Folsom State Prison was one of the oldest in the state. Behind the thick granite walls is a factory that churns out all of California’s license plate. The inmates earn their pay, but more than that, they learn the skills to operate machinery once they have their freedom. For instance, inmates configure the press machines that are used to punch in letters and numbers on a plate. Applying that experience, one inmate pursues the opportunity to print “ PIG “ directly onto a guard’s skull. Unfortunately, a taser to the nape put that inmate down for the count.

Before the officer could thank her, GalvanGal was blinded by a glob of paint that splashed in her eyes. She reflexively reached for her face and the metal from the machines tore off to constrict her body.

“You think that’s enough to hold her?” asked the immortal with orbs of paint from the die shop. GalvanGal used her own electricity to counteract the magnetism and pushed the bands of metal onto the ground.

“No,” said the magnetic immortal, “also, she can still see us. However, even if we can’t hurt her, we can still hurt him.”

Iron spiked toward the officer, but GalvanGal caught it an inch from his nose. She had her eyes closed from the paint, but she could feel the flow of electricity. Machine energy was to bio-electricity like oil was to water. The living armor of the immortals was radioactive waste that only she could clean up.

She expended energy using sparking shimmy to keep all the metal in the factory pinned down to give her the time to clobber the immortals with raw strength. There was only so much that armor could do against blunt force trauma. Once they were too battered to stand or use their mutant abilities, she shook the gargoyle armor loose into sloppy black puddles and bolted to the next prison.

Sacramento State Prison’s laundry was running when the attack began. The glass on the washing machines was cracked and leaking. The next impact between GalvanGal’s fist and the sonic mace caused the glass to burst, disemboweling the machines of their water and damp clothes. Any opening in the mace one’s defense was covered for by the one with the kusarigama, a chain sickle with a metal weight, either end being thrown from a distance then reeled back in by the user. But with the room flooded, neither could avoid the shock that put them and their armor on the ground.

Solano Prison’s carpentry yard was blanketed in viscous slime. The insulation of the slime, and the laughing gas in the air, near paralyzed GalvanGal. She ripped a board out of its foundations and staked it into the dirt. She used it to climb above the slime field. On top of the board, still laughing, she slammed her fist into her other hand’s palm as she looked down on her next victims.

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San Quentin Prison’s mattresses were gunked up by splattered tomatoes. As she dodged the tomatoes, the shadows reached out to attack her. Sparking light ate up the darkness and the tomatoes were pitched back at the heckler who threw them.

Mule Creek Prison’s Paws for Life program was threatened by the attack. Some inmates protected the dogs they had cared for, but could not escape. The dogs cowered as the frost that their trainer had succumbed to encroached upon them, but it suddenly began to recede. GalvanGal snapped a boomerang in half before she bolted off to the next prison.

The attacks were scratches on her defenses but they were adding up. The energy used in the fights and when flying from prison to prison was the bigger concern, but she could not afford to delay or hold back. The longer this went on, the more people would die. Every prison she got to was bloodier than the last.

Valley Prison’s masonry workshop had an infestation of moths and an overgrowth of fungus.

Salinas Valley prison was taped up so that no one could escape the ice cream.

Pleasant Valley Prison was a jungle where spirit arrows could come from any direction.

Avenal State Prison was swarmed by crabs, half of which were real.

Kern Valley State Prison’s officers were puppetted into firing upon her, even as smoke clouded their vision.

Wasco State Prison was webbed and wired enough to entangle even GalvanGal for a moment.

California Correctional Institution was foisted into the sky where a vulture had free reign.

Los Angeles Prison was stalked by a wendigo and a ghost.

California Institution for Men was whipped into submission by hair and leather. California Institution for Women was roused into a frenzy by a song, heedless danger and pain as they threw themselves at GalvanGal.

Richard J Donovan Correctional Facility. Centinela Prison. Calipatria State Prison.

She finished with Ironwood State Prison when she stumbled into a wall. Exhausted, the fatigue in her muscles weighed her down like lead. From High Desert to here was seven hundred miles alone, not accounting for the zigzagging she had to do across the width of the state. She could still feel the sting of venom and the cramps of stone from the gorgon. Every other attack she endured stacked on top of each other to scar her indomitable walls, like the brooke carving the mountain through erosion.

At least the next prison was right next door. If the immortals there were as easy as the last two, then this fight was already over.