A/N: This was a difficult chapter to write. It concerns Kyra. There's prison life and ugly stuff in this chapter. I warned you...

A Passage, 28

Reforged

She'd been broken, in a way. It seemed to her that this wasn't the first time either, but she couldn't remember the other times very clearly. Being 'Audrey' seemed like a lifetime away, and being 'Jack' hadn't been real, at all, anyway. The daze in her brain wasn't letting her think, and she wondered if she'd been a thinker before all this happened. Memory was a slippery thing, and presently she wasn't sure if she even had memories of her own to fall back on.

Her feet, currently bare, ached from walking on the metal ramp that was roughly grooved to provide purchase for thick-soled boots. Her hair was matted with the products of her treatment although her face was scrubbed clean. Each step jarred her bones although she didn't hurt as much as she thought she should after the ordeal she'd been through. Of course she was numb to the world. She could have been dying and not realized at this point. At least she was dressed now, even if it was a standard prison issue jumpsuit and nothing else.

After the very sharp, vivid moments of her rebirth, the girl felt dull and empty. It was almost as if she hadn't fully woken up from Cryo as of yet. Not even the rattle of the chains as she walked could pierce the fog in her brain. Instead, a mass of confusion and despair battled with outright uncaring for dominance over her shattered soul, neither winning much ground.

The lanky Merc behind her watched her carefully. She was too docile for his sense of comfort. Her behavior had led to his overreaction as to how to treat her. He'd ordered her cuffed at the wrists and ankles with chains that would have held up to a strong man twice her size. He'd denied her shoes, on account of her skill with her feet. The jumpsuit was almost too small for her, forcing her to shuffle because she couldn't take a normal step without ripping it. He walked behind her with a gun at her back. But even that left him on edge.

Maybe it was the prison itself though. He was marching up to the massive front of the gates; heavy steel and marble-white concrete dominated and dwarfed the pair. Already, with more then half the docking path left to go, the main doors filled his vision, like they were made for giants to pass through. Prisons were usually bulky, oversized, and designed to intimidate, but Kova's jewel topped them all.

Not that the girl walking in front of him seemed to notice. That bothered him more than anything. Her former captain kept a very close watch on her as they slowly made their way to the waiting group at the gate. She was aware of the mass of cybernetic guards and the prison head waiting for them but couldn't be bothered to pick up her pace. Once the uncaring took over, she couldn't even get up the energy to feel – anything. That faintly disturbed her. The hollowness inside her being likely wasn't a good sign, she mussed.

The voice behind her startled her back to the present, "200K for delivery, 40K for transport, right?" The scruffy Merc known as Toombs asked.

"If the prints match up, Toombs. How many of your crew did you lose catching this one?" The tall black-haired man with pale skin asked humorously.

"Not a one, Willis. For a change I didn't lose a single one. So you sure you want her? She's borderline juvie."

Willis laughed, "Juvie or not, Jack B. Badd was tried as an adult with two meditated murder counts. The Chillingsworth estate demanded she be sent here. We do our part."

She took everything in even if she couldn't properly react to it in her current state. The prison boss was tall and thin with the beginnings of a belly from his desk job, but clearly possessed a proper strength that whispered of a mercenary past. His hair was styled in a no-nonsense style that suited his once-angular face. The office job was showing on him though, as the slight layer of flab could only come from rich food and safety. He lacked the raw leanness that came from life chasing in the stars. Leanness that Toombs still possessed in spades.

Then there was the prison itself. A behemoth of a building, squatting all steel and concrete like a mound of frozen blubber over the desolate landscape. Barbed wire topped the various jutting towers and ledges where wary guards waited with their weapons trained for trouble. Even here she could see the bleached out spots where other 'trouble' had been dealt with and the blood cleaned almost completely off the stained white cement. If not for the strong bleach spots leaving marks of whiter areas on the white walls she wouldn't have realized exactly how far those guns trailed on her reached.

She felt a bit more like her old self as they crossed the threshold into the outer yard and the large gates creaked closed. Another type of stain joined the blood splatters, telling that some prisoners gained privileges and access to this open courtyard although only guards were present at the moment.

Maybe it was the danger that sharpened her senses. The place was creepy. It was white and gray with blue-white lights. Bleached cement, steel, faint remnants of old blood-stains made more visible by the brightness of the spot-cleaned floors and walls, bluish-purple graffiti stains half painted-over dotted the perimeter. The same theme continued unchanged as they passed through another armored door into a smallish room lined with guards. Bile rose in her throat as she finally looked at them.

The guards had weapons and communication systems grafted into their bodies. It seemed fairly consistent, but a few of the cyborgs seemed to have custom gear alongside the standard complement. One of the prison support staff, notable by the very lack of implants, took her hand and pressed it against the handprint plate on the counter. A gender-less computer voice chimed, "Biodata match confirmed."

Something snapped in her head. Suddenly everything was very clear and crisp. The odor of the men and machines in the room, the feel of the stiff fabric against her raw skin, the smooth feel of the plate under her hand, the intense hazel eyes of the support person whose almost overly warm hand was gripped tightly around her chained wrist. It seemed that every sense was heightened. And it dawned on her that she was going to rot here for a crime she had no memory of.

"Process her and inform the Chillingsworth estate that the prisoner has been delivered," Willis ordered. "Come Toombs, I'll cut you a check for your expenses and contact the guild about your account."

She felt the hand release her but made no move to lift her own off the cool plate on the counter. Those eyes turned away and she blinked. The man at the counter bent to his work, his slightly curly brown hair looking quite organic and out of place here. She focused on the noise of the computer as it beeped in response to the clerk's entry, but couldn't miss the sounds as her former captain walked away with Willis. Behind her the guards trained their weapons on her back with a series of soft clicks, adding a mental weight through the threat of violence that pinned her down where she stood.

When the clerk turned to her and spoke she realized that his somewhat boyish look hid a harsh and tough personality. "Prisoner Z954728-G, you are now informed of your rights. You will be allowed one hour of outdoor exercise, daily. You are allowed 1200 calories, daily. For processing you will be provided one new set of clothing." The clerk hit a button on his console and a gate in the far wall opened. "The rules will be posted in the next chamber. Memorize them. Breaking any rule will get you one month of lockdown. Move forward."

The guards advanced on her, giving her no choice. She walked forward into the next room. It was tiled in white with a number of nozzles built into the walls. Bright light flooded the chamber. She heard the door close behind her.

A voice over the speakers crackled, "Step into the alcove so that the chain catcher secures your shackles, Z954728-G. You have 30 seconds to comply."

She located the alcove and stepped into it with her arms out as far as they could go. It was unnecessary however as the robotic arms secured and removed the chains from both wrist and ankles.

"Step into the center of the room, strip, and drop everything into the chute to your left," she was ordered.

She felt a blush coming on and squished it down violently. Her face set like stone she complied with the directions, removing the only thing she was wearing. After a split second she bent over and picked up the ugly greenish jumpsuit from the floor and wadded it into a ball before tossing in into the chute. Only then did she spot the rules posted in the wall above it. Her mind focused on the writing like it needed the distraction.

The voice crackled over the speakers again, "Delousing. Do not breathe." The room filled with white mist. She held her breath. "Full body scan commencing. Do not move until indicated."

She focused on the posted rules ahead of her. The rules were simple and complex at the same time. They read:

1) Follow orders

2) No physical contact

3) No contraband

Clothes wrapped in film that melted to the touch were slid into the room. She noted that in addition to the jumpsuit were underpants (no bra though), boots with buckles (no laces), and ankle socks (too short to do anything with) inside the film packet. The jumpsuit had her number on it.

"Dress." She quickly did so and was surprised to discover that the clothes fit perfectly. Unlike the jumpsuit Toombs put her in, this one was brushed and soft against her skin although still new. It wasn't overly tight nor overly loose either. The boots seemed to cushion her feet and felt like they had always been hers. This was an unexpected pleasure, as she'd never had shoes that fit so well before. "Turn to your left and follow the guards, Z954728-G," there was a pause, "Have a nice day." The final statement made her cringe. There was nothing nice about this place.

The guards on the other side of the door were decked out in heavy armor and carried big guns much like the others she had seen. But the stance of them was relaxed and open. One of them looked at her, "Z954728-G? You got a name you'd like to be called by?"

She blinked in surprise. "Kyra."

"Okay, Kyra. Your cell is in block G. Follow me." The other three guards fell into place behind her as she walked. The speaker had a rather pleasant voice and spoke like he was just shooting the breeze with her; "As long as you follow orders you will do fine. Cross a guard, Kyra, and we'll make your life living hell. The hacks are bastards for the most part, better to leave them alone and let them do their jobs. We search before every exercise period. You can stay inside if you want, but that might make some guards nervous. Let me give you some advice. This is a co-gender slam. Watch your back. Some of the inmates are hard-core. You are in a woman's ward, but don't think that protects you. We observe physical contact of any kind any both parties get lockdown first offence, re-assignment second. You don't want to know what we do on the third."

Silence filled the rest of the walk, except of the other inmates who whooped and hollered as they passed. The guards behind her swept the air with their guns to quiet them.

The woman's ward she was led to was just like the rest of the slam. Bleached cement, bars, and blue-white lights all marred with faint marks of prison life. She was shown into a cell. Number 28-G she noted. Another woman sat in a corner as far away from the door as possible. She was thin, perhaps several years older, and could have been beautiful at one time. Kyra moved over to the unclaimed bunk. The mattress was rolled up and stained. She didn't want to know what the stains were from. There was no blanket or pillow. The guards closed the gate.

"Your cell-mate is Trish. She should leave you alone as long as you stay away from her. The last gal here lost her eyes because she wouldn't back off. Trish just came out of 3 months of lockdown." He directed his next comment at the other woman, "Trish, this is Kyra. She's new here. She's not like the other woman we bunked you with. You behave for a week and we'll take the mitts off. Understand?" The woman looked at the guard with eyes like tar pits, held up her hands, which were bound tightly in heavy, soft, oversized mitts, and nodded. The guards walked off leaving Kyra alone with someone who appeared to be half crazed.

Kyra had to fight back her despair and panic. She would not cry. Never again.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Toombs followed Willis into his plush office and accepted the drink offered in good humor so that he'd have something to do while he waited for his check. The display of rich living made his gut burn. What gave fat heads like Willis the right to live so high and well on the backs of people like him, like Toombs, who risked their lives to bring in scum to fill his coffers.

The prison boss turned his back on the merc long enough to imprint a draft for the man's expenses. "So tell me how you caught her, hum?" Willis asked as he handed over the payslip for the shipping fee. Moments later there was a beep that caused him to look down.

Toombs kept his mouth shut tight and his eyes narrowed.

Willis raised an eyebrow in question but added, "The Guild has credited your account, pending the Chillingsworth family's approval."

Toombs grunted a response. Dealing with getting paid always tightened his tongue. He and Willis went back a ways, and he really had no reason to doubt the man, but still. They were on opposite sides of the fence now, and he knew that getting or staying too close to any one prison boss was trouble.

"I wouldn't worry, my friend. They always pay before they play, you know this." Willis joined him with his own drink. "Well?"

"Jack B. Badd is Audrey Johastein, Carl Johastein's brat. A trouble maker, Warden. Don't let her get near any computers or she'll have this place in chaos before you know what hits you," Toombs sat on the corner of the expensive desk. "Her father gave her to me to train, but I don't think he realized she'd killed anyone. I can't just abide by letting her go free knowing what she did."

Willis studied him. "Did you train her?"

"What?" Toombs stood back up, "Hell no. As soon as I got the alert I contacted you, old chum. I've only had her for a little while -- "

"Bullshit, Toombs. Johastein put out on the wire that his girl was in the Guild now, nearly a year ago. I don't care how much time your line of work keeps you in Cryo, A year is more than enough time to train someone. Is she likely to be a problem?"

Toombs looked at the prison boss, his face showing his shrewd side, "Well. The computer thing she picked up long before I got my hands on her. She knows the right end of a gun to be on; I'll give her that. And she's right quick with her feet. Crafty and inventive in a fight, but your guards can handle her, Willis. She's no Riddick, Okay?"

"Riddick? Why bring up that ghost, Toombs?"

"He was held here for a time, wasn't he?" the Merc inquired.

Willis raised an eyebrow. "Not on my watch, but lets look, shall we?" He turned to his computer and pulled up the file. "Yes, It does seem he was held here. Killed my predecessor on the way out, in fact. Lost us our triple max status. But that was before my time and of no interest to me." The communications device beeped. "Ah, the guild has transferred the funds to your account. Our business is concluded."

Toombs finished his drink in one swift move, "Nice to work with you again, buddy. I can find my own way out." Something told him that Kyra might just be more trouble then these folks were ready to deal with, and that being the case he wanted to be half a galaxy away when the she-hell-cat exploded.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Kyra found life in prison depressing.

Her cellmate, Trish, once she calmed down, was not really that bad or difficult to get along with most of the time. By day, the dark haired wisp of a woman was quiet and often stared off into space while Kyra tried to burn off her natural excess of energy by doing one sort of exercise or another. Exercise became her past time. Most nights Kyra wasn't even bothered by her cellmate as she slept although she wasn't sure Trish ever even moved at times.

The guards were another story. It seemed that the nice ones disappeared after the first day never to return. Instead she got a rotation of sadistic, cruel bullies that made her want to crawl out of her own skin but never actually allowed anyone in the cellblock to go without their "required" hour outside in the dog run. The only upside was the nearly painfully hot showers that she was allowed after her hour outside. Those showers let her scrub the feeling of the guard's hands off of her so that she could spend the other 17 waking hours somewhat normally.

Then there was the prison food. If one could call the various brownish-gray, greenish-gray, or whitish-gray blobs food. Gross. At least it usually didn't smell and had no flavor. She dutifully choked down what she was given and tried not to imagine what it might have been at one time. She was allowed all the water she wanted, if she didn't mind too much where it came from.

But the worse bit was that there was little to do. She could have spent her days sleeping like many others did, but she disliked her bunk. The stains made her flesh crawl and she couldn't stand the thought of being on the mattress when the lights were up. As a result, she spent as little time on it as she could. She wasn't allowed paper, pens or pencils; books or computers although she knew others in the cellblock had access to them. Besides she couldn't imagine sitting still long enough to read anything. She found herself needing to move until she was exhausted.

For a week, things settled into a mind numbing rhythm. Lights up, full body search, one hour outside in the dog run, shower, eat first third of the glop for the day, exercise, eat, exercise, eat, exercise, lights out… Kyra might have settled into the routine and never bothered a soul again, but for the fact that after a week Trish got her hands undone from the mitts she wore. It seemed that the mitts being off made a huge change in Trish's personality. At least at night.

At first the soft voice murmured nonsense. Kyra ignored it and slept. After another week the soft voice begin talking about its experiences. Kyra tried to ignore it, but her dreams were filled with nightmares about large faceless men with explosive tempers that splattered into rooms covered with clumps of flesh and blobs of blood. After two weeks of this nightly torment, Kyra was startled to hear the voice quietly call out "Kyra?" She ignored it and went to sleep.

This persisted for weeks, how many Kyra could not say, having lost count at some point.

Finally though, Trish sat down on the floor just beside Kyra's bed and looked at her in the dim light. The voice was still soft but there was an urgency to it that hadn't been there before, "Kyra?" It began, "the guards are gonna do something bad to you, Kyra."

Kyra rolled over so that she was facing the wall even though her instincts screamed at her that it wasn't safe to do so. Silently she wished that Trish would go away, back over to her own bunk, at least.

But Trish was not deterred, "You don't even have to provoke them, you know that, don't you?" the voice in the dark paused. "They have a thing going, to make extra money for the prison. They must be waiting for your hair to grow out some…."

At the end of her rope, Kyra rolled back over and glared daggers at the woman, "Go to sleep, Trish." Their eyes locked and Kyra growled under her breath before forcing her body back into facing the wall.

"You been raped, Kyra?" the woman asked, "I mean like, beaten and stuff?"

Kyra sighed, "Give it a rest, Trish."

"My husband beat me…."

"Yeah, you told me. I'd tell you I'm sorry, but I really don't care. And yes, I know you killed him. Big deal."

"Okay. Why are you here? You never said," Trish acted like speaking to someone's back was a normal everyday thing to do.

"I didn't do anything. There's nothing to confess. Go to sleep."

"They must be desperate for new meat if you never did anything. What did they try you for, Kyra?"

Kyra sat up. She looked at Trish and shook her head, "I told you, I don't fucking know. I wasn't there. Alright? They fucking accused me and convicted me but no body's ever told me what for. Just drop it." No wonder the last woman in this cell messed with Trish; she would not shut up.

"You had to have done something."

"I was fucking born! Okay? Life sucks. Now, leave me alone and shut up."

Trish's eyes filled with tears, "I'm sorry. I guess that's why you're here, huh?" Kyra growled again, lay down, and put her back to the dark-haired woman. There was silence for about 30 seconds. "Kyra? You know the guards are gonna do something bad to you, right?"

"Yeah, I got that impression. They can't break me Trish. They'll have to kill me first." But Kyra once again did not sleep that night. She knew that something was planned for her, and whatever it was it would challenge her sanity just as surely as it had taken Trish's. Her mind could think of all sorts of horrible things that they could do. What loomed large among them was the fate she fled from on Sigma 3. Her blood ran cold.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The wave over the system reached Carolyn Fry at her post in the Captain's chair. Normally the news out of Kova flit right past her and she paid it no mind, but the image that greeted her this morning made her stop and hit the back tab. 'My God! Is that Jack?' she thought as the blue-eyed wild-haired woman stared up at her. 'What the hell happened? I though Jack and Richard were together.' The newly appointed pilot begin to shuffle through the notices on her board looking for evidence of Riddick's capture only to end up empty handed.

She stood up; "I've got a private call to make. Suza, you have the bridge."

"Yes, Sir," came the reply to Fry's back as she quickly returned to her quarters. The walk through the softly lit Elemental ship normally soothed her nerves, but she had a feeling that only a call to Helion would do this morning. The door into her suite buzzed open as she approached.

Aereon looked up at her; "You are upset."

"Danm right, I'm upset. Did you see the wave out of Kova?" Carolyn didn't pause for the older Elemental to answer, instead moving to the private com and plugging in the direct code to her friend, Imam. "There's no way in Hell that should have happened, Aereon. Jack was with someone that would have died before he let her be hauled off to a slam."

Aereon pulled up the item in question and read over it calmly. "I'm sure there is much more to this than I've been told."

"The Imam, Please," the pilot ignored the implied scold by her boss/companion in favor of the view screen. Aereon came up behind her, and Fry could feel the Elemental's approach. She waved her back, knowing that the ambassador wouldn't take the hint. "Abu? Did you see the wave from Kova?"

The slightly distorted voice greeted her with, "Ms. Fry, this is unexpected. Kova? Did you say. Let me check my mail." The dark man turned away for a moment. "Lujjan and Ziza give their love, by the way. Ah here it is, Jack B. Badd is in Koran Penal for the murder of – Um, this can't be right. Jack and Smyth died out of Aquila when their ship's systems failed. I received the insurance draft as his next-of kin."

Carolyn raked her fingers through her hair, pulling it out of its carefully coifed state, "You sure Jackie was on that boat with Smyth?"

The look she received made her feel sick, and suddenly she was glad for the silent presence of her older lover behind her, "No, I wasn't there when the ship left. But I assumed that she'd be aboard." Imam swallowed, "There was a woman that came here a few months ago, claiming to be Jack. Her story was disjointed. If I had been able to make her stay I would have helped her, but she climbed out the window and was gone before I could secure her legal status here."

"Gods, Imam. What if it was Jack? Is there anything we can do?" Fry knew in her heart that the girl was beyond their reach now. No one walked out of Kovan Penal. Did Riddick dump Jack just before he left Helion?

The man screen gave her a grave look; "I can try, but don't get your hopes up. I was sure that it was an imposter, Carolyn, but I don't know anymore. What is worse, her being dead or her being in prison?"

"Just do what you can, Abu. I'll keep in touch."

"I will look forward to it."

Carolyn turned off her com and turned so that Aereon was holding her before the sob broke free from her throat. The older woman hugged her tight, "If you'd just tell me everything, I might be able to help." Carolyn shook her head. She couldn't tell, not yet. Not until she knew for sure if Riddick had done the unthinkable.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was no surprise when one morning different guards were at her cell door telling her to step up against the wall, or when they cuffed her. It was no surprise at all. She'd seen them do it with others in the cellblock. What did surprise her was that Trish threw herself at one of the cybernetic, soulless bastards and got knocked unconscious for the effort. "Get up and I'll kill you," he told Trish's crumpled form.

"She's not getting up. I'll call for the hacks. Looks like she'll be spending more time in lockdown," the other replied.

"It's too bad, she's a money maker."

Kyra stood facing the wall with her eyes closed. "Come on, move." She felt a gun poke her side. There was the temptation to strike out, to go down fast. Maybe they would kill her. Or maybe she'd end up in an even worse situation. Kyra glanced at Trish and noticed a faint blood smear on the wall where her head had hit. "I said move. Don't make me ask again." The guard pushed a stun-stick into her ribs and gave her a quick jolt.

"Okay, I'm going!" Kyra forced her body forward away from the guard and toward the cell door. "You didn't need to hurt her. She can't even think clear anymore."

"You worry about your own ass, inmate. The hacks will take care of her."

Kyra gathered up her rage into a tight ball and held onto it as she walked. They took her through a gate that she'd not been through before, into a clean medlab. The hack there looked her over. "New meat? Nice and fresh, isn't she?"

"Yeah, wouldn't mind paying for some myself, actually," the guard with the stun-stick leered.

"Okay, sugar. Move over here. We don't want anything unexpected happening or any of our clients coming down with something fatal." Kyra just stood and looked blankly at the medic. "Fine. Fellas, you get samples of this one. I'll turn the cameras off." The medic turned away.

Kyra lashed out, grabbing the stun-stick from the guard closest to her and zipping him at full power. She ducked the other guard as he leveled his gun. Her free hand closed around the connecting tubing where the controls hooked into his nervous system and a quick tug ripped them loose. The man let out a squeal like a girl, as if his gonads were connected into the weaponry too. A blow to the head dropped the vocal guard to the floor. Kyra turned to take on the hack and met a face full of gas.

"I knew you'd be trouble the moment I set eyes on you," the medic sneered.

Kyra's legs gave way. "Fuck you all. I'm gonna kill every last one of you," she vowed from her kneeling location on the floor. She'd do it too, if she could just get her legs to respond.

"Today you're not." The hack laughed. "No, today you get to go to the warden's private party. He was really hoping you'd behave, but the plans allow for you to go in chains. The guests won't mind. None of the Chillingsworth clan wanted you free to roam anyhow," the hack walked around behind her out of view.

Kyra was picked up and put onto the examination table. The medic poked and prodded, analyzed and injected. "There, no diseases, no accidents. You are in good shape for someone turned in by Toombs. He must have liked you." The medic turned away. The stunned guard was back on his feet but the injured one was still doubled over clutching his arm to his mid-section. Clicking his tongue, the hack crossed over to the injured fellow, "You are stupid. Come over here and I'll patch you up."

"Samples still on the menu?" The standing guard eyed Kyra over.

"Yeah, cameras are off. She did attack you. I'll report her for a month lockdown and recommend that they move her to double-max. Go ahead, this will likely be your only chance."

"I'm gonna chain her ass down. Which transport table matches the décor being used for the party?"

"The brass-toned one. Willis is trying to impress."

"Snobbish bastard, isn't he. I suppose the guards are all in dress armor?"

"You got it." The other guard screamed again as the medic began cruelly working on his cybernetic systems. "Shut the fuck up. It's your own damn fault."

The guard came back with the transport table. He locked Kyra's arm down and uncuffed her wrists long enough to get the clothes off before locking her into the brass restraining device. He worked quickly not sure about how long the gas would weaken her. After getting her secured he patted her face and smiled at her. "Very pretty." Kyra slit her blue eyes as she glared at him. The table did not seem to leave her exposed enough for him to do anything. She soon learned that looks were deceiving.

Kyra's position on the holding table rapidly went from secured to displayed as the guard adjusted the table's configuration using a series of buttons built into its the left side. The fastenings for her arms and legs extended to the point of being excruciating.

She swallowed back protest. 'Pain, I can use the pain.'

The guard prodded between her legs with the extended grip of his stun-stick to judge her reactions to being forced to yield to something large and hard. More agony. It fueled her rage and anger.

She snapped at his nose when he got too close. He pulled back just in time to avoid relinquishing it to her teeth.

"Wanna play rough, huh?" He pulled the stun-stick out and flipped it around before zapping her with it. She jerked. He laughed. "Yeah, let's play rough. They're gonna zap you anyhow." She slowly lifted her head and glared at him. "As long as you don't bruise," he mumbled as he adjusted the weapon's intensity. "Oh, you can scream…. No one's gonna give a shit." He put the stun-stick against her thigh and moved it up teasingly, trying to get some reaction.

Kyra did not give an inch.

He paused, giving her a last chance to beg or something…

She spat in his eye.

He angrily shoved the weapon up hard into her and turned it on, causing her to convulse uncontrollably. Electric shock flooded her senses. Kyra fought to keep from blacking out. She was almost gone when he pulled it out. "Fuck you," she groaned.

"What did you say?"

It was Kyra's turn to laugh although the sound was bitter, "Fuck. You."

He raised his hand to hit her, "No. Remember she's going to Willis' party…." the hack reprimanded. The guard grumbled and settled for zapping her again.

Kyra could feel the stun-stick was slick with moisture when he slapped it against her ribs and jolted her while turning up the intensity. She felt like the jerking was gonna rip her limbs out of their sockets. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she slipped into blackness without a sound.

She woke in a processing room, still locked down to the brass toned table. Two attendants were working a series of robotic arms. She was gagged. What woke her was the feeling of needing to take a shit, but she quickly realized that they were flushing her out. She felt sick. "I hear this one killed Antonia Chillingsworth," one of the hacks stated.

"Really? The bitch-witch herself? Damn."

"Watch your mouth, the entire Chillingsworth clan is coming to see the warden. That's why she's here."

The attachment pulled away, went into a cold spray and hosed her off before dunking into some side bin filled with a liquid that smelled like a med-lab. Kyra tried to lift herself away from it as it came back at her. "Looks like she's awake. Stun her, will you?"

"I really hate it when they make this difficult." The first hack forced a stun tipped arm into her side and gave her a jolt. She crashed back down and the second hack resumed his flushing. She screamed in anger behind the gag. "I'm reading foreign organic matter, you need to flush out everything." Kyra felt bile rise in her throat. That asshole had raped her after she blacked out. She struggled.

"See, I hate it when the Doc lets the G-ward cyborgs handle the goods. Now we have to run her through the prep again, so that she looks nice and ready for the party." He moved the arm away from her, sprayed her off again and re-dipped in the sterilizing agent. Her struggles got her another jolt from the stun tip. The nozzle flared out and pressed into her again, stretching her to eliminate any folds that would hinder the cleaning process. She groaned as it filled her with liquid.

"I had a feeling the Doc let the boys play with this one…. Look at how colored she is."

"She is pretty. I guess it won't be so bad to put her through prep again, huh?"

"Dude, you are sick. I don't know how you can stand to keep doing this job, week after week."

The second hack laughed, "Hey, it's better that being locked down as a guard here forever. I hear that no other prison hires cyborgs." He paused the arm for a moment and watched Kyra writhe in discomfort. "See there, that's not too ugly to watch."

"Yeah, I heard that too." The first hack wasn't even looking at what the second one was doing. Kyra groaned again. "Hey, man…. Back it off before you tear something." Kyra felt the pressure ease as the arm unplugged and the water drained. "Okay, she's clean. Do the other hole."

The process repeated with another solution, clearly designed for the purpose of removing 'foreign organic matter.' Kyra fought the feelings by latching onto her anger. Once that was done she was rinsed off again, blown dry, and moved to another set of arms. This station was designed to stimulate. Kyra focused on the lights overhead and ignored what was being done. The second hack knew his way around these machines just about as well as Betsy knew her way around a woman's body with her fingers. 'It's not me.' Kyra told herself as the hack forced her to respond to what he was doing. Thankfully he didn't push her to tears. The last thing that the hacks did was to spray her down with a fine mist that made her skin glisten, before they called for a group of guards dressed up in their finest. She was silently escorted into a concealed hall.

The passage was a short one leading into a large well-appointed office. Inside milled a group of people, all clearly related to one another. Willis stood out as being the only one there who looked different. "Ah, here we go. I apologize that it took so long to get her here. You know safety is my first priority."

The assembled Chillingsworth clan gathered around her. The youngest of them spoke first, "So can we kill her?"

"Of, course. If that is what you want to do, but you will lose any monies that might be earned off of her services if that is what you chose," Willis hung back behind them.

"No. It is not. She shall suffer as our Antonia must have suffered," an older rather regal woman spoke up, "Bring us the party toys, Willis. It is time to play."

The 'party toys' were among the most horrific things Kyra had ever seen. Torture tools. Metal and rubber, stained from previous use. They were barbed, spiked, twisted things of various application, none of which would be pleasant. Kyra knew she'd be lucky to survive unscathed, unscarred… Willis wheeled the assortment over on a plush lined cart. Apparently the Chillingsworth bunch and done this before. "I want to cut her," the first one who'd spoken said as she picked up a small, dull knife. The item created paper-cut-like marks across Kyra's midsection, a few of which drizzled blood. It would hurt later.

Other people began selecting things. Some burnt, some shocked, others slapped or snapped. No part of her was off limits. Kyra tried to retreat into the safety of her mental fortress but found the unexpected and chaotic nature of the onslaught, the variety of the pain induced, made it very difficult. And the elders picked the most innocent looking of things; spray bottles filled with salt water or spiced oils. Landing in the existing wounds the liquids increased the pain without actually causing additional damage. Even though she'd been violated before, those responsible had concentrated on a part of her. These people were targeting everything. The agony was everywhere.

Kyra's only recourse was to fall into it, loose her self in the pain, find some method to draw strength from it. 'Fuck sanity, fuck normal society, I'm gonna come back and kill the lot of you for this.'

She had no idea how long it lasted. Her flesh burned still from the deeds both from heat and irritation. Kyra imagined that she looked like shit, bloody and bruised, laced with cuts and burns that would become ugly scars. But she hadn't passed out. The Chillingsworth clan had tired of her before they broke her.

Willis was not happy when she opened her ice blue eyes and looked at him after he'd taken out the gag thinking she was unconscious. "Still awake? I'm – surprised…"

"Fuck off and die," she whispered with a voice raw from suppressed screams.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Defiant to the end. Well, we can't have that attitude in light security. The Rychengoll brethren will delight in your strength down at double max. Their experiments often require someone who enjoys pain."

Kyra wanted to get her hands around his well-fed neck. "You don't know what your fucking with, Willis. I'm not the girl who killed Chillingsworth, but I will be the one to kill you!"

The color drained out of his already pale face. He'd been threatened before but not by someone who had just been tortured to the extent that this one had been. He motioned for the guards to remove her before she found some way to carry out her threat.

"I'm gonna bring you down, Willis!" She screamed as the guards pushed her out into the hall, "Hell won't even take what's left over when I'm done!" On the inside Kyra was pleased at the effect her voice had as it echoed back toward the prison boss' office.