."
"This will take awhile to decide, I'm sure. And you'll be in temporary holding until then."
Suddenly Charlie's fidgeting stopped and his eyes raised slowly toward the two men in jumpsuits, now looking mildly interested, and said in a voice low and unlike his own.
"I don't need time. I know what fate I want,"
A smile inched it's way towards his ears as his eyes darkened with a spark of madness.
"I want a sentence of infinite years."
And the world dissolved in a furor of light. | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | With prisons overfilling, conditions had to drop, there was no way we could afford it otherwise. The best way? Offer all those found guilty reduced sentences at the cost of worsened (and usually cheaper) conditions.
Based on the fraction amount of time taken off you get put in with worse and worse inmates and prisoners.
Once you hit a 'super max' prison standard, anything beyond that was now officially considered that the prisoner was willingly giving up his basic -human- rights for the duration of his stay and were transported to a special facility.
Each state had one such facility. It was all that was needed, people weren't there long after all.
It's agreed that after you reduce your sentence by a tenth or more you lose -all- rights, including those given to animals. Torture is now not only legal, it's mandatory, it went from casual beatings to permanent scars and pain that would knock you unconscious only minutes after you've woken up.
Generally that sort of information doesn't get out to the media in much detail - however I know it all. I work there. Have done for ten years. Yet in all my time here, there have been only two guys and one woman in my facility who thought they were hard who took the 'one night stay' approach (the minimum sentence).
The first was a simple thief, he'd robbed a house but was caught robbing a small corner shop. Sentenced originally to fifteen years.
He was an idiot - he was told what rights he'd lose multiple times, including those long term - including the main big one of 'After reducing your sentence below a twentieth of its original amount, any damage done in your stay can legally be permanent.'
Within the first hour he'd lost all his teeth, begging us to stop until he was coughing up too much blood to talk - he'd reduced his sentence by over 5000 days. He was going to feel them for far longer. After three hours, we were done with the acid treatment.
I'll skip the rest... but he left a different man, his face was deformed, his medical bills to get everything fixed would be more than he'd ever earn in his lifetime. But by god I've never heard of him committing a crime again. It worked. The facility always did.
The other man was a soldier stationed overseas gone rogue. He'd shot civilians - it claims he knew they were innocent but due to our shitty system he was only sentenced to a year on the basis of 'They appeared to be a threat'.
But I digress. Other than his psychotic tendencies, he was a good man - he wanted to get back home to his family. He shot innocent people considering them 'terrorists' so we terrorized him.
We doped him up on stuff so strong it makes minutes feel like hours. We then got in high quality actors, who pretended to be his kids -we then faked torturing -them- right in front of him, he was telling us we could kill him if we let them go within just three hours. Of course we threw in a little pain on his side too, but nothing permanent - the mental trauma would be more than enough. Especially given how we didn't tell them they were actors. He found that out only after he called his wife the moment he got out, crying.
Of course he tried to sue us - but he'd been read his rights, he'd thought being ex-military he could handle it. He was wrong. We crack all of them. In fact I hear he's raised his kids so well one of them has been nominated for a Nobel Prize.
Finally the lady. I was a little sad she'd made it to us. Her sentence had been pathetic - just three weeks for the shop-lifting repeatedly for her son. But reducing 21 days to 1... that was over a twentieth, she wasn't going to receive hell, but it wasn't pleasant.
We double-checked when we heard about her and looked her up -we prepared special treatments for those who go for anything shorter than a week and made it to us-. She was a single mom struggling to make ends meet, she stole because she had to. She repeated the offense because her kids wouldn't make be able to live a decent life without it. She even claimed to take the one-day sentence just so she could get back to them as soon as possible.
Our team argued on what to do with her for a good week before she arrived. We just needed to shake her up so she never came back, but she didn't deserve the sort of terror we inflicted on our other victi- I mean inmates.
In the end we resorted to terrifying her, we stripped her naked and threatened to rape her -of course we didn't come even close to it, we knew she didn't deserve that- then after she realized the threats were idle she cursed at us until we moved onto the second bit of our plan. Simple, straight to the point.
We took her hand, tied it to a table, pulled out a knife and asked her 'You know what they used to do with thieves in some country's before the UN stepped in?'. She pleaded for mercy. But we took what we knew she deserved - the top 1 inch or so of her little finger. We left it bleeding and her in pain for the rest of her sentence. Our parting words as we left her for the night 'If we ever see you again, we'll take the whole hand'.
We'd all apologized to people after they left at some point. Usually just once or twice for the media - but we always said the same thing 'They knew what they were getting into. I was just doing my job'.
But her... I got in contact with her personally. Phoned her the next day at a time I knew she'd be likely just done with taking her kids to school.
"Hello? Look Frank, I've had a hell of a weekend, I can't come in for overtim-"
"It's not Frank. It's... well you don't know my name. I'm one of the Guards from the prison you went to. I just wanted to say I'm really sorry, if the law had required me to do less, I would have. "
There was a pause. I hung up. Assuming she would if I didn't -or worse yell at me. After all - everyone hates us, nobody likes being punished, and what we do is quite literally inhumane.
I had the day off so I went about my business, not much to do - I was a single man at the time, nobody could stand my job, but it paid so well I couldn't give it up - in a few short years, I'd have enough to buy a house outright, then I could get some savings and start a family without it.
Five hours later I got a text -I assumed it was one of my colleagues from the facility-, I checked the number, didn't recognize it, then realized it was the woman I'd called.
'I didn't really expect an apology. I knew what I was getting into. I should have known better.'
So surprised to get a reply, before I knew it I'd replied, thanking her for being understanding.
Several texts and a couple of hours later, late in the evening she had some precious spare time and she called up and we got chatting. I helped her through the worse of the trauma -which was technically illegal, as it ruins the experience of the facility, but the fellow guards never told anyone else once they'd found out-.
A week later I was in her City, and we were on a date. A year later we were an official couple. And... Ooh lets see... three days ago? I was married to her.
I stretch my arms and yawn.
"Sweetheart get off the laptop and go to bed. It's our honeymoon. If the kids can wait a week your bloody auto-biography can wait too."
I put it away and smiled at her with love. Thinking to myself 'Our system works so well, it even made a good Man out of me'.
The End. | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | For the murder of 20 people, I have been sentenced to 120 years. I choose to compress this to 1 hour and 35 minutes. I am forced to watch *Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance*, the only suitable punishment. | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Ava Rice stood in the courtroom, hair perfectly coiffed and styled, makeup and nails complimenting the tailored Armani business suit which, in turn, accentuated her ample surgically-augmented cleavage. A broad smile creased her middle-aged face, but botox kept it confined to her lips.
She had a plan.
There was no way she would get away with the crime, but thanks to a loophole in the law, she'd be out in twenty-four hours and free to collect the prize: Two hundred and thirty million dollars. It was a fraction of the sum she had fleeced from investors and the government and laundered into off-shore accounts around the globe; but the feds hadn't found all of it, and that's what she'd been counting on.
She had purposely spent little time and resources on hiding her crimes, the faster they could convict her, the less likely they were to find all the money. It had been a brilliant plan, genius even. She was quite proud of herself.
As the judge spent nearly an hour reading the jury's verdicts one by one, Ava smirked smugly. They could do their worst and she would still walk, in perfect health, out of the detention center by dinner time tomorrow. *Fools*. She wasn't even listening after the first five minutes, her thoughts had turned to dreams of sunbathing on the deck of a new yacht while sipping tropical drinks off the coast of some exotic country. She glanced at the Rolex on her wrist, a seven thousand dollar reminder of the feds' haste to bring her to trial. So intent on putting her away, they were, that the idiots hadn't even confiscated the obviously valuable time piece.
While sentences were designed to punish and deter future crime, the law stated that prisoners must be kept in good health and released without a scratch. So while Ava knew she faced a long sentence, the forty year old knew there was no threat of torture, death, or dismemberment. They couldn't even leave a single pinprick on her skin. *What could they possibly do? Scare me with harmless snakes? Lock me in a dark room? Make me watch the Kardashians?*
Ava realized the judge was asking her a question and came out of her revery. "... may choose your sentence, Miss Rice. The maximum sentence of one hundred and twenty years, or you may spend as much of it as you like in Time Compensation. What is your choice?"
"I'll take 24 hours in Time Compensation, your Honor."
The look of shock on their faces was priceless. A quick glance at her watch told her it was nearly 5 pm. *I'll think of you all fondly while I'm eating some endangered species for dinner tomorrow* She didn't even bother to listen to a response, she stood up and offered her wrists to the bailiffs.
The two uniformed men led her out of the courtroom and into a dimly lit corridor. They didn't even bother to cuff her, they simply urged her on ahead of them. Doors opened automatically as she approached and closed softly behind her, sometimes she was instructed to turn down side corridors. Their steps reverberated loudly, becoming a monotonous tapping drone that began to grate on the nerves. The hall stretched on much longer than she thought it would, and had taken so many turns she gave up trying to remember them all. It didn't matter, they would show her the way out in just 24 hours.
After what must have been an hour of traipsing through the increasingly dark and labyrinthine hallway, her patience grew thin, "Hey, how much further-" the words froze in her throat. She had turned to ask the question, but no guards stood behind her. Straining to see in the wane light, her eyes couldn't make out anyone near her. How long ago had they disappeared? The sound of their footsteps continued to echo even as she stood there, unmoving. *Great. So this is their idea of punishment? Let me wander aimlessly in a dark maze for a day? Pathetic. Well, that was at least an hour, only twenty three left to go!* She grinned broadly and glanced at the glowing hands of her Rolex. *That's odd, it stopped.*
The prisoner had long given up on keeping track of the time, the Rolex had barely moved in what felt like at least a couple days. At first she wandered aimlessly, certain someone else must be here somewhere, as the sound of footsteps never ceased. They grew quieter or louder at times, but she couldn't find their source. *Damn those bastards! They lied to me! They can't keep me here, the law says twenty four hours! Oh they'll be hearing from my lawyer.*
Another living soul never appeared, except for the occasional rat or cockroaches scuttling away as she neared. She had found that she could open some doors along the way, though the corridors beyond were either filled with searing heat or freezing cold. Once, she had found a door with bright light streaming under it, but when opened found the other side a vast open space, painfully illuminated, like the sun itself streamed forth to stab knives into her retinas. She avoided those doors after that; darkness wasn't painful.
Portions of the corridor smelled of sewage and human waste, while others were thick with the aroma of grilled steak, baked potatoes and fresh bread. At first, the criminal relished in the pleasant odors, but it only made the hunger pangs worse. The only source of water dripped from rusty pipes overhead or oozed down the walls, and she was loathe to slake her thirst, but necessity soon overcame her repugnance. It was like drinking urine but she held back from retching and let the warm liquid hydrate her drip by drip. It took another week before she tried licking the walls. It tasted like blood.
Hunger was gnawing at her, it had been weeks since she'd eaten. Ava avoided the obvious solution until it became apparent that her ruined clothes were very loose; she had lost at least fifteen pounds and hadn't been very large to begin with. Getting liposuction a few months back was starting to seem like a really bad choice right about now. Her third week in marked the first of many rat dinners. Six months later she discovered they went nicely with crunchy cockroaches.
Time was meaningless now, hours, days, weeks were arbitrary designations that held no context here. She slept whenever and wherever she liked. The rats and cockroaches crawling and nipping at her no longer mattered, and besides, it was easier to catch them if she waited until they swarmed over her.
A beep startled her out of sleep. It had been so long since she had heard anything like it, it took a moment to realize what it was. Her watch beeped. A casual glance at her it made her take a second, harder look. It had been nearly 5pm when she was taken from the court room, the watch currently read 6 pm.
The horror of realization washed over and the taste of bile rose in her throat. The Rolex wasn't broken. She was due to be released in twenty three hours, as promised, but every minute that passed on her watch represented a month.
Only one hundred fifteen years to go.
| An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Being a sweeper reduced my time from 25 years to 15 and that was fine with me. an entire ten years taken off my sentence for cleaning up the pit.
The pit.
my stomach turned at the thought of the cleaning today. It's a choice anyone is given, 1 day surviving in the pit for freedom. It seems so pleasant, such an easy choice when said that way. I hear the alarm buzz on the other side of the metal door. Followed by a booming recorded voice "STATE YOUR NAME." The alarm and announcement is usually followed by silence, in my 5 years of pit duty I have never heard anything other than silence.
"Micheal Kent" a voice said, muffled from the door, but I could hear. followed by another voice, smaller this time. So small I could not hear the name it offered.
*Two?* I thought to myself. *Impossible* A metallic click and the door in front of me opened. My standard issue green rain boots were already stained with blood from my first days here, something I no longer notice or pay any attention to, but I can not help but stare at my boots, afraid to look at whatever monsters lurk inside the darkness of the pit.
I get over my fear and look up to the darkness that looms in front of me, "I'm going to turn the lights on now." I say. My hand brushes against the wall and I already feel the thickness of blood or flesh through my rubber gloves. I turn the light on using a code.
"We thought." the small voice started, "We thought if all of us did nothing, we would be able to leave." I turn around and am shocked to see a child. *what crime could a child do to be put here?* I did not ask, but I stood frozen in front of a small genderless creature in blood stained orange scrubs.
"That's enough." the man who introduced himself and Michael stopped her. "He has nothing to do with this, he is also a prisoner." He turned to the child, "We get to leave now."
"Actually." I start, my voice is rigid, "There is a matter of paperwork, I am supposed to offer you a shower though, first."
"Please!" the small voice spoke.
I look to the camera and make a large wave, in a few moments one of the officers comes and escorts them out of the blood bath of a room. I look to my feet again and squish the toes of my boots into the blood. the body removers come and gather the large pieces and I am numb to it as they chuck legs and torsos into bins marks "hazardous waste: HUMAN REMAINS"
"Did you see them?" I asked the nameless crew, "The winners, I mean...did anyone see them"
"Oh ya, wicked fucked up right?" one of them says. A puzzled look crosses my face and he continues, "Oh you didn't hear? Father and daughter that pair." He bends down to scoop up a large intestine from the floor and attempts to toss it in the bin, "dicks." he says when he misses. "They are a right awful pair. I heard they are cannibals, and when offered the pit they both jumped for joy." He pointed to the bloody mess around, "I wonder if they ate any of them."
"Oh Thomas shut up, they aren't cannibals!" A woman I know to be named Mary or Mercy or Martha spoke, "They were a priest and just some girl." She shrugged, "People say the little girl lured men interested in doing terrible thing to little girls to an alley and the priest... well he absolved them of their sins."
"So much for *thou shalt not kill." I mutter.
"I don't believe that for a second. A killer priest? That's so cliche." The first one says, "I'm stickin' to cannibals." He kicks feet and hands to the center of the room and scoops them up.
I begin mopping and the crew leaves with the bins. blood. blood. blood. Was this worth it? Every other day of this for the next ten years. *I could probably do it.* I think. *survive in the pit for 24 hours... a little girl did it.*
I start my morning by shaving my head, as many who enter the pit decide to do. *less to grab onto I guess* My best chance at survival is to enter last minute, and I have 6 minutes left to sign up or to change my mind. I pace quickly down the corridor and to the office. I utter my name, "Jason Rider" to the clerk and she looks at me with disgust.
"Last chance to change your mind." An officer says to us. No one moves, we have all made our choice to die today... *or to live*
They lock us in the room, and we follow instructions to sit on the floor with our backs to the wall. there are 13 of us today, 12 other people I need to convince to stay still for 24 hours in complete darkness.
"All of you can leave or none of you can." The officer says, "When I leave this room, the lights will shut off and you will be forced to stay in here until that clock up there reaches zero." He pointed to a timer on the wall in a cage... too far to reach.
"Pshh, easy" one of my new cell mates says as the officer leaves.
"Oh, and one more thing." He points to the ceiling and there is a large bundle that drops to the ground loudly. "all of you who exit will be splitting a prize of 3 million dollars." He doesn't need to say the rest, we get it.
The cameras focus on us and I know we are being broadcast to millions of homes. A fight to the death over money. A fight to the death between murderers and rapists and terrible human beings who have nothing waiting for them on the outside except homelessness and poverty. A fight to the death for people who were already prepared to die.
The lights shut off and I do not move at first. None of us do. There is a moment that seems to last an eternity were we are all waiting for someone else to break the trust. "No one has to die." A voice said. "We can divide it all up between all of us."
Everyone agrees. At first.
The speakers turn on after three hours and begin to play pop music. After about five minutes it becomes clear that it will be the same song on loop. thirty minutes in and it gets unbearably loud.
*I could grab a weapon. I could shoot the speaker out. I know where it is* I do not offer this at first, but after another 20 minutes I can not stand it anymore.
"Guys. I... I've been a sweeper of the pit for the last five years." I am shouting over the music and I feel absurd, "I believe I can damage the speaker if I can get something out of the bundle."
"Why didn't you say something earlier?" the darkness asks.
"It's extremely suspicious."
"Don't let him get up." the darkness is a cunt, I decide, and stay still. Another hour passes and my ears are ready to bleed.
"Jesus fuck" a voice bellows over the music, "Let that sweeper up, I can't do this anymore."
I stand, "I promise all of you, I won't hurt anyone." I go to the middle of the room and feel in the darkness for the bundle. "Fuck." I say. "IT'S NOT HERE! Someone took it!!" I roll out of the way and press myself against were I think the door is.
frantic yelling. I feel blood against my face. "you all are going to die." the darkness answers my fear.
"we were free, how could you?" a mans dying words, followed by a scream that pierced me. The prisoner with whatever weapon(s) might have been in the sack has not found me yet. *Can I really hide in this tiny square room for...* I look to the clock, *another ten hours?*
Screams and blood. That's it, that's my life now. I feel a body thump to the ground next to me and take shelter under it's weight.
"8" the voice says and I feel more blood splatter, a few moments pass "9" a scream is muffled.
I have decided his weapon must be a sword. I hope that is the only weapon, and not anything that might emit light. two hours pass of him trying to kill us. there are 3 of us left.... somewhere.
The music stops playing when the clock strikes 7:45. seven hours and forty five minutes left. Can I truly survive that long? I remember I can turn the lights on. Would that help me? I might be able to over power him if I can see. I stick my foot out slowly from the body on top of me to try to feel the wall. I touch the crack in the door and know exactly where I am. I need to make a decision.
"10" the voice says. I know the monster will begin tearing into the corpses to get all of us, they always do. one other murderer.... that I know of. They could be a team... like that little girl and man...
"Okay Jason, you can turn the lights on now." I freeze. My chest fills with anxiety and I can not move. "Jay?" I hear a metal clink as the monster drops his sword, "Well shit, I don't think I killed him, Martha."
"Nah, he's somewhere." the anxiety inside me is released when I realize it's the voices of the body chuckers. I roll the human off of me and reach for the control panel -166892- the lights stay off.
"I believe they changed the code." I mutter.
"Figures, it would only be fair since they knew you was comin' n' all." I hear a large sigh, "Well 6 more hours of silence and we get our showers."
"How do you know I won't kill you?" I say.
"You won't. we've been waiting for you to enter." Martha says. "You are the only other person in this prison that is innocent, you've never hurt anyone."
"I... I'm not innocent." I say.
"Awww money this and money that. She means you've never killed anyone."
we get to leave. I've made it.
| An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
|
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | They call me sociopath. Psychopath. Monster. Something not quite human. Well, I agree. I am not of the same species as these mindless sheep who walk upon two legs. Yet they presume to judge me. Well, they caught me, and as we know, might makes right.
Just now, the judge is bleating something at me. My court appointed lawyer motions at me to stand. Rolling my eyes somewhat, I do so. The armored troopers in the courtroom all stiffen, tightening their grips on their laser rifles and adjusting the sights of their crew served weapons. Fools. When have I ever tried to escape during trial? Except that one time. No, these pathetic beings know my weakness, and the courtroom is packed with cameras and reporters. I'll listen with undisguised contempt to the judge's sentence, monologue at the cameras a bit, take a month or two off for quiet contemplation, and, when I'm ready, break out of prison and attempt to take over the world again.
In truth, I rather enjoy my little vacations. Accommodations are rather Spartan, true, but it's the only time I get to myself without the Terror Brigades interrupting me every fifteen minutes asking for further instructions. And the chef at the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, which they built specifically to hold me, is quite skillful within the very limited budget the federal government allows. I think tonight must be Taco Tuesday, although admittedly I am a bit fuzzy on how much time had passed since The Black Flame had hit me in the back of the head with that restored stream locomotive. Perhaps today is Spaghetti Friday.
Oh, the judge is getting angry. "Are you listening, Professor Static?" Yes, yes. Blah de blah blah, pretended to be the Commissioner of Baseball so I can kidnap and sell the New York Yankees to that alien circus. We all know. "Get on with it, will you? I've got an escape to plan!"
The judge sputters at me for a little bit. I wait superciliously until he can get ahold of himself. Finally, he gets to his point, and puts forth a most intriguing proposition. I may pick the length of my sentence! The longer, the more comfortable, and vice versa. Well, being that I am effectively immortal, or at least no one has been able to figure out how to kill me and only a very few superpowered beings can inconvenience me, then we have an obvious choice here.
"Your Honor" I say, the words dripping with sarcasm "I choose a sentence of a single day!"
Gasps in the courtroom. Judge gavels. A Terror Brigadier calls from the gallery "he'll be out by Thursday, you fools, and then you'll all feel Static's sting! All hail our dark lord, Professor Static!" Three armored troopers pull him from his seat and execute him. Ignoring the excitement, the judge stares at me. Finally, he says "so be it, and may God have mercy on your soul, if you have one".
The bag descends over my head. I'm being wheeled into a vehicle. We lift off- it's a helicopter, no doubt an Earth Defense Corp bird. We fly a bit, and land, and I get wheeled around a bit. We go up ramps and down elevators and hither and yon and presently, my hood is removed.
I'm in a living room. There's a comfortable looking couch. There's some mediocre artwork on the walls. There's a commercial grade carpet of the kind you'd see in a cheap motel. In other words, not my usual cell.
My bonds come loose, and I flex a bit. No one else is in the room. I turn on a lamp (cheap IKEA knockoff), choose a People magazine, and sit on the couch.
An easy listening version of Welcome to the Jungle plays via unseen speakers. The People magazine is nearly a year old.
Ah. I see what they're doing. Ennui and boredom. Waiting for the dentist who never shows. Yes, yes, very clever. I'm sure this would be sheerest torture to a street thug or hang banger, but I am Professor Static, who-
"Hello?" says a voice, hesitantly.
Yes?
"Can you hear me?"
I can.
"Prisoner 137, you are hereby to be informed of your rights under title blah blah blaaaaah…"
I don't think 'hereby to be informed' is grammatically correct.
"Yes. Well. Anyway, you've been injected with a drug that will bring you total self awareness. After 24 hours, you will receive the antidote. You will then be free to go. You will not be physically harmed during those 24 hours, and will be made as physically comfortable as possible. Do you have any questions?"
Did you say total self awareness?
"I did."
What kind of lame punishment is that?
"Not for me to say. Please press the red button located on the wall if you feel yourself in any physical danger. On behalf of the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, please let me say OH GOD SNAKES THE SNAKES ARE ALL OVER ME HELP ME HELP ME CAN YOU HEAR ME WENDY WENDY ARE YOU OKAY IF YOU CAN HEAR ME SAY SOMETHING WENDY WENDY WENDY OH GOD WENDY (extended sobbing)"
I can hear them. I can hear all of them. I can see them. I can smell them. Every hero. Every hostage. Every spy and double agent and civilian caught in the crossfire. I can see their final moments. They cry, they evacuate their vowels and their bladders, they beg for mercy and call for their gods for mercy and for their mothers to stop the hurting. I can feel their pain, their suffering, their fear.
I am surrounded by images as well. I see myself torturing couriers and secretaries for information. I see myself murdering superheroes in a thousand ways, each more creative and cruel than the last. I see myself murdering countless armed guards and lab technicians and sidekicks. And in every case, I am the victim.
I am a college student now. A professor belittles my theory of Ninth Dimensional travel. A girl responds to my request for a date with incredulous laughter. A jock spills my soda all over my pants and doesn't even notice.
Then I hear it.
"Uncle Steve's home! Where are you, you little homo?"
Uncle Steve.
He's drunk.
He's taking off his belt.
He holds up the vacuum tube, the one I hadn't had a chance to put back into the television l was disassembling.
"Don't you know MASH is on tonight, you little homo?"
I'm Professor Static, and I killed Ikon Girl with a single punch to the jaw, I try to say.
Instead, what comes out is "…please don't hit me again, Uncle Steve. I'll be good…"
He takes a good, long look at me, and says "if you're so smart, why'd you take the one day option?"
And swings. | *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The gavel still ringing in my ears, the cold sweat poring out of every gland my body had, and the sudden realization "I chose the 24 hour stay" had all sent me into sensory overload. As I was ushered out of the court room I heard the bailiff mutter something to the effect of "I would've at least taken a week". As I walked, cuffed and shackled, down the hallways of the courthouse and into the detention center in back I felt real fear. The guys who choose the "shortest allowable time by law" got it the worst, and those who tried either couldn't stand it or went insane in the process of completion of the punishment. The hardest guys in the back kept muttering "I'll pray for you", every step I got closer and closer to the back door. The door was a large, very imposing, cast iron, rusted door with six large hinges and four large bolts at the top and bottom of the door. As the bailiff opened the heavy door the hinges let out a loud moan and creak from the lack of use. When he opened the door I could see a dimly lit room with a shovel and a soft dirt floor. The bailiff turned and grimly looked at me and said, "You dig until I say stop, you must dig a 6ft deep hole by 4ft long by 4ft wide." I started to dig the hole, the work seemed easy and I thought to myself "If this is it what's the big deal? It's just a hole." I finished up in a couple hours, easy. The bailiff looked at me and said, were not done yet. He brought in a 4ft by 4ft crate and put it in the bottom of the hole, the lid had a hole large enough to fit a pipe. The bailiff told me "Get in the box, I'll close it on top of you. Once it's closed we will begin your time." Startled and fairly nervous, I got inside the crate. The bailiff closed the lid in on top of me and put a tube inside the hole in the lid. What I had feared began to come true, the bailiff was going to bury me alive in an extremely tight box. I could hear him pick up the shovel and "thunk" the first spade full of dirt was tossed in on top of me. "Thunk" every few seconds "thunk". The tiny streams of light soon faded as the crate was buried. With every shovel full, the crate began to groan and creak from the weight of the dirt. It began to get more and more difficult to breath. The "thunks" began to fade and all I was left with was the sound of my own breathing. The tube started to vibrate and I could feel water. The water started to fill the crate, and slowly subsided. The water was up to my face, it began to get hard to breathe. I started hearing my own thoughts, my mind was forced to accept that I might die. Mind racing, thoughts screaming, and body trembling I started second guessing my reason for choosing this Hell. I started wondering "how in the hell did I get so messed up to be in this position." Time slipped by without any reference as if time itself had died. Every second felt like a day, every minute felt like a decade. Between the amplified sound of my heart beating in the water and the screams of all of my fears in my head, I could feel that I was loosing my grip on my own sanity. After what felt like an eternity I started to hear whispers, as if someone else was in this crate with me. My eyes strained to focus on anything as the whispers began to grow louder. The whispers continued, the rhythmic beat of my heart grew louder, and my mental screams turned into shrill shrieks. After an eternity in what seemed to be a progressively new hell I could hear a "thunk". I could hear a shallow, rhythmic, "thunk" the same "thunk" from the shovel. It was over, my sentence was over. It took the bailiff 45 minutes to dig me free. I had lasted 24 hours, and I was free. | *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| They told me nobody had ever survived the third option. Voluntaries had become a method for the prison owners to keep the populations of their jails down. There just wasn't enough space to house all of us, so your number was put into a lottery when they first brought you in.
It was pretty simple, your name gets drawn, and you get to choose either 24 hours, 12 hours, or 1 hour. The punishment was different for each one, and after the prisoner's "penance", they were packed up nice and neatly into a tinted Lincoln, and driven to the nearest rehabilitation center. That's right, they had whole buildings dedicated to helping newly freed men, apparently even the easiest punishment still took some time to get over.
I was in the mess when my number was yelled out, the warden always made some kind of show out of the drawing, trying to get us feelin eager or somethin. They had me in for life, people don't smile too brightly on folks who eat their own kind, specially as many as I did. So when I heard my number I thought I was dreamin.
Says something bout our time don't it, it's so fucked up outside that they're willin to toss folks like me back out into the wide world just to save a pretty penny. When I walked up to the stage, feelin the glares of my old roomates in my back, I coulda sworn I was in a dream.
They took me to a room, asked me if I wanted to be out in 24, 12, or 1 hour. I thought the choice was pretty obvious, they started blabbin at me about my mental state after something so traumatic, and I just asked them what mental state they might be gettin at.
The next room had a table and a visor on it, the kind I saw on TV when I was a kid, virtual reality sets. Only took me 40 years to finally get to use one. Strapped up to that table I started gettin a little nervous, what happened next made me realize why they had warned me.
I was an ant, a tiny little ant, just standin in the grass, all the sudden I was surrounded by others like me. They began to tear me apart, I felt each of my legs being ripped from my body, it's amazing how real they can make living without a section of your torso feel.
I was in the ocean, floating out in the middle of nowhere, not a hint of anything around me cept more water. Something slimy wrapped around my ankle, I was dragged down as more grasping limbs coiled themselves around me, pulling me into what looked like a blooming flower. But this flower had a beak, and I felt every chunk being removed from me, slowly being consumed, but never drowning.
I was back on the table, but the walls were a different color, and I wasn't wearing a VR headset. The door opened and a figure on its hands and knees shuffled in sideways. Like someone had turned spoiled milk completely solid, and stretched it over a skeleton. There were no eyes, and as it shambled up to me, it's breath smelling like a slaughterhouse, the chittering sound coming from its vertical mouth played a tattoo across my sanity.
For an hour this went on, each more horrible than the last. I guess I had passed out by the end of it, cause I woke up in some kind of hospital bed. The nurses keep lookin at me like I'm already dead. Safe to say they're bound to be right sometime soon. Not a second goes by when I don't hear that chittering in the back of my skull. I guess you could call this my last testament, I understand why no one's ever survived the 1 hour. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | They told me nobody had ever survived the third option. Voluntaries had become a method for the prison owners to keep the populations of their jails down. There just wasn't enough space to house all of us, so your number was put into a lottery when they first brought you in.
It was pretty simple, your name gets drawn, and you get to choose either 24 hours, 12 hours, or 1 hour. The punishment was different for each one, and after the prisoner's "penance", they were packed up nice and neatly into a tinted Lincoln, and driven to the nearest rehabilitation center. That's right, they had whole buildings dedicated to helping newly freed men, apparently even the easiest punishment still took some time to get over.
I was in the mess when my number was yelled out, the warden always made some kind of show out of the drawing, trying to get us feelin eager or somethin. They had me in for life, people don't smile too brightly on folks who eat their own kind, specially as many as I did. So when I heard my number I thought I was dreamin.
Says something bout our time don't it, it's so fucked up outside that they're willin to toss folks like me back out into the wide world just to save a pretty penny. When I walked up to the stage, feelin the glares of my old roomates in my back, I coulda sworn I was in a dream.
They took me to a room, asked me if I wanted to be out in 24, 12, or 1 hour. I thought the choice was pretty obvious, they started blabbin at me about my mental state after something so traumatic, and I just asked them what mental state they might be gettin at.
The next room had a table and a visor on it, the kind I saw on TV when I was a kid, virtual reality sets. Only took me 40 years to finally get to use one. Strapped up to that table I started gettin a little nervous, what happened next made me realize why they had warned me.
I was an ant, a tiny little ant, just standin in the grass, all the sudden I was surrounded by others like me. They began to tear me apart, I felt each of my legs being ripped from my body, it's amazing how real they can make living without a section of your torso feel.
I was in the ocean, floating out in the middle of nowhere, not a hint of anything around me cept more water. Something slimy wrapped around my ankle, I was dragged down as more grasping limbs coiled themselves around me, pulling me into what looked like a blooming flower. But this flower had a beak, and I felt every chunk being removed from me, slowly being consumed, but never drowning.
I was back on the table, but the walls were a different color, and I wasn't wearing a VR headset. The door opened and a figure on its hands and knees shuffled in sideways. Like someone had turned spoiled milk completely solid, and stretched it over a skeleton. There were no eyes, and as it shambled up to me, it's breath smelling like a slaughterhouse, the chittering sound coming from its vertical mouth played a tattoo across my sanity.
For an hour this went on, each more horrible than the last. I guess I had passed out by the end of it, cause I woke up in some kind of hospital bed. The nurses keep lookin at me like I'm already dead. Safe to say they're bound to be right sometime soon. Not a second goes by when I don't hear that chittering in the back of my skull. I guess you could call this my last testament, I understand why no one's ever survived the 1 hour. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The gavel still ringing in my ears, the cold sweat poring out of every gland my body had, and the sudden realization "I chose the 24 hour stay" had all sent me into sensory overload. As I was ushered out of the court room I heard the bailiff mutter something to the effect of "I would've at least taken a week". As I walked, cuffed and shackled, down the hallways of the courthouse and into the detention center in back I felt real fear. The guys who choose the "shortest allowable time by law" got it the worst, and those who tried either couldn't stand it or went insane in the process of completion of the punishment. The hardest guys in the back kept muttering "I'll pray for you", every step I got closer and closer to the back door. The door was a large, very imposing, cast iron, rusted door with six large hinges and four large bolts at the top and bottom of the door. As the bailiff opened the heavy door the hinges let out a loud moan and creak from the lack of use. When he opened the door I could see a dimly lit room with a shovel and a soft dirt floor. The bailiff turned and grimly looked at me and said, "You dig until I say stop, you must dig a 6ft deep hole by 4ft long by 4ft wide." I started to dig the hole, the work seemed easy and I thought to myself "If this is it what's the big deal? It's just a hole." I finished up in a couple hours, easy. The bailiff looked at me and said, were not done yet. He brought in a 4ft by 4ft crate and put it in the bottom of the hole, the lid had a hole large enough to fit a pipe. The bailiff told me "Get in the box, I'll close it on top of you. Once it's closed we will begin your time." Startled and fairly nervous, I got inside the crate. The bailiff closed the lid in on top of me and put a tube inside the hole in the lid. What I had feared began to come true, the bailiff was going to bury me alive in an extremely tight box. I could hear him pick up the shovel and "thunk" the first spade full of dirt was tossed in on top of me. "Thunk" every few seconds "thunk". The tiny streams of light soon faded as the crate was buried. With every shovel full, the crate began to groan and creak from the weight of the dirt. It began to get more and more difficult to breath. The "thunks" began to fade and all I was left with was the sound of my own breathing. The tube started to vibrate and I could feel water. The water started to fill the crate, and slowly subsided. The water was up to my face, it began to get hard to breathe. I started hearing my own thoughts, my mind was forced to accept that I might die. Mind racing, thoughts screaming, and body trembling I started second guessing my reason for choosing this Hell. I started wondering "how in the hell did I get so messed up to be in this position." Time slipped by without any reference as if time itself had died. Every second felt like a day, every minute felt like a decade. Between the amplified sound of my heart beating in the water and the screams of all of my fears in my head, I could feel that I was loosing my grip on my own sanity. After what felt like an eternity I started to hear whispers, as if someone else was in this crate with me. My eyes strained to focus on anything as the whispers began to grow louder. The whispers continued, the rhythmic beat of my heart grew louder, and my mental screams turned into shrill shrieks. After an eternity in what seemed to be a progressively new hell I could hear a "thunk". I could hear a shallow, rhythmic, "thunk" the same "thunk" from the shovel. It was over, my sentence was over. It took the bailiff 45 minutes to dig me free. I had lasted 24 hours, and I was free. | They told me nobody had ever survived the third option. Voluntaries had become a method for the prison owners to keep the populations of their jails down. There just wasn't enough space to house all of us, so your number was put into a lottery when they first brought you in.
It was pretty simple, your name gets drawn, and you get to choose either 24 hours, 12 hours, or 1 hour. The punishment was different for each one, and after the prisoner's "penance", they were packed up nice and neatly into a tinted Lincoln, and driven to the nearest rehabilitation center. That's right, they had whole buildings dedicated to helping newly freed men, apparently even the easiest punishment still took some time to get over.
I was in the mess when my number was yelled out, the warden always made some kind of show out of the drawing, trying to get us feelin eager or somethin. They had me in for life, people don't smile too brightly on folks who eat their own kind, specially as many as I did. So when I heard my number I thought I was dreamin.
Says something bout our time don't it, it's so fucked up outside that they're willin to toss folks like me back out into the wide world just to save a pretty penny. When I walked up to the stage, feelin the glares of my old roomates in my back, I coulda sworn I was in a dream.
They took me to a room, asked me if I wanted to be out in 24, 12, or 1 hour. I thought the choice was pretty obvious, they started blabbin at me about my mental state after something so traumatic, and I just asked them what mental state they might be gettin at.
The next room had a table and a visor on it, the kind I saw on TV when I was a kid, virtual reality sets. Only took me 40 years to finally get to use one. Strapped up to that table I started gettin a little nervous, what happened next made me realize why they had warned me.
I was an ant, a tiny little ant, just standin in the grass, all the sudden I was surrounded by others like me. They began to tear me apart, I felt each of my legs being ripped from my body, it's amazing how real they can make living without a section of your torso feel.
I was in the ocean, floating out in the middle of nowhere, not a hint of anything around me cept more water. Something slimy wrapped around my ankle, I was dragged down as more grasping limbs coiled themselves around me, pulling me into what looked like a blooming flower. But this flower had a beak, and I felt every chunk being removed from me, slowly being consumed, but never drowning.
I was back on the table, but the walls were a different color, and I wasn't wearing a VR headset. The door opened and a figure on its hands and knees shuffled in sideways. Like someone had turned spoiled milk completely solid, and stretched it over a skeleton. There were no eyes, and as it shambled up to me, it's breath smelling like a slaughterhouse, the chittering sound coming from its vertical mouth played a tattoo across my sanity.
For an hour this went on, each more horrible than the last. I guess I had passed out by the end of it, cause I woke up in some kind of hospital bed. The nurses keep lookin at me like I'm already dead. Safe to say they're bound to be right sometime soon. Not a second goes by when I don't hear that chittering in the back of my skull. I guess you could call this my last testament, I understand why no one's ever survived the 1 hour. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| They told me nobody had ever survived the third option. Voluntaries had become a method for the prison owners to keep the populations of their jails down. There just wasn't enough space to house all of us, so your number was put into a lottery when they first brought you in.
It was pretty simple, your name gets drawn, and you get to choose either 24 hours, 12 hours, or 1 hour. The punishment was different for each one, and after the prisoner's "penance", they were packed up nice and neatly into a tinted Lincoln, and driven to the nearest rehabilitation center. That's right, they had whole buildings dedicated to helping newly freed men, apparently even the easiest punishment still took some time to get over.
I was in the mess when my number was yelled out, the warden always made some kind of show out of the drawing, trying to get us feelin eager or somethin. They had me in for life, people don't smile too brightly on folks who eat their own kind, specially as many as I did. So when I heard my number I thought I was dreamin.
Says something bout our time don't it, it's so fucked up outside that they're willin to toss folks like me back out into the wide world just to save a pretty penny. When I walked up to the stage, feelin the glares of my old roomates in my back, I coulda sworn I was in a dream.
They took me to a room, asked me if I wanted to be out in 24, 12, or 1 hour. I thought the choice was pretty obvious, they started blabbin at me about my mental state after something so traumatic, and I just asked them what mental state they might be gettin at.
The next room had a table and a visor on it, the kind I saw on TV when I was a kid, virtual reality sets. Only took me 40 years to finally get to use one. Strapped up to that table I started gettin a little nervous, what happened next made me realize why they had warned me.
I was an ant, a tiny little ant, just standin in the grass, all the sudden I was surrounded by others like me. They began to tear me apart, I felt each of my legs being ripped from my body, it's amazing how real they can make living without a section of your torso feel.
I was in the ocean, floating out in the middle of nowhere, not a hint of anything around me cept more water. Something slimy wrapped around my ankle, I was dragged down as more grasping limbs coiled themselves around me, pulling me into what looked like a blooming flower. But this flower had a beak, and I felt every chunk being removed from me, slowly being consumed, but never drowning.
I was back on the table, but the walls were a different color, and I wasn't wearing a VR headset. The door opened and a figure on its hands and knees shuffled in sideways. Like someone had turned spoiled milk completely solid, and stretched it over a skeleton. There were no eyes, and as it shambled up to me, it's breath smelling like a slaughterhouse, the chittering sound coming from its vertical mouth played a tattoo across my sanity.
For an hour this went on, each more horrible than the last. I guess I had passed out by the end of it, cause I woke up in some kind of hospital bed. The nurses keep lookin at me like I'm already dead. Safe to say they're bound to be right sometime soon. Not a second goes by when I don't hear that chittering in the back of my skull. I guess you could call this my last testament, I understand why no one's ever survived the 1 hour. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| They told me nobody had ever survived the third option. Voluntaries had become a method for the prison owners to keep the populations of their jails down. There just wasn't enough space to house all of us, so your number was put into a lottery when they first brought you in.
It was pretty simple, your name gets drawn, and you get to choose either 24 hours, 12 hours, or 1 hour. The punishment was different for each one, and after the prisoner's "penance", they were packed up nice and neatly into a tinted Lincoln, and driven to the nearest rehabilitation center. That's right, they had whole buildings dedicated to helping newly freed men, apparently even the easiest punishment still took some time to get over.
I was in the mess when my number was yelled out, the warden always made some kind of show out of the drawing, trying to get us feelin eager or somethin. They had me in for life, people don't smile too brightly on folks who eat their own kind, specially as many as I did. So when I heard my number I thought I was dreamin.
Says something bout our time don't it, it's so fucked up outside that they're willin to toss folks like me back out into the wide world just to save a pretty penny. When I walked up to the stage, feelin the glares of my old roomates in my back, I coulda sworn I was in a dream.
They took me to a room, asked me if I wanted to be out in 24, 12, or 1 hour. I thought the choice was pretty obvious, they started blabbin at me about my mental state after something so traumatic, and I just asked them what mental state they might be gettin at.
The next room had a table and a visor on it, the kind I saw on TV when I was a kid, virtual reality sets. Only took me 40 years to finally get to use one. Strapped up to that table I started gettin a little nervous, what happened next made me realize why they had warned me.
I was an ant, a tiny little ant, just standin in the grass, all the sudden I was surrounded by others like me. They began to tear me apart, I felt each of my legs being ripped from my body, it's amazing how real they can make living without a section of your torso feel.
I was in the ocean, floating out in the middle of nowhere, not a hint of anything around me cept more water. Something slimy wrapped around my ankle, I was dragged down as more grasping limbs coiled themselves around me, pulling me into what looked like a blooming flower. But this flower had a beak, and I felt every chunk being removed from me, slowly being consumed, but never drowning.
I was back on the table, but the walls were a different color, and I wasn't wearing a VR headset. The door opened and a figure on its hands and knees shuffled in sideways. Like someone had turned spoiled milk completely solid, and stretched it over a skeleton. There were no eyes, and as it shambled up to me, it's breath smelling like a slaughterhouse, the chittering sound coming from its vertical mouth played a tattoo across my sanity.
For an hour this went on, each more horrible than the last. I guess I had passed out by the end of it, cause I woke up in some kind of hospital bed. The nurses keep lookin at me like I'm already dead. Safe to say they're bound to be right sometime soon. Not a second goes by when I don't hear that chittering in the back of my skull. I guess you could call this my last testament, I understand why no one's ever survived the 1 hour. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| They told me nobody had ever survived the third option. Voluntaries had become a method for the prison owners to keep the populations of their jails down. There just wasn't enough space to house all of us, so your number was put into a lottery when they first brought you in.
It was pretty simple, your name gets drawn, and you get to choose either 24 hours, 12 hours, or 1 hour. The punishment was different for each one, and after the prisoner's "penance", they were packed up nice and neatly into a tinted Lincoln, and driven to the nearest rehabilitation center. That's right, they had whole buildings dedicated to helping newly freed men, apparently even the easiest punishment still took some time to get over.
I was in the mess when my number was yelled out, the warden always made some kind of show out of the drawing, trying to get us feelin eager or somethin. They had me in for life, people don't smile too brightly on folks who eat their own kind, specially as many as I did. So when I heard my number I thought I was dreamin.
Says something bout our time don't it, it's so fucked up outside that they're willin to toss folks like me back out into the wide world just to save a pretty penny. When I walked up to the stage, feelin the glares of my old roomates in my back, I coulda sworn I was in a dream.
They took me to a room, asked me if I wanted to be out in 24, 12, or 1 hour. I thought the choice was pretty obvious, they started blabbin at me about my mental state after something so traumatic, and I just asked them what mental state they might be gettin at.
The next room had a table and a visor on it, the kind I saw on TV when I was a kid, virtual reality sets. Only took me 40 years to finally get to use one. Strapped up to that table I started gettin a little nervous, what happened next made me realize why they had warned me.
I was an ant, a tiny little ant, just standin in the grass, all the sudden I was surrounded by others like me. They began to tear me apart, I felt each of my legs being ripped from my body, it's amazing how real they can make living without a section of your torso feel.
I was in the ocean, floating out in the middle of nowhere, not a hint of anything around me cept more water. Something slimy wrapped around my ankle, I was dragged down as more grasping limbs coiled themselves around me, pulling me into what looked like a blooming flower. But this flower had a beak, and I felt every chunk being removed from me, slowly being consumed, but never drowning.
I was back on the table, but the walls were a different color, and I wasn't wearing a VR headset. The door opened and a figure on its hands and knees shuffled in sideways. Like someone had turned spoiled milk completely solid, and stretched it over a skeleton. There were no eyes, and as it shambled up to me, it's breath smelling like a slaughterhouse, the chittering sound coming from its vertical mouth played a tattoo across my sanity.
For an hour this went on, each more horrible than the last. I guess I had passed out by the end of it, cause I woke up in some kind of hospital bed. The nurses keep lookin at me like I'm already dead. Safe to say they're bound to be right sometime soon. Not a second goes by when I don't hear that chittering in the back of my skull. I guess you could call this my last testament, I understand why no one's ever survived the 1 hour. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| (I am taking a very different take on it as IMHO prison's goal is rehabilitation, not revenge)
You know this would happen, but what can you do? You did what you had to do because you could. And now you reap the consequences. Had to happen sooner or later and in your case, it happened later. The prison is one of these new buildings, federal money and regional construction companies who just happen to belong to the brother of the major. A place built on crime: corruption, nepotism, probably election fraud (at least you know no one who voted for the CSU, nevermind repeatedly). A fitting place for a criminal, which the state decided you are. As the police car, the catlle transporter (pigs in front, poor dogs in the back), reaches the prison gate, you realize that the place looks more like a school than like a prison. You had binged on *Ami* prison shows to steel yourself for the worst when you were still free. This looks more like a school: big windows, happy colors, happy little trees. Even a structure to climb on. But no one outside to play there. You are led by your handcuffs into a small door on the left side of the building.
The inside looks like the cube of your contact person at the unemployment office to you: Desk, computer, forms, pens, stamps. Bureaucrats in their short-haired, standard-faced, suit-wearing glory. "You know why you are here," one of the bureaucrats said, "however, you did not know so far that there is a way to shorten your sentence. This will just get more ... uncomfortable for you."
That is new to you and smells like a trap: "What is the earliest you can let me out?"
"Tomorrow," the bureaucrat smiled like a funeral director on a day with great business.
"Whom do I need to betray for that?" you ask suspiciously.
"We do not want you to betray anyone. We want you to gain new ethical insights from the stay here. If we can convey these things quicker, you are out faster, and we can save money. We can also tailor your experiences better to your needs."
You let out a short guffaw at that last thing. You used to be great at getting things into prisons which the wardens don't want there: knifes, drugs, booze, fags, pr0n and peanut-containing treats. "So? Why doesn't everyone do this?" you ask.
"Comfort is a powerful thing. You could of course sleep on the floor, but a bed and a blanket is much more pleasant. Metaphorically speaking the shorter version is the equivalent of sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. The longer version equals sleeping in a warm bed, with blankets, down pillows and a pink snuggie."
You turn beet red. No one was supposed to know that you do just that. "I take the shorter route. I have places to be tomorrow."
"Very well. We just need a bit of information and we can commence the procedure."
You answer their questions and someone shaves your hair completely off. You let it happen without protest. If they get off on that an let you out earlier, so be it. Eventually, they lead you to a small room, barely enough to stretch out your arms, with black, padded walls. In the middle a chair which looked like an electric chair in that it had restraints for arms and legs and a weird metal head covering. You gulp. One of the bureaucrats hears this: "It won't kill you. It will stimulate your brain, not fry it."
You feel unsteady: "If you say so." You realize that this has become much more out of your control than you liked but you have to grin and bear it.
You sit down in the chair and the bureaucrats fix your arms and legs in place. Then they fix that weird brain thing to you. It feels cold and hard. Then they wordlessly leave you and close as well as lock the door. You realize how eerily quiet it is in here. Then the light turns off. You just wait. You can wait in the dark. There were enough times when you had to listen for a signal, listen for a .... bell? Do you hear a tiny bell? A quiet, high-pitched sound reminding of a sleigh approaching. Like on... Christmas in 2023? When your younger sister, Lena, was still around? And when it snowed on Christmas Eve and you ran through the snow with sleighbells, trying to catch Santa in an elaborate scheme. When you were young and innocent. Before they killed her. You feel anger rising again. You shouldn't because these people from the rivalling gang died by your hand, but you still cannot stop the anger you feel in that moment. Your hands cleench to fists. Your heart rate quickens. Your breath goes faster. You struggle against the restraints. You scream. No one can probably hear you. The room looked as if it hadvery good noise insolation. Eventually, your anger dies down, you don't know whether it was an eternity or fifteen seconds later. Does the room light up? Is there actual light in here or is this just an illusion as well? You scantly make something out. A roadsign towards an unpronouncable Welsh town. You realize that this thing knows where to prod to hurt you. You cry - also for the times you had to keep up appearances, not be considered weak, not be considered a fag. You start to see more and more mental shortcuts of things which make you angry, or sad, or jealous. but strangely enough, you don't rage, you allowed yourself to feel your emotions and then moved away from it. Then you slip into a calmness and quietness where nothing perturbs you. You feel like falling asleep. Your mind idly conjures pictures which are not bad. Fragments. houses, shoes, a tree which has other trees growing on him as if they were fruit, a book with eyes, a baseball bat. "OUCH!" you scream as the worst pain you experienced in a long time jolts you awake. Other mental images also cause you pain, images related to violence, to drugs, to your criminal companions, to smuggling, to the organization you worked for.It all hurts so much. Not in a particular place of your body but everywhere at once. Even between your toes. Even between your legs. Other more neutral images make the pain go away, but as soon as another bad image arrives, the pain starts again. You no longer want this.Your eyes tear but yousee the images clearly through the tears, even closing your eyes does not make them go away. It is too much, too much, too much!
The images stop and for a while, all you have is the blissful dark. Then you hear another noise. A key. Your retinas are flooded with light. You see bureacrats, wardens and feel the restraints being loosened and then removed. "You are free to go!" one of them says. You nod, slowly. Your legs can still carry you. You were not sure about that. the time in this room felt like an eternity. You follow the group and the exit formailties happen. Afterwards, you can leave. one of the people offers to hire you a cab and you gladly accept. Walking in the crisp air of a winter's day feels marvellous after the nightmare you were in. A good night's sleep will as well. Just as you are almost out of the prison, you consciously notice the holsters of the wardens. You realize that there are guns in these and the thought of being that close to a gun gives you panic. In that moment, you clearly realize that you will never hold a gun anymore, the thought of it makes you want to vomit. Your old life is only one day away but incredibly far. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | (I am taking a very different take on it as IMHO prison's goal is rehabilitation, not revenge)
You know this would happen, but what can you do? You did what you had to do because you could. And now you reap the consequences. Had to happen sooner or later and in your case, it happened later. The prison is one of these new buildings, federal money and regional construction companies who just happen to belong to the brother of the major. A place built on crime: corruption, nepotism, probably election fraud (at least you know no one who voted for the CSU, nevermind repeatedly). A fitting place for a criminal, which the state decided you are. As the police car, the catlle transporter (pigs in front, poor dogs in the back), reaches the prison gate, you realize that the place looks more like a school than like a prison. You had binged on *Ami* prison shows to steel yourself for the worst when you were still free. This looks more like a school: big windows, happy colors, happy little trees. Even a structure to climb on. But no one outside to play there. You are led by your handcuffs into a small door on the left side of the building.
The inside looks like the cube of your contact person at the unemployment office to you: Desk, computer, forms, pens, stamps. Bureaucrats in their short-haired, standard-faced, suit-wearing glory. "You know why you are here," one of the bureaucrats said, "however, you did not know so far that there is a way to shorten your sentence. This will just get more ... uncomfortable for you."
That is new to you and smells like a trap: "What is the earliest you can let me out?"
"Tomorrow," the bureaucrat smiled like a funeral director on a day with great business.
"Whom do I need to betray for that?" you ask suspiciously.
"We do not want you to betray anyone. We want you to gain new ethical insights from the stay here. If we can convey these things quicker, you are out faster, and we can save money. We can also tailor your experiences better to your needs."
You let out a short guffaw at that last thing. You used to be great at getting things into prisons which the wardens don't want there: knifes, drugs, booze, fags, pr0n and peanut-containing treats. "So? Why doesn't everyone do this?" you ask.
"Comfort is a powerful thing. You could of course sleep on the floor, but a bed and a blanket is much more pleasant. Metaphorically speaking the shorter version is the equivalent of sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. The longer version equals sleeping in a warm bed, with blankets, down pillows and a pink snuggie."
You turn beet red. No one was supposed to know that you do just that. "I take the shorter route. I have places to be tomorrow."
"Very well. We just need a bit of information and we can commence the procedure."
You answer their questions and someone shaves your hair completely off. You let it happen without protest. If they get off on that an let you out earlier, so be it. Eventually, they lead you to a small room, barely enough to stretch out your arms, with black, padded walls. In the middle a chair which looked like an electric chair in that it had restraints for arms and legs and a weird metal head covering. You gulp. One of the bureaucrats hears this: "It won't kill you. It will stimulate your brain, not fry it."
You feel unsteady: "If you say so." You realize that this has become much more out of your control than you liked but you have to grin and bear it.
You sit down in the chair and the bureaucrats fix your arms and legs in place. Then they fix that weird brain thing to you. It feels cold and hard. Then they wordlessly leave you and close as well as lock the door. You realize how eerily quiet it is in here. Then the light turns off. You just wait. You can wait in the dark. There were enough times when you had to listen for a signal, listen for a .... bell? Do you hear a tiny bell? A quiet, high-pitched sound reminding of a sleigh approaching. Like on... Christmas in 2023? When your younger sister, Lena, was still around? And when it snowed on Christmas Eve and you ran through the snow with sleighbells, trying to catch Santa in an elaborate scheme. When you were young and innocent. Before they killed her. You feel anger rising again. You shouldn't because these people from the rivalling gang died by your hand, but you still cannot stop the anger you feel in that moment. Your hands cleench to fists. Your heart rate quickens. Your breath goes faster. You struggle against the restraints. You scream. No one can probably hear you. The room looked as if it hadvery good noise insolation. Eventually, your anger dies down, you don't know whether it was an eternity or fifteen seconds later. Does the room light up? Is there actual light in here or is this just an illusion as well? You scantly make something out. A roadsign towards an unpronouncable Welsh town. You realize that this thing knows where to prod to hurt you. You cry - also for the times you had to keep up appearances, not be considered weak, not be considered a fag. You start to see more and more mental shortcuts of things which make you angry, or sad, or jealous. but strangely enough, you don't rage, you allowed yourself to feel your emotions and then moved away from it. Then you slip into a calmness and quietness where nothing perturbs you. You feel like falling asleep. Your mind idly conjures pictures which are not bad. Fragments. houses, shoes, a tree which has other trees growing on him as if they were fruit, a book with eyes, a baseball bat. "OUCH!" you scream as the worst pain you experienced in a long time jolts you awake. Other mental images also cause you pain, images related to violence, to drugs, to your criminal companions, to smuggling, to the organization you worked for.It all hurts so much. Not in a particular place of your body but everywhere at once. Even between your toes. Even between your legs. Other more neutral images make the pain go away, but as soon as another bad image arrives, the pain starts again. You no longer want this.Your eyes tear but yousee the images clearly through the tears, even closing your eyes does not make them go away. It is too much, too much, too much!
The images stop and for a while, all you have is the blissful dark. Then you hear another noise. A key. Your retinas are flooded with light. You see bureacrats, wardens and feel the restraints being loosened and then removed. "You are free to go!" one of them says. You nod, slowly. Your legs can still carry you. You were not sure about that. the time in this room felt like an eternity. You follow the group and the exit formailties happen. Afterwards, you can leave. one of the people offers to hire you a cab and you gladly accept. Walking in the crisp air of a winter's day feels marvellous after the nightmare you were in. A good night's sleep will as well. Just as you are almost out of the prison, you consciously notice the holsters of the wardens. You realize that there are guns in these and the thought of being that close to a gun gives you panic. In that moment, you clearly realize that you will never hold a gun anymore, the thought of it makes you want to vomit. Your old life is only one day away but incredibly far. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| (I am taking a very different take on it as IMHO prison's goal is rehabilitation, not revenge)
You know this would happen, but what can you do? You did what you had to do because you could. And now you reap the consequences. Had to happen sooner or later and in your case, it happened later. The prison is one of these new buildings, federal money and regional construction companies who just happen to belong to the brother of the major. A place built on crime: corruption, nepotism, probably election fraud (at least you know no one who voted for the CSU, nevermind repeatedly). A fitting place for a criminal, which the state decided you are. As the police car, the catlle transporter (pigs in front, poor dogs in the back), reaches the prison gate, you realize that the place looks more like a school than like a prison. You had binged on *Ami* prison shows to steel yourself for the worst when you were still free. This looks more like a school: big windows, happy colors, happy little trees. Even a structure to climb on. But no one outside to play there. You are led by your handcuffs into a small door on the left side of the building.
The inside looks like the cube of your contact person at the unemployment office to you: Desk, computer, forms, pens, stamps. Bureaucrats in their short-haired, standard-faced, suit-wearing glory. "You know why you are here," one of the bureaucrats said, "however, you did not know so far that there is a way to shorten your sentence. This will just get more ... uncomfortable for you."
That is new to you and smells like a trap: "What is the earliest you can let me out?"
"Tomorrow," the bureaucrat smiled like a funeral director on a day with great business.
"Whom do I need to betray for that?" you ask suspiciously.
"We do not want you to betray anyone. We want you to gain new ethical insights from the stay here. If we can convey these things quicker, you are out faster, and we can save money. We can also tailor your experiences better to your needs."
You let out a short guffaw at that last thing. You used to be great at getting things into prisons which the wardens don't want there: knifes, drugs, booze, fags, pr0n and peanut-containing treats. "So? Why doesn't everyone do this?" you ask.
"Comfort is a powerful thing. You could of course sleep on the floor, but a bed and a blanket is much more pleasant. Metaphorically speaking the shorter version is the equivalent of sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. The longer version equals sleeping in a warm bed, with blankets, down pillows and a pink snuggie."
You turn beet red. No one was supposed to know that you do just that. "I take the shorter route. I have places to be tomorrow."
"Very well. We just need a bit of information and we can commence the procedure."
You answer their questions and someone shaves your hair completely off. You let it happen without protest. If they get off on that an let you out earlier, so be it. Eventually, they lead you to a small room, barely enough to stretch out your arms, with black, padded walls. In the middle a chair which looked like an electric chair in that it had restraints for arms and legs and a weird metal head covering. You gulp. One of the bureaucrats hears this: "It won't kill you. It will stimulate your brain, not fry it."
You feel unsteady: "If you say so." You realize that this has become much more out of your control than you liked but you have to grin and bear it.
You sit down in the chair and the bureaucrats fix your arms and legs in place. Then they fix that weird brain thing to you. It feels cold and hard. Then they wordlessly leave you and close as well as lock the door. You realize how eerily quiet it is in here. Then the light turns off. You just wait. You can wait in the dark. There were enough times when you had to listen for a signal, listen for a .... bell? Do you hear a tiny bell? A quiet, high-pitched sound reminding of a sleigh approaching. Like on... Christmas in 2023? When your younger sister, Lena, was still around? And when it snowed on Christmas Eve and you ran through the snow with sleighbells, trying to catch Santa in an elaborate scheme. When you were young and innocent. Before they killed her. You feel anger rising again. You shouldn't because these people from the rivalling gang died by your hand, but you still cannot stop the anger you feel in that moment. Your hands cleench to fists. Your heart rate quickens. Your breath goes faster. You struggle against the restraints. You scream. No one can probably hear you. The room looked as if it hadvery good noise insolation. Eventually, your anger dies down, you don't know whether it was an eternity or fifteen seconds later. Does the room light up? Is there actual light in here or is this just an illusion as well? You scantly make something out. A roadsign towards an unpronouncable Welsh town. You realize that this thing knows where to prod to hurt you. You cry - also for the times you had to keep up appearances, not be considered weak, not be considered a fag. You start to see more and more mental shortcuts of things which make you angry, or sad, or jealous. but strangely enough, you don't rage, you allowed yourself to feel your emotions and then moved away from it. Then you slip into a calmness and quietness where nothing perturbs you. You feel like falling asleep. Your mind idly conjures pictures which are not bad. Fragments. houses, shoes, a tree which has other trees growing on him as if they were fruit, a book with eyes, a baseball bat. "OUCH!" you scream as the worst pain you experienced in a long time jolts you awake. Other mental images also cause you pain, images related to violence, to drugs, to your criminal companions, to smuggling, to the organization you worked for.It all hurts so much. Not in a particular place of your body but everywhere at once. Even between your toes. Even between your legs. Other more neutral images make the pain go away, but as soon as another bad image arrives, the pain starts again. You no longer want this.Your eyes tear but yousee the images clearly through the tears, even closing your eyes does not make them go away. It is too much, too much, too much!
The images stop and for a while, all you have is the blissful dark. Then you hear another noise. A key. Your retinas are flooded with light. You see bureacrats, wardens and feel the restraints being loosened and then removed. "You are free to go!" one of them says. You nod, slowly. Your legs can still carry you. You were not sure about that. the time in this room felt like an eternity. You follow the group and the exit formailties happen. Afterwards, you can leave. one of the people offers to hire you a cab and you gladly accept. Walking in the crisp air of a winter's day feels marvellous after the nightmare you were in. A good night's sleep will as well. Just as you are almost out of the prison, you consciously notice the holsters of the wardens. You realize that there are guns in these and the thought of being that close to a gun gives you panic. In that moment, you clearly realize that you will never hold a gun anymore, the thought of it makes you want to vomit. Your old life is only one day away but incredibly far. |
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