Prison Sex
Part Four: Clean my Wounds

indentRanma came to in the infirmary- first time he had seen it since he got here. He tried to move and found that he was strapped to the table. The belts were made of thick, twisted leather- they would stretch, a little like vulcanized rubber tires- but they would not break, even under the straining muscles of the completely insane.
indent After a fifteen second pull on the straps, far more powerful than they had ever been designed for, one of the twisted leather strands snapped with a cheerful popping sound. After that, it was just a matter of determination.
indent Pop.
indentPop, pop, pop.
indent Pop, pop pop, RI-I-IP, free.
indent He reached over with his free arm, and used both arms to tear the other one free. There was a savage PING! as a metal bolt literally broke off on the table and bounced off across the room. He undid the heavy belt across his chest, the one across and around his hips, and the ones binding his knees and ankles to the table. He got up off the table and headed to the door, looking out the window. No guards in sight.
indent (This might be your chance!)
indent Ranma almost registered the thought as something sourcing outside of himself. But he knew the voice or thought or whatever it was had been right. He had just confronted something he had only gotten a glimpse of back home in Nerima, and that confrontation was something too ugly to be faced again if he could avoid it. Time to escape.
indent Then a flashing light over his door in the hall. A siren was hooting. Ranma shot a frantic glance about the room, what the hell?
indent The corner above the door. Camera. Oh, fuck.
indent Many feet came tramping down the hall. The door slammed open, inward. The barrels of several guns were trained on him, and the men holding the guns looked frightened. Those straps had been designed to hold down PCP users. A voice hollered, "Give me an excuse."
indent Sighing, Ranma stuck his hands up. "Sorry officers- just needed to stretch my legs."
indent Another officer walked over to the door and picked up the chart hung there. "Moderate concussion, mild cuts and contussions, severe bruising and mild internal bleeding-" He looked over at Ranma, who blinked, surprised himself at the assessment.
indent The guard didn't looked surprised, just pissed. "Get the doc in here. NOW."

indent At gunpoint, Ranma stood stock still while they waited for the doctor to arrive. He was still at gunpoint while the doctor checked him over. "Interesting," the doctor murmured thoughtfully. "No trace of the injuries you checked in with yesterday."
indent "Yesterday?" Ranma blurted. Had he ben in here that long?
indent "You sound surprised." The doctor said. "Well, so am I. With the injuries you checked in with, you should have been in here for at least a week and a half, and that is a conservative estimate. And you have the constitution of an ox- a very healthy one. And you heal extraordinarily fast. By any chance, did you get injured a lot in your mid to late teens?"
indent Ranma's mind was awash with memories. Mallet. Shampoo's glomping and alternating bike stomping. Mallet. Ryoga and his umbrella. Mallet. P-chan followed by mallet. Mousse. And Cologne. Mallet. Pop, Kuno, and Kodachi. An endless string of fiancee's to whom he was engaged for this meal or that one. Mallet. Happosai, who was inevitably followed by a mallet. Herb, Mint, Saffron. And of course, Akane. And an endless string of mallets.
indent "Um... yes."
indent "I thought as much." Said the doctor. "You've apparently developed the ability to recover from injuries very quickly. You fought a lot then, I take it?"
indent Ranma's mind flashed to the previous list, with a few additions. "Yeah, you could say that."
indent "Hardly any scars at all, and the ones I find are so well healed I can only tell roughly how severe they were at the time by the fact that I can still see them." The doctor shook his head sadly. "Such a waste- you could have been a world class athelete. A martial artist or something. And you're in here. One thing I have to ask you, though- How did you break those straps? Even in perfect health, you shouldn't have been able to break them. They have a tensile strength better than stainless steel."
indent Ranma said lamely, "I dunno. Maybe they were rotten, or something. You know. Kinda old." Ranma suddenly realized that this was not so farfetched a lie- and that this place was having a definite effect on him. He had to think here, instead of power and muscle and fight his way through things, and it was honing his mental edge quite sharp.
indent The doctor mulled Ranma's comment over a moment before replying, "Well, they SHOULDN'T have gotten that bad in a year, but I suppose it's possible. We'll have to check the rest of that batch to see if any others were faulty as well." The doctor collected up his instruments, and then said, "No reason why you can't go back to the main section of the camp. You're in excellent health, better health than I am, that's certain."
indent Ranma had only half heard him, though, and was still thinking about what this place was doing to him. He thought about it quite long as he was escorted by gunpoint back to his cell.
indent For the next few days, Ranma noted with an abstract sort of amusement that the guards were excessively attentive to him after his odd escape. For about a week, at least two gun carrying guards were never more than a dozen feet away, and the muzzles of their weapons were always trained on him. After a few days of docile behavior, though, they eventually relaxed to about normal.

indentThe warden looked over his desk thoughtfully. That boy just wasn't the type to kill an old man like that. Murder wasn't in him.
indentHis own words some time back came to him... This place changes a man. And not for the better. A man who isn't ruined coming in is ruined by this place...
indentHe would not sit by idle and watch this boy rot for a crime he didn't commit.
indentHe booted up his computer and sat down to work.

indent "Room mate, sowton."
indent Ranma ignored the mutilation of his name; he was used to it by now. Four months had passed since his imprisonment, and he hardly remembered what it was like on the outside any more. Except in his dreams.
indent An average looking young man, perhaps two years older than himself, was escorted into the room carrying his bag of personal possessions. Ranma sighed, resenting his loss of privacy, yet knowing it had to happen sooner or later. "You got top bunk," Ranma said, looking back at his book.
indent "Nick says I got bottom bunk." The man replied appraisingly.
indent Ranma sighed. "Too bad. You got top."
indent The guard laughed. "Have fun boys." Shutting the door, the guard left them alone.
indent "You're still on my bunk."
indent Ranma stood up, fists balled up.
indent "Relax. Just thought I'd point it out."
indent "What's it gonna take for you bastards to leave me alone?" Ranma demanded angrily, deep down feeling desperation take hold.
indent "Do what we say."
indent "Get it through, man- You sleep topside. Period."
indent "We'll see about that." The young man tilted his head to the side. "And I seem to remember him saying something about you being mine from now on."
indent Ranma cracked his knuckles- his time here had been very educational, and he knew this time exactly what he meant. "I'd like to see you try and take it."
indent The reply was accompanied by a nasty smile that Ranma didn't like one bit. "I can wait- and you have to sleep sometime. By the way, got any water?"
indent Alarms begtan to ring in Ranma's head. "No water in these rooms, you should know that by now-"
indent "Never mind." The man smiled, almost kindly this time, pulling a one and a half liter bottle out of his bag. "I have my own."
indent

End part Four

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