“Prisoner 84971!”

Gunner lifted his head from the musty yellow pillow on the cot where he was lying, leafing through a magazine that featured naked women on each page. Contraband like that could lead to a longer sentence, so he shoved it under the mattress, as he swung his feet onto the floor and sat on top of the hidden spank bank he planned to use later.

He’d been inside for six months, a long time without feeling a woman’s touch. The last female he was intimate with was Reina, who had been his girlfriend before he was imprisoned. At the whisper of his being accused, she’d packed her things and run.

“Yeah,” he replied, as Karl, the guard, came into view.

Tapping the bars with thick silver cuffs, he said, “Hands.”

“Why?” Gunner asked, standing, as he shoved his feet into the Directive-issued sneakers.

They were beige, with black rubber soles, and had no laces, as if any of the supes would choose such useless things to harm each other.

“You’ve got a visitor.”

“Who is it?” Gunner asked, placing his hands in the slot.

Karl clicked the metal around his wrists, and the smell of burning flesh wafted into the air.

Neither the odor nor the pain registered to Gunner anymore. Around that place, there seemed to be a constant disgusting scent of one type or another.

The cuffs would have been heavy to a human, at around twenty pounds each, but it wasn’t the weight that hampered Gunner’s ability to break them. It was the high-grade silver with which they’d been formed that was causing strips of his skin to fall from the areas where the metal touched him.

“You’ll find out when you get there,” Karl said.

Gunner withdrew his arms and waited, while Karl pressed a button on his shoulder and said, “Got him. Coming out.”

“Wait for your partner, Officer Landa.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then another grizzled-looking guard approached with the remaining irons to shackle Gunner. The guy placed locks around his ankles that had a short chain to link them together. Lastly, they were clipped to the handcuffs.

“Ready.”

With shuffling steps, Gunner was led down the hallway, passing dozens of other cells, each with at least one prisoner. The number of men inside them was dependent on the severity of the crimes they had committed. The more violent, the more isolated they were from the general population.

As far as Gunner was concerned, it was good to not have to share the small place he had to call home night after night with someone else. The quarters were cramped enough, without having another man in there, too.

Tormented by what he’d been accused of, how he’d been tricked, Gunner had vowed to clear his name. While he made his short steps, he recalled all the blood around and on him that night. He thought of the bodies and how the photos of which he’d taken at the crime scene had been referred to as his trophies. His protests of innocence had fallen on deaf ears, and ultimately, the judge had told him he should be grateful for the 500-year sentence, rather than death by fire or beheading. He had said that the lenience was being given to him in recognition of his otherwise commendable service with The Directive. At the thought of another month in that place—much less centuries—he wondered if the flames might have been preferable.

As he walked, Gunner reflected on how low he’d fallen. He was once a well-respected regulator with The Directive, on target for a promotion, but mere weeks after that one fateful night, he was incarcerated amongst those he’d brought to justice.

Up ahead, another steel door opened, and Gunner saw his attorney and closest friend Blaine surrounded by stacks of papers. As he neared, Blaine’s head snapped up, and he stood, thrusting his hand out, giving Gunner’s a hearty shake.

Neither spoke until the shackles were attached to a horizontal beam secured to the floor, and the guards went to the observation post.

“Nice to see you, Blaine. Not sure why you’re here, though.”

“I have news,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Gunner leaned closer.

“Go on.”

“Jana Noskova has agreed to meet with me regarding your case.”

Stunned, Gunner sat back in his chair.

“Why now?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t care. She’s rejected my petitions to review your situation in the past,” he replied, motioning to the papers on the table, “but she’s the one who initiated contact this time.”

“There’s a chance I might get out?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, but maybe.”

“When is this sit-down supposed to happen?”

“Next week. I’m waiting for finalization of the location.”

“It isn’t gonna be here, where I can take part?”

“No. She specifically said that you aren’t to attend.”

“Why? Who can present the facts better than me?”

“I suspect that, dependent on the outcome of our conference, she’ll schedule another with you… with me present as your legal counsel.”

“Blaine! You can’t let me down! You’ve gotta get me out of this hellhole!”

“I’m going to use all the powers of persuasion I have, my friend.”