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Caged Up - Warden's Office

The sound of beautiful suffering echoes everywhere I go. Screams, bullets, laughing and cheering and crying and begging and cursing. I have brought chaos to order and I'm enjoying every moment of it. The path to the warden was weakly guarded but not without a few targets to practice my techniques on. Now my tactics become just plain cruel; I aim for extremities, non-vital parts of the body. I'm not aiming to kill, I'm aiming to dull out as much pain as possible. Some pass out, a few die, the rest just cry in agony as I pass them by. It's all sunshine and lollipops to me, I'm smiling the whole time. I see something around the corner ahead, looked like something being dragged away. I take a look and I see a guard dragging away one of my victims. His legs are charred, almost to the bone, there's even severe burns on his face, most of his hair has burned off. I look at the hero trying to save him and he looks up at me defiantly. He's unarmed, how naive.

"He's suffered enough," he tells me. "We surrender, just let me take this man to the infirmary."

I get closer and through his eyes, I see more than defiance, I see honor. Another guard who's not a complete asshole. He's stronger than the one outside the armory, he doesn't succumb to fear, he's overpowered that feeling with righteous indignation. He's going to be fun. "I run this prison now. Neither of you are going anywhere unless I allow it."

He doesn't go for his holster, he wants to play diplomat. "Look, this man is dying! He's in great pain! Please, show mercy!"

Oh, now he's pushed it. "Mercy? Who are you to beg mercy from me, from any of us? You, who rape and abuse power! You, who force us to live in fear for our lives! I nearly went insane in six months because I was kept in pseudo-isolation from everyone! Because I was denied the basic use of my own arms! And don't spout any of that bullshit that it wasn't you, I know that already, I can see it in your eyes. But can you vouch for him? Can you say honestly that he didn't force one of the weaker inmates face down on the ground? Can you say he didn't beat anyone of us with his nightstick just to exert his power over us? Can you, straight arrow?"

He knows about the atrocities. The pain and guilt in his face tells me the answer already; he knew but he never acted. He's saving this man but he's either unsure of his innocence or dead sure of his guilt. "...No... I can't. But if he is guilty, this isn't the way to punish him! He should be tried and jailed, that's the right thing to do!"

I laugh. "Habeas Corpus? Well, I'd be happy to oblige you." I use a concussion blast and send straight arrow flying off his friend. I place a hand over his burnt face and grin. "Thou shalt have the body, my friend. A dead body!" I crank up the heat and his face is completely on fire. I know my anatomy well enough to know that the burns won't kill him, asphyxiation will. The fire is over his mouth and nose, the heat will fill his lungs and burn away the oxygen. Science is really fun sometimes.

Mr. Law-and-Order, in a bid to avenge his dead coworker, tries to jump me. If he pulled out a gun, he might've killed me right then and there. Instead, he went in barehanded. What a joke. I don't blast him, I just use beat the crap out of him. For me, the most skilled martial artist in this prison, it was like training with a dummy. I slap his attacks like I'm swatting away flies and hit him hard in his vulnerable spots. It doesn't take long before he's on the ground, he's feisty though, only way to keep him still is to twist his arm behind his back. "Just kill me already! You don't care about people's lives, you're a monster!"

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," I whisper in his ear before jamming my forearm across his neck. He gasps for a breath that will never come. "I might be a little rough but I'm going to keep you alive. See, a real monster doesn't just kill, that's too merciful. No, real suffering comes from life, from pain and disappointment, from loss and tragedy. I'm a monster because I do care about people's lives, I care about how I can make them suffer, I care about how badly I can hurt them. Killing is just something I do when I don't care in the first place or just lose interest. And although my appetite hungers for another's suffering, I can sense that your's will still be quiet... delicious."

I can feel him trying to speak, to curse my name, to swear revenge, but all that comes out is a choking gasp followed by his collapse. I release his throat and cuff him to some pipes. Fun diversion, but I'm off to fry the big fish.

It takes me a while and a few more pawns to knock over but I finally make it to the warden's room. A simple office door is all that stands between me and the overseer of this ring of hell. I grab the knob, turn, and now I stand corrected. A locked door is all that stands between me and the overseer of this ring of hell. I think about blasting the door to splinters or simply flood the office with emerald embers. But I decide to play it more conservatively. I grab the knob again and start melting it. I can't feel the molten metal as it oozes over my glove but my skin crawls as I watch it. Bad memories flood my mind, memories of my first day here, memories of having that box latched onto my arms, memories of what happened when I tried to melt through it, memories of the only time I saw the warden, grinning down at me when I was doing everything I can to keep from crying in pain. I push open the door. "Knock, knock, mommy's home."

His office is tidy, some pages sticking out of his cabinet but his desk seems clean enough save for the knocked over bottle of nearly empty whiskey. His chair is facing away and tilted back, he must've been waiting for someone to come in after him. "Now I'll be damned. I know that voice. Shego, I should've expected you'd be the one to come after me." His voice is a tad slurred and it sounds like his nose is clogged. Must be all that booze he drank while waiting.

My fingers twitch, a hundred painful deaths play through my mind but I need to save the best one for him. "Well, it was you who ordered that box to be put on my arms. It was you who ordered I only take one shower a week. And I won't even go into the humiliations of using the toilet."

He laughs a little and I want to pluck his eyes out right there. No, wait for it, draw it out because you won't get to live this moment again. "Such a whiner, Shego. You all... whine. The inmates, the lawyers, the DA, all fucking babies. You're all animals, each and everyone of you. You all needed to be caged but the bleeding hearts on the outside would rather I lick your assholes clean before making any of you uncomfortable."

"So that's what makes you justify the beatings? The rapes? What about Fiona? Did she deserve to be raped like that? Was she a monster just because she caught her husband-"

He cuts me off. "Fiona? Fiona Lumley? Red hair, no real meat on her bones girl?"

I wasn't expecting him to know her. "Yeah, that's Fiona... didn't know the last name though."

"Her husband had a friend, that friend is a good friend of mine. What Fiona did hurt a lot of people, her husband was an important man in his community."

He trailed off for a bit but I realized what he was getting at and it feels like a knife in my heart. "You bastard... you ordered those men to go after her..."

"Women... should know their place. She should've just accepted that she wasn't meeting her husbands needs instead of killing him. She only got what she deserved."

"She killed herself because she thought your dogs were coming for seconds."

"Oh did she now? That's good."

That bastard! My hands flares up without me even thinking about it. I want to do such unspeakable things to him. "You're going to burn, warden. I'm here to take you to hell."

"Burn, huh? Just like you burned your hands trying to melt my restraint?"

My muscles tense, mainly in my arms. They've been gone for weeks but I can feel ghost pains on my hands. The blisters, the burns on my hands. He knew they were burning, he smiled at my pain. No one does that kind of shit to me! "No more talk old man, it's killing time!"

When I plant my first foot forward, his chair starts to turn. "I couldn't agree more."

I'm pissed but I guess that's what he wanted. I barely catch it, something in his hand, sawed off shotgun. Shit, he wanted me pissed so I'd run right into it. I'm fast but I'm not focused. I duck, barely in time to miss a face full of buckshots but I can feel them whiz overhead. Too close. I look up and now he's the one pissed, pissed that he missed his best chance at killing me. He tries to aim again but I grab the barrel of the gun and push it away just as he pulls the trigger. "Naughty boys shouldn't play with dangerous toys!" I light my fingers ablaze, concentrated as must heat as I could to those sharp claws on my gloves, before I swung down on his arm. In that one swing, I sundered half his forearm from his body. Funny, even when separated, his hand was still holding on tight to the shotgun.

He falls out of his chair, his stump arm spouting blood like a cracked bottle of wine, screaming in pain. "You bitch! Worthless cunt! I'm Travis Blackgate! This is my prison! No whore is going to take it from me!"

"Time for you to shut the fuck up." I grab the barrel with both hands and swing it like a bat. The butt slams against the side of his face, some teeth fly out and he's out cold. I can end him now but I want his final breath to be public, an inspiration to the prisoners and a demoralizing insult to the surviving guards. I drag him by the ankle until we're by the railing that overlooks all of cellblock A. I can still hear gunshots ringing everywhere down there, good, an audience. I dig my claws into his face and the twig and berries you could barely call genital and I lift him overhead. I winch, the pain on my body is flaring again. Maybe it's because I'm calming down, not fighting anymore. Or maybe he's just a fat bastard. Either way, I don't hold on to him for long. I fling him over the railing and then I just watch. I watch his body twist as it falls, his clothes flapping madly, it was all very whimsical. Then, the final splash, lucky me, he lands head first and it splatters across the floor. Even from up here, I can see the mess, blood and gore, even chunks of his mind was shaken free from the impact. I've decrowned the king of hell. All hail the queen.