Page 31 of Babalon

The bastard actually grins as I looked at him with shock.

Son of a bitch, I guess I have a friend now.

Chapter ten

Nadia

Present Day

Another day, another dollar. If you think about it, the prison pays me to babysit grown ass men, what a way to spend my day. Things were quiet there for a few, no one getting into fights, nothing bloody, and no fires, thank God. It was like there is something bigger and more foreboding coming, but none of us can put our finger on what.

When I woke up this morning, I could feel a shift, and I don’t like shifts. I don’t like changes I can’t see coming which is very unfortunate for me since my job alone is completely unpredictable. There is a semblance of normality, I guess, but not so much today. You can say I woke up on the wrong side ofthe bed, but that would be an understatement. I woke up tossed around, backwards, upside down, and under the damn mattress.

Everything is pissing me off too. The truck had a hard time starting this morning, then I spilled my freshly brewed coffee on my hands, burning the hell out of them. Plus, my uniform has some weird ass stain on it.

God, I hope it isn’t blood. I hate blood.

When I got off work yesterday, I had to make a stop at my main dealer’s apartment to pick up a new batch of powder, and it ended in a heated discussion where I was promptly told to go fuck myself. I would have, but the battery on my favorite toy is dead and I cannot seem to find the charging cable. Technology is amazing, but at the same time, it is a burden. We went from having to buy packs of double A batteries to fighting for chargers at the grocery store.

Needless to say, I’m frustrated.

One thing a lot of people seem to brush over in those who have been assaulted in the past is hyper-sexuality. I don’t truly consider myself hyper-sexual, but there are days where I could rival the stamina of a street whore. Today isn’t one of those days but it would be nice to have been able to take the edge off. Instead, the calls are coming every hour on the hour, almost like the inmates ganged up and decided to test my very, very short fuse today.

“Fuck him up!”

“Beat his ass, man!”

“Hah, what a punk bitch. Look at him take that beating like a fucking sissy.”

The commotion calls me from around the corner, causing me to rush and collide with the back of another inmate. Instinctively, I lift my hands and shove. When the body doesn’t move, I grab my retractable baton and start swinging. The metalclanks into place as I began shouting, other guards running up behind me to help intervene.

“Move out of the goddamn way!” I yell.

Swing.

“Oh fuck!” an inmate cries out.

Swing.

“Shit! Officer Pierce!”

Swing.

I keep swinging until the prisoner moves out of my way and I can see what is going on, my blood beginning to boil the longer the brutish inmates resist and fail to move. With one more resounding crack, I bring the harsh metal down on the back of an inmate’s knees, forcing him to drop down to the ground with a wail.

“I said, fucking MOVE!!”

“That’s enough, Pierce,” our lead guard shouts my way, making me ease up.

The group started to disperse giving me a view of the individual they were beating on. Poor guy, he hasn’t been here very long, maybe a few months. Young, probably one of the youngest ones in this entire prison. Stomping over, I reach down and pull the boy up from the floor, his breaths gurgling through the blood he has pouring out of his nose and mouth.

Great, I’m going to get another stain.

“Can you walk?”

“Y-yes ma’am,” he choks out, flinging droplets of blood all over me.

Another day, another bloody dollar.

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