"...And Throw Away The Key" (An SRP open to new writers)

"...And Throw Away The Key"

The OOC and Writer Discussion Thread​

Patient Zero was still yet to be identified out in the world, but Garden Point's Patient Zero had, ironically, been the warden. He'd come back from a two week vacation flushed, with a fever and the sweats; and three hours later, raped his secretary over the top of the photocopier in the Penitentiary's Administration Office.

Before the connection to the mayhem spreading throughout Europe and, later, China and the US could be connected to what was happening in the medium security prison, the virus has already begun spreading through the cell blocks, Administration offices, and even the Visiting Areas. Directed by the Governor, the prison was immediately put on lock down.

But, it was too late; the virus was already spreading. A dozen people were already acting oddly; they were isolated, but the damage was done. The infected likely already included inmates, visitors, Correction Officers, even the volunteer tutors and truck driver picking up the trash and recycling.



"What are you saying...?" Brett Moon asked the person on the other end of the telephone line, his voice full of dismay. "You're not going to send help? How could you not send help...? What kind of help..." Doctor! Drugs! An ambulance, I don't know...! What...? No... No... No! The inmates aren't out and about. They're still in their cells... What...? What?!?"

He listened for a moment more, then slammed the phone down onto the receiver. He fumed for a moment, then spun in the Warden's chair to face the trio -- a CO, an Administrative Assistant, and a woman who'd been elected as sort of a representative of the visitors who were currently secured in the Visitor's Lounge, unable to leave.

"We're on our own," Brett stated bluntly. "No one's coming to help--"

The trio erupted in angered responses, practically screaming at another, then at Brett, then at one another again, then a combination of the two. He tried to silence them, then tried again with a raised voice; when neither worked, he pulled his side arm and slammed it down onto the Warden's desk. Suddenly, there was silence.

"Thank you," he said. "Now ... if you will listen for a moment, I will explain what's happening ... and what we have to do to handle this situation.

Brett went over some security measures, including keeping all inmates in their cells, isolating the visitors in more comfortable surroundings, and employing the COs and staff in trying to determine who was and who wasn't already infected.

"We will find out who's infected and who's not," he assured them confidently, "and by the time the CDC, or who ever's handling this out in the world figures out a cure or treatment or whatever ... we will be ready to accept their assistance. Okay...?"

The three looked between one another, giving either shrugs or doubtful expressions.

"Things'll be fine, trust me."

Little did Brett know that things wouldn't be fine. The virus was already too wide spread, passed amongst the inmate population and visitors by a quartet of COs and Trustees who'd helped secure the Warden.

To make matters worse, Brett -- the Assistant Warden and man with control over the entire facility -- was infected himself...

(OOC -- All of the below characters, except Don, are available. Please PM me for more on them before you post for them.)


Yesterday:

"You're looking good, baby," Don spoke over the barrier separating him and his wife. He glanced to the practically-neon orange jump suit and smiled. "I've seen you in better colors."

"Ha ha," she responded softly, trying to return his smile but failing. "Think they'd let you bring me that black mini I wore on our anniversary ... and the heels, too."

She glanced over her shoulder toward a Butch-looking inmate sitting across from a hard looking man with tattoos up and down his body. Don followed her eyes and found the other inmate listening to her beau but eying his wife with a stern expression.

His wife leaned closer and, making a hammer gesture, explained in a whisper, "I know someone whose eye I'd like to take out with those heels."

Don didn't ask for specifics. He knew that his wife wasn't handling prison well. He didn't even understand why she was here at Garden Point. She was a minimum security prisoner, charged -- and not even yet convicted -- of a white-collar crime; she should still be in county lock up, not a State Penitentiary. Budget cuts, he reminded himself. She's locked up with all of these hard core criminals because people don't want to pay their taxes!

Then he reminded himself that that was the reason she was here: not just avoiding her taxes, but for aiding several wealthy businessmen to hide income and avoid over sixty million dollars in taxes.

"I met the Warden," he said, changing the subject. "Nice guy."

"I guess," she responded, her mind still on what she'd like to do to the dyke who'd been trying to get her alone since the moment she'd arrived six days earlier.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded.

"Visitors, stay seated!" A female Guard called out loudly, pulling a baton from her hip and stepping forward. "Cons, rise and make your way along the blue line ... now!"

Don watched, his heart pounding, as the inmates, including his beloved wife of two years, rose quickly -- as if well rehearsed -- and began creating a single file line, each of them maintaining at least an arms length from the female in front of them as the entire procession made its way out of the visiting area.

Their eyes met several times before, flashing one last smile, she disappeared through the door and back into the prison's depths.

"I'm sorry, folks," the Guard continued. "The prison is on lock down. You'll stay here, for your own safety, until we get permission to let you out."

Don sat quietly, fidgeting, wondering what was happening. He didn't come from a criminal background and had never known anyone who did. His wife was deep into the conspiracy that sent her here before they'd met and, while she'd told him she wanted out, he thought she liked the money just a little too much to make a clean break.

The Guard had left and returned now, gesturing a male Guard over and saying, "Go to the Lounge and get some bottled water ... maybe some chips and chocolate. We're going to be here a while."

Someone overheard and called out annoyed, "What's a while...?"

The female guard sent the man on his way and looked to the crowd of concerned and angered faces. "Folks ... I'm sorry to tell you this, but ... a contagion is apparently making it's way around the building--"

There was a gasp from one corner, followed by a voice in another asking, "Is it that thing from China?"

"I heard it was all over Europe," another voice called out.

A slight giggle sounded at the table behind Don. He turned to find a young woman staring right at him, a smirk across her lips as she looked him up and down, mouthing Nice ass.

"I can't tell you what I don't know," the Guard continued. "But ... there's a medical crew on the way to test everyone for exposure--" It was a lie, but she didn't feel the visitors needed to know that they were on their own and no one on the outside cared about a bunch of convicts and their likely-also-criminal visitors. "--and as soon as you are found to be pathogen free, you will be allowed to leave."

"What if we want to stay?"

Don swung around to find a man looking about at the other faces looking his way.

"Well, think about it," the man continued. "In here, were safe from the virus. Out there ... who the hell knows."

"That's assuming you aren't already infected," another voice called out. "We might all be infected already."

Giggle sounded behind Don again. He looked back to find the woman unbuttoning the top two buttons of her blouse, asking in a suggestive whisper, "Wanna fuck? Right here, right now."

(OOC -- All of the above characters, except Don, are available. Please PM me for more on them before you post for them.)

Brett Moon, Deputy Warden
Garden Point Penitentiary
Visitors Lounge
Yesterday



The crowd was restless, but quieted down when Brett mounted one of the tables and shot a hard glare around the room.

"I'm sorry to have to put you all through this," he explained, "but we are all stuck here for the time being, and we're just going to have to make the best of it."

There was grumblings and occasional questioning exclamations as he continued, but he worked in a prison where people were always back talking him so he was used to it and simply plodded onward.

"We have contingencies for lock downs. Once, we were locked down for six days. Some of you may remember the big flood that took out the highway and power...? Yeah...? Well, we were all here that time for a week ... and we did just fine."

"Where we gonna sleep?" a voice called out.

"We have that handled," he continued. "We've cleared out the Trustees Wing, moved all of those folks to the Minimum Security Cell Block. The rooms have regular beds, desks, tables, chairs ... They're not unlike a dorm room, or the military housing for personnel still going to their training schools. They're small, but--"

"What about food?"

"I need to call my husband."

"When are we--"

The questions and comments were rapid fire, turning the small room into something like a press conference for a beleaguered politician.

Brett gestured for quiet, and when he didn't get it, he gestured to a guard, who incorrectly keyed the bull horn she was holding, causing an ear drum breaking feed back squeal. The crowd reacted with annoyed pain, but went quiet all the same.

Brett talked slow and deliberate. "We will take care of everything ... but you have to give me time. For now ... please! We need to get everyone into their rooms in the Trustees wing ... get everyone settled, so we can begin assessing our needs. There are probably some of you with special needs ... medicines, for example, for diabetes or heart problems. But we can't deal with this until everyone ... is settled." He waited a moment to ensure that the crowd understood him, then turned to the Guards at the door and ordered, "Please ... single men at the far end, Section A ... single women, opposite the passage, Section B. Families, couples, what not ... you'll be up near the front."

As the guards began calling out instructions, gathering visitors, and directing them out of the lounge toward the Trustees Wing, Brett noticed one of the younger women eying a man sitting at a nearby table. Don, he thought, Don Klieber ... Melanie Klieber's husband. Brett didn't recognize the woman, which surprised him; she was striking, with her hair died a fiery orange-red, a tight, revealing dress -- that, according to policy, she shouldn't have been allowed in wearing in the first place -- and heels that accentuated long, firm legs that just made Brett want to break the law with her -- or on her, in her, what ever -- in so many, many ways.

But what really struck him now was the way she was eying this Don Klieber. Brett was familiar with Don, having personally discussed Melanie's incarceration at Garden Point; and he doubted that the two were familiar with one another. So ... why was this girl who looked like she knew the world well showing interest in this mild mannered man from the 'burbs?



Today

Things had been pretty quiet throughout Garden Point since the lock down twenty hours earlier. The civilians had all been made comfortable -- as much as was possible -- and a handful of them even volunteered to help the Trustees in the kitchen, preparing box lunches -- simple cold meals for Lock Down periods -- for the inmates, as well as a fairly elaborate home-cooked style meal for the civies, staff, and COs.

Brett had ordered that the Civilians have free access of the Trustees Wing, meaning the gym, the entertainment room, the library, the restrooms and showers, and more. If they hadn't known that they were inside a State Penitentiary, the Civilians might have thought they were in a cheap hotel somewhere, he thought.

Brett thought he had the situation with the Civilians pretty well covered. Of course ... he had no idea that the virus was already making its way through a handful of them, and by the next day, would be inside most of them...

He also couldn't have known that one of his Guards was severely infected, and at that moment was opening the access door to the Conjugal Visitation hallway and making his way to the back with an equally infected Civilian whose husband was currently in the Medium Security wing ... for having killed a man he caught sleeping with his wife six years earlier...

(OOC -- I dropped in this last paragraph just to indicate that there is a hall with rooms specifically for sex between inmates and their significant others.)

Yesterday

He was supposed to be here today. He came at the same time, every week. Persephone shifted in her chair, anxiously waiting for that brown haired god to walk through those side doors. it was the same each time. He'd sit there, whisper words into that little phone that had her melting in her chair. her lips were quivering already in anticipation. They had given her a chance to wear one of her favorite dresses, get a little dressed up. Conjugal visit... God she needed one. Just a chance to taste those lips, that skin, be fucked like a wild animal until she could barely breathe-

But wait.
The clock.
He was late, almost an hour. Her fingers tightened on the table, a frustrated whine leaking her lips. "Tommy... Damn it...," She whimpered, rocking in her chair in a twisting churn of her hips. Too much thinking. Too many ideas. Lights out was going to be hell tonight, that was for certain.

An alarm sounded, spooking her slightly. No. Not now! She hadn't seen him! There still could be time!
Without Tommy, she needed something to consider.
Fodder. Find some fodder.

Her attention fell to a rather nice display through the glass as they were led out of the visiting room; the firm, strong posterior of one of the visiting men. Her eyebrow raised, a light giggle passing her lips. *And just what else is he hiding in those pants?*

He noticed. She grinned, whispering the blunt statement of what was on her mind. "Nice Ass."

She was still giggling as she returned to her cell.



Today



So many thoughts. They just wouldn't stop. That man- did she even know his name? Did it matter? her mind created its own voice for him, its own name for him. Her eyes stayed closed, the thought of him replaying over and over, that firm ass bared in the stark display of her cell as he bent her over her cot, using every ounce of his strength to force himself inside her.

"Oh... Ohhh..." It didn't matter to her. She got louder as her mind wandered, her fingers acting as best they could to imitate the thoughts in her head, a high cry of bliss leaving her before she curled into the corner of her cot.

A part of her didn't understand why she did this. Why she was even in here... How did this even happen? Tommy had seemed such a nice guy, but after that night, those drinks, that make out session and the sex... She'd never slept with a guy that quickly. Never.

The rest of her, though, wanted that part to shut up.


"Perci."

She glanced up, her cheeks still flush as she smirked to the woman outside her cell. "Hi Cammie," she cooed, wriggling her fingers at her. "Lunchtime?"

"Yeah. Just... just wash your hands first." There was a disgusted tone to those words.

"Can I lick yours?," she called after her, giggling again as she slipped off the cot. Stretching slightly, she made her way over to the bars, peering out. So many guards. Something big must've happened yesterday.

Interesting...

Don Klieber
Trustees Wing; lunch.

They'd put him in the last cell in Section A. He was surprised when he saw it; as the Deputy Warden, Brett Moon, had said, the spaces were closer to college dorm rooms than prison cells. And he'd been right.

Don's room had a regular door with a draped window in it. It had an automatic lock that could be activated from the Security Station, but it also had a lighter weight lock that could be locked from the inside, for privacy. (When he'd asked one of the Guards whether that allowed the Trustees too much privacy, the man had rammed his key into the lock from the outside and popped the door right open, answering confidently, "Nope!")

There was a small window that looked out on the prison's farm, too. It was covered by a grate inside and heavy glass outside, preventing anything from being transferred through it, but it had a great view of the world beyond the prison; the farm, the foothills, and the tall mountain range, with its tallest peak still topped by the previous years' snows, and it was October.

Inside his cell, he had a toilet and sink, actual twin bed mattress (atop a simple wire mesh frame) with a full set of bedding, a wood table and chair, and a metal bulletin board upon which various impersonal notes were held with small magnets. (He'd been told that the Trustee who'd been relocated had wanted to take a box full of personal items with him to the Cell Block, but instead had had to have the items locked up. Don had to wonder what kind of things the Trustees could have that they regular inmates couldn't have. He'd likely never know.)

A bell sounded through the wing, and he heard some one say something about lunch. He snatched up his jacket -- mostly to cover the fact that he hadn't showered yet and his under arms were stained with perspiration -- and headed out into the passage.

And there she was, the woman from yesterday who'd told him -- he was pretty sure -- that he had a nice ass. He'd been surprised by her, of course; sure, he'd love to think he had a nice ass, and he'd love to think that an attractive, wild-looking young woman thought he had one, too; but he'd been particularly surprised that such a woman had told him so in the visiting room of a state penitentiary!

She looked his direction and he smiled politely, not sure what else to do. His wife was locked up on a cell just a hundred yards away. It wasn't like he was going to do anything with this woman ... right?

And yet, he couldn't help but look her over and feel a twinge in his pants at the thoughts that quickly came to him. Its' been a while ... a long while, he thought. He and his wife had been denied conjugal visits; he thought it was to pressure her to turn on the men the Prosecutor thought she was protecting. But ... naw ... I couldn't ... could I?

There were new faces. New inmates? No... No, that wasn't it. She recognized one of these folk passing by.
But not by his face.

A spark lit her expression with the recognition; the tight fit of his pants giving a better outline to areas beyond just that ass that caught her eye before. It seemed he remembered her as well, from the look on his face. The sheepish smirk, the slightly uncomfortable glance...

"Won't you come over? Please?," She cooed sweetly, her hands tightening on the bars. "It's been so long since I've talked to someone besides guards and other inmates. I promise I'll be a good girl..." Another smirk, her head leaning against the bars as she laughed. "It's not like I can do anything bad. Think of it as.... Having lunch with the tiger at the zoo. As long as you stay outside the cage, it can't hurt you."

She wondered if she could convince him.
He looked like a deer in headlights, debating on if it should go left, right, or try to go straight over the damn car.

Perci wanted to be a semi that he couldn't avoid...
"Pretty please?," She purred again, trying to give the most pathetic eyes possible.

Those thoughts were drifting in again, the ones that kept her awake most of the night, busy most of the morning, the ones that were refusing to go away. Thoughts that the 'old' her would have been disgusted and ashamed of, the girl who was horrified at even kissing a guy on a first date.

How was that the same girl that was now wondering if it was possible for him to fuck her between the bars?

(OOC -- I wrote this to merge Perci's last post -- written without a description of the Wing (my bad, sorry), with the pic of the Wing, which I only now found (again, my bad), so there's a bit of "god moding" on my part for Perci. Sorry.)

Don made his way toward the end of the Trustees Wing, aware of Perci's eyes on him the whole way. Each time she looked away from him -- charting the path ahead through those milling about, assembling to go to lunch -- his eyes fell to her body. He knew he shouldn't even look at her, let alone fantasize of having her; but as long as they remained hands off, what was wrong with looking, right.

She passed through the traditional steel bar gate separating the Trustees Wing from what he'd heard a Guard call the Security Hub and suddenly turned to look directly into Don's eyes, and -- practically cooing -- asked, "Won't you come over? Please?"

Don slowed a bit, intimidated. The woman wasn't shy he was rapidly realizing, and he knew beyond any doubt that this was not the time to be creating any entanglements with outgoing extraverts. He was trapped inside a Medium Security prison with the world falling victim to a virus that was still being identified ... and, as a beautiful, sexy young woman was making eyes at him, his wife was incarcerated practically within hollering distance!

"It's been so long since I've talked to someone besides guards and other inmates," she told him as he slowly approached, trying to inconspicuously keep the bars of the security gate between the two of them. With a smirk, she added, "I promise I'll be a good girl. It's not like I can do anything bad. Think of it as.... Having lunch with the tiger at the zoo. As long as you stay outside the cage, it can't hurt you."

Don looked to his left, her right; there may have been bars between them now, but three feet away, the gate that she'd passed through was wide open, with the other civilian inmates passing through it to the mess halls, some of them eying the pair with harsh looks or knowing smiles.

Don could feel his skin warming as he tried to figure out a way to deal with this woman. If it weren't for the fact that he was married, he would have taken this woman down, any place, any time, and in a number of ways. He even wondered whether despite his wife whether he would take the plunge, commit his first act of cheating, enjoy the touch of a woman; it had been far too long!

But, here? Now? Can't happen, he told himself.

"Pretty please?" she purred again.

Don smiled broadly, then chuckled nervously. He moved closer to her, within reach of her through the bars. He glanced around, ensuring that none of the others were eavesdropping, then asked softly, "What do you want from me? We're ... we're in a prison, for god's sake."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he remembered that she'd only asked him to talk to her, not to part her thighs and make her scream. Oh shit. Maybe she's not the bad girl. Maybe I'm the bad boy...

Don couldn't have realized that he was infected with the virus, the bug that no one would talk about with any details. All they'd been told was that people around the globe were acting irrational; no details whatsoever. He couldn't have known that the virus caused a rapid and permanent degrading of a human beings inhibitions; it made them do things they'd often fantasized about doing but would never have done in their right minds; and, in the later stages, made them do things they probably never even fantasized about.

Don was infected, causing him to want this woman badly. What he couldn't have known was that this woman, Perci, had been infected nearly 12 hours before him ... that she had already had a colorful life ... and that the virus that was making home inside him now had already built a metropolis inside of her.

Don was out of his depth ... and he didn't even know it yet.