Cell game

Marcus' back twitched. And rippled.

And started to protrude.

The skin on his back poked out into a series of tube like structures. Play darkened as they went, and began to puff some kind of green gas or powder or spores into the air.

The prisoners weren't exactly highly concerned with the details.

The darkening skin spread until it covered his whole back. Which was starting to look more...ribbed than it had. The bare parts of his arms were starting to look the same.

Marcus groaned.

Even his groans sounded different. More like moans, really.

His legs extended, and burst through his pants and shoes. Marcus groaned again, and squeezed his head.

And there was rather more of it.

His tail shot out, and rapidly extended. The tip dripped with green, but it didn't attack his cell mates.

It attacked his clothes.

As the last scraps of cloth fell to the floor, Marcus' breathing slowed, and stabilized.

And then stopped entirely.

He put his hands on the bench, braced, and slowly rose to her 7-foot height.

There was a long, frozen moment. They looked at it. She looked at them.

The thing that had been Marcus raised its hand, examined it languidly, smiled, then let it fall, and surveyed its cellmates much like a mouse would look at a helpless, undefended piece of cheese.

"Well,' it said. "No soap, no shower, but I think I can make do."

And it sauntered toward them.

The prisoners yelled even harder. Some of them even attacked. Their blows bounced off its rubbery skin, and it tossed them off with ease.

Nothing they did mattered. Nothing changed what was about to happen. The guards wouldn't come.

But, eventually, the prisoners did.