I woke before the morning call. I always do. I opened my eyes to the near complete darkness of the cell, the only light coming faint and amber through the small viewing grille in the heavy iron door, enough to paint dim outlines on the sparse furnishings; the small metal table bolted to the floor, the sink, the toilet, my bunk and the spare.
I was lucky to have the cell to myself. Well, unlucky to be there at all, but every cloud and all that shit. My last bunk mate, Stevens, had run afoul of the Cartel, trying to skim profits while dealing for them. They only found bits of him afterwards. Lucky for me, not so much for Stevens.
He was an okay guy to share with, as it goes. Always had outside food he was willing to share, and he was usually good humoured too, which counted for a lot in there, so I was sad to hear what had happened to him. Still, I didn't miss his snoring.
The minutes seemed endless at that time of the morning as I waited for the lights and noise of the six a.m. call. Its felt like a guitar string being wound tighter and tighter, and you know its going to snap, you just don't know when, and the anticipation pulls you into the moment and holds you there. That's how I felt in the near dark and silent cell.
The call came, the klaxon sounding about the wing, echoing off the metal walls, and the cell lights blared to life, glaring from the ceiling like some watchful demon. I jumped at the sudden cacophony. I always do.
I got out of my bunk and stood by the door, waiting for the buzz-clunk of the lock release. The door swung open and I stepped outside, standing to attention in the hall by cell door. I glanced left at Cagney, the old guy who had the cell next to mine. He gave me a friendly nod before facing forward, and I did the same.
A pair of guards were strolling down the hall, checking that each prisoner had vacated their cell. Already big men, their body armour made them look unnaturally large, and I was sure that its purpose was as much to intimidate as to protect. They each carried a stun rifle which I knew from experience they were all too happy to use.
After checking all of the cells on the floor the guards signalled for us to fall in after them towards the hygiene chamber, a euphemistic description for the disinfectant shower we were all subject to each morning. We formed a line before stripping off our shorts, a guard collecting them in a metal box. Naked, we shuffled into the chamber, standing in rows against the walls, underneath the chrome shower heads. The chamber door closed and sealed before a buzz signalled the beginning of the cycle. I closed my eyes. I always do.
The spray, while not hot, still burnt. I counted to sixty in my head, one mississippi two mississippi....and wondered vaguely what a mississippi was. Maybe I knew once and had forgotten. I'd forgotten so much of my life before the Hole. At sixty the spray cut off and I wiped then opened my eyes.
There were seventeen men bunked on my floor, and we all stood there naked and blinking together, all feeling the same sting on our skin, the same rawness. There were robbers and dealers and murderers among them, but in that moment we were all the same animal, naked and afraid. I thought it was no wonder so many grew a hide of iron in that place.
The doors unsealed and opened and we made our way out. The same guard, by the name of Fellis, a real piece of work, now brought around a box of fresh shorts for us to wear, smirking at our humiliation at standing in line for something as basic as modesty. The shorts were all the clothing we were allowed, an attempt to stop contraband being moved around the prison. Not that it worked, of course. We put them on before being led to the canteen.
Breakfast was, to nobody's surprise, a ration cake, vitamin supplements and water. We ate cheerlessly as the guards stalked between the rows of tables. I saw Fellis stop to talk quietly with Gartsa, an enforcer for the Cartel. Everyone knew that half the guards here were in the pocket of the Cartel, and it didn't surprise me to learn that Fellis was one of them. Not that it was any of my business. I kept my head down and out of trouble. I swallowed the last of the ration cake, my mouth still dry even after washing it down with the water.
The second klaxon sounded, signalling the start of the work detail. I was on cleaning duty, which meant pushing a mop around the halls for the next ten hours. It was unnecessary, since sanitation bots scoured the place during lockdown each night, but then all of the work the inmates did there was pointless, just something to expend our time and energy on, something to further numb our minds. I was proceeding to the equipment store when I felt a heavy, gloved hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I looked up into the smug face of Fellis.
"Not you, Baxter." He said, his deep voice sardonic. "You follow me." He strode ahead along the hall and I quickly followed behind. He led me to a holding room near the guard station and told me to sit in one of the metal chairs. I complied silently and waited as he left the room. He returned a minute later accompanied by a young man dressed in the shorts of an inmate, though by the terrified look in his eyes I could tell that he hadn't been one for long. He stood as close to the wall as he could, as if he wanted to climb inside of it, until Fellis shoved him into the centre of the room.
"Baxter, this is Kal." Fellis looked the young man up and down, an unreadable expression on his face. "He's your new bunkmate. You're to show him how things work here."
The young man looked at me, his eyes still white with fear. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but it had no noticeable effect. I reflected that the smile was a lie anyway, the kid had every reason to be scared. The Hole was hard even on tough old cunts like me, but it would eat him alive if he wasn't careful. He stank of fear, and there were predators in the Hole that would smell him a wing away.
At Fellis' instruction I took Kal with me to begin the work detail. I made small talk as we went, pointing out useful places and where to avoid, telling him some about what life was like there. He was silent the whole time, his eyes darting around nervously, his shoulders hunched as of trying to make himself smaller. Not that he was big to begin with, being a little under the average height. He looked fit, in that lithe way street kids often are, and I was sure he could run like a rabbit at need, but that wouldn't do him any good when there was nowhere to run to. I wondered why he'd been sent there, but that wasn't a question you asked in the Hole. Perhaps he'd picked the wrong person's pocket. He looked the sort.
We collected what we'd need for the day from the store and I led him to where we'd be working, a mostly unused hall in the south wing. The south wing had been part of the original prison, built a couple of centuries before. It was structurally sound, but two hundred years of technological advances had left it outdated, so that the cells were now used as storage for various bits of half broken machinery.
Kal seemed to emerge from his shell for the first time as he peered through the grilles in the cell doors at the sundry sanitation and security bots stacked inside in various states of disrepair, often pausing in his work to examine them.
"You a mechanic or something?" I asked, hoping to get an answer this time. He paused in what he was doing.
"I....I was....well, I was going the become one, like my dad." His voice cracked as if that was the first thing he'd said in days, something I could believe. His expression turned dark, and I got the feeling I'd trodden close to a sore spot. I backed off, glad to have at least gotten a few words from him.
I continued my slow stream of small talk as the day passed, and while he stayed quiet I saw that Kal had relaxed a little, and by the time the klaxon called an end to the shift I was sure I saw a small smile on his lips.
We went to the canteen and Kal had the pleasure of trying his first ration cake. He grimaced as he chewed.
