I was strapped to a chair in my orange jumpsuit in the middle of a packed courtroom. My aging parents were consoling each other as my former friends and the neighbors looked down on me with scornful glares. I was more than a little sad that they had shown up at all. I had what amounted to a muzzle over my mouth, preventing me from even speaking in my own defense, not that I planned to. The court appointed defender was a worthless sod that managed to be hungover or still drunk every time I saw him. If being sent to the cube hadn't been the plan I would have been terribly upset.
Sure, I had done a couple things which surely would land me in Cubit Penal Colony, but I was understandably being charged with many more crimes. My actual crimes, I cut the brake lines on a high ranking official's SUV, causing his entire family to die in an accident. Secondly, I conspired with a known terrorist organization which tasked me with said sabotage.
The reason was simple; mom, who was now sobbing uncontrollably into my fathers shoulder, was very ill and needed an expensive surgery to keep on living. I was told that a fall man would be supplied in the form of a corpse with a confession note, provided I didn't rat them out. The organization held up its end of the deal, mom got the surgery and was recovering quickly. I completed their task and tried to go on as if nothing had happened.
When I got the news regarding the accident the following day, I broke down and confessed to my father in tears. I didn't feel any particular guilt associated with the man who was the intended target, but the kids... I couldn't hold it in when I heard that my actions resulted in the deaths of three innocents, one not even able to talk yet. I confessed everything to my father, who said nothing at all to me ever since that morning.
Three years had passed since the morning I fell into a deep dpression, turning to alcohol and when that no longer helped, forming a drug addiction to try and cope with my sorrow. I was numb to the world around me until the black and white van arrived to pick me up from the den of addicts and filth I'd run away to. I was there in that small windowless room, the holes in my arms were still raw from my last dose as a fellow sufferer snorted up a line of powder off a scratched glass table in front of the couch which was absorbing my body.
Everything was muted and in slow motion, as if I were watching someone else's memories over a severe time lag. The door silently splintered and swung open to allow the men in riot gear to step over the threshold. Their smooth movements made them appear as ghosts to my intoxicated mind. The other guy, whose name I still can't recall struggled slowly and quietly with the ethereal invaders, he pulled out a straight razor and was shot several times in the chest and face. A bouquet of crimson flowers bloomed from his body and wilted as he did.
I felt my mouth open agonizingly slowly and I was sure I was emitting a high-pitched scream of hysteria, but I heard none of it myself. The tranquilizer coursing through my veins prevented me from taking any other action as I had my hands restrained and was carted off towards the back of a car that had presumably arrived after the van's occupants cleared out my hideaway.I struggled feebly against the officer who was trying to push me into the car, but my vain attempt to remain free ended when a dull thud resounded from the back of my head and robbed me of my consciousness.
There were thirty other prisoners awaiting trial in the detention center when I arrived. My clothes were taken and I went through a delousing treatment as well as a quick detox program which consisted of only being injected with some substance that would sober up a god dedicated to drug use while being preached to about the evils of substance abuse. I was sprayed down with a hose afterwards and handed the orange fatigues that would become my wardrobe for the forseeable future.
My whole body ached, The detox program did nothing for the cravings as my body cried out for any chemical compound that would make the pain go away. I shook as I dressed, I shook as I ate, the cramps were unbearable and I just wanted to die. If anything was worse than the cold turkey program, I couldn't name it. Maybe the fact that I was beginning to remember everything I'd done served as a form of mental torture to accompany the crippling pain I was going through.
Things eventually got better, I got better. I adapted to my sterile new environment, made a few friends with the other convicts during the mandatory group therapy sessions. Some of these guys would be returned to society, most of us wouldn't. I kept quiet at first, kept my head down and listened to the older resident's sob stories. The things I heard plucked at my heartstrings and sometimes I would leave the session with barely contained tears.
We received visitors or mail every now and then, mostly from lawyers asking if we wanted a representative. I couldn't afford it though, and the one visit I'd gotten from my mother was full of questions I wasn't comfortable answering. I couldn't ask her for help, not with dad silently staring me down behind her. I took my time during the visit to tell them I missed them and memorize their faces. I doubted I'd see them at the trial, at least I hoped they wouldn't be there.
My new friends kept me company during our shared stay in lock up. We trained our boies until they hurt, lifting weights, hitting the punching bag, trading stories of happier times before we found ourselves in hell. My friends and I knew where we were going after our trials, and being stronger and tougher would only improve our chances of survival in the cube once we arrived. One of us was a trained fighter, he made sure to drill us well in hand to hand combat, though he said it was pretty useless in a free-for-all.
We four conspired to confess our crimes together once we were ready. Frank, the biggest of us, went first. He was born into a low income family and turned to robbery early in life, he killed a couple in a robbery attempt and turned out just like me. I was almost shocked by the similarity of our stories. Bug, the smallest of us was a hacker with a speed addiction, he confessed to robbing four banks just to test himself, no guilt at all. Kim, our third mate, was caught participating in an underground fighting ring, he was a mixed martial arts practicioner with a steroid issue. He was ratted out by an anonymous tip in connection with a string of murders resulting from the illegal gambling. The slightly short Asian man seemed upset, but admitted that he had probably killed at least two of them in one of his rage fits. I went last, I told the story and the result. I realized that it no longer hurt as it had before, but I did still regret the fact that I caused it.
The therapist silently made notes, seemingly unfazed by the fact that our first time sharing had been something so important. Everyone else just sat there and stared at us like we were aliens, trying to dissect what we were thinking with their eyes. We looked at each other and nodded, knowing that at least we'd be out of here soon. Not anticipating the courtroom dramas that we'd each face all alone.
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A few of the other detainees confessed to their own personal crimes after hearing ours, other than that the session went as usual. We were met at our shared cell by a warden asking if we'd be willing to sign a written copy of the confession we'd each given. We quickly agreed thinking it might help streamline our way out of here and into the cube, anywhere was better than here. We'd rather be free in Hell than prisoners on Earth. The warden discretely passed me a note as he left.
Not willing to keep a secret from my new friends, I told them about the note and we read it together.
Edward Williams,
We of the Organization for World Liberty are pleased to make you an offer since you have resolved yourself to be removed from society voluntarily. Should you accept, we would be willing to provide you with a few supplies for survival in Cubit Penal Colony in exchange for your confession to a few of our other clandestine activities. Think it over, you'll have a week to do so anyway.
We discussed the contents of the letter amongst ourselves and made it a majority vote for whether we accept the deal or not. It turns out that we were all on board for conspiring with the terrorists. I'd already worked with them before and knew that they would hold up their end of the bargain, besides, most people they recruit or hire out would turn themselves in eventually. I had seen the televised trials and seen multiple people be tried for the same crime years apart before. I just became a textbook example. Besides, who wouldn't want some survival insurance in hell?
I was contacte by the warden the following morning during a random cell inspection, I informed him that we would all be in if they were able to participate. The guard smiled at my response and provided forms for us to fill out and supply confessions to our respective acts of terrorism. He tol us our renumeration would be provided when we departed for the cube and left us.
We kept up our physical training regime while we awaited our trials. Frank and Kim were escorted away on the same day, their judgements were so quickly decided that they were little more than a footnote during a news report. There was more investigation done on Bug, his crimes were harder to trace and verify, but eventually he was taken away and sentenced. I had a whole week to wait by myself since it seems the number of crimes I was being associated with were growing every time a new piece of evidence turned up.
In the end, I had to have a full-fledged hearing to put me away because there wasn't enough solid evidence to link me to all the crime scenes. It didn't help that my confession only linked me to the activities I was made aware of. So after almost a month, the three ring circus called my trial came to an end as I described. Strapped to a chair, gagged in an orange jumpsuit for all my old friends and family to look upon with scorn. The gavel finally fell and I was carted off to a bus that would take me to the staging area where my new friends would hopefully be waiting.
The trip to the staging area took another whole week, I had no clue how far it was from my small suburban hometown. We stopped for breaks every six hours to stretch, but I felt like I was wasting away after going so long without exercising. The meals also sucked more than usual, they were MRE's that honestly held true to the old monikers The veterans jokingly called them. I was about to lose my mind out of boredom when the bus finally reached its destination.
I was escorted from the bus to a small vault with a bag in it. The bag had normal clothes for the most part, but there were other things of interest in it as well. There was a long combat knife in a leather sheath, a dark knee length coat, combat boots with a spare set of laces, and a small package of bathroom supplies. I got changed and neatly folded the orange jumpsuit before packing it in the bag. I shouldered the bag and sat against the wall until it was time to move out. I had to adjust the knife sheath in order to sit comfortably, but otherwise it was a boring wait.
Without warning, a grinding noise emanated from the wall opposite the one I entered from and it swung outward to reveal a wide courtyard with a uniform lawn growing just beyond the reach of the door. I stepped out into the sunlight and glanced at the occupants of the other vaults doing the same. Some were dressed as I was, with sections of pipe in their hands, or a length of chain wrapping their arms as weaponry. I saw Frank and Kim exiting from the same vault and moved to join them. Frank was still in the gaudy orange jumpsuit, but his hands were covered in leather gauntlets with studs peaking over his knuckles. Kim was gripping a pair of tonfa and wearing a very well fitting martial arts uniform.
I greeted the two cordially and was about to compare gear with them when Bug sped up to us, he was clearly hiding what his weapon was and trying to keep a low profile. We compared gear and were shocked to see Bug's armament, it was an air-compressed dart pistol that had a self-charging feature. Truly something to keep secret, nobody else had a ranged weapon, so we weren't likely to give them the opportunity to find out our group had one.
Our gear comparison was cut short by the crackling of a loudspeaker coming to life high on the wall over our former containment vaults. The doors slammed shut and the voice of a woman who seemed used to issuing commands echoed off the walls as she gave basic instruction over the intercom. "Inmates, welcome to Cubit Penal Colony, I am Chief Warden Isabelle Platt. In ten minutes the gates in the center of the facility will open, you will have one hour to get your asses through them or be shot. Any attempt to avoid going in will be treated as an escape attempt and dealt with as per our zero tolerance policy. The conditions within the cube are unknown to us who guar it, but you were given the bare minimums to survive. The Unified Earth Government will not be held accountable for your life as you chose to break our laws. Good day"
The woman's voice cut off as suddenly as it had arrived and the large gates on the fifty-five storey block wall slid apart on aging rails. We streamed in as though the portal was a hole in a dam. High chain link fences greeted us on the left and right, funneling us new arrivals forward into the dark unknown. People in rags stood on the short buildings that barely overlooked us and threw rotting trash and unmentionable filth down on us. Gaps in the fence were filled by the bodies of the locals, who took turns throwing punches at us while we navigated the gauntlet.
The lead row started fighting back as we stumbled forward in the gloomy cesspool that the cube was, They were savagely beaten by the locals who had only been toying with them before. I took that to mean that so long as we didn't attempt to fight back, we would be welcomed, I shouted this to the others around me over the din of insults and combat. Most of my fellows looked at me like I was a madman, trusting these wretches not to kill us just for being here was an asinine plan. Some followed my words and made it through fairly unscathed, dirty, but unhurt.
The snarling locals eventually stopped pelting us with rubbish and shit and walked alongside us to a large square that was as bright as the outside had been. The neon lights and loud crowds reminding us of visits to large urban areas back when we were younger. We were each standing still and gawking at the sights of our dank new home when a well-dressed man with an armband approached our tightly packed flock. I somehow found myself in front and got a good look at the man who was greeting us. He was extremely thin and wiry, with dingy blonde hair that was buzzed very short. The armband had a picture of a chess-piece embroidered onto it, the black king.
"Welcome to the neutral zone!" He announced in a loud clear, almost harmonious voice, so all could hear. The locals gave applause and went around greeting us and introducing themselves. The King himself shook my hand and took my small group aside to explain the self imposed rules of our new home. I felt like I would love it here if it were cleaner, but this was home now, no complaints allowed.