CHAPTER 5
Teenagers can be rebellious. Some want to prove they have a gang, that they're "cool," and that they own their own pretentious nonsense.
Today, the prison welcomes a few of those—half-child, half–poorly-adjusted souls who barely grasp how society really works—ready to teach them a brutal reality check.
One of them is a disabled girl in a wheelchair, her eyes empty, her attitude arrogant, as if she's never learned how to respect anyone.
The group is being shown the "Prison Toilet" tour—some stalls have doors, some don't. But the girl in the wheelchair still believes the adults are just trying to scare them with words and threats.
The correctional officers shake their heads helplessly, unsure what to do next. That's when Vivienne steps in, only intending to wash her hands, not join this messy "lesson." But one officer orders her to talk to the wheelchair girl—and leaves them alone in the restroom.
Viv doesn't want to. It's annoying. The girl, whose ridiculous name is Skika, tries to chase Viv away.
Viv steps closer, her voice flat:
"Trying to be cool, huh?"
Skika smirks, giving Viv a critical up-and-down look:
"You're just like them. Trying to scare us. But I'm different. So boring."
"You'll believe me," Viv says, brushing Skika's arm lightly. "You'll never want to be here."
"Don't touch me, you fucking bitch!" Skika suddenly screams, making Viv flinch slightly.
Viv's jaw tightens. She quickly grabs Skika's hands on the wheelchair handles. Skika freezes for a split second, about to yell again, but Viv's voice cuts in—soft yet unyielding:
"Excuse me?"
Her gaze locks onto Skika's, giving her no room to think of anything else.
"If you really like being in this place... let me tell you some must-do's."
Viv's grip tightens, making Skika let out a faint groan.
"Here—especially with people who catch my attention... like you—I'd make you my sex cow. No feelings attached."
Skika's expression falters, shock overtaking her face. She says nothing.
Viv goes on:
"Not just me. Everyone here would. Even if you don't want to, you'll still have to. And more than that—I'd make you my little 'mouse maid.' You wouldn't just serve me—you'd serve the psychos too."
Her voice turns emptier, colder:
"And sometimes... I wouldn't be able to protect you. Or maybe... I just wouldn't care to."
Viv releases Skika's hands, her expression unreadable.
"When I was fresh meat in here... you think I wasn't scared? I was terrified. Still am. But I wear a mask to hide it."
She glances at Skika with a flicker of pity.
"I can handle it. But I'm not sure others could."
With that, she turns and leaves, leaving Skika sitting in her wheelchair—drowned in chaotic fear.
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