The Road to Hell

Chapter 7

Far removed from the civilized galaxy, burned a throwaway star with no official name. It was orbited by several gas giants and one terrestrial planet called Hades. Knowledge of this planet was classified, because this planet was home to HDL's supermax detention facility. It was where HDL kept all the people they never wanted to see the light of day again. If you were in Hades, you were dying there. Nobody ever escaped, not that there was anywhere to escape to. The tiny amount of atmosphere it had wasn't breathable. Its surface was an arid wasteland during the daytime, but its nights were almost as cold as the nutrient slop they served for every meal. If you were getting out at all, you needed a ship. And assuming you got a ship, you had to survive being target practice for its attending battleship.

Everybody knew the facts. Everybody knew that bad behaviour had no reward. Everything that happened on Hades stayed on Hades. That made some of the guards worse than the prisoners they tortured for entertainment. Most inmates tried to behave, keep their heads down. But when they fucked up, they were thrown into solitary confinement for weeks, even months in some cases. Other times punishment came in the form of lashings.

Over the last decade, Prisoner #2652119 had been beaten more times than he could count, and he'd spent more time in solitary confinement than out. Every time they took him out, he'd be fine for a few months, and then get caught distributing illegal goods to inmates or shanking someone for looking at him funny.

So, the warden threw him in solitary, and he must have liked it there, because he kept making sure he was sent back. He'd been in solitary for almost four straight years now. His days were routine. He'd receive his slop via the hydraulic slot in his wall, he'd read his books, occasionally watch films, and during his exercise hour he alternated between gardening and the gym, under constant supervision of course.

Like every other prisoner, Prisoner #2652119 wasn't born a number. He had a name, something French. Nobody really knew it. He taught everybody his new name the hard way. Often he had to carve it into the flesh of those who got on his bad side. It was Zeus.

A man of charisma, his arrival at the detention facility upset the established criminal hierarchy within only a few weeks. He took the weakest inmates, all the little guys who were being pushed around by the big gangs, and united them. Guys who hated each other put their differences aside for this pretentious man who must have figured himself for a god. And together, they flipped the food chain on its head, and started running the place.

But four years out of general population and Zeus had faded from memory. He couldn't complain. Life was much simpler now, easier. He'd accomplished everything he'd wanted to in general population anyway. In solitary, he was free to concentrate on The Plan.

Today, his routine was broken when the gravity in his cell suddenly flipped and he banged into the ceiling. A second later, it flipped again and he slammed into to the ground. He tried to struggle to his feet, but he was pinned by extra gravity. The metal door to his cell slid open, and three guards fell upon him, cuffing his legs and wrists, hoisting him to his feet, and roughly shoving him out of his cell, where one more guard was waiting for him. "Corporal Fitch," Zeus said when he saw the smug looking guard with dirty blonde hair waiting for him. "I've already had my exercise."

The other guards laughed. Fitch grinned. "Yeah, well it's only fair I get some too, innit? Gantz, search his cell, and meet us in the interrogation room. Hurry up; you don't want to miss all the fun." One of the guards nodded and went back into the cell. The other two took up position behind Zeus. One of them produced a stun baton and jabbed it into his back on low power. Instead of rendering him unconscious, the painful shock told him to start walking.

The party made their way out of the desolate silence of Administrative Segregation and approached the security checkpoint that separated the area from general population. Before they even stopped at the checkpoint door, they'd been photographed from every angle, and the recognition database confirmed they were who they looked like. Scanning equipment mapped each person, breaking them down into layers and laying bare everything on their person, from the change in their pockets to the contents of their stomachs. Computers measured and documented their pupil sizes, blink rate and eye movements. Their heart rates were measured and reported as well. This didn't just happen at checkpoints; the security system extended throughout the majority of the prison, keeping constant watch on the inmates. They couldn't read your mind, but they came as damn close as they could.