"Doors opening in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…" the Ultramax's automated speaker system announced.
Second time now, that same voice. Like in the battle fortress, I kept count of the announcements to track my length of stay.
*EHHH EHHH EHHH*
The alarms went off, and the doors slid open wide with a resounding slam. Lockdown was over again.
Some prisoners came trudging out slowly, dragging and scrapping their boots across the floor while rubbing their eyes. None of them dared to look into my cell after the incident. No one wanted to challenge me, with Ama's injuries serving as a reminder of my brutality.
I stared at the ceiling, refusing to move a muscle off my bed.
The guards dropped off clean bedsheets for the prisoners a while back before the scheduled lockdown.
When I cleared both Trey's and my bedsheets to the designated bins provided in the hallway, all the passing prisoners gave me a wide berth.
No one dared to enter my cell, even when Trey laid alone, resting from his traumatic ordeal. Garan stood guard nearby, pretending to fiddle with his clothes, which made me think he was the reason that no one ventured in.
From what I know now, some species, like the Thorians, Hamazans and Durgians, joined Zhiva's gang for protection.
All the Perunians in this sector are Zhiva's fellow space pirates.
They gave off a thick atmosphere of camaraderie, more like the good old warship buddies who had been through thick and thin. Aside from Zhiva and Garan, the other Peruvians paid me no heed and merely acknowledged my existence with a slight nod when they moved past me.
Three Durgian women in the group seemed to pucker and pander after the males by brushing past them or letting the males get touchy feely all over their bodies.
They used sexual favours to win over the males for protection. Garan only mentioned the tragic end of the females, even the Hamazans, without protection. The common cause of death for the females in the Ultramax was being gang banged to death, especially when the Satesians were around.
The prettiest Durgian only gave me the stink eye when Zhiva paid me some attention. Not my problem. She can be Zhiva's squeeze for all I care. In fact, she would do me a favour.
The two Hamazans avoided my gaze after what I did to Ama, who laid on the verge of losing her life. I remained wary of them, unclear how close they were to her.
Garan didn't care about her survival. According to him, she was just a neutral straggler, whom Thrain fancied. More of his 'bitch' to keep his bed warm in those cold cell nights when he felt the urge to do so.
Thrain and three other Thorians only threw me shitty glances, but they stepped aside when Garan or Zhiva were near. Otherwise, I felt a big target painted on my back.
So far, Zhiva's gang is the dominant group, while others kept away.
Trey's groaning in his sleep distracted me. Garan gave him a shot of dimmers earlier to shut him up from screaming in pain rather than to keep him comfortable.
Wasn't the addictive type based on what Garan told me. Still, I can trust no one.
Not a choice I would make, but I'm not Trey.
Trey's body, Trey's pain, Trey's choice. Trey chose the dimmer, got the high and then blacked out during the timed lockdown, much to the other prisoners' relief.
I can hear the ruckus outside the cell quarters. Fights happened daily. Just keep out of it and I'll be fine.
"Rise and shine, my little jet cruiser!"
I shut my eyes at the annoying chirpy noises Zhiva made. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he will give up trying to talk to me.
"Zhiva, let's go," called out the others. "Need to keep a spot if they release the sewer mutants."
He looked at me for a while as though he wanted to say something but left, saying nothing else, trailing after the rest. I wondered why he even bothered.
Sewer mutants, a running joke of the Sector 8Q, referred to the Captain's punishment where he sent errant prisoners down to work in the sewers.
According to the gossip I heard, some prisoners return with tumours of mutated cells on their skins. That's why most behave themselves to avoid the sewers.
No one wanted to be near them for at least a while or on Garan's say so.
I continued staring at the grey ceiling even though I heard a commotion in the hallway. What they did out there is none of my business. I needed solitude to make plans to escape if necessary.
"Word of advice. Mingle with the rest when you can next time." Garan's words interrupted my thoughts when he appeared by the open door and leaned on the side.
What did he want?
Annoyed, I pushed myself off from the top bunk with my feet hitting the metal floor with a loud thud.
He definitely checked on Trey earlier. Trey himself was busy in his dreams, talking to himself in his sleep.
Any business Garan had now is with me. I noticed his hair was a little messy. Like someone tried to pull it, but he slipped away. A reddish mark of someone's finger tips planted on his neck.
Yet, Garan looked unfazed.
My ears pricked up at the increasing shouts, banging, strangled cries of pain and muffled sounds coming from the hall outside the prison quarters. A big fight probably broke out in the hall from the earlier commotion.
I could also hear a few whines and some slaps with a spanking accompanied by groans and moans from a few cells down, along with slopping noises.
That didn't sound like a fight. More like a violent rape taking place from the misery in the screams which followed.
I tilted my head in the direction where the noises came from.
Garan continued to maintain eye contact with me, without a care and unperturbed, when I walked towards him slowly, shoulders back and head high, only stopping two steps away from him.
He didn't even flinch.
His eyes slowly moved in the same direction of the noise, and he shook his head, silently warning me not to continue.
I took a step back at his hint, unsure of what the situation was.
"Garan!" a rough, unfamiliar voice hollered to him as Garan rolled his eyes.
"Busssssy…," Garan hissed, showing attitude.
Whoever spoke to him isn't a friend.
"Oh yeah? What about?"
I noticed a calm, expressionless Garan slipping his right hand into his trouser pouch with the tip of a syringe while keeping his eye on the incoming person.
So that's his weapon of choice.
I backed away slowly to avoid any last minute surprises.
"Come here, my pretty bitch," the voice snarled.