Footsteps shook Bulla from sleep. She scrambled from her side onto her hands and knees. Her eyes lids sagged despite her efforts. A jittery crowd of red suits gathered around the cell door. Bulla raised to her feet. Her back pressed against the cold cell wall. The voices of the rumbling crowd hushed at the raised hand of a single guard. Bulla scanned their helmets, desperate to see something that hinted a face through the black visors, an eye, nose- anything.
The grunt spoke up, "You slaughtered two of our officers and there are consequences on this rigg. Welcome to pod 432, where we believe in justice."
"Justice?," Bulla called over to their riled up voices.
"We all wear red!," The grunt drilled.
"WE ALL WEAR RED!," the collective roared after him.
"We wear red," he repeated, throwing his fist in the air.
"WE ALL WEAR RED!"
"Throw him in," the cadet said after catching his breath.
The swarming maroon sea split down the middle. A body flailed against four guards. A thick brassy collar flashed under the white lights. They dumped the fumbling body onto the cell floor despite his earnest attempt to claw through the crowd. He shuffled to his feet, slowly erecting his spine. He stood head and shoulders over Bulla. He heaved for air, diaphragm pushing against his rippled ribs. His muscles wriggled beneath the skin boasting of bulk gained and lost long ago. His breath condensed on the inside of his visor forming grey clouds.
Bulla's foggy brain tried to tune out the chanting crown. Man and monstrosity melded together before her eyes. The crusty ring of blood at the top of the collar drew her eyes. It was like an extension of the maroon helmet hiding her new cell mate's face. Skiffs of smudged blood streaked his bare neck. Moisture dribbled from the padded edges of the headgear as the condensation continued to gather. Oily brown sop stained his shirt documenting a medley of sweat and blood plasma.
Undecipherable mumbling came from the helmet. Cold sweat dribbled down Bulla's back as she dared to inch closer. Behind the visor his eyes drilled a hole into her soul. He squared his shoulders toward her; she froze. His muffled voice continued beneath the visor. She judged it as gibberish from some far-flung land that in another time would have fascinated her, but today it was nothing more than a threat.
Body language was her survival tool, a lifeline in a world of uncertainty, but the helmet stripped her of what power she held. Bulla backed away after calculating the risk careful to keep her hands visible.
The man lumbered into a seated position on the floor. His movements were sore and labored, like breathing itself was an inconvenience. He rested his forehead against the corner of the cell. Bulla stilled her stirring mind. She lowered herself, crossing her legs beneath her butt.
I need to try to mirror him, she thought, I'm not a threat if he isn't.
The suits rumbled the cell wall with their fists. The reverb of their voices boomed through Bulla's chest. Bulla tracked Cloak's black shell, weaving between the bodies of the crowded hall.
"Cloak, Cloak!," her shaking voice called to him.
She waited, expecting the crowd to dissipate in his wake.
Any minute, he'll yank us out of here, she thought.
Cloak stopped front and center of the cell. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rounded his shoulders. Bulla's hopeful anticipations shattered, and her resolve crumpled in his silence. Guards entered the cell armed with electric shields and gravity wands. A guard shoved his boot into the casing of her cell mate's helmet. The inmate threw them off his back, raising up like a bear standing on its hind legs. They beat him down, thumping him with their batons. The air warped around their blows creating heat shimmers. The guards leaned onto him with their shields, forcing him to hold their weight. He wadded himself into a ball, trying to disappear from plain sight. He resorted to cradling his head with his arms to block the blows.
The guards stripped every stick of clothing from his skin, piling it onto the floor like trash. Bulla hid her face with the cuff of her shirt, but the screams made the brutality too real. Burying her head would not hide the blood squelching blows or the stranger's nakedness. The guards goaded and prodded the battered man to a standing position. He tucked his chin to his chest and clung to his last tether of dignity by trying to cover his genitals. The guard pointed at Bulla with his gloved hand. Bulla's hole body trembled, but the tears wouldn't come. The screaming waned as they waited for her new cell mate's response. He shook his wobbling head, 'no'. The guard pulled a black cylinder from his utility belt. With a flick of his thumb a sparkling blue flame erupted from the end. He torched the struggling man's helmet- running it over the welded seams of the collar. The other guards held him against the wall by his elbows and knees. The cartilage crunched and crackled over his groaning voice.
They-They've welded that helmet to his fucking head, Bulla thought.
The maroon metal casing hazed orange like a sun. Molten yellow hot spots dripped from the heat warped fiber glass shell. The man's agony blared over the hum of the crowd and the antagonizing guards. His robust, steady voice scaled higher to terrorized shrieks.
Bulla thought, This is a glimpse of where I'm going: pain and heat- hell.
"Leave him alone!," she shouted hoarsely.
She stormed over without a second thought and yanked on the guard's arm. The torch remained firm in his hand, but his arm strayed. The force raked the flames down the prisoner's neck and shoulder. The steam off his cauterized flesh lofted to Bulla's nostrils. The guard slapped his knuckles across her face, wrenching her head over her shoulder. She collapsed to her bruised knees. Her short oily hair, veiled her face. The guard collected his torch from the cell floor. He stopped in his tracks, listening to the muffled voice of the prisoner. Bulla's lungs were hungry for air. Her adrenaline dilated eyes studied the situation carefully. The guard's hand dropped by his side. The others let the prisoner go, leaving red finger stripes on his mottled flesh.
The helmet was lifeless and ominous, knowing Bulla from head to toe while concealing its master. She loathed the mystery and the exposure. The prisoner toward her skiff-kneed and reluctant. His empty hands groping the air for her. Bulla scuttled to her feet and raised her bare hands.
"What are you doing?", she grumbled.
"Do luth m-ak tao," he whispered, barely audible behind the visor.
He wrapped his long fingers around Bulla's wrist with gentle pressure. His other hand clamped her hip. Bulla shoved his chest, pushing herself free. She backed away.
"Stay away from me," she said slow and firm with her pointed finger.
"Du luth m-ak tao," he repeated low and steady, "Anuah, soi-dei."
He circled Bulla in the cell like a shark chasing a guppy. The guards whopped and hollered at the sadistic entertainment.
"Du luch ma-ak tao," the man whimpered and waved her over with his shaking hand.
"No," Bulla huffed, shaking her head.
He charged her, forcing her into the wall.
"Nothing, but a bunch of damn chimpanzees!," she hollered as he wrestled her to the ground.
Her muscles quaked with resistance, but his movements were firm and unbothered by her efforts. Her boney spine dug into his palm. A cold chill tingled over her face as he squashed her cheek against the floor. Her teeth dug into the side of her tongue. His other hand clawed at the waistband of her pants.
"Oh, Kami no!," she squealed as his intentions became clear.
Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes at last.
"Please! Please!," she begged him in long howling breaths.
Her speech devolved into unintelligible screams. He forced himself inside, still dry and pliable, chapping the sensitive skin. His sweaty body pressed into her back; his heart thumped on her shoulder blade. The overwhelming smell of body odor and feet made the air unbearable. His body hair scrubbed her dry skin as he rocked his hips. Breathless sobs erupted from behind his helmet, forcing his face to marinate in the acidic mixture.
Bulla shivered as moisture spread to the creases of her thighs. The strokes became more firm and deliberate with each pass, scooting Bulla across the floor. Her flesh burned like lightening, spreading through her vulva and pinched lips. She dragged their bodies across the floor, army crawling on her forearms and knees. He clamored right back to her with his tip bobbing in and out of her entrance. She thrust her elbow into the side of his neck. Numbness crawled down her forearm from the heavy awkward blow. He shook his head; the brassy collar jingled on his neck like a dog's. He pushed her arm down, then cemented her hand against the floor with his palm. His square fingers squeezed her dwarfed hand. For a moment, she related to animals that gnaw their limbs off to escape a trap. Her muscles fell limp and her tongue settled- too tired to cry out.
Once she was still, he tried to plunge himself deep inside, but found himself in the no man's land between her satin folds and rear end. Bulla's back rolled into a arch. Pain gushed from her lips. His trembling body paused, yielding to her cries, but his pelvis soon remembered the task at hand. A hushed hum reverbed over her head; it was distant and universal. She was certain, but she asked anyway.
"Are you fucking shushing me?," she coughed at her rapist.
She struggled against his weight, unable to get her free arm underneath her.
It'll just hurt more if I struggle, she concluded.
Bulla scanned the rowdy red suits outside of the cell. Cloak stood out among them like a sore thumb. He was front and center, stewing in Bulla's pain. Whirlpools broke the surface of his churning essence. His stare told her everything.
"Get out of my head! I never consented to this!," Bulla's voice rumbled.
Cloak ignored her, drilling his pupil-less eyes into her. Bulla closed her eyes, trying to ignore the waves of heat washing over her- back and forth, back and forth.
1, she counted, imagining the vast red desert, 2,3,4,5,5,6,7,8...
Explosive plasma blasts forced her mind to reality. The suits began to scatter. Their boots on the tile drowned out their droning voices. Kalus emerged from the crowd, red faced and yelling. His men wrestled some perpetrators to the ground. Others were long gone, just maroon streaks in her memory.
The man's body heat evaporated from her back. He pulled himself out amongst the commotion. Bulla climbed to her hands and knees at a snail's pace. He hunkered down with his back facing the observation wall. He was unable to hide his nakedness or his curved pulsating erection. The veins of his neck were like green straws beneath his skin. Bulla was simultaneously disgusted with herself and him. He grunted like a pig wallowing in its own mire. Sweat glistened off his crunching abdominal muscles. His whole body strained as it betrayed him. Long streaks of semen erupted from his tip. The spurts drizzled the wall and tile floor until gravity overcame the pressure. The stringy fluid dripped down his shaft and muddied his pubic hair. The man laid his heavy, mutilated head on his knees, looking away from Bulla.
Kalus and two others breached the cell, interrupting the unnamed man's quiet humiliation.
"Medical will come for you," Kalus said to Bulla as matter of face. Bulla watched them hoist her cell mate up to his feet, tugging beneath his arm pits. They dragged him out the door, still wet and dripping, as quickly and unempathetically as they came. He followed them with no resistance like a beaten pack animal, not even bothering to cover himself this time as if he had accepted his loss of person hood. The door slammed behind them, and silence trickled into her cell.
For some reason, she couldn't explain, she didn't get up. She laid on her belly from her hands and knees.
I watched him- why did I watch? I'm no better than Cloak.
