“I want a fucking lawyer!” I screamed.
“Lawyer? Don’t you watch the news? You’re dead, bitch. Civil rights don’t apply to dead people anymore. Thank God the Republicans are back in office. We can do anything we want to you grub scumbags.”
When he finished fishing in my bowels, he jerked off on my ass, then let a half dozen more DOs gang-bang me right there against the wall. The last guy pissed up my ass, for posterity, I guess.
So that’s it in a nutshell. The new administration dropped all the previous non-discrimination laws. Grubs weren’t considered people anymore, so we were no longer entitled to humane treatment. That $10 blowjob got me a five-year sentence in this stone motel they call the Alderton Federal Rehabilitation Center. We’d heard rumors about this joint on the street; it was a Grubs-Only prison. Torture, slave labor, experiments. I learned the score here real quick; any Grubs that were good-looking got assigned to the Behavioral Segregation Wing. They called it the Fuck Farm. Gang rape was the order of the day, and so were kink jobs. In the old days, if the pinkies fucked with us we’d just pop their heads open and scarf their brains—Grubs are a lot stronger than pinks. But we couldn’t fight back anymore because all inmates were fitted with UV nodes.
I remember the day I went in for my “fitting.”
The sign on the door read: OBEDIENCE IS VIRTUE, but below that was another sign:
IMPLANTATION UNIT.
Stryker and some egghead tech had me strapped down to a padded table. The tech slit each of my nipples with a scalpel, stuck something about the size of a marble in each tit, then sewed me up. Then he slit open my clitoris and repeated the procedure. Sounds nasty but it was really no big deaclass="underline" Grubs don’t feel pain… er, at least that’s what I’d always thought.
Stryker grinned down. “From now on, Grub, you do everything we say.”
“Don’t count on it, pig,” I told him. “Oh, and by the way, your mother blows farm animals.”
“What we’ve done, inmate,” the tech informed me, “is surgically implant Bofors Model 250 ultraviolet-wave transponders into your most sensitive mammarian and genital nerve clusters. Upon activation, each transponder node will become energized with 20,000 nanounits of collective ultraviolet-band energy. In spite of the fact that you’re clinically dead, this energy will flood the target dendron/axon ganglia, replenishing all electrical synaptic impulses—hence, causing pain that can only be described as incalculable.”
“Drink my zombie piss,” I replied.
“Mouthy little whore, ain’t she?” Stryker chuckled, unstrapping me. I got up off the table, still groggy from the tubocurarine darts they’d been zapping me with. “But she’ll soon learn that silence is golden.”
“The only thing golden is the shower I’m gonna give you when I get out of this cement Ramada. Too bad your pappy didn’t pull out early and leave his peckersnot on the floor. World’d be a better place.”
“I’d take the officer’s warning under serious advisement,” the tech said. “The Bofors Model 250 is decidedly effective.”
When you’re a zombie, your life is bad enough. Grubs don’t like to be intimidated.
And I guess I always did have a big mouth.
“How about I cut your cock off and fuck you in the ass with it?”
“You think this is a joke?” Stryker whipped out the sending unit, like a TV remote. “If I tell you to shit on the floor and eat it, you’ll shit on the floor and eat it.”
I dragged up a big chest oyster and hocked it in his face. “Eat that.”
Ever heard of the Chicago Fire? That’s what I felt like when the ever dutiful Detention Officer Stryker tapped my ID number into that sending unit. First my tits and pussy felt warm, tingling… then—WHAM! I felt alive again, all right, and that tech geek wasn’t kidding about the pain. Like a brand-new Red Devil razor blade being slowly dragged through the middle of my clit, and a channel-lock on each nipple, a sewing needle in each eye, and a drill bit in my brain—that’s what the pain all added up to when Stryker “activated” me.
“Gonna be a good girl now?” Stryker asked.
The ultraviolet waves surged through me. My spine arched back like a u-bolt, and I hit the floor. There was a sound somewhere that reminded me of squealing tires, but eventually I realized it was me—screaming.
“Here’s your golden shower, bitch.” I just lay there flopping like a fish on a hot plate. Stryker must’ve pulled a ten-beer piss on me, which upped the current transfer… and doubled the pain.
“Be a good girl now and do what I told you.”
More needles, more channel-locks, more razors sliding… Just when it felt like my eyeballs would rupture, I… well.
I did it.
Shrieking like a baby in a furnace, I shit on the floor and ate it.
Stryker and his boys ran the Bev-Seg unit. Since Grubs don’t sleep, they’d work us pretty much round the clock. First thing every morning they’d take us to the “Dining Hall.” Brother, this was no Four Seasons. What they’d feed us was this goulash of what they called “rendered livestock.” Mostly diseased pigs and chickens that wouldn’t pass USDA, they’d get the shit from local farms and grind it up in hoppers. Um-um good.
After that, General Work Block. Cleaning up this federal outhouse, whatever needed to be done: swabbing toilets, mopping floors, cleaning the dumpsters and greasepits. Along the way me and the other girls’d sometimes catch glimpses of the other wings. Males Grubs, and any Grub girls who weren’t good-looking, they’d be used for CDC research and Defense Corp experiments. But it was mainly curiosity when you get right down to it. The government still didn’t know a whole lot about Grubs, so they’d do all these experiments to see what happened when you fucked with one. Starvation, for instance, wouldn’t kill a Grub; you’d just get down to literally skin and bones. They had an entire wing full of Grubs who hadn’t been allowed to eat for over a year. Then there were the transplants: putting live organs into dead people, usually animals guts and shit like that. There was a rumor that the R&D techs had successfully transplanted two heads onto a single Grub. Ordnance Development was worse: the military using Grubs to test new bullets, landmines, and rockets on. When things got too hot, they’d send us in for the cleanup—Jesus. It was mostly pieces we carried out of there. The Ectogenics Lab was reserved for Halfers—a Halfer is a Grub who’d only partly turned: half dead, half alive, and they’d fuck around with the ovaries on these Halfer chicks, knock them up, and see what came out.
You name it, these sick fucks did it, anything for a kick: microwaving, broiling, freezing. Brain transplants, lobotomies, transfusions. Whatever turned them on. It was enough to turn even a dead girl’s stomach.
Next was RT—Rehabilitative Therapy. They’d make us sit in a room four hours a day and watch snuff films, live S&M, executions, car-wreck and ER footage. This was supposed to “cure” us, showing us what a life of crime would lead to. Gimme a fucking break! One time they showed this flick of a bunch of stoners with ten-inch herpetic cocks pulling a train on some junkie chick eight-months’ pregnant. They fucked her so hard she breaks her water and miscarries right there on the floor. So I look in the back of the room and half the DOs are so boned up watching this flick they’re jerking off! If anybody in the slam needed rehab, it was them, not us.
After that was another Work Block, then a trip to the Hygiene Unit; the DOs’d watch while we soaped each other down, then they’d hose us off and get us ready for LockDown. See, they’d want us squeaky clean before the fun began. They might as well’ve put a revolving door on our cells with all the men coming in and out. First shift was for VIPs: bigwheels in the state government, Prison Admin chiefs, staffers, Public Safety officials, the Warden and his suits. One hard tubesteak after another. Then the guards themselves would get their turn, and that was worse. These guys were real kinks and psych-jobs, especially Stryker. Ass-fuck parties, fletch parties, scat, gang-bang face-fucks. One girl threatened to bite the next cock someone tried to stick in her mouth, so they activated her UV implants and left them on all night. Then they took us to the Med Unit the next day and pulled all our teeth just to be safe.