Skylandria maximum. The compound abstinent of color to pair with the environment's décor spanned for a mile in all directions but above ground and underneath it. In a land riddled with sharp edges and diseases somehow, this zone was more lethal. So much so prisoners accepted sepsis and limb loss with open arms. Assuming they could power through the five-mile stretch. Common knowledge of this super-max prison was the five-mile stretch of absolute defense to prevent break-ins and attacks alike. The terrain provided additional support.
If conditions weren't demoralizing enough, the warden installed signs for the prisoners every time they entered the recreational yard.
You're free to escape. We will not clean your remains.
Officer and prisoner alike were unsettled….but that only made Grant proud. When he walked the halls of his locked up home the scorn and hate of prisoners made his iron skin stronger. Every hall was the same. Every door was a mimic of the last, trapped in electric bars. Two thousand prisoners called both levels home across the stretch of terrain. Today, some of the older gents were rowdy. They could tell by the jump in the guard's step that new meat was coming for them to feed on.
New meat day. Criminals swept off the streets were sent to the sorting lines; rogue units included. They entered on convener lines dressed in all white having prison identification digits stamped on their backs. In the case of machines who were in the same line, a plate was welded unto their shoulders. The room was dark with doors creaking after every patron entered. On first sight, they were greeted with stairwells leading to rooms on both ends with large yellow windows. Weapons aimed the moment they enter the complex.
Beyond those swinging doors was a monotone chamber. To the right where the line stopped were stairs to a slightly risen platform. Four PD droids in ballistic gear surrounded a hovering screen. The prisoners were ordered to stand in rows of thirteen to make room for the other line until a total of four lines. A buzz strangled silence. On the upper sect of the room were doors stacked like sardines. Reinforced metal laced with electricity with a minor blurred window, "Well some of the new boys look fresh!"
"Hey! Be a doll and come to old Bronny's cell would' ya!?"
"You can park that-"
The prisoners roared with delight at the chance of being with anyone else. Chanting depravities needing attention, rattling their cages with rough faces struggling to witness the new inmates. For this lot, it was split almost fifty-fifty in rogue units and human inmates. Most had softer faces, others still shocked by their sentencing. Other rogue units were just sentenced after months in holding, a D plastered across their bodies. "Alright you filthy mutts, shut the hell up before you lose heater privileges!"
The warden's vocals reverberated through the compound. On the scaffolding for the elevated prisoner's entrance and exit, he walked with no disregard to the rattling. Black leather boots covered his skin. Tucked in their open necks were shiny dark pants supporting zippers along the ends. The whole affair was supported by a white belt with an oddly shaped buckle; a frost giant's scowl. He sported a similar top. White vest under studded leather with an open chest to show his dark skin, proud of their apex form. Gloved fingers slid along the rails with their other bulging arm fixing their short hair under a blue, wide-brimmed fedora. Why did he wear such an unfitting hat? Who knows? But that was the decision of the stone-cold warden, Grant Dyson.
He didn't even need to tell his new inmate to face the screen. A figure as imposing as him made every head turn away. The screen blared to life and with it, instructions presented themselves to the lowlifes.
Human inmates stand on the left. Rogue units to the right.
They followed instructions and formed two segregated lines. Ten seconds after the accompanying guards moved behind them. The walls split revealing two triangular halls before both. Prismatic halls gleamed in white ushering their names, "Walk!" the guards ordered, ushering the assorted prisoners into calmer rooms. Completely white, irritant to the eyes. The hall behind shut once their guards entered. But heads turned. The warden decided to take a moment and view the process from the back corner. Someone caught his ire.
Inmates turned their attention left where a decorated PD droid stood. PD24-4199 was their signature along puffed bodies. Some repeat offenders were amongst the crowd, ready to puke and pray for luck to guide them. A snap of his finger made the guards react to begin the second sorting. Prisoners were split into groups of threes, annoyed by the subtle white noise that came from each bot. Ten, ten, and six was the split. Needless to say, the smallest group was pleased with the decision. Pushed to the end, the droid spoke up.
"The six-man group is designated for the Cnoc Dubh mines on their time off, there will be no change to this decision." medical records were already surfed through for each prisoner to determine if they were fit or not for these positions. The strongest were sent to the mines, and the lesser? To the vilest room in the prison. The Skylandria sewage treatment plant.
As the sewage pipe of Skylandria ran directly into the prison, a treatment plant was built in the underground sector. Nobody wanted to do the job that smelt awful to someone with no nose, so the solution? Send the prisoners to work of course. They were granted masks that didn't conceal the smell at all in the plant which was divided into two sectors. The upper retrieval area and the lower treatment sect, "Now exit through here and enter your new lives," the droid stepped to the side to reveal another door. With exasperated breaths ordered were followed.
"Christ, can you believe this place?" one whispered to the next, "Can't they just use robots or something for that? Or are they too cheap?" both snickered in passing. They believed they were free to speak once in the corridor; free from the warden's ears. Air chilled with their statements made. Eyes fell on them. Grant rose his hand. His droid understood.
"Line one, return this moment!"
Grant was slow in approach. Knuckles cracking with tunnel vision on the wide-mouthed one, "I must be hearing things? I thought I heard you complain?" he snorted, "That's funny, you think you have the right to cry," it was hard to hold in his laughter. Stuck in a small tunnel the inmate shriveled under the tall warden. Laughing with saliva spraying everywhere. He didn't know how to react. Breath filled his lungs for a laugh himself. Although, Grant did not like that. As quick as air filled their lungs it was squeezed out. The warden's fist planted directly in the inmate's gut.
"Why were you going to talk over me?" his eye lowered with the inmate clenching his waist, "No other prison in this fucking country wanted your wretched hide- only the unwanted come underneath Skylandria," his grip raised the prisoner back to their feet. As the prisoners looked, all of the guards turned the other way; recorders off. "Look me in the eye when I'm talking."
"No other prison in this country believes you can change- they used to toss your kind into the badlands just to rot," the habits of the primeval country were brought up. Grant had mist seep off his lips, "So you should be thankful that his glory spent the time and funds making this place for you lowlives. So unless if you want me to toss you out, keep talking."
Not a soul was foolish enough to talk back to the stone-cold warden. An ex-miner who worked his way up from the bottom, catching the eye of the old steel-skinned warden. Many believed he wasn't ready when the decision was made the prior year. Others saw his ascension as merely being mommy giving her boy a job. Would they care to admit that? Whether they would or not the fact was cleared. In the super-max facility where two thousand guardsmen bowed to his authority. Even as he exited their respects were expected to fall before the warden. Before he did, a warning was left with the new meat. Another fist planted into the gut of his playthings. "Get used to it, because not all of the older inmates are as sweet and pleasant as me."
Grant made his way to the middle of the prison. Beside the sewage pipe, the tallest structure was the main watchtower. Thick and brazen like the bricks and steel that composed it. Windows were wrapped in electric pulses as every other window and door. He walked into the recreational area used by prisoners, hopped the fence that separated both, and carried his way to the tower via the aid of one of his hovering droids. The armored droid hoisted him to the railed top where he walked down the nearest stairwell to the warden's office.
Today was a busy day for the stone-cold warden. A visitor interrupted most of his duties, a visitor he was long familiar with. The old warden gave their successor a visit. Sitting on the sofa with folded legs and a cup of coffee in hand she awaited her student, "Well, you took your sweet time coming here, darling," she joked. "Do I need to teach you manners on keeping a poor old woman in wait?"
"Forgive me, I was just giving a demonstration to some of the new dredge, mother," Grant removed his hat for the person who taught him everything. Amelia Dyson, the former steel-skinned warden of Skylandria. Grant walked around his office, having a seat opposed to his mother. Arms folded on his lap and back reclined. For a super-max location, his room was quite cozy in comparison. Oakwood hid the ugly steel exterior with shades lit well by electric lanterns. A tiger-skin rug sat under their feet with a glass table on its back; the sofa set they sat on was also the fur of a bear.
At the end of the room Grant had a standing desk with all of the prison's most secured assets stored within his externa-gear. Though it was only one access point to their main servers; even then it was encrypted, "You haven't visited in some time, Alexander and I were getting worried if this position was consuming you," Amelia dictated with a sip. "Surely that must be the reason why you haven't kept in contact?"
"Hmmm…." even the warden's stone armor had its chinks. Excuses after excuses came to mind, "Seeing how well you and the rest of the PD perform your duties it becomes hard to rest," his thumb pointed behind his back, "Shuttles of those dredges come every week now-" Grant was a well-educated man, just like his twin. He branched into criminology and the study of their minds, though he could manipulate them with ease, his mother was a completely different breed. Nobody could truly know what lied behind those golden eyes and stoic expression.
"I'll pretend that was a compliment," she muttered under her breath. Her cup rested, "To think, out of all my children the one I dote on the most doesn't even call," her voice didn't change, but anyone could pick up her undertones.
"But Nara doesn't even-"
"Oh don't try that, you know she sends letters over those little bugs she raises," her motherly fury sparked through, "Honestly, Daedra works just as many hours and when he comes up from those dusty mines the first thing he does is visit his dear old parents- not even that no good 'friend' of his," the spite of an older woman came out in full force behind closed doors. Well accumulated towards her proudest creations.
It was difficult to keep a straight face. Grant's shell cracked. His awkward nature exuded, "Well...did you just visit to pull on my ear?" his questions left his lips all too sheepish. "Or maybe you want access to see the Destria?"
"Though pleasant, I doubt that man wishes to see me," it was time to get to the point. From her pockets Amelia withdrew a thumb drive; across it had the golden sigil of Rote, "Things are changing in the scaled forge. Something odd was found in the tungsten mines," she gave a summary of the information on the drive before sliding it across the table. As quick as it slid it vanished into Grant's pocket. "Mandaly's incident is quite worrying too. However, a certain 'dynamic' unit is there to keep Lucki safe along with that Carnel."
Silent words went on acute ears. He made his way to the computer, hiding the drive within a hidden draw, replacing it with another between his fingers. Grant's face was a bit red, "You don't need to beef up security for me….again, mother," he tipped his hat to avert eyes. "These attacks are nothing but fools who see themselves as heroes when they're as rare as sand in the deserts."
His hand ushered Amelia to stand. She followed to the top of the watchtower. Neuragears and their adaptive lenses came into play under the dim atmosphere. Oh, the sounds of the prison, just as wretched to experience as ever. Amelia was nostalgic about it, rarely did she visit her second born. She heard these sounds ever since she took over as warden at the age of twenty-five. Now double the age the ring of this prison never left. Whirr of droids and spotlights focused on every direction of the wastelands...this was the most depressing place any could be.
The number of guards and equipment doubled since her days. Technology kept improving but stagnated just in the slightest. The recent boom of growth was perishing, third-party groups and counterfeiters lost thrive. Names came and went with years. Why is it so? They all relied on the work of people long claimed by Mors. Few relied on themselves; only dreams and motivation. But those only took one so far. To rely on only a dream made its status permanent.
"Odd, is it not?" Amelia rested on the rails; her iron laurels, "I ran from this sight as soon as I could, now I come to relish it again," her eyes were locked eastwards where the shuttles were. A mile stretch away from the prison were shuttles marked in black or white depending on their purpose. White shuttles came and exited Skylandria on a daily for guard rotation. Black vans were unmarked, prisoner transport systems. Both drivers and every individual were sent through checks and examinations beforehand. A record existed on the prison database of everyone who came and exits. Grant stood behind his mother, his hand over hers with the drive.
"Oh so you came here for the sight and not me," he joked. They watched as a platoon of depleted soldiers marched their way out of the block. Red lights targeted every step they took closer to the shuttles. Grant's neuragear pinged. On-time an update of the exiting machines entered their codex. "Shall I get you anything else? Mother….?"
When he turned to face Amelia her eyes were pinned to the shuttle. The winds blew an odd tale, "Open your eyes, warden," she warned, "You received the codex update, correct?" her slender finger aimed forward. In the land where skin was torn apart, men wore steel to escape the rocks. When they failed the stones were covered in rusted iron that made it worse for others. Time and time failure piled high preventing the success of others; a carved outcropping was needed for guards.
However in the land where none escaped a fool ran inwards.