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Chapter 2 by android1966 android1966

Pick a story

Stephen, federal convict.

A loud bang on the metal door to the holding cell you occupy makes you jump in the narrow cot you are lying on. This is followed by a series of bangs, each more muffled as the guard moves along the line of cells rapping with a nightstick on each in turn. You sigh and swing your legs off the cot and shuffle to the door. Manacles around your ankles and wrists are attached to a broad leather belt locked around your waist. Your only clothing is a set of baggy orange pants and top and a pair of slip on shoes. You wait for several seconds staring blankly at the metal door before a buzzer sounds and then you hear the click of the electronic lock opening. The door opens with a metallic crash and you catch a brief glimpse of a uniformed guard before more doors are slammed open.

"Prisoners step forward." The command is bellowed.

You shuffle forward out of your cell into the corridor, glancing left and right you see the other prisoners due for transfer step out and form a ragged line. You know each of them by name and offence, this transfer from the federal courthouse is to the maximum security penitentary and all are high profile cases.

To your right is Anthony Mauro, Tony the trigger, a hitman for the mob convicted of six contract killings. Those are just the ones that the authorities have been able to tie him to, rumour has his list of hits reaching two dozen. Dark haired, slim and handsome the mobster is shorter than you would have expected of a feared killer, but then a pistol or stilletto needs little strength to do it's work. Next to Tony is Timothy Stewert, looking out of place amongst hardened criminals he is barely out of his teens, thin as a rake and ginger haired. Computer fraud netted him millions, only half of which was ever traced. He looks startled and bewildered and sniffles continuously on the verge of tears.

You look to your left and see Ulysses Lincoln standing beside you. A big bear of an African-American with bulging biceps and a broad chest, he ran the southside bloods. Convicted for two homocides and enough gang related activity to fill a book. Last on the short line is Rahim Khan sentanced to life for preparation of terrorist attacks on the US mainland. You read that Rahim spent two years fighting in the Iraq with jihadist insurgents. The Pakistani is the only prisoner not silent, mumbling what you recognise as Arabic phrases from the koran from your time serving in the middle east with the marines.

That leaves you. Stephen Cartwright, convicted of bank robbery. You are guilty of course, your conviction was never in doubt, the mass of evidence against you was overwhelming. Wounding two FBI agents in the shootout that accompanied your arrest was simply the icing on the cake. After twelve years service and a dishonourable discharge from the marine corps you were unemployed and unemployable. You gambled on the get rich or die trying approach, your two partners died trying in the shootout when you were cornered but you were lucky, if that's the correct term and get to spend the rest of your life as a woman in federal pen.

Half a dozen uniformed guards are present in the corridor. Four you recognise, regular staff here at the holding facility underneath the courthouse. At the end of the corridor waiting for you to be transferred to their jurisdiction are two female officers of the correctional facility. You were expecting their presence of course, but know the transfer to the female officers will not take place until all the pink pills have been administered.

"You know why you are here and what is about to happen." The senior guard pacing up and down in front of the line of prisoners says loudly. "Amendment twenty eight to the constitution of the United States of America, god bless America, deemed that gender reallocation for male prisoners could not be considered cruel or unusual punishment. Over fifty percent of the population of the United States of America, god bless America, are female with full rights under the law, so being female is neither cruel or unusual."

"Bullshit!" That comes from Ulysses Lincoln, the guard choses to ignore the epithet.

"In a moment each of you will be offered a pill to take and a drink of water. This pill is X-Change extra strength." The guard continues. "You will swallow said pill and wash it down with a drink of water. You will not resist, make speeches or in any way disrupt my holding facility. Is that clear?"

He does not expect an answer and receives none. His gaze sweeps along the line slowly examining each of you. You reckon he is figuring which of the prisoners are the most likely to ignore his warning and attempt to resist. After a few seconds he nods to another of the guards who unlocks the door at one end of the corridor. A male medical orderly enters holding a wooden tray, on it is a glass of water and a small jug. The senior guard places a single pink pill on the tray and the orderly walks to the head of the line of prisoners.

Is there resistance?

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