I’d like to say the moment I awoke, I took in all the details around me and quickly summarized exactly what was going on, already working on a brilliant plan of action… But that would be a lie, considering I’ve spent the last 10 minutes groggily trying to will myself back into whatever sedative induced sleep I’d been placed into.

Don’t you judge me! I’m a growing young man, working long, stressful night shifts as a… well, aspiring criminal…

Maybe I’m due a little judgment, but not about my sleeping habits!

Either way, despite my efforts to ignore the world around me, some things make themselves rather obvious.The cold, uncomfortable metal slab I was lying on presses into my back almost maliciously; a clinical breeze drafting through a vent somewhere, bringing the exotic and refreshing scent of stale, recycled air; and the fact I’ve been stripped of all my clothes and had them replaced with some wrist manacles. All in all, not too bad of situation, I’ve been held in worse prison cells.

That’s pessimistic.

I mean, who knows? I could be in some hot, new day-spa that prides itself on brutalist architecture and making its customers feel as helpless as possible.

“Prisoner U01-685, get up and approach the door. Any sudden moves will result in termination. Any violent action will result in termination. Any attempts at escape will result in termination,” a buzzing, static-filled voice fills the room and shatters all my hopes for an enjoyable day at the spa.

“I was getting to it…”, I grumble, as I finally gather myself together and hop off the “bed”. The small concrete cell I awoke to is even smaller now that I’m standing, the grey ceiling almost grazing my head and the dimensions only slightly larger than my arm span; still, not the worst cell I’ve been in. With a deliberate lack of hostile gestures, I make my way over to the door and await my fate. Within moments its opens, sliding upwards, with a disappointing lack of cool whooshy noises and a disappointing abundance of guns being pointed in my face. Four separate rifles held by four armored guards, their faces hidden by opaque black glass visors on their helms. I have a feeling it isn’t going to take much to convince them to use those…

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“Come with me, now.” Barks the rearmost guard, brimming with authority, and without the crackly loudspeaker, distinctly feminine. The armor-clad guard turns on her heel and begins to walk down a long hallway, completely assured I’ll be right behind. The other three stay trained on me, obviously subservient. It’s enough to almost make me jump into step behind her.

Almost.

“You heard her, men, get to it! Are you going to ignore your superior officer?” I say to the guards left with me, quiet enough so she probably wouldn’t hear, but with enough force to make them think I might actually know what I’m talking about. It’s beautiful in a way, watching someone’s mental muscle memory war with their rational thought, instinctively listening to a naked man in chains all because he says an order with absolute confidence. Two freeze in a moment of hesitation, and the third doesn't bother questioning it, already turning to follow. Luckily, one of his fellows manages to think fast enough to grab him by his shoulder and pull him back into formation.

“Idiot,” he growls,” she wasn’t talking to us. And you, being a smartass will result in painful termination, you have my word on that.”

He (probably) didn’t have the jurisdiction to shoot me for disliking authority figures, especially ones that have imprisoned me, so I took it in stride. But his point is taken, I don’t have much leeway here. I walk on, past the irate and slightly befuddled guards down the well-lit, if utilitarian, hallway. I enter into what seems to be an interrogation room, suddenly aware that the metal chair across the table from the featureless armored woman is going to be ice cold on my bare bottom…

“Sit.”

“Can I have a cushion?”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Well, I was. Honestly, this spa has been terrible so far, and this is the las-,” My upcoming threat to leave a bad review is suddenly interrupted by the dispassionate click of a pistol being cocked, leaving the words to die in my mouth. The sound echoes through the room for a moment, as the door closes silently behind me, leaving me alone with someone who I knew did have the jurisdiction to shoot me whenever the hell she wanted, for whatever reason. It’s one thing to stare a lackey in the face and taunt them, it’s an entirely different thing to look someone who has the power to make other people listen and obey, be it through fear of violence or “righteous authority”. Though, in my opinion, there isn't much a difference, just a different glove for the same fist.

And maybe it’s a flaw of mine, but it only makes me want to make this woman as pissed as possible.