The two hours I was inside the hospital ward, I trained. And damn, I finally got myself a cigarette. Only two minutes, but hey, I could get it back anytime. Then I got myself something sweet, eating it.
I figured two minutes weren't enough for my body to digest any food and give myself sufficient nutrients, but it was nice enough.
I got myself chewing gum as well, feeling it disappear after two minutes.
Let's see about weapons. Sadly, I had never held a real gun in my life, so I couldn't conjure it up. It only worked with something I, personally, held in my hands because the memory was the most vivid. I had to remember how it felt and how it was shaped. Among the things I held in my own hands and of what I could think of using for fighting was, for example, a baton. It wasn't because I had owned one, but some creep brought it to a fight, where I had gone out as the winner nonetheless. I had picked it up to make a few moves with it before I threw it in the trash.
A baton wasn't a bad choice. The next thing was my kitchen knife, a fork, a baseball bat—yeah, I think that was it. Maybe there was more, but I can't think of anything else right now.
However, the question was not how to get myself a weapon to shield my ass anymore. The question was how to get my fingers on the keys of the guards.
My ability was so fucking invincible, I could conjure up my house keys, and I bet it would work with cell keys as well.
I tried to get my phone, but it didn't work; any electronics were a no. Perhaps because I didn't understand how they worked or what exactly they were made of; possibly it was because I had never touched the insides of a phone.
That was also hindering a possible breakout because the guards didn't only use keys, but I also saw them using cards, which I bet had microchips in them, to open a few doors. That meant that I probably couldn't conjure them up, even if I got my hands on them.
However, these little limitations did do nothing to worsen my mood. I now had the ability to defend myself. There was already a miracle I was granted in this fucked-up life.
And I could smoke. It isn't really fun for a smoker to go without cigarettes, but most importantly, it was something I did regularly outside, doing inside here; it made me feel liberated.
I couldn't wait to stab some fucker and see how my weapon would disappear after two minutes, how the wound would heal, and nobody could do anything to me. And even if they could? SO WHAT?
What I am really looking forward to is the moment someone tries to rape me, and I can cut off a dick personally. Imagine his face when there is no dick anymore, instead some ugly scar. How bizarre would that be? (In a good sense—a very good sense)
Though I had no idea if cut-off body parts would also disappear along with wounds and my weapons, well, we would see. They got me in with evidence, so they had to have evidence to prove any other of my crimes.
What was also cool is I could get myself books and porn magazines I had looked through, some at least a bit of entertaining stuff.
I will get my cellmate a big fat cake when I come back. I want to see his eyes when I do so; I bet he will love it.
The needle nurse came and sniffed around.
"Have you smoked in here?"
"And how would I do that?" I asked her, rattling on my chains, only to get another seizure and become unable to stop the movement. I thought my newly discovered ability would solve that problem, but it was apparently not the case.
"BODY SEARCH FOR A PRISONER!" She bellowed, and I tried to calm down, knowing what this meant.
They will inspect my body, and… damn it!
No matter, it's okay; I would have to go through that eventually. I bet they had already examined my asshole when I was brought in, while I was unconscious. It doesn't matter; I got to smoke when I wanted; the benefits outweighed the disadvantages.
Two guards came in, and they were not the ones from before. I knew if I fought against the body search, I would only lose out.
I let them look in my mouth; they also wanted me to strip, which I did, and then… they wanted for me to bend down.
I took a deep breath and did so. The sound of him putting on a glove got me shivering, but better than without it. I could feel the fucker guard starting, fingering me. Clenching my teeth, I fought against the rage inside me, cursing Henry a thousand times.
At the end, it was more humiliating and unpleasant than really painful, and I breathed a sigh of relief when it was over, glad to not have freaked out.
That was already progress. I was then sat in a wheelchair and brought out, the nurse threatening me that she would search the patient room for cigarettes and lighter. I gave her a mental middle finger, promising myself to cut her ugly prisoner nurse bun off if I ever got the chance.
I think I should get accustomed to getting guard-fingers shoved in my ass. I have planned to use my ability to the fullest, getting myself whatever I wanted, and smoking was part of that.
Maybe they would let me off in the future, when rumors of disappearing prisoner-dicks make the rounds, but for now, I will take it as a prostate-examination, which I would have to go through when I get old anyway.