AN: I got stuck halfway through this. And then I got my second wind. We're
slowly making our way closer to Zack-canon, so a lot more Zack centric
chapters coming your way.
Head over to my site (in my profile, I can't put links in the fics) to nominate your favourite X5 fics in The Barcode Awards
Dedication: Girltype, for her kickass fic.
--- December 3rd 2017 --- She's sitting in a hard plastic chair in the Memphis P.D. building, staring at the ground. Her dark hair is loose, with a baseball cap on backwards, and she's almost draped in jeans and a sweatshirt, she's so thin.
Jondy doesn't stop focusing at a spot on the floor. An obscenely fat police officer had spent two hours verbally abusing her about her crime. Other criminals whistle at her, try to feel her up. The other police officers tried to get her to talk, to confess. To tell them how she did it.
Why was she there? Jondy's smarter than to get caught selling narcotics on the street. She's got a perfectly forged gun license in her wallet
And her crime?
She tried to rob a bank.
She's stone cold broke. Spent her last five dollars three days ago.
And she should be able to do it, really. She was only after a few hundred. Pay off her landlord and maybe get some new parts for her new bike; a shiny red Ducatti she's been putting back together. She found it in the ditch near her apartment block and dragged it home and up six flights of stairs to stand it in her bathroom, and clean mud and rust from it everyday after work.
But she got caught. Hurrying to get out of there.
They hurled her in and told her how stupid she was. But as soon as they move away from her, they mutter about the security system, best one in Memphis, and how it hadn't been touched. How Jondy got in without anyone knowing. She'll be a legend from now on. A whispered rumor, maybe even an urban legend; the teenage girl who broke into the bank without anyone knowing.
The fat police man is next to her, his face blank. "You've got one phone call, kid," he says grudgingly. For a fleeting second, she wonders if he has a teenage daughter, if he thinks she'll be able to call anyone who'll actually care. She picks up the phone slowly and dials the number slowly. Zack. The chance he'd check his voice mail; or be anywhere nearby was slim. He could be anywhere, and there was no way he'd make it to Memphis in time to save her. He had maybe four hours or she'd be placed in the jail.
Jondy visibly shudders as she thinks about what will happen if they put her in jail. She's heard all the stories about what goes on in jails. The abuse, the rape, the murders, the 'bargaining'... The stories have been whispered to her in all the state schools she's been through. And no matter how many families go to the authorities, they turn them away. There's no money to clean up the jails. The criminals deserve what they get. Or, the worst... We'll do our best. Yes, those cops will stop taking bribes and work on their four dollars and twenty five cents an hour. Those cops will stop taking advantage of stoned teenage girls. Those cops won't exchange food and water for sex with a young mother. Those cops will go straight. Her fate lies in Zack's hands, like it has ever since she was born. Maybe some days it wasn't as obvious as others, but it was there.
Jondy sits stiffly in that chair for so long, she thinks it's night time. She's starving and thirsty, and she's worried her seizures will kick in.
A hand clamps down on her should and Jondy tenses some more, her heart rate speeding up. It's a cop whom hasn't accosted her yet, staring down at her, his gaze roams along her thin body. Jondy stands up slowly, crossing her arms across her chest, staring at the floor.
The cop says nothing, shooting her another sleazy look, and motions for her to follow him. Weaving around more plastic chairs, desks, the lino makes a reassuring noise under her shoes. Not a loud noise but a reassuring noise none the less.
The cop unlocks a huge steel door, and for just one second, Jondy fantasizes that Zack is waiting back there, ready to take her somewhere safe.
No. No such luck. Luck doesn't exist anyway.
A long row of steel cells, filled with one or two people. They seem to be in monotones to Jondy. Their hair looks lank, their eyes are wide and their skin is paper coloured. In her mind, these people haven't seen the sun in weeks. She feels all the colour drain from her body as the cop motions for her to step into an empty cell.
She stand with her back to him for a moment; until she hears the cop retreat, and lock that big steel door, that separates the monotone criminals from the technicoloured cops.
The cell has one long bunk with a single blanket. A bucket of water stands in the corner, and the whole room – full of twelve small cells – reeks of urine, cigarette smoke and vomit. Zack isn't going to come and get her this time. Her nine lives have all expired.
She crouches in the front corner of the cell, staring at the scuffed concrete. Her hunger and thirst has past; the stench enough to make her gag.
The other people are staring at her, she knows. Is she a drug addict? A prostitute? A petty thief? Or did she just refuse to perform sexual favors on the sector cops. One day in the future, maybe when they are trapped in a state prison, they would realize she had broken into the main bank in Memphis. And had almost gotten away with it.
She doesn't know how long she was crouched there. But after a time, there was a loud click, and the light that filtered under the big steel door faded and left the place dark and still – more so than before. All of a sudden, it feels so, so cold and Jondy wants to cry. No, no, tears are for the weak.
One of the other prisoners murmurs something at her, so quiet that it sounds more like a loud thought than something spoken. "Get some sleep. Please."
And she sits gingerly on the cold bunk, slowly lying down, pulling her legs to her chest and closes her eyes. She's not crying. She's not. This isn't worse than Manticore. She manages some fitful sleep before climbing off of the bed and sitting on the cold concrete, watching everything carefully.
She never knew how it felt. To have nothing left. This wasn't worse than Manticore, not even close. Manticore was living hell. But there was always that little bead of hope that Zack would be there to bail her out. It'd be all over the state she was here. Lydecker would be here for her within hours.
All because she tried to rob a bank.
Time passes by slowly and soon, the light filters back under the steel door and the lock clicks slowly. And a cop strides in, staring at each of the prisoners in turn. Jondy looks up at him, an idea slowly forming in her mind. It just means she'll never be able to return to Memphis. Ever.
She stands up slowly, smiling angelically at the cop. The way she smiled at Zack when she wanted something. He focuses on her winning smile and sidles over to her, twirling the keys on his finger.
He was too obvious.
He leans forward, his nose almost touching the bars. "What's up, doll?"
Doll. She had never been referred to as doll in her life, and never wanted to again.
"What's it going to take for you to let me walk free?" she says softly.
The cop gives her a shocked smirk and leans forward, whispering something foul in her ear. She doesn't even really hear his request, but she knows. Lurid suggestions have been thrown her way since her first heat cycle. She's learnt to ignore.
She nods coyly, twisting her hair around her hair. The key slides in the lock and twists, and the cell door swings open, and he stares at her like a piece of meat...
It takes a swift kick to the stomach and a punch in the face to knock him out cold. He slumps on the floor of her cell, a thin trickle of blood trailing from his eyes. She slams the cell door shut, almost relishing the loud noise as the latch locks. She picks up the keys, tossing them towards the shouting inmates, hissing at them not to move until they count to five hundred.
And she's gone. She slips through the department, her head up, meeting the gaze of anyone who looks at her. She's almost there. She just needs to get out of the state before Lydecker catches wind of her escape.
It's a quick jog to her apartment on the edge of the city. There's a small amount of pride she's mulling over. She got herself out, on her own terms. Almost like her own private declaration of independence.
There's someone waiting for her when she makes it back to her apartment block. Zack's leaning against his motorcycle, holding a bag of her things, looking harassed.
"Where the hell have you been?" he snaps as she moves forward, throwing her arms around his neck. He takes a step back in shock, but wraps his arms around her waist. No matter about her private independence. Zack's here, and she's safe and no amount of personal escapes can equal that.
"In jail. I robbed a bank."
--- Review and make my day.
Head over to my site (in my profile, I can't put links in the fics) to nominate your favourite X5 fics in The Barcode Awards
Dedication: Girltype, for her kickass fic.
--- December 3rd 2017 --- She's sitting in a hard plastic chair in the Memphis P.D. building, staring at the ground. Her dark hair is loose, with a baseball cap on backwards, and she's almost draped in jeans and a sweatshirt, she's so thin.
Jondy doesn't stop focusing at a spot on the floor. An obscenely fat police officer had spent two hours verbally abusing her about her crime. Other criminals whistle at her, try to feel her up. The other police officers tried to get her to talk, to confess. To tell them how she did it.
Why was she there? Jondy's smarter than to get caught selling narcotics on the street. She's got a perfectly forged gun license in her wallet
And her crime?
She tried to rob a bank.
She's stone cold broke. Spent her last five dollars three days ago.
And she should be able to do it, really. She was only after a few hundred. Pay off her landlord and maybe get some new parts for her new bike; a shiny red Ducatti she's been putting back together. She found it in the ditch near her apartment block and dragged it home and up six flights of stairs to stand it in her bathroom, and clean mud and rust from it everyday after work.
But she got caught. Hurrying to get out of there.
They hurled her in and told her how stupid she was. But as soon as they move away from her, they mutter about the security system, best one in Memphis, and how it hadn't been touched. How Jondy got in without anyone knowing. She'll be a legend from now on. A whispered rumor, maybe even an urban legend; the teenage girl who broke into the bank without anyone knowing.
The fat police man is next to her, his face blank. "You've got one phone call, kid," he says grudgingly. For a fleeting second, she wonders if he has a teenage daughter, if he thinks she'll be able to call anyone who'll actually care. She picks up the phone slowly and dials the number slowly. Zack. The chance he'd check his voice mail; or be anywhere nearby was slim. He could be anywhere, and there was no way he'd make it to Memphis in time to save her. He had maybe four hours or she'd be placed in the jail.
Jondy visibly shudders as she thinks about what will happen if they put her in jail. She's heard all the stories about what goes on in jails. The abuse, the rape, the murders, the 'bargaining'... The stories have been whispered to her in all the state schools she's been through. And no matter how many families go to the authorities, they turn them away. There's no money to clean up the jails. The criminals deserve what they get. Or, the worst... We'll do our best. Yes, those cops will stop taking bribes and work on their four dollars and twenty five cents an hour. Those cops will stop taking advantage of stoned teenage girls. Those cops won't exchange food and water for sex with a young mother. Those cops will go straight. Her fate lies in Zack's hands, like it has ever since she was born. Maybe some days it wasn't as obvious as others, but it was there.
Jondy sits stiffly in that chair for so long, she thinks it's night time. She's starving and thirsty, and she's worried her seizures will kick in.
A hand clamps down on her should and Jondy tenses some more, her heart rate speeding up. It's a cop whom hasn't accosted her yet, staring down at her, his gaze roams along her thin body. Jondy stands up slowly, crossing her arms across her chest, staring at the floor.
The cop says nothing, shooting her another sleazy look, and motions for her to follow him. Weaving around more plastic chairs, desks, the lino makes a reassuring noise under her shoes. Not a loud noise but a reassuring noise none the less.
The cop unlocks a huge steel door, and for just one second, Jondy fantasizes that Zack is waiting back there, ready to take her somewhere safe.
No. No such luck. Luck doesn't exist anyway.
A long row of steel cells, filled with one or two people. They seem to be in monotones to Jondy. Their hair looks lank, their eyes are wide and their skin is paper coloured. In her mind, these people haven't seen the sun in weeks. She feels all the colour drain from her body as the cop motions for her to step into an empty cell.
She stand with her back to him for a moment; until she hears the cop retreat, and lock that big steel door, that separates the monotone criminals from the technicoloured cops.
The cell has one long bunk with a single blanket. A bucket of water stands in the corner, and the whole room – full of twelve small cells – reeks of urine, cigarette smoke and vomit. Zack isn't going to come and get her this time. Her nine lives have all expired.
She crouches in the front corner of the cell, staring at the scuffed concrete. Her hunger and thirst has past; the stench enough to make her gag.
The other people are staring at her, she knows. Is she a drug addict? A prostitute? A petty thief? Or did she just refuse to perform sexual favors on the sector cops. One day in the future, maybe when they are trapped in a state prison, they would realize she had broken into the main bank in Memphis. And had almost gotten away with it.
She doesn't know how long she was crouched there. But after a time, there was a loud click, and the light that filtered under the big steel door faded and left the place dark and still – more so than before. All of a sudden, it feels so, so cold and Jondy wants to cry. No, no, tears are for the weak.
One of the other prisoners murmurs something at her, so quiet that it sounds more like a loud thought than something spoken. "Get some sleep. Please."
And she sits gingerly on the cold bunk, slowly lying down, pulling her legs to her chest and closes her eyes. She's not crying. She's not. This isn't worse than Manticore. She manages some fitful sleep before climbing off of the bed and sitting on the cold concrete, watching everything carefully.
She never knew how it felt. To have nothing left. This wasn't worse than Manticore, not even close. Manticore was living hell. But there was always that little bead of hope that Zack would be there to bail her out. It'd be all over the state she was here. Lydecker would be here for her within hours.
All because she tried to rob a bank.
Time passes by slowly and soon, the light filters back under the steel door and the lock clicks slowly. And a cop strides in, staring at each of the prisoners in turn. Jondy looks up at him, an idea slowly forming in her mind. It just means she'll never be able to return to Memphis. Ever.
She stands up slowly, smiling angelically at the cop. The way she smiled at Zack when she wanted something. He focuses on her winning smile and sidles over to her, twirling the keys on his finger.
He was too obvious.
He leans forward, his nose almost touching the bars. "What's up, doll?"
Doll. She had never been referred to as doll in her life, and never wanted to again.
"What's it going to take for you to let me walk free?" she says softly.
The cop gives her a shocked smirk and leans forward, whispering something foul in her ear. She doesn't even really hear his request, but she knows. Lurid suggestions have been thrown her way since her first heat cycle. She's learnt to ignore.
She nods coyly, twisting her hair around her hair. The key slides in the lock and twists, and the cell door swings open, and he stares at her like a piece of meat...
It takes a swift kick to the stomach and a punch in the face to knock him out cold. He slumps on the floor of her cell, a thin trickle of blood trailing from his eyes. She slams the cell door shut, almost relishing the loud noise as the latch locks. She picks up the keys, tossing them towards the shouting inmates, hissing at them not to move until they count to five hundred.
And she's gone. She slips through the department, her head up, meeting the gaze of anyone who looks at her. She's almost there. She just needs to get out of the state before Lydecker catches wind of her escape.
It's a quick jog to her apartment on the edge of the city. There's a small amount of pride she's mulling over. She got herself out, on her own terms. Almost like her own private declaration of independence.
There's someone waiting for her when she makes it back to her apartment block. Zack's leaning against his motorcycle, holding a bag of her things, looking harassed.
"Where the hell have you been?" he snaps as she moves forward, throwing her arms around his neck. He takes a step back in shock, but wraps his arms around her waist. No matter about her private independence. Zack's here, and she's safe and no amount of personal escapes can equal that.
"In jail. I robbed a bank."
--- Review and make my day.