Transform Me (A "Shatter Me" Trilogy Fanfiction)

SEVENTEEN: THE WARDEN

17: The Warden

The stench hits us first.

 Even from a block away, one could already smell the miserable and disgusting odor coming from Sector 21’s prison house.  The scent is a combination of human excrements—sweat, blood, feces, vomit—both stale and new.  It reeks of hopelessness and agony, invading your nostrils, pleading for some sort of relief.  It was enough to make anyone gag.

It wasn’t this bad the first time I’d come here.  Sure, it still smelled awful, but at least it was still tolerable on some level.  Some of the soldiers behind me have lost their composure, cupping their hands against their noses.  As we enter the gates to the compound, a dark-skinned guard approaches us.

            “Good morning, General Watanabe.  Lieutenant Fukawa.”  He bows his head to each of us.  “I am Chief Abdul ibn Saud.  The warden sends his apologies for being unable to meet you right now as he has very important matters to attend to.  He has instructed me to escort you to his office.”

            “Important matters?  What could possibly be more important than personally receiving the general?”  Fukawa demands irately.  “This act of blatant disrespect by the warden will not be tolerated.”

            Ignoring the lieutenant, I tell the chief, “Carry out your order, Chief ibn Saud.”

            “Yes, sir.”  He offers me a stiff salute, which I return.  Then he leads us towards the intimidating building.

 The second we enter the detaining facility, the smell collides into us like a wrecking ball.  The impact makes my eyes sting and water up.  In my own body, I would have been able to control my reactions.  However, General Isamu Watanabe’s 70-year-old frame doesn’t take it too well.  The general’s lungs, which are probably already as shriveled up as a raisin, find the smell overwhelming.

 I start hacking, and Chief ibn Saud immediately offers me an unopened bottle of distilled water.  With a nod of thanks in his direction, I take it and gulp it down.  I only wish I could pass it on to Kishimoto, who is unseen right beside me.  He hasn’t made one sound since we’ve entered, although he’s undoubtedly dying for a breath of fresh air right now.

This is the first time we’ve gone on an assignment together in the two weeks we’ve been on Sector 21’s military base.  I had told him two days ago of my plans to visit the prison house, and he insisted on coming with me.

“I’ve been there before.”  I reasoned that night.  “I’m quite capable of going there alone a second time.”

“This time is different.  If the prison house is really filling up fast with revolutionists, then security would be on high alert.  If something goes wrong, you could be in serious danger.”  He countered.  “I’m going with you, Violet, and you can’t talk me out of this.”

I had felt a flutter in my stomach at his words that night, but chose to ignore them.  But he was right, though.  When I paid this place a visit three months ago, there was only a two-to-one ratio of prisoners for each cell.  Now, there was probably at least thrice that number jammed into each room.  There are more guards this time, too, fully-armed and vigilant.

            The prisoners are required to squat on the cold, cement floor for the duration of my visit.  Some openly glare at me; whisper words of hatred to their comrades as we walk by.  The others perhaps feel every bit as miserable as they look.  There are also those who look morosely subdued, as if they didn’t care less what happened to them anymore.

            The prison cells are segregated according to two classifications: gender and age.  Severity of the crime committed used to be a third, but every revolutionist is given the same treatment as other criminals.  Together with half a dozen of General Watanabe’s personal guards, Kishimoto and I make our way through the corridors, with Chief ibn Saud leading the way.