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Caged Up - Shower Privileges

Friday. When all the other days are just filled with sitting in my cell, trying not to go insane, Friday is the only day worth living for anymore. I finally get to take a damn shower. Not only to do I get to wash off the crude that's been layering up all over my body for the last week, it's also the only time they release my restraint. Sure, I have ten SWAT officers with assault rifles trained on me the whole time but I can't be picky. I'm just glad it's the real cops and not the slimebags that run this place. But other than them, I'm, as usual, by myself but considering the company around here, I think I'd rather be naked without them around.

Seriously, the security precautions these people take with me are so funny I almost laugh sometimes. But after six months I'm surprised it hasn't eaten away at my sanity and left me a babbling, incoherent mess on the floor. It's all misconceptions, really. The rumors I've heard over the years about my own powers are probably a part of why I'm so feared today. Even when I was a teenage hero, I would overhear people whispering that my fire burns you from the inside out. That I can set a building on fire with a snap of my fingers. That I can melt through two feet thick steel in seconds. And some things that make me bust a gut laugh when I hear it. They're always so worried about the fire part of my powers that no one really seems to notice that I mostly hold myself back to just using concussive blasts. Maybe when I get free, I'll try to make some of those crazy rumors come true.

For now, the shower. I'm escorted all the way into the large public shower area, completely empty, with a change of clothes and a towel waiting for me on a bench. But first thing's first. I turn around and hold out my hands, waiting for whichever of these trigger happy monkeys is in charge with the key. "Anytime you're ready, officer." I'm sly and sultry all in one breath and it pisses them off more than anything else.

Finally one of them steps up, can't tell one from another with those damn riot visors down. I guess they're all afraid I'll get out one day and kill them and their families. Sorry to disappoint boys, you haven't pissed me off that much... not yet anyway. "Hold still and no funny business," he tells me.

I can't resist. "Aw, and I thought Friday was suppose to be open mike night." He doesn't react, he just unlatches the belts and pulls off the padding. Seeing the metal box without the padding makes me think for a second whether or not I might get tetanus from the damn thing. He pulls out a key and unlocks both the locks. It snaps open and the other nine cock their rifles. For a half second, I play out in my head the fastest way to take them all out. Simple, take the key man hostage than blast out the lights during the confusion. Once it goes dark, duck to the ground, let them fire wildly to where I was and start picking them off one by one. I figure the chances of that working it less than fifty-fifty, I wasn't going to try it even with better odds.

Key man opens the box all the way and unfastens the restrains tying my forearms to the inside. I pulls my arms back and wiggle my fingers. Freedom, finally. They tingle, they always tingle, it's like having dumbbells tied to your hands all the time. I look at my nails. A crying shame, they're chipped, uneven, one of them even cracked a about a quarter-inch. They won't let me get a manicure though, just shower. I shake my arms till the tingle is only a memory of it's annoying self. "Twenty minutes," the cop bellows.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." I turn around and start undressing. On the outside, I would've carved anyone peeking on me changing a new nose but I don't have much of a choice here. Besides, these guys seem to either be extremely professional or the eunuch division of SWAT; they don't seem to react to seeing a woman strip down to her birthday one-piece. I peel off my unmentionables and just toss them on the floor. And I mean peel, a week's worth of sweat and grim had created a bond between my skin and the burlap rags they call underwear here.

Finally, it feels good to let it all hang out again. Some of my skin's been covered up so long that it's become sensitive to the dank, nearly moldy air in this place but any kind of sensation is better than being wrapped in that orange fashion disaster. I walk toward one of the shower heads, god it feels great to feel the wet tiles under my feet, so much better than cotton socks all the time. I grab the nozzle and turn, the water starts pouring down my body, cold first, then warm, then hot. I lean my head back and feel the hot water roll across my skin, I'm in love. Hot, steaming water crashing against my neck, against my chest, rolling down the rest of my body like a trickling waterfall. I can feel the filth being pulled from my skin, the hot water sanitizing me, making me feel born again. I turn around and shiver when the pressurized torrent splashes against my back. A cheap shower, after years of saunas, mud baths, and every comfort a spa can offer, I never would've dreamed how heavenly a cheap shower could be.

I lean my head back so my hair can get soaked all the way through. Water crashing against my face again, I open my mouth and let it pour in. The taste is a mix of weak fluoride, chlorine, a few dozen other chemicals they dunk into the tap at the reservoir, with just a hint of that stuff they use to eat away rust and lime from the chrome fixtures. But fuck that, I'm enjoying this too much to get disappointed by reality. In my mind, it's champagne, France's finest bottle pouring over my lips. I want to drown in the stuff, get as shitfaced as I can to forget this place. Forget it all, forget the lumpy mattress, forget the iron box around my hands, forget that rat that was staring at me at the other end of my cell that one time. Forget the guards, forget the cops, forget Drakken and Kimmie and my brothers, forget everyone. Leave this world, dive into paradise, it's only another mouthful away. I swallow and the hard truth lands in the pit of my stomach; I'm more likely to get lead poisoning from this shit than drunk. Oh well, fun while it lasted.

I grab the soap and start lathering up. My body gets used to the hot water, it's now like a blanket shielding me from the harsh elements. One shower a week, I have to scrub out everything or I'll have to wait another seven days to get what I missed. The problem isn't reaching certain parts of my body, I'm so limber, I can touch spots on my backside as easily as other people can wipe their own asses. No, it's scrapping off every last bit of the gunk off my skin that's tricky. I get to work, working the bar over every inch of me. A thought passes through my head and a let a giggle slip out. If I were a weaker woman, I'd take this chance to touch myself and release all this tension that's been building up between my legs for months. If I were Lynn, I'd already have this bar of soap wedged inside me. That thought makes me laugh, laugh loud. Those cops must think I'm going crazy, I think I am going crazy. Fuck 'em, let me enjoy myself.

With a little work, I feel like a new woman, like a snake shedding it's old skin. Now, the hair. I reach out for the communal bottle of combination shampoo and conditioner and I visibly shudder. My poor hair, if I had a mirror, I just might weep at how horrible it must look. This bargain crap has been giving me split ends, flat body, and pretty much every other hair problem under the sun besides balding. And god help whoever makes this shit if I go bald. Oh well, beggars and choicers and all that noise. I get the crud into my hair, pre-rinsed, lather up, then repeat, pretty much the only law I consciously follow. There, hair's done, now to enjoy the rest of my time.

I just stand there, letting time pass by as the water cascades down my body. I think to myself, I never want it to end. That's what makes what the SWAT guy says all the more heart breaking. "Twenty minutes are up, turn off the water!"

No... please, no. Five more minutes, please, don't take this away from me. Five more minutes... please... I think I might cry if I have to go back to reality already. Five more minutes... five more minutes... "Five more minutes... please... five more minutes..."

I don't even catch myself saying it. God, I am going crazy, I can't keep my inner voice inside my head. My rambles, though however brief, did pay off. "Alright, five more minutes."

I smile and press my forehead against the cold tiles of the wall. Five more minutes in paradise, five more minutes to dream of a happier future. On the outside, wearing the green and black again. I think I'll still come back here, though. I'll come back to turn this place into a crater with every last guard trapped inside. I'll smile if there's any survivors, I'll kill them personally, nice and slow. And if this shower is still standing somehow after the last of those cocksukers go limp, I'll take one more shower to wash the blood off. I guess I'm not so strong after all; I think I just got aroused thinking about that. "Thank you, Mr. SWAT man, I'm ready to go back to my cell now."