The next day.

Another non-eventful day passes, throughout which you're adjusting to your diminished abilities. It's extremely frustrating, like you've suffered brain damage. You drop things, get caught on your own feet and trip, have to take things slow and careful. You're clumsy and weak, instead of nimble and powerful.

You try not to think about what might happen in the showers this evening, but eventually the time comes.

At first, you try to stay in your cell, wrapped up in bedsheets instead of clothing, but the machines guarding you are insistent. And now, their physicality really means something. When you refused for the second time, one of them physically picks you up by the shoulders and carries you, removing the bedsheets you were wearing and delicately returning them to your bed, leaving you naked and suspended backwards over the machines shoulders. You pound on its back, but all that you get in return is a polite mechanical voice asking you to please desist.

The machine places you down in the shower, where the other inmate is already present. He watches you with a wary eye, while you carefully walk to the furthest shower from him, trying to mask your clumsy motions. You switch the shower on, half-heartedly washing yourself and keeping an eye over your shoulder.

After a moment of splitting your attention like this, you fumble the sponge you're carrying, and it bounces out into the open, still wet. To you, the noise it makes as it slides along the ground is the loudest thing in the world. Quietly, you slowly move to pick it back up.