The Fortress

B17.

This was home. Yet, I had no idea where I was going. The guards moved out of the freight elevator first and then ordered us to follow them. There were no threats of shooting us, this time. Everyone looked tired from the ride down. We got off the elevator, and one of the guards spoke with another guard as they looked over details on an industrial tablet. PDAs had come a long way. While we all waited, everyone took the opportunity to look around.

I must reluctantly admit for a prison the place was impressive.

The floor we were on actually had three levels to it. Metal stairs would allow us to go through the various sublevels named A, B, and C. The level we stopped on was B17-A. Levels B and C were located above us. Level A also seemed to be about 20 feet wider than the other two floors, for a total of 40 feet wide. Their length was about the same, roughly, 150 feet. All of it was made out of reinforced concrete. You could see huge metal screws and reinforcement brackets sticking out on the side of the floors. The floors, and consequently the ceilings, were about 18 inches thick. I would not be surprised if the walls and everything else were about the same thickness.

At a glance, level A had a canteen, some sort of vending machines, showers, a gym, and other amenities. I also saw a pharmacy counter near the back. Levels B and C both had cells lined up from wall to wall, although from my actual location, I could not perceive the cell configuration. I would have to wait until I got there to see the surprise.

On each of the floors, which were remarkably clean, common jail metal tables and benches were scattered all around. The tables each had four seats attached to them, whereas the benches could seat about 3 people. Fences also went from floor to ceiling on every level, to prevent anyone from falling, or from being pushed down. The whole area bathed in cool blue light and was extremely relaxing. I saw some prisoners playing cards, others smoking, and talking in groups. People went back and forth to the vending machines, while some others were waiting in line at the canteen. Everywhere I looked, people were extremely calm. Everywhere I looked, all I could see were queer people. It was a surreal feeling.

All of this was located on our left.

On our right, we could see a metal chain link fence, similar to what I previously observed. The fence went all the way up from the floor towards the ceiling, covering all 3 levels of B17. As I got closer to it, I could feel cool air coming down from what appeared to be a central shaft. I also got the impression the fence was quite solid, and was much bigger than anticipated: it appeared to run from top to bottom of the whole prison side of the complex.

On the other side of the fence was a dark pit, which gave me feelings of one of those bottomless pits we sometimes see in horror movies. The pit was of an odd shape: there were three sections altogether to this part of the complex, including the one I was standing in. Together, they made a perfect triangle. The whole thing was arranged as a triangular prism. I looked above and could not see all the way up. If we were at B17, meaning 17 floors, and we took into consideration there were at least 3 subfloors per floor, we were currently located about 51 floors underground. I wondered how much deeper this complex was going beneath us.

Yeesh.

As for the other two sections of the complex, glass walls were plastered all over. While looking straight at them, the left section of the pit section consisted mostly of offices and labs. Management had not bothered covering the windows with blinds or frosting, and we could see what was happening inside them from our position. The distance made it hard to see, yet we could distinguish some people working in both the offices and the labs. Were those labs similar to the ones we passed by earlier on our way down there? The mapping would seem likely.

Looking at the right section, I could not see what was behind the glass, as all the lights were turned off. Instead, I caught the glimpse of a weak reflection of our side of the compound.

The guards were done talking and the one who was discussing with the entrance guard told us, “You will soon all have the time to look around and explore your new environment. Follow us.” Seeing I was still staring at the dark section across the pit, he added, “Green, stop staring at the work area. You’ll get there soon enough tomorrow.”

Not wanting to take the risk of getting hit in the face, or worse, I quietly turned around and followed the group. I saw a clock on the wall and instinctively looked at my watch, a cheap black plastic Timex. 3:00 PM. We were all provided with identical watches. And everything was synced. It made sense, again. What didn’t make sense is I had seen no security camera on the jail levels.

As we were going upstairs, it occurred to me the guard was fast at calling my name, although I had nothing giving out my identification on my suit. All suits were plain colors, with no numbers or other types of identification whatsoever. Also, how could they see a thing with these full-face masks?

In appearance, the groups of people we passed by seemed relatively healthy and calm. Blue suits, black suits, and orange suits were all peacefully existing together. There were barely any guards, and those that were around were not even holding their weapons. Appearances can be deceiving. I would need to check further into this.

Our small group walked through B level, often enough attracting the other prisoners’ glance, and eventually, the group stopped. One of the guards said while looking at his tablet, “Morgan Green. Hannah Reindl. This is where you get off the train. Happy stay.” I looked at the person I knew, and it was them. We walked towards our cell together.

The cell was about 16 feet by 16 feet. There was a triple bunkbed on each side of the cell. In the middle were a small sink and a toilet, all made out of stainless steel. The beds appeared to be unforgiving. Maybe our bedding kits would make them more comfortable. The cell’s ceiling was high, located about 10 feet from the floor. There were electric plugs, and there were even televisions accessible.

There were no doors, nor any gates, to our cell. It was all open on one side.

In the cell were already three other prisoners. One of them was wearing an orange suit, one was wearing a blue suit, and the last one, which I barely saw because he was hiding in the shadows, was a black suit.

The blue suit noticed our presence, got off their bed, and presented themselves. “Corey,” they said, as they extended their hand, waiting for a handshake. I gave him the look and they retracted their hand. “This is Jason,” they said, as they pointed at the orange suit still watching TV. I suspiciously looked at them both. The black suit did not decline any identity, nor did he seem to notice the presence of two new cellmates. The guy Jason turned off the TV and approached us, never keeping his eyes off us, and said, “Jason. I am a trans man. Pronouns are he/him. Corey is faegender, and pronouns are fae/faer. If any of you two do not respect our pronouns, yours will be was/were.”

We both nodded at Jason. Hannah presented themselves, adding they were a trans woman and they were using they/them. I declined my identity, gender identity, pronouns. All four of us nodded at each other. There seemed to be a mutual trust establishing itself already between us. As we were setting in, I asked our new roommates what should we expect from this prison.

Corey started explaining what kind of environment The Fortress was for its population. “Everyone here is treated the same: poorly. Prison management does not care if people get raped or murdered between their walls. Black suits, such as our cellmate over there, could rape prisoners for the fun of it, and not have any repercussions. Prisoners have no rights whatsoever. The guards will not protect them and are only here in case of a riot. Black suits will also often enough enforce rules on the orange suits, especially if there are guards around. They were promised shorter sentences if they helped manage the complex, support their oppressor.”

It had a very much “Slugs for Salt” vibe. Supporting your oppressor. Voting for the political candidate that wants to eradicate you. This is very much voting for Republicans when they do not support the right to abortion while claiming “all lives matter” and not caring about universal healthcare, proper education, and children awaiting adoption, yet you do believe in all those things.

Jason added, “the black suits will not touch the blue suits. No one touches the blue suits. Not even the guards will. Those who wear blue suits are low-risk prisoners. Very often political prisoners, too. The director does not want any blue suit harmed. As for the orange suits, it’s a different story.” Jason took a pack of cigarettes out of his suit and offered us one. Hannah refused, I took one.

Once my cigarette was lit, and after taking a deep puff out of it, I asked how can I get to the upper levels, meet with the director. I did not plan to stay here for too long. Jason looked at me for a moment, while he laughed. When he noticed I wasn’t laughing, he went on, “The jail level goes all the way down from B7 to 27. Each floor has 3 subfloors. I know because I visited each floor while doing various maintenance works.” I asked, “there would be about 22 floors, for a grand total of 66?” He lowered his voice and told me to do the same, adding “the walls have ears around here,” as he pointed to our black suit roommate. Jason took a puff from his cigarette and added, “his name is Kyle. I don’t know much about him. What I do know is he is cisgender, uses he/his. I often wonder why he ended up in this place. He does not believe in the Kingdom nor in the Free States. Maybe that is his problem, being faithless.”

As Corey remained silent throughout the whole exchange, Jason continued, “When you face the pit, on the right side you’ll find the work and storage areas. On the left side, we can see the medical and administrative offices. You probably noticed some of it already. Security also has its HQ on that side. There is no bridge in-between the sections across the pit. If you want to get somewhere, you need to go through the outer rim. The jail section connects to work and storage areas, and then those connect to the offices. To my knowledge, there is no direct connection between jail and offices.”

Hannah asked me, “why would you want to meet with the director?” I took a moment to think about how to reply to this, and finally said, “The director is at the same time both the gatekeeper and the keymaster. We want to get out of here, we need to go through him. And we will need him, alive. I do not plan to escape by digging a tunnel, I plan to kick down the front door.” While both Corey and Jason laughed, Hannah continued staring at me. They knew I was being dead serious about my plan. I went on, “the only reason I got here is that I believed in reuniting the two Americas. The government did not like that idea. I can understand why, given that I support destroying it and its fascist ideology.” Everyone stopped laughing. Even Jason, who had been silent since we arrived, got closer to the group.

I looked at him, took the last puff out of my cigarette, and flicked the butt into the toilet bowl. I exhaled my smoke. He did not seem pleased by the whole idea. The more I looked at him, the more he gave me the impression he was a former marine. Despite him sitting straight, I could tell he was tall. He also seemed relaxed, used to stressful situations. His jaw was square, and he was clean-shaven. His hair was kept short, no longer than half an inch. The look in his steel-blue eyes told us he had seen some pretty serious shit in his life. Too much shit for what seemed to be a 25-year-old.

His gaze went from me to the toilet seat, and then back at me. He asked, “you do realize I am a black suit, right? I will enforce the rules, as I am supposed to. It is your first day here. Granted, you spent several days in transit, not knowing where you were traveling. They did this to all of us, transported on a train like cattle, with barely any food or water. The wagons were all dark, with just enough light to allow us to navigate to the bathroom during transport and not fumble. Don’t you think it is a bit early to think about doing a real-life Prison Break?” Ah, yes. He was a man of culture. I had not heard of the Prison Break series in over a decade. I liked him already, despite his suit.

Would black suits be considered cops in the ACAB term of it?

Everyone in the cell was quiet and awaiting my answer. I redid my red ponytail while asking him if it would be a problem for him, and why, me wanting to escape. He mumbled something about the need to follow the system in place and without a proper system in place, all is lost. Chaos takes over and everything becomes a mess, like the one we saw during what was now considered the Second American Civil War. The war brought instability to the whole country, and ultimately its own demise. He was serious. He did sound like a marine, too.

I leaned over towards him and said, “this is what they want you to believe. And this is why we need to fight them.” A heavy silence settled in.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silent contemplation, Corey decided to break it. Fae said, “In a way, The Fortress does not discriminate. Everyone here is a prisoner, no matter what suit you don. It is an area that is mixed, too. People of all gender identities can be found in its depts. You will find people coming from every stratum of society: political opponents, activists, revolutionaries, enemies of the state, and so on. Has anyone noticed there are no regular criminals here? By regular I mean no drunk drivers, no drug dealers, and so on. All we did was not believe in, criticize, or to the extreme, attempt to overthrow the government. I have been here for about 7 years, and I do not believe I will ever get out of here. Not for as long as we have a king governing our country, that is.”

To which I responded, “it’s a good thing I have French heritage, then. The French are notoriously skillful with overthrowing royalty and operating guillotines.” We all laughed for a few moments. The good moment came soon to an end, though, as we noticed a group of five guards approaching our cell. Despite them wearing their ever-present full-face masks, I could feel they had their gaze locked on me. They were wearing their usual black suit, and they were holding assault rifles. They reached our cell and stopped in front of it. It appeared as if an invisible force was preventing them from coming inside.

The one in front of the group was their leader. Their uniform was slightly different than the others. They wore an additional yellow armored pad on their left shoulder. They spoke, “Morgan Lex Green. Director Palermo has demanded your presence for an in-person interview. Come with us.”

As they exchanged nervous glances, all four of my cellmates looked at me suspiciously. They could count on one hand how many times they heard of a prisoner being interviewed directly by the Fortress’s Director. Only the worst troublemakers, according to prison management, were given this treatment, and only after they had attempted a revolution or were responsible for starting a riot. None of them were ever summoned for an interview on their first day in.

I had no other choice than to go with the guards who came to escort me to the upper management. I walked towards them, and they surrounded me. We moved on. As we were walking towards the freight elevator, I kept wondering what the fuck did I do this time.

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.