StripSearch

(Sorry, it took some time. I fear it is partially a little chewy to read, as it was to write. Maybe a little digressing, will get better in the next part)


97 Cent



Cooled water is dropping down from my hair, running in my eyes, on my shoulders, down my back. If I was allowed to move freely I would instantly wipe it away.
Now Agatha would shock me, I just have to endure it.
I was so proud when I created that routine, it was one of the first things I developed, scanning a body in 3D and reporting movement. Just some clicks with the mouse, and it was implemented. I have chosen a time that seemed appropriate. Every single prisoner in solitary will experience this routine – it is punishing in a very tiring, boring way.
I just didn't consider that someone could be 'stored' in solitary. Rare conditions. A failing for which I now pay dearly.

I hope I don't need to pee again. I am not sure how much prolongation I could stand.
Agatha will allow short breaks if the attention time is exceeding a limit, but the visit of officer Walker and my hot shower already count...
I have to keep the green light shining. My focus narrows on that small, green light.


Attention stance – the inspiration for my current torture came from the same person that also taught me that a shower is worth 97 cent. Normal hot shower, I don't know how much an inmate must pay for an 'extended'. I don't even know if 'extended' exists, but maybe someone like Walker added it, and Agatha learned.
As I learned the hard way that Agatha does not do everything like I think she would.

So, officer Walker donated me a little more than 97 cent. Our officers have a small budget to allow for some rewards for good behavior, or whenever they think it is appropriate. Agatha keeps an eye on it, to stifle corruption.
For an inmate it is ten to twenty times the amount compared to the value outside. It is way more difficult to earn money in prison. And I, of course, currently have none at all, not that you can buy anything in solitary – not even the slightest benefit.

After Fawn, my team and me finished our first Agatha-build, modifying her for prison use, came the men in the suits. They shifted the focus on the absolute main goal of private prisons: Profit!
As much as possible, and quick.

They had endless sheets with them, cost per prisoner, expenses per prisoner, sum up to the whole complex – Fawn just left, but I like numbers. I took them and planned to just dig in, but was – luckily – interrupted.

'The Lady' called. We had nearly no contact at all, and I was a little surprised to hear from her. She actually excused the invasion of the 'big headed, content-free-babbling lack-of-fucks'; they would stay for a while, burn lots of money, and after some weeks would present some dozen ideas – two or three of them useful.
I felt quite intimidated by the whole lot, and I still had her on the phone while entering the conference room. I just repeated exactly what she whispered into my ear, and ordered them all to find a practicable way to integrate their business experience into my AI.
I actually threw them out of the prison, to not come back until they had some easy implementable ideas. We scheduled another meeting, they actually thanked me for my mindfulness – and left....

So, this was the weird part, and it became even weirder in the long run.
The Lady arranged a visit to Miss Fukuda. Exactly the person who was the inspiration for the punishing attention stance I currently have to endure.
And she was the one I should learn from, if I ever wanted to be able to take over responsibility for the whole prison.
Miss Fukuda came directly from Japan – with the takeover of the prison company she was poached to lead another correctional facility, mainly a drug rehab correctional center.
With the influence of the new owners she got one of the rare, precious green cards – and restructured her center completely. After some time she had the most profitable of all prisons in the portfolio – and the most feared one by inmates.




Talbot institute



Fawn picked me up at the airport.
With her deep-felt hatred for 'clusters of metal that should be unable to fly' she actually came by her now old, but still functional crypt-Aygo the whole route from New Mexico to Louisiana.
She slept the night halfway in a B&B's and was still pretty spent – I begged her to wear something fitting for this occasion. It was an informal meeting, but I hoped she would not dress up 'deep goth'.
She tried. Her face was not chalk white, and she wore a – for her – conservative clothing with her black jeans, and red and black striped top. Of course she added various chains and belts with rivets, had removed one sleeve to show her heavily tattooed arm, a wide plated skirt with chequered look accentuating her hips. Her ears were full of different piercings, and two big tunnels. Her nose had her usual small ring through her septum, and some studs through her nostrils. She 'only' used some black lipstick and accentuated her eyes with black eyeliner – Egyptian style.
She is a redhead, dyes her sideburns white. It frames her face, and it harmonizes with the freckles that were not covered by thick white make up that day, out of some strange reason they are only sprinkled around her nose.
Her black plateau boots were also pretty flat for her normal tastes – I have no clue how she operates the pedals with it.
She is only a little smaller than me – and often nags that somehow I got her boobs.
And the small breasted emo has a very unladylike vocabulary. At good days she throws an incredible amount of creative blasphemies at her computer.
I once ordered Agatha to scan her language for punishable offenses – and we both had a laugh at how much phrases she marked as 'possibly insulting' for later rehear.

As experimental prison our security measures are excessive, we have several fence lines and even a high perimeter wall. We wanted to impede escapes even in case of a fatal AI error – to prevent a PR-nightmare.
It is our prison, and it does not bother us – we even accompanied the construction.
The Talbot private correctional institute is way less secured, but as we passed the perimeter fences with the barbed wire coils mounted on the inside we felt depressed and imprisoned. This is not our prison, unknown terrain. A fortress built to keep people in instead of out, with various criminals inside we do not know. Guards we do not know. And especially a warden we can not assess.

As we passed the visitor entry lock Fawn and I were surprised, the prison was extremely clean and silent. The entrance waiting room was empty, and we rang a bell at the reception counter. An officer quickly came to us, and we confirmed we were the invited guests.
It came to a short ruckus, as it seemed I had forgotten to notify them that Fawn would accompany me and she needed to sign some papers to clarify her visitor status.
We put everything we had with us into a locker, and got a visitor badge we were told not to loose.

We were taken to a small medical ward, patted down and our foreheads scanned with a small sensor, the insides of our cheeks wiped with a soft test stick. The jail concentrates mainly on drug addicts, and they often have a weakened immune system.
As we had no signs of fever or other tested illnesses we were allowed to proceed.

The prison was in a derelict state, the damaged walls decorated with fading graffiti. Some windows shattered, only held together by the thin wire mesh making them shatterproof. Compared to our high-tech complex it was a ruin. But clean – everything that could be done with a rag and a bucket of cleaning water was done. Even the grass was cut exactly the same length, as far as I could judge.

We walked along a double layered fence separating visitors from inmates. Through the yard on the other side of the fences a sorted double row of male inmates – all wearing handcuffs locked to a restraint belt and dressed in lime green uniforms - marched in step, commandeered by a guard shouting orders. The only sound we heard, there were no other prisoners lounging or playing in the yard, no one shouting out of the windows. I normally expect to at least get some colorful offers for mind blowing 'dates' - nothing.

We were escorted to a small building marked as 'women's section visitors' building. This part of the complex was painted recently, there were no traces of graffiti left. Whoever chose the colors tried to do an all 'female' approach. Only shades of mild pink wherever you were looking.
We entered the building, it had an old, grey, well used linoleum flooring with many damages; even some burned holes – the walls of course pink.
Someone must have spent hours to clean it, even the inside of the holes were clean, there were no traces of dirt anywhere.
For a moment I felt the desire to take off my shoes.
A small corridor with two steel barred doors finally led to the room were visitors could meet the inmates - it was completely deserted but by a small, young Japanese girl wearing a white blouse and sitting behind one of the tables. At first I thought it was a daughter waiting for her inmate mum – with a pile of papers. The small bud in her ear and the prison intern walkie talkie lying next to the papers told another story. When I came closer I could see that she definitely was older, she had that extreme juvenile Japanese look I never encountered before, but that I had heard of.
As we entered the room with its ground-bolted tables and stools and the vendor machines in the 'no inmates allowed' area, the small girl stood up and bowed slightly. She had an unsettling smiling on her lips and offered two of the round stools for us. She wore some decent make up, highlighting her juvenile looks, had short, unpainted nails, her black hair cut into the typical Japanese bob. Even as she stood she was really small, petite, she seemed almost fragile.
Fawn with her light fable for all Japanese bowed herself while smiling, I did not even try. I don't want to insult with my ignorance.



To turn profit



I don't know if she appreciated Fawn's attempt. Her face was a mask. She began to talk with a slight accent - less than most inmates born here have - and a foreign melody in her voice.
Her first words were: “Welcome, I am so honored that I got ordered to meet you.”
She obviously thought we both were just a waste of her time. And she did not stop smiling. That spooky unchanging smile. I've never before met such aggressive politeness.
Fawn tried a: “Kon'nichiwa” that sounded pretty Japanese for my ears, but the small girl on the other side of the table just interrupted her smiling as she raised her hand in front of her mouth to shield a silly, light, girly laugh – a laugh you expect from a high school girl when somebody yells 'penis'. It only lasted for a short moment, afterwards she just said:
“How sweet of you, just like you manage prison. So courageous.
I am warden Fukuda. Please, have a seat, Miss Miller, Miss McKenzy.
I hope I can be of help for two so versed managers.” -

Yes, this conversation would not be a nice one, that quickly became clear. The unsettling, ever smiling woman with the looks of a young girl used her words like needles to poke us. Maybe she expected an outburst – maybe she wanted to shoo us away - I was dedicated to make the best out of this meeting:
“Thank you very much, Miss Fukuda.
We learned that you have reformed this prison to be the most profitable of the whole company. So, actually, we both feel very honored that we have been sent here.
We are really lucky to learn from the best.
We expect to participate from your experience, for the benefit of the company.”

It was strange to sit in this huge, oversized room with only three people. It was probably another game she played to put us into unease, so I continued:

“And thank you for this impressive greeting, but we can transfer our meeting into a smaller location – we are not that demanding.”

“Don't mind it, “ Miss Fukuda answered, and I hoped I had eased her a little bit, “I suspended visitation for this whole day. Never let the inmates forget that visitation is a privilege, not a right. I strip them from their privileges every now and then to remind them – and I thought today would be a good day for our meeting. We won't get disturbed.
I planned to show you around in the women's wing, and we will be able to get there quickly.

But first I was insistently requested to introduce you to what I changed here -
when I was assigned as new warden this was a dilapidated prison in deficit, with all the problems prisons nowadays have. Too much prisoners, not enough guards, no money for renovation, no money for anything.

Your whole prison system is insane.
In Japan, prisoners need to work, without payment. They repay their dues to society – they do it disciplined and careful.

Here I needed to pay your prisoners for bad and unmotivated work, with money I do not have.
And the inmates here are undisciplined, wild, rebellious.

To stay in control I established Japanese discipline.
Clear rules, a strict regime punishing misbehavior. And I restructured the privileges.
Everything is declared contraband, with nearly no exceptions.
With different measures, for example a 'snitch reward'- and a 'pod punishment'-system I was able to cultivate distrust and jealousy between the prisoners.
If you are reduced to nothing, even a tiny bit of something is precious enough to betray your cellmates. In prison there are no friends – every inmate is his one and only friend. Especially the addicted – they have even less sense of honor as typical gaijin – sorry – other inmates.
Inmates unable to cooperate are easier to keep under control with only a few guards.

This is not your well equipped, new built high tech prison. This is a prison where you could have learned to handle the basics – and of course I will gladly help you with all experience I gained through hard work, fighting through endless complaints – as ordered.”

Fawn beamed back at her and added: “We are currently fixing the guard problem. When we are finished, you will never again have a problem with too few employees for too much inmates.”

Fukuda looked at her, and her face lost the smiling for a small moment, before she answered:
“I heard of. Sound so promising, never a problem again. An experimental prison – you have all your fascinating high tech, and are still pimpered with more guard positions than we are, with not even half the inmate slots.” - again she held her hands before her mouth and laughed silly – two times, two well dosed, short laughs – before she continued: “You are so well staffed, you should have brought some trained guards with you. I would have appreciated THAT visit.”

Fawn also kept her grin: “Oh, that would sincerely destroy your balance sheet. 15 hours each commuting back and forth. Maybe we could instead take some of your prisoners – the easier cases. We Gaijin are so undisciplined...”

I quickly reacted: “...but of course we are grateful for this opportunity to improve our discipline” I said while staring strictly at Fawn, “ and learn more about how to make a prison more profitable.” I turned to warden Fukuda, with a, I hoped, inviting smile.



And thankfully, Fukuda continued:
“You may find additional information in the papers I prepared.”
Although she probably didn't like doing it she had prepared various papers that we could study while she advised us:

“Our main income, of course, is public financing.
This payments are just enough to cover our costs, and we are unable to increase it. We need other sources to make profit.
As quick as the inmate is booked into our system – and we get the funds – you need to think of prisoners merely as cost-factors.

We need to do two things: Max income, min cost.”

Of course we knew how most income was generated. Every prison of the company has at least one independent source of income through penal labor. Most have more than one. Miss Fukuda continued:

“We for example do textile processing or offer seasonal workers for agriculture to generate income with our female inmates. Our addicts with hands that don't shake too much are employed in one of the workshops, they tailor, knit or embroider small orders the configuration of a machine would be too expensive. We put their affinity for needles to a better use.

Penal labor is cheaper than slave work, a small consolation for the need to pay them at all. We can offer our inmates for jobs that are uneconomic even when done by slaves - as costs for food and accommodation are already paid through the funding. The higher costs for guarding can be charged to their payment. So the inmates pay for being chained, controlled and forced to hard labor.

For sloppy, careless and poor work we can cut salary in half, which sometimes results in only 5 Cent per hour, depending on the specific work. Laziness or everything we can subsume as refusal to work is classified as instantly correctable. Even without the need of a correction executioner - overseers are allowed to use corporal punishment to motivate the inmates.”

Fawn stared at her, and uttered a disgusted: “That is Forced labor!”
I knew Fawn was a little naive regarding organization of prisons, but not the extent.

Miss Fukuda tilted her head - shrugged her shoulders and sighed:
“Yes, of course. You summarized it. You state the oblivious.” I saw Fawns suppressed impulse to correct her - letting Fukuda continue, “This is the way penal labor has been organized for hundreds of years. You, of course, know that. And as this is our main income source, you certainly appreciate it.

Otherwise you would sincerely be on the wrong side of the bars.” She laughed again, humorless, while staring in Fawns eyes.

“I wanted to point out the following: ”she added, “I tried to raise the expectations beyond an achievable goal. The idea was to halve the income of all inmates - while motivating them with corporal punishments alone. Unfortunately it was no success, whipping prisoners constantly to work actually reduced the productivity.”

She stared again in Fawns eyes:
“It naturally filled me with a feeling of rightfulness and justice that these parasitic junkies got what they deserved. Once in their life they were working for the community, and they were working hard, under the whips of their overseers.
But too much of them broke, could not stand the pressure.
Seems like they need the illusion of earning money, the illusion of 'reaching a goal'.

So we are back to paying them.
Incentive in Japan is discipline and the need to be useful for society, here it is a mix of fear and greed. Hard to believe, but even incredibly low wages are enough to trigger their avarice.

So – as we pay them we need to keep their money inside.
Every cent your prisoners earn must be spent in the prison. Worst case is prisoners sending money to relatives or friends out of prison! I made nearly sure they would never have enough to waste our profits on their addict-friends.

If possible do the other way round, get relatives to help the prisoners. Money sent from the outside will be added to their prison intern account: Additional income. Only a few inmates in this prison actually get help from outside, most hardened addicts only have matching friends outside - and they need their money to continue poisoning themselves. I heard that your tech-jail attracts wealthy fathers to send their spoiled, sentenced daughters to be pampered in your lock-in-spa. You should use that - squeeze them out.

And you need to keep your costs as low as possible:
Cleaning, maintenance and simple repairs must be done, where ever possible, by inmates. Cooking and laundry offers another source of income, if you can get some clients out of prison - but that always poses a risk for smuggling. We offer a laundry service for a nearby hospital. Of course we need to strip search every inmate leaving the laundry rooms.

The most trouble posed your wicked system as I tried to find out what is 'mandatory' - included in the payments we get. I actually had to find out through try-and-error.
Of course I am very pleased to let you participate my results. “-she said with another extra-wide smile-

”As there is no list what a prisoner is entitled to I had to reduce nearly everything to zero, and had to fight a huge pile of complaints. I have convinced our management to spent some money for lawyers and courts to define the absolute 'base line'. So, after lots of precedents we actually have a court-approved minimum, it was costly and is of course a business secret!

I have added a complete list to the papers, with the numbers we got the hard way. Two showers a week - we actually do three, Wednesday, Saturday, Sunday. It keeps complaints significantly lower to offer showers on both most frequently used visitation days. “- that was the 97 cent entry -

”Three panties, we actually tried to make them optional, but it is supposedly 'unhygienic'.
Bra's are optional, you have to pay for them. One of the arguments was that male inmates don't need them, and they make up the majority of all prisoners. Nothing as reliable as misogyny.
Same goes for feminine sanitary products. 'Nothing you need more than a tissue for' – quote from a judge.

On the other hand your courts have a fable for dental hygiene, we need to provide a toothbrush, and paste. And soap. 'Hygiene, especially dental hygiene plays a crucial role for the well-being of inmates.' - Same judge...

Luckily we are allowed to provide the minimum. And we can of course settle for the cheapest product available.
If an inmate uses more than recommended he has to pay for replacements.

We offer food according to the minimum of the dietary guidelines.
And of course clothing. 'Reasonably' clean.

Everything else gets a price tag.

We offer hot water - for a small fee. TV and Radio can be booked monthly, for a fee. I also had a fee for the library, but actually there is nearly no one using it. I need to pay an inmate for 1 hour a week to keep it tidy – most of the inmates here can not read or write properly. But it suffices to respect their right to access law books.

We also offer various things in our prison shop – I will show you later.
Never underestimate that we have a monopoly. I only allow our own items in this prison. As I mentioned, everything else is contraband and possession is punishable. Excluded very personal items like pictures or letters of family.
Letters are good, sometimes they get you money from relatives.
Pictures are good, as they offer some motivation to keep the prisoners working and under control. Most of our prisoners here of course don't have family that still wants to have contact with them, or send them money, again and again and again.

We can offer the lowest quality goods for outrageous prices. The only thing limiting our pricing are complaints serious enough to alarm our controlling authorities. I am still optimizing the margin of the items, I included hints in the papers. NEVER use round numbers. Charging 10 cent for a cup of hot water would cause much more complaints than charging 17. 17 cent seems 'thoroughly calculated'.

Hints for adding the 'maintenance and building costs', 'surveillance expenses' and different other ideas to your calculation are also in the paper. As mentioned, all business secrets.”

Fawn suggested, right before I could kick her shin: “And why not doing it the capitalistic way? Offer cheap products for low, with a quality alternative for that 'outrageous prices'.
No more complaints, no grievances – and I am pretty sure you would still turn profit!
You already found out that they are 'all' controlled by their greed, why don't you use the mechanisms of the market to control them? Same system that controls us all. Fees, Fines, quality vs. pricing. Do it the American way! Might even teach the inmates to budget their money – regarding social rehabilitation!”

Fukuda mustered her, then reached out with a finger to touch Fawns shoulder:
“Hard to believe, but you are actually real .. so trustful. Almost a bit cheeky to explain prison management to me....

I deal with drug addicts here. The only quality of interest for them is how their drugs got cut.
The only budget they are interested in is having exactly enough money for one fix.

That resocialization myth was abandoned years ago.
This prison was built to lock them away, so they don't pose a threat for us all, and punish them, so that they learn to not misbehave again.
There are only two ways for your 'social rehabilitation' – either they work hard enough on themselves, or - when they are clean enough and qualify - they can sell themselves. Get themselves some starting money for the time after and pay fines and a compensation for eventual victims.
Slavery is their best way back into society. The only way for most of them.

Usually prisoners that qualify for indenture are offered a contract with an earlier release date. They can shorten their sentence for agreeing to be enslaved.
I am proud to state that inmates in this prison are willing to sign contracts with a duration way longer than their prison release dates. This is how it should be – prison must be worse than slavery!

Most inmates reoffend or violate probation. So this is my way to measure the success of my prison - not the reoffending rate.

I force them to work like slaves, but without the trust most slaves get.
They need to be chained the whole time outside of their cells. We don't take the risk of being overpowered by them.
And they work 7 days a week, at least 10 hours a day.”

Fawn interrupted again: “They never have a day off?”

“Of course they have. At public holidays like Thanksgiving we don't have enough staff members to guard them while working. They stay locked in their cells for 'recreation'.

Seems to be more than sufficient time for recovery, as most of them are willing to work even longer - we offer to pay for voluntary overtime. They do it for different reasons, many add 2 or 4 additional hours to their shifts, some for the money, some to escape boredom.

If they are in debt to prison we are able to force longer shifts, until they have repaid their debt. 12 hours minimum, 3 days a week can even be prolonged up to 16 hours of work.”

This time I was the one who asked: “How do you keep them productive for such a long time? Won't they produce mainly wastage, let's say in a sewing shop?”

“They only work their normal shifts at the workshops, the overtime is done in menial tasks that don't need much concentration. Cleaning the floors for example.

It is not much different to what you do, coming home from work, cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry.

If they are not productive enough in their extra shifts we are even generous enough to not apply physical correction. We only cut their wages – as long as we don't get the impression they are intentionally slacking.

And of course not every inmate is able to work at all, or for that long time. We only burden them with how much they can bear, but we demand as much as possible.”

She mustered both of us, then, pointing at Fawn, continued:

“You look like a crow in the headlights. It is a win - win .. or maybe win - not-loose situation. We are making money, and they get daily structure. Helps them through cold turkey, and after that to focus their residual drug-corroded brains on something else than their craving.
Wake them early, feed them cheap, let them work around the clock.
Maybe prepares them for their life in freedom, dead certain prepares them for the collar.” - she again smiled at Fawn -
“Do you know we get a commission for every 'release' into slavery? Significantly more for the extended contract terms. And I get a personal bonus on top. So actually it is a win – win – not-loose situation.
Another – not insignificant - source of income.
It goes without saying I offer only applicants I 'unabused' sufficiently - sober restart with a clean slate. I have reputation to loose!”

Fawn was rising, her face a grimace of strained self-control: “I need a short break. Is there a place I can smoke a cigarette in this squeeze-the-poor-for-profit-slammer?”

“Oh, you are allowed to smoke everywhere outside. Smoking is only banned for inmates.
If you are nice do it out of sight – so many addicted here are fighting withdrawal, we don't want to sent them into a frenzy.

Just don't throw the cigarette ends on the ground – they'll pick them up and use the tobacco to roll a new one with toilet paper. Smuggling banned substances into a prison is a punishable offense, sincerely you don't want to get in trouble, Miss McKenzy.” - again she laughed behind her hand -

“Please wait just a short moment, I call someone to escort you.” - Miss Fukuda issued a short command into her radio, then smiled at Fawn again: “A good timing. I can show Miss Miller around the prison, and you can take a closer look to our reception. We expect new arrival, you will sincerely find our booking process fascinating. On the way you'll have enough time to tar your lungs.
So I won't have to find a way to bring you into my prison with your looks, without giving the other inmates the impression there is revulsion.”

“Revolt!”, Fawn snapped. “Prison revolt. Revolution is fighting an unjust regime... sincerely that would fit, too!”

“Thank you so much for correcting me, I am always willing to learn - and I will try to not forget that. Revolution.
Ah, your escort. Eric!”, Fukuda said and signaled a guard to come closer. The man was a giant, tall, bald, burly. He had a big belly, and I would have called him fat if he did not seem so muscular. I could see his unclothed titanic underarms, and in combination with his gigantic hands I got the impression he could rip the steel bars out of the door. As he came closer Fukuda ordered: “Please escort Miss McKenzy to intake and show her our processing. She would love to smoke a cigarette on the way. Try to answer her questions, if she has any meaningful.
We will meet again when I have shown Miss Miller our complex.”

Eric tried to grab Fawns elbow to lead her away, but she quickly shook him off and stormed out of the building the way we came in.



Hard to say Fukuda



Miss Fukuda was turning to me: “Now that the scribbled all over girl is gone – I hope you are ready for a little tour through this prison.” - she slowly rose.
“Fawn is very good at her job. And I think she enriches our work with her perspective.”, I just needed to say while rising up myself.
“Her job is programming, mine is to manage prison. How would you treat me if I came to your prison and explain you how to do your byte-tinkering?”
“I would treat you exactly the same as everybody else - as absolutely everybody explains us IT-Geeks how our job is done.”
This time her hand was not quick enough on her mouth, she suppressed her laughter with a snort. It still sounded more honest then every single laugh before.

She took the neatly folded black jacket from the seat near hers and as she stepped back and slipped it over her shoulders I could see the silvery insignia. Completed by her black trousers, flat black combat boots and a girdle stuffed with 'tools' - that I could not see until now. The small silver badge showing a coiled whip on her epaulets gave proof she was not only the administrative head of the penitentiary, she actually was an approved correction executioner. She even had rod and handle of a riding crop peeking out of one of her boots.

Flabbergasted I stared at her, until she asked: “Everything alright?”
“We .. have .. transparent tables.” I stuttered.
“What?”
“Transparent tables. In visitation. It prevents the transfer of contraband, you cannot hide anything beneath it.”
“That's a .. useful idea. I will sincerely take it into consideration whenever I have money to 'spare'.” some awkward seconds passed, until she finally asked: “Ready to go?”

I nodded.

Miss Fukuda took the lead and we left the visitor room through the inmate-door.
This time we were on the other side of the double layered fence; but in the women's wing, not where the lime green patrol walked along.

She was more than a head smaller than me, but the combination of her black uniform and her confident walk left no doubt who was leading. We entered a building named Block C, and climbed a stair. The corridor had numerous doors left and right, all easily discernible as cells - a window with wire mesh between the panes in the center of the door, the typical slant door handle and the big keyhole-rosette for a dual-bit key.

All was clean - and silent.
The cellblock was colored completely in mauve and pink. I was sure Fawn would have developed an allergic rash. Miss Fukuda must have noticed my irritation, saying:
“In Japan all women's prisons look feminine. I am doing the same here. Every inmate should feel welcome here, and there should be no doubt who lives here.
Inmate, report.”She said as she knocked on a door and opened it with her key.

Inside I could see a mature women kneeling the Japanese way. She was completely naked and had her eyes fixed on the spot the door had been. She was heavily inked, even her face sported different tattoos. Her hands were bound with black tape to small, fingerless fists, and her wrists were cuffed together, resting in her lap and chained to a brown girdle around her belly. Most irritating was the large, milky white plastic funnel around her head. She looked like a dog not allowed to lick herself.

“Inmate Rebound, one of one in cell, parole violation, unsentenced, currently punished for smuggling. No complaints, cell is clean - wardeness Fukuda.”- the mature women explained with a winy voice, without raising her eyes.

“Wardeness Fukuda?”, I repeated. Inmate Rebound flinched. “Something wrong?”, I asked further.

Miss Fukuda answered: “I always prefer a more formal title. And she flinched because you emphasized my name wrong. It is foo-KOO-dah. Stressed on koo, short dah. I spent some time with Rebound until she did it right. It's been a while, but the memory still seems to be fresh.”
I excused myself: “Sorry, I did not know. I will try to do it better.”

“Don't worry, I am used to people not polite enough to learn the name of their host.
We are here to examine Rebounds treasure box. You will understand better what is of importance for an inmate.
And her box is still packed.”
I was irritated by her reaction: “Really, I am sorry, I didn't want to insult you.” - but she was still just smiling her irritating smile. Then she knelt down elegantly, pulled a transparent plastic box out of the corner of the cell. The box was a little higher than a standard shoebox.

“She currently has no use for her things.”, Miss Fukuda explained, while she put the box on the small metal table bolted to the wall:
“Come in, she won't bite. You can take a look. Everything she owns fits in this box, as hoarding is forbidden. Our prisoners don't have their own cells, and can be reorganized whenever necessary. It is a typical punishment we use for repeated misconduct despite warnings. We uproot the culprit, place him into a new block and to a new work, no contact to his former podmates.”

The naked woman did not move as I was passing around her, and inspected the box.
The lid was sealed with two stickers - numbered and bearing the symbol of a rising sun in chains, the prison logo. I eyed the sealed box suspiciously.
“Just break the seals. We only needed them for storage.”, Miss Fukuda prompted me.

I cut through the sticker with the nail of my finger and opened the lid to inspect the few things inside. The bulkiest item was a plastic brush with a handle, I pulled it out of the box. It had a name and a number engraved on it's handle.

Miss Fukuda explained: “It is labeled with her name and booking number. Her items are only usable by her, lending or giving away is forbidden.

You can only estimate the value of this brush if you know our processes.

Every morning the cell has to be cleaned. Completely. We control strictly. We offer cleaning rags, as they are considered 'minimum'. But inmates don't like to clean EVERYTHING with a rag only, especially in cells with multiple prisoners....

Cheap, weak plastic. Not only for the margin - they sharpen the ends of more stable objects.
So much to suggesting 'quality goods'.


Here are her 3 panties. Currently she is not allowed to use them. Every morning every inmate has to wash his used pantie per hand. There are hooks were they will be hung to dry. 3 hooks for every inmate, numbered. Every pantie has its own place - we control correct usage. Every day has its number.
If they are treated wrong and wear out to quick more can be purchased – and must be paid.
The bra's are her own. She can wash them with the panties.
Her name and booking number are stitched into the fronts.”
Behind her hand she whispered into my direction: “There is rumor someone in here is pilfering.”
Back to her normal voice she lectured:

“It is a nice training for the inmates to do the embroidering themselves. And you can see the progress in quality, from number one to number three.

Further there is some instant food and some sweets.
The meals in here lack in quality and quantity – hunger is another motivator for prolonged work.

She will get a fresh set of sanitary items, currently there is only her deo-stick left. And she'll get a can of Army-DEET – paid by HHS to 'curb spreading of blood-borne diseases' often carried by the addicts. The midges love the swamps around here.

She had some personal items in there, we will add them again when her punishment ends.

Even if most of them might hurt her now.”

I explored the small box a little bit, eyed the packaged food, took out one of the sweets – both very cheap, Asian products. Maybe Chinese, but there was not a single letter on it I could read.

Then I gave in to my curiosity: “Why is she wearing that funnel - naked. Are all prisoners trussed up and taped like that when they are punished?”

Fukuda stood up and was circling around the inmate, talking with a berating undertone:

“Ah, she is trussed up like that because Rebound was stupid.
Let me tell you a little bit about her:
She was moved here from another prison, and I invested some time to adjust her behavior. I thought we made some progress, but it seems she needs more time with me to fully grasp the lesson.” Rebound flinched, Fukuda laughed her silly laugh again - completely out of place and .. crazy.

As she finished her circle she held the riding crop in her hand - she played with the flap with her other hand.

“She was a model inmate, I even made her a trustee. And then she got parole.”
Fukuda put the flap of the crop under Rebounds chin: “I prepared her for slavery, and then she was just released.

Don't misunderstand me. I really hoped the best for her. A part of her is a really nice woman, I like that part. We had talked about her enslaving herself. Get some money to make up for her greatest mistake. She was clean enough then, she might have been able to just pass through a grading, and an enslavement. Some years in the collar might have been enough to bring her back on tracks.

As far as I know, she called an 'old friend' to pick her up.
She never made it to her appointment.

There was that other, addicted part of her, clawing back to the surface. Whoever had the idea first, she and her friend decided to spent a last night to celebrate her farewell to freedom.

Two weeks later she was again arrested, in another state. They both committed a series of petty crimes financing their drug abuse, and she was offensive, unreasonable, overbearing and even violent.

So she was unloaded back here. I am sure she did not expect that, as they crossed three state borders, but I saw her crying when she spotted me waiting for her.
Her friend is also here, men's section.

That is the reason I named her Rebound. I gift special inmates an official nickname.
She recoiled from freedom and is back to be bound again.

She is lucky that I always store the boxes of inmates for some time. If someone can really stay out of prison for a year I sent the box, I always leave enough money in their accounts to pay for that.
It is a nice reminder to stay out of trouble.

She did not stay out of trouble, she can use the box again in here.
And she did something nasty.
She was a Bad, Bad Girl.” Fukuda flicked her wrist, and I could hardly see the crop whirring rapidly through the air, hitting both tips of Rebounds nipples.
Rebound cringed in pain, Fukuda barked at her:
“Back into position or this whole day does not count!”
It was so weird to see that young looking girl scolding the mature woman. In my direction she continued smiling:
“Maybe they tried to make evidence disappear, or they thought it would be nice to bring something into prison – both swallowed a load of their poison, in plastic bags or condoms, we are not sure.”
The riding crop was now touching the belly of rebound.
“A nice little package to sell in prison.
But...
Not in MY prison!” The crop again found her target, leaving Rebound wimpering:
“As I cannot risk to rupture a bag we are currently limited to some mild foreplay until she gets a full disciplinary action.

I had a suspicion, and a quick sonography confirmed her filled colon. She will pay for the sono and a laxative.
And when the laxatives show full effect we are awaiting some presents out of her chimney.
White Christmas.

That is the reason for the funnel, she will not be able to let some evidence vanish.”

I looked at her, than I felt my face twisting in disgust.
She continued: “You don't know what inmates are willing to do. Especially the junkies - everything for a fix. We need to keep her from snorting it, maybe overdosing. Or doing something even more disgusting. If you look at it as warden you will see that the funnel is not there to punish her, but to protect her and other inmates!” - the crop was pointing to the toilet, which was shut close with a metal plate and chained down with a lock . Behind Rebound was a shallow tub. I quickly walked back to the door, and preferred to watch the front of Rebound.

“Limited funds. We do what we can.

At the moment she experiences Japanese prison punishment. She kneels in her cell and focuses the door. So she has time to think what she had done wrong. Either this or the 'calm-down cell'. She will sincerely try this first.

I will let her stay in here until there is no more poison in her.
How is the saying: 'I am angry, not just disappointed.'

I will just have to wait a little...

'First I get the shit out of her, then I beat the shit out of her.'

Your language is so brutal.”

“Is she not allowed to talk?”- I asked.
“No inmate is. There are fixed times when talking is allowed - in free time periods, when they are allowed to play or during visitation. When the inmates are working they are allowed to talk when necessary. Otherwise they are all only allowed to talk when ordered or quiet conversations within the cells – as we cannot control that.

And now you pity her. I can see it.”

That was not the whole truth. Yes, there was pity, but it was a turmoil of different feelings.
So I tried for a second to nod and shake my head the same time, but Miss Fukuda just resumed:

“I feel pity for her, too.
She was born into a wealthy family, they never had financial problems, she was a good student, she even was the prom queen. And then she tried something 'adventurous' in college.
Does she look like she had a life of adventure?

Even knowing some things she did I pity her.

She is here for a reason. Never forget that.
What do you think, Rebound? Should we tell Miss Miller about the little ruse you played?”

Rebound just whimpered as Fukuda put the crop between Rebounds lips, explaining:

“Rebound has a daughter. She built herself a life without drugs, without crime. She created enough distance between herself and her mother to protect herself.

But mommy needed money for a fix. And she and her current lover had an idea.
She still had the Slave Identification Number of her daughter, the hard working, upright daughter with her nice, clean file. Rebound herself never got a SIN, first it was not necessary, later she never qualified again.

So they used her daughters SIN and tatted it on her lip. She sold herself willingly for low price and short term to not raise too many questions – and because they never think further than the next fix. Private sale, the buyers only checked the SIN, paperwork was OK and they got a Prime minus really cheap, even if she looked very different then. They might have been suspicious, but not enough to decline the advantageous offer.

She needed some days to escape, thanks to her fake collar she succeeded. As she arrived at her that-time-home the money was already spent, invested into drugs. She was lucky something was left.
Her lover, who promised to help her escape, was so high he was bewildered that more than just some hours had passed.
It took some time until she got arrested, and of course there was no money left to be confiscated.

In the meantime a slave-catcher traced the SIN to the daughter working her second job – she was helping a befriended gastronome as a waitress. He shackled her, collared her and cut down her clothing between main course and dessert. Slave naked she was marched through the fully occupied exclusive restaurant, a sweet appetizer for whatever dinner was served.

Of course she tried to challenge her enslavement.
It must have smelled like some mother-daughter fraud, maybe she would have had a chance with some support of her mum.
But mummy was on cold turkey, and just lamented how her wayward daughter and her lover on the run betrayed her.

Luckily the judge must have had a little doubt, so he added no additional penal slavery time. And he raised her price, as the slave the new owners got was worth way more than the slave they had examined. So after six month as a slave she at least had a small compensation.
The buyers were happy, and gladly payed the additional amount. They got a prime rated slave – still as a steal-deal.

Rebound here made good use of that time. She spent it in prison.
And she got a SIN. The slave judge made sure that this ruse can not be played again.
She is the only woman I know that got her SIN branded.”
Fukuda used the crop to turn Rebounds lip, I could see the embossed burned-in number.
“Works sincerely better than just covering up the tattoo.

You can imagine the daughter never answered a call from Rebound again. Until I tried.

I thought it would be so nice for Rebound if I reunite her with her daughter. I carefully established contact, and after some time she was even willing to accept a video call from mummy.
I hoped it would give Rebound enough strength to fight her addiction – and, not completely selfless of me – she would be able to sell herself, the money would be a nice surprising atonement for her daughter.

Instead she called her daughter in the short time she was free, played sick and asked her for money.
The daughter hung up, a clever decision.

So much for the 'family reunion' idea.
We will try again, Rebound.” She softly slapped Rebounds belly with her crop:
“When your little surprise comes to light, plus the parole violation and everything you did to earn enough money for your filled belly … We will have so much more time. This will sincerely be the longest of your sentences up to date.
And depending on what you smuggled and the threat that poses for the rest of the inmates we might heighten your security rating.
We will see when your orientation is done. Should not take too long, you are already well versed, inmate . . .”

Miss Fukuda turned her gaze to me, and suddenly the crop flap was directly in front of my nose. As I flinched back she said:
“If you open that I will have to discipline you, too. Stealing from an inmate is a serious offense against our rules, even in a minor case.”
I stared in amazement at a little candy in my hands - I had unconsciously played with it. I felt the blood rushing in my face as I walked very careful to the table and placed it back into the box.

“Good. Stealing or damaging someone else property will be punished and you need to compensate.”
I pointed on the box, with an appeasing smile: “That thing is worth a few cents at most – I will sincerely be able to compensate for that.”
“You have money on your prison account?”
“.. Uh .. no .. “ I stuttered.
“So you can not compensate! Inside prison, outside prison. Two separated worlds!
You! should spent some days in orientation.”
The crop was still accusingly pointing at me – so I slowly pushed it to my side with the back of my open hand. With a soothing gesture of both hands I said:
“Okay, okay. Candy is back. Nothing irreversible happened.
Seems like you just taught me something, again.” Now I was the one smiling. I knew I had not much to loose with Miss Fukuda, she thought we were both completely incompetent anyway – so I asked: “And as you are already teaching, what means orientation?”



Orientation



Miss Fukuda stared at me, then sighed. She haltered the crop back into some kind of holster she had fixed to her lower shin. I still smiled at her while she had some suppressed anger written in her face– in reversal of our conversation so far. She took hold of my wrist and shoved me back into the corridor, while still facing the inmate.
With routine hand movements she locked the cell door.

“This is the essence of prison.” Fukuda began while forcing her face back into her smile, but it did no longer have the same unsettling effect on me, “When you hear the bolts snap into the frame.
The sound that ends freedom for whoever is on the other side of this door.
So the first days for a new prisoner can be a difficult transition.

We watch them closely – for different reasons.
If they loose their head they might try to hurt themselves, so we take them to calm-down.
We also try to find out if their security rating is correct. Sometimes the authorities attempt to save money in downgrading dangerous inmates.
We try to evaluate the prisoners usefulness and how she integrates.
We are less consistent with rules and punishments as the new prisoner tries to adapt. Sometimes we are even stricter, most times we are little bit more lenient.
We use the time to find out what 'role' our newbie will incorporate, sometimes we try different jobs to find the most productive one, or we change the pod to find the best fitting one.
All in all it is more chaotic than the rest of the sentence.”

We were walking down the corridor as I combined:
“Ah, I've integrated something similar. Kovacek called it 'Rookie-Days'.”
“You are working with Mr. Kovacek. Somewhere else you get information how to manage a prison?”
Nothing to loose, I reminded myself. And answered: “Prison documentations. And you...”
Miss Fukuda stopped and was massaging her temples: “Explains why I should block a whole day. I met your Mr. Kovacek – he was here with a group of other warden's to get the same information
as you today. And I must say I am not sure why he was assigned to run a new experimental prison. My impression was that he is not the brightest candidate to do so.”
“As far as I know he already was the warden of the prison we replaced – as we took employees and prisoners to our new location. And we were pretty happy to have someone to guide us.
Even if the man himself has a rather fossil approach with computers. I mean, everybody shouts at them, but he actually expects results.”
Fukuda raised her eyebrows: “As far as I know he was promoted because he testified against his former company, before they were taken over. Seems like he bet on the winner. The guy showing you the ropes could not have had more than some weeks experience when you met him.
You should definitively find some other people with real experience that tutor you.”
I grinned at her: “I will. What are you doing next week?”
“Oh no! I have work to do! I am not going to babysit you through prison management.”, she was making refusing gestures. Then an evil grin was in her face: “But if you have so much time to spare: I can put you through orientation. Spent two weeks in here, and you will sincerely learn more than Kovacek will teach you in years.”

Confessions



“Attention stance break - you have 60 seconds for stretching!”, Agatha tears me out my memories. No clock in solitary, you quickly loose your sense of time. Instead you get countdowns.

I shake my head as the green light is replaced by the countdown, and I feel my joints pop as I am finally allowed to shake the stiffness out of them. As I try to make the most out of my 60 seconds I hop from foot to foot, stretch my back and neck and move my arms in circles. Slowly the stiffness subsides, my shoulders enjoy the movement and I feel the blood flowing through my legs again. My breasts are flopping around painfully, but I don't care. They'll get some rest, soon.
This will sincerely be another laugh tomorrow – when I am hopefully sitting comfortably in my bureau, watching the surveillance video.

That two weeks offer of Fukuda tickled some part of myself. The same part that was tingling as I prepared my actual 'condition'. But I was too terrified. I just met poor 'Rebound', and I could only imagine myself in her position. That muted the aroused part of myself, and I clearly rejected, without any misunderstanding possible. More than once.

Today I know that my orientation would have, naturally, been different. And sincerely way less degrading than my current situation. If she was not trying to convince me again every time we met I maybe would have considered it. Sincerely I would not be in the same situation trying her 'orientation'. It would have been way more secure for me, and is not unheard of – people entering prison 'under cover'.
I would not have been totally dependent on one guard, hoping he keeps this all secret.

Easy to be wise after – unlikely I would ever had considered that without my current experience.
Some naked time in solitary untightened the stick in my ass – shifted my focus away from all that little insecurities regarding my stretch marks and many other imperfections.
Even the pending doom 'slave grading' did not feel as worse as it has before I started my 'quick' trip through intake.

Yes, the tingling part is no longer muted. Even sitting in my little solitary cell. I fear what might happen, I feel sick knowing that the door in front of me is locking me in until someone decides I will be free again, I am totally dependent on Mister Walker – and possess absolutely nothing at the moment, shaking my completely nude body. Still there is this fascination.
If Fukuda was standing behind my cell door, offering me a way out of this cell without anyone else taking notice for only two weeks of orientation – that might actually really widen my horizon – I would gladly accept.

“You have 60 seconds to drink water. A minimum has been set. You will hurry!”
Unnecessary. I am thirsty, you don't need to worry, Agatha.
Again I am in that obscene squat, sucking on the small pipe – and it feels like a little part of my shyness and shame is also sucked - out of me.

A minimum has been set – some other thing I learned. Inmates refusing water and food can be disciplined, punished and be banned from parole. You can be force fed, get hydrated per infusion while bound to a restraint chair or bed, and actually get beaten to eat up.
We are obliged to keep them alive and reasonably healthy – but -
it was just weird, thinking of an inmate leaning over a table, her backside exposed and getting tanned until she has finished up her meal...

60 seconds are generous to drink and get back to Attention stance. Maybe I will shorten that – half it. I grin. My evil self is back. Even when it is actually torturing me.

Still shaking my legs and arms I wipe my still damp hair out of my face as I watch the timer count the last seconds. As it reaches zero I am in position again. Watching the small, green light.



After I declined her offer Fukuda informed whoever was on the other end of the walkie that we were on our way to the 'education building' – and we left Block C. We walked along a path of concrete slabs, sided by freshly raked and weed free gravel strips.
We didn't spent much time under the open sky as we reached the middle of another building, named 'education, fitness, shop”. We entered, and I was sure we would follow the signs pointing to 'shop', but I was led through a locked door to a staircase, and we arrived in the basement.

Fukuda smiled wide as she explained:
“Welcome to my part of education. If you scream loud enough around here you can hear it in the whole building. And with its multiple functions this building is the most frequented one if you consider every inmate out of all blocks.
I made this three rooms mine. I call them the confession boxes.”
She unlocked a door, and led me in the room. It was brightly lit by two neon tubes at the sides – the switch, as always, outside of the room. It was bare of any furnishing. The rough concrete floor had a drain in the middle, and the concrete walls were painted pink, but otherwise bore no decoration at all.
Directly near the drain wooden stocks were mounted on floor level, the two openings each had its own hatch and the upper half circle could be screwed down to adjust its diameter – both were opened and ready to lock around ankles. Bolted to the ceiling over the stockade was a pulley with a snap hook at the end of the rope. The other end was running through a wheel close to the wall, and ran through a rope clamp I knew from sailing.
“Three identical rooms. I personally execute most of the disciplinary actions in the women section, and all of them are executed in this rooms. I strongly believe in deterrent examples – if I turn up the ventilation system it will pass the relevant message through the whole building. As I mentioned: You just need to scream loud enough.

This is where I undermine every coordinated act against us - where I get confessions.
You can hear the screams, but not the talking. And we do much talking in here.
The penitent is kneeling, her hands cuffed either in front or at the back, depending on how much access to different body parts I need. The pulley allows to adjust the position.
The more fragile inmates get a mat to kneel on, the tougher a hard wood board – the really stubborn ones get a handful of uncooked rice in addition.

I always try to use all three vaults simultaneously, to maximize efficiency. We are allowed 'strained questionings' when there is reasonable suspicion – so we are not limited to pending disciplinary actions, but can fill open positions with other inmates as long as we can come up with a justification.

If I had enough staff we would just unchain the inmates, let them unclothe and lock them in position, but with our understaffing problem we need to do it partially:
We lead them in the room with their hands cuffed, and they need to remove shoes, pants and underpants while we take care of the other two vaults. After that we lock them in the stocks and uncuff their hands, so they can get rid of their tops and bras.
We put their clothes to the wall right in front of them, as a constant reminder how close they are to escape from the vault.

And when they are cuffed again, and the snap hook is stretching them into position the magic begins to work. Even if they are left alone there is no rest – as time passes the kneeling will hurt more and more, and the inmates will try to alleviate the pain by pulling themselves up – using the rope. Until their shoulders and arms begin to hurt – then they fall back on their knees.


Time alone might force them to the point where they cooperate in any way I want. You maybe know the saying: 'snitches get stitches': Prisoners threaten to stab other prisoners that cooperate with guards. I quickly circumvented that, here it is a mostly meaningless saying.
I have developed a vicious method to get what I want out of my inmates. I never let them expect what will happen, there is no routine in my disciplinary actions or 'strained questionings'. The only constant is that confessing me rule violations might get you a ticket out of the vault. If I consider the confession sufficient.

The fight will versus will is thrilling. Mostly it is not a very difficult thing to outsmart some addicts – their wills and brains are corroded from various harmful substances, and their top priority is always 'I need a fix'. But sometimes we have stronger wills to break, and even the weakest inmates don't cooperate out of free will.
So I force them. If you are willing to invest great parts of your free time you can try many many things here. 'Is there anything you want to tell me before we begin?' is always my first question, after that anything can happen.
Sometimes I release them after a short talk, everyone else thinks they snitched. Sometimes I keep them for hours.
I ask them questions knowing the answers, or I hint them I know more than I actually do. I execute their corporal punishments, and simply leave them for some time.
You can see it even in the face of a hardened criminal – the look when you leave. They might curse you through their punishment, with hate distorting their faces, but when you just leave the vault for a unpredictable time there is nearly always despair written in their faces.
There is a small room near the 3 vaults I store some supplies in. I have a sound system in there that plays screams through the vent. I can just leave for some coffee and the psychological grind still continues.
Sometimes I am back after a couple of minutes, sometimes I just walk past the vault's door and don't come back for a long time.
Sometimes I pull other inmates out of their blocks into corrections directly after releasing some block-mates and question them – so they get the sincere feeling that they got reported.

If you know how you can make a prisoners backside look like it has been put through the grinder without applying severe pain, and you can put an inmate through a painful hell without leaving many traces.

And it even works when they know what you are doing. No inmate really trusts another inmate in prison, and I simply tear out the little trust left. Destroying anything necessary for coordinated actions against us – in this 3 vaults.

In comparison to other correction vaults I visited this 3 are extremely cheap. Efficient.
I am able to punish nearly every body part in my vaults. Rebound for example reacts fiercely if you hit her nipples or soles. All inmates have some special weakness – and I find most of them.”

She looked at me expectantly, and I tried to digest everything she said.
Finally I asked: “So you lock them in this torture device and beat their little secrets out of them with that crop?” I pointed at her shin, and as I was not entirely sure with her – the dynamic she showed with Rebound – somehow she cared – I asked further: “So, given you are not simply cruel: Why else?”

And once the faux smile vanished, and a little bit of warmth was circling around her eyes as she answered:
“I learned in this rooms. I learned so much how prison is for the inmates. How they try to cheat, how they think. And I don't extricate 'small secrets'.
I find out when and how drugs are smuggled in – they ALWAYS smuggle drugs in.
I find out who is on the inmates bad list, and maybe would get stabbed. Or I find out who stabbed an inmate.
I find out which guard exchanges drugs for blowjobs.
I even had a guard in the stocks, can you imagine? I had a long talk with him, and terminated his employment -
Because I also find out who abuses inmates.
Did you know that the risk of unwanted pregnancy is 10 times higher for an inmate than a sex-slave?”

“17 times.” - I corrected: “It is 17 times higher. In truth it is an argument for better contraception in prisons – but no one wants to pay for it as it is forbidden and 'does not happen'. We use it in commercials for Agatha.”
Fukuda stared: “You do prison commercials?”
“We cooperate with some renown law firms. That is how we get the daughters of rich people. We even pay the lawyers a commission if the parents are booking a premium prison package.
They show them some info-material comparing our prison with a regular prison, and '17 times' really sells. Leaves enough room for imagination.
Agatha made it 0. No rapes, no violence.
We already have a waiting list of convicts that delayed their start of prison sentence until Agatha was ready for them. Two whole blocks are equipped and furnished premium, and we are still fully booked for over a year. Sometimes we also get the wives .. for … DUI ... or..”
I was slowing down my speech as I saw Fukudas blank expression –
she said: “Premium prison package? Why must I waste my time to explain you how to scratch some cents out of penniless inmates when you are selling 'premium prison packages'? Pamper some spoiled convicted girls in what you call 'prison'?”

I strongly disagreed: “I do NOT pamper them! It is a prison, and we meet all requirements. We are just a little bit nicer around the edges, better food, single cells with bath, nicer bedding.

I grew up with spoiled brats, and I will not suck up to them.
There are enough judges that don't agree sending them to a 5 star luxury prison resort – they want a lesson to be taught.
We always explain that to the ones paying the bills: This is a last chance – this months in jail should be used to apply all strictness that was omitted in their upbringing.

And I am absolutely open to any suggestions for improvement you might have!

Agatha is watching the convicted 24/7, and is reporting any misbehavior. We have total surveillance and total control. Watching every little step of an inmate, eavesdropping and analyzing every word uttered is the strictest term condition ever used in prison.

The next step is to adjust the AI to take over surveillance in every other prison of the company, until we will maybe install the necessary hardware for a complete take over – when it proves economic.
That is the reason we are talking about 'scratching cents'. We will use the knowledge when we roll out Agatha.”

“You eliminated prison rape?” - Fukuda asked with a stern face.

“As far as I know it should be impossible with Agatha watching.”

“As far as you know.... I will show you the shop. It will help you to further understand the adversities 'normal' prisons have to contend with.”
And with a mischievous smile she asked:
“Unless you want to try the box? I can fetch you a mat so it is soft enough for you – you can get used to it for your orientation...”

I shook my head as I was staring at her. She laughed. An honest laugh – and she went a step further: “Just strip – and we can begin.”
I was unsure if I should laugh or run away, luckily she just shook her head and led me out of the vault. As she locked the door she said:
“Just so you know, I use a coiled whip to 'beat out their little secrets'. I use the crop to emphasize a point, but in the vault is enough room to use a real whip.
And I am good with it. I spent much time training, starting even before I became a correction executioner. When I can spare the weekend I attend at competitions, and am really good. Maybe the best, if you don't count that incredibly gifted 'skater' boy.
Americans – no discipline for training, but way to often a wonder child.”
She laughed again, and her remark lost its sharpness. It was a short moment I felt her opening up - a seed of friendship slowly sprouting. Then her eyes hardened again, and her smile was replaced with the fake one she used before.
Something bothered her.



Shopping trip for two



The screen is black. I stared at the green light, tried to keep my position to avoid a shock - now there is no more green light.
Carefully I move out of position – and it seems my attention time is finally over.
I sigh.
Slowly I begin to move my limbs again, and finally try to sit down on the thin mattress. I even get enough cable to sit down. Out of curiosity I try lying, but that is impossible – would have been to good...
I am still happy to be able to sit, calm down, take a breath.

I close my eyes and just do nothing. Time is just flowing by, and I try to feel the quiet peace. Try to push aside the feeling of being locked up.

Suddenly the upper latch is opening with a hearable clonk.
After a short time the screams of a disciplined inmate yell through the corridor, through the latch into my tiny cell. I think I can even hear the strikes. The distance quiets the noise, but it is still to loud to ignore it. Deterrent example.

In this prison it is only recognizable in the punishment block, but I programmed the latches to automatically open, so everyone in solitary can learn from the punished inmate.
Seems like I can hear the reason why officer Walker has no time for me at the moment. Aftermath of the 'lock down turmoil'.



My cell is approximately at the same distance from the correction vaults as the Talbot's institute shop from the confession boxes.

Fukuda was leading back to the ground floor, and this time we were following the 'shop' signs. The shop itself was of course different from what I was used to. We didn't have one in our prison, we used an order and deliver system.
It was behind a regular prison door with the grated glass window, lettered 'shop'. As it was unlocked and opened there was just a small room, one wall was partially made of steel bars forming a grid, a small opening with a wooden plank working as a hatch. The hatch was in hip height, so the chained inmates could pick up their purchases. In the ungrated part of the wall was a door – leading deeper into the 'shop'.
Fukuda opened the second door - explaining:
“Behind this is our storage. The inmates working in the shop get strip- and cavity searched here – where the inmates get their purchases. You will find some boxes with clothes inside of the storage – they are not allowed to bring their own clothes in. It is not perfect, but helped against smuggling and stealing. Take a look what we have available.” She winked me through the door.


I still have images of that storage in my head. All in all it contained the cheapest, sometimes even damaged junk. I held a bra in my hands, it was in theory my size.
I held it against my chest - loose threads, bad fit, brutal support with the steel underwire poking through the fabric – no match for even the cheapest bra I bought for myself.

Fukuda said, smiling: “It is itching and scratching at first. As are the panties. But after 3 or 4 washes it gets better. They are white, to better spot if they are dirty - compared to pink underwear. I got an offer from the manufacturer: He could use another chemical for bleaching, but I like them to be uncomfortable at first.”

Even itching – what would I give for a pantie and a bra at this very moment, sitting in my solitary cell. Maybe with my name stitched on.
No clothing in solitary. The current balance in 'my' prison account would also not allow me to buy that lousy underwear. First I would need to work my ass off to just buy a bra that allows me to work my ass off, without pain and shame interfering.


I explored the storage, and it was unbelievable how cheap every single item was, flashy packaging from brands nobody knows – some again showing Chinese characters. Without the price tags I would not have been able to guess what was in some of them – while the tags all showed prices you would expect for at least moderate quality goods.
“You are low on toothpaste.” I mentioned. The shelves were all filled, only the place labeled 'toothpaste' was completely empty.
“They are in cold storage.”
...
“Why are you keeping toothpaste cool?”
“Another thing you can teach your Agatha. We found small holes in the small circles of aluminum foil covering the tips of the tube. We feared someone used the paste to smuggle drugs through the shop.

We had it analyzed – it is normal toothpaste mixed with sperm from different males. As far as I know no employees here are involved. I once heard a story regarding spermed shower gel – but I did not believe it until I got the test results.

Finally I was the one filing a complaint. We got our money back, the supplier even paid the lab.”

“And why are you keeping it cool?”
“So the cum does not get rancid.”
“You still hand it out???”
“The lab said there is nothing harmful in it, and you can not get pregnant from it. Why should I waste usable toothpaste?”

Dumbfounded I stared at her – while she raised her hand to keep me quiet. She turned her head slightly away and spoke in her walkie talkie.
Then she looked at me again, with a grim face:
“I am sorry, we have a problem with a new intake. She is still under influence, and resists violently. Another drug addict with multiple records in her file. She will be – at least - jailed here until she sobered up and can get a bail hearing.
I am the executioner on duty for the female section, so I need to give her a strict speech, or, more likely, some very physical incentive to comply to our rules.

You may accompany me, but please don't interfere. Just remember, it is hard for 'Freshmates' to adapt to their new reality.

You will now see our calm-down-cells. It might also be hard for you to see what happens to the new prisoner, but just remind yourself of Rebound – she is here for a reason.”

We left the storage, and the little shop room. Fukuda locked the doors behind us, and we just needed to get back to the main entrance of the building – over the door leading into the corridor on the opposing side was written: 'Education' – and, smaller beneath it, in a different font and much more aged: 'Sedation ward'.

As she unlocked that door Fukuda began explaining:
“We have been lucky – the old sickbay could be repurposed as schoolrooms. Most prisons put their cells for 'special occasions' somewhere remote, I appreciate that our calm-down-cells are more visible for the prisoners.”

The corridor looked the same as any other we have entered, but on the right side were less doors – you could still see where old doors have been walled shut. As they were labeled as 'schoolrooms' their purpose was easily discerned. The left side of the corridor had the original count of doors.
As I inspected the first door we passed I could see that there were cushioned pads glued in stripes onto the ever-present grated windows. The gaps between the pads were big enough to easily see through, but not big enough to hit the glass with a head.
Through the tarnished glass I could see the interior of a run down padded cell. The padding must have been once white, nowadays it had an ivory color – to express it nicely.
The floor covering looked like cheap vinyl, and the lowest two rows of padding were actually cut away – only the backs of the former padding were still glued to the walls.
Fukuda just smiled at me as I went nearer to the window to get a better view.
The padding looked really old, and was not only ivory, but also freckled with different colors, sincerely different kinds of dirt, stains left by dried water and maybe other fluids – that came out of various short-time-residents.
Like in the 'confession box' there was a cable with a hook running through a wheel mounted central in the roof, then through another wheel mounted on the side-wall, and finally wound on the spool of an electric winch screwed at breast height to the wall. Fukuda was suddenly near me and tipped at the glass with the nail of her index:
“I was surprised how expensive it is to renovate a padded cell. But we need some special cells for agitating addicts, especially those with withdrawal symptoms.
I will show you what I came up with.
We could detach the floor padding and the lower rows, we had a serious problem with vermin hiding in it. My new cell is cheaper and more hygienic.”

We continued down the corridor, I could see the light of an opened door shining on the floor, and I could hear muffled protesting noises.
Finally standing in the door frame I instantly understood Fukudas 'calm down cell'.
The inmate was firmly packed into a brown-beige straight jacket – the jacket was connected to the cable using a grommet on the upper back of it, in the middle of her chest.
A black plastic mouth piece – sincerely shaped like an U - was fixed deep into her mouth with a band circling her head. It looked clinical, more bite protection than actual silencing. Threads of saliva were already hanging from the piece and her lips.
A black cord connected the piece with the chest of the jacket.
Between it was a standard prison collar – black hard plastic with an enormous battery box. They tend to be bulky and heavy. And comparatively cheap regarding the punch they could deliver. Not a collar you put around the neck of a girl you might want to sell, this one was build to stop a male inmate with the weight and stature of a grizzly bear, saturated to the brim with steroids and amphetamines.

The crotch of the inmate was obscenely pushed out between the two brown leather straps passing left and right of her genital and over her cheeks. Straps currently carrying most of her weight – bald giant Eric was standing near the winch, and must have pulled her up. A spreader bar between her legs made her stance extremely difficult, and while she hopped and made protesting noises she could only reach the floor with the tip of one of her plateau-boots. Boots I knew, as I knew the red hair with the white streaks.

I stared speechless as Fukuda began her 'strict speech':
“Welcome again, Miss McKenzy, you finally found your side of the bars.”

Thank you! I do like this story, please continue! pls pls