Page 28 of Babalon

I stare up at Don, their current muscle. I turned them down, yet again, and now here I am, his fist connecting with my ribs, my stomach, my face, my chest, everywhere. I lost count on how many times he has hit me this go around. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, and I see nothing except for a blurry light and a shadow just as a heavy fist connects with my face once more.

“Back up inmate!” I hear a man scream, then the world is shifting and jolting me left and right.

Suddenly, things stop moving as my back collides with the ground. All around me is the sounds of scuffling, whacks of batons against someone’s limbs, and the clink of handcuffs. At the moment, it’s all muffled and my brain is foggy, so that’s all I can make out, and I feel like I am about to pass out.

“I said back the fuck up!” the voice shouted again.

“Get down!” screamed another.

“Restrain him!” another grunted.

That was three total, no four? Fuck, I don’t know. My entire body is in pain, my face is throbbing, and I think it’s fucking bleeding.

After what seemed like hours, I feel hands grab me around my biceps and haul me up from what I assume is the floor. Though the world around me is blurry and fading in and out, I’m confident I can feel my feet only for them to give out from under me.

Ope. No, no, I can’t feel my feet.

“Shit, he’s out of it,” grunted the man to my right.

Instinctively, I turned to look towards the voice, but alas, I still can’t tell where he is exactly or if I have actually turned my head for that matter.

“To the med-ward. The ratchette needs to make sure he’s not going to die on us. Don fucked him up. Last thing we need is another inmate dying while Warden Durden is out on retreat.”

That was screamer, I think.

Wait, Durden is out on retreat again? Does that fucker ever show up and do his job?

God dammit, my head hurts. It’s so heavy. Tilting it forward feels the best so I leave it there, hanging, while everything goes black.

“Well, he has seen better days, hasn’t he?”

“You could say that.”

“Alright, get him on the table.”

“Yes, Miss Cindy.”

“Kace, honey, do you know where you’re at?”

Silence.

“Kace.”

Silence.

“Wake your ass up, inmate.”

Slap.

“Hey! Was that necessary?” Nurse Cindy shouted.

I was only partially aware of what was going on, but whoever just slapped me, their mom’s a ho.

That strike, however, forces a groan from me as a new wave of pain rolls through my head now that the light was back on.

Or was it even out?

“There he is. Hey, Kace. You’re in the med-ward with me. Do you know what day it is?”

---