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GENEVA LBZ/IF INMATE RECORDS
Name: Emilio Clemente
Place of Origin: Cuenca and Guadalajara region, Western Europe
Birth date: Unknown
Height and Weight: ~210 cm, ~75kg
Criminal Record: Harboring a Fugitive, Criminal Negligence, Voluntary Manslaughter
Etc: Prisoner records are not to be destroyed by the order of the Wardens. Who we are and what we’ve done are not a secret, but also do not define us.
—
The man standing before me is almost impossibly tall, angular, and suave. I’d almost guess he was a Lunarian were it not for his Mediterranean tan. He’s wearing a pair of orange trousers and a doctor’s coat, writing on a clipboard while an inmate cuts off the last of my cast. My joints are stiff, my arms are covered in dusty hair, and my armpits smell like a crime scene.
“So, how are you feeling? Any lingering pain? Limbs look like the right shape?”
I look down at my arms and legs, and give them a casual turn and twist. Better than being beaten within an inch of my life by money-gangers, but I’ve felt better. Maybe some pain meds would make me feel better?
“Yeah, good luck with that. Philippe made me promise not to prescribe anything that’s habit forming, and my parents taught me never to sleep with someone you like to argue with.”
He slaps the clipboard onto one of my knees, and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize that that was a test. After several seconds, I dramatically grab my leg and begin writhing in pain, before realizing that there was no point. Hey, whatever happened to the hippocratic oath?
“Oh, I had my medical license taken away long ago, I don’t have to worry about that. I can give you a lollipop, though.”
I stand up and give him a polite thanks, but no thanks. And it’s with that, that I realize that I have no idea what I’m going to do now.
—
During my stay in the Geneva LBZ Hospital, I was forced to learn a lot about this place, both because people loved to talk to new inmates, and because I was a captive audience.
Geneva Launch Base Zone/Internment Facility used to be exactly what that horrid little Texan described it as: an LBZ designed to process and transport free chargon on the backs of prison labor. By all accounts, it did its job pretty decently, if not for the unbelievably cruel warden and guards. They resented having to be exposed to any more chargon than they had to, already cursed to shorter lives by virtue of being Earthlings, and they took it out on the inmates whenever they could. If you didn’t die from artificial old age, you died from the beatings you took because someone with a baton was having a bad day.
Philippe, Doc, and Wolfgang, the third in their polycule, got it the worst. Depending who you ask, it’s either because of the severity of the treason they committed on the outside, or because the guards just hated to see people under them being happy. They quickly became the unofficial leaders of the inmates, their natural charisma causing others to lean on them for guidance, 3 pillars larger than the smoke stacks outside. Philippe, the largest, could solve any argument, Doc knew more about medicine than anyone on staff, and Wolfgang could build a truck without any tools if he had to.
What happened next is a bit of contention. Most of the nurses claim there was some sort of disaster, some say there was some kind of invasion. Doc and Philippe refused to talk about it, but Wolfgang told me to talk to someone named “Ishikawa” for the real information.
But whatever happened, the three of them saved the day and were hailed as heroes by both the inmates and the guards, and the entire population of the LBZ marched peacefully to the offices. The warden turned over everything to the three of them, who became the new leaders, calling themselves the new Wardens. I guess the capital W means something.
They implemented several new rules:
1) What you did on the outside no longer matters. (Which is good for me, considering I didn’t do anything)
2) Each according to their abilities, each according to their needs. (I don’t know how any of the chargon gets processed that way, but I guess they figured it out)
3) No leaving the compound for any reason, no exceptions. We must be self-sustained. (The only rule I’m not a fan of)
Don’t get me wrong, this place is nice, and the free food ain’t so bad, but this isn’t the place for me. I need to get the hell out of here, and I have a feeling that the third of these boys was the fastest ticket out of here. It was time to report to the garages.
Art by https://x.com/menacing_marsh
Name: Emilio Clemente
Place of Origin: Cuenca and Guadalajara region, Western Europe
Birth date: Unknown
Height and Weight: ~210 cm, ~75kg
Criminal Record: Harboring a Fugitive, Criminal Negligence, Voluntary Manslaughter
Etc: Prisoner records are not to be destroyed by the order of the Wardens. Who we are and what we’ve done are not a secret, but also do not define us.
—
The man standing before me is almost impossibly tall, angular, and suave. I’d almost guess he was a Lunarian were it not for his Mediterranean tan. He’s wearing a pair of orange trousers and a doctor’s coat, writing on a clipboard while an inmate cuts off the last of my cast. My joints are stiff, my arms are covered in dusty hair, and my armpits smell like a crime scene.
“So, how are you feeling? Any lingering pain? Limbs look like the right shape?”
I look down at my arms and legs, and give them a casual turn and twist. Better than being beaten within an inch of my life by money-gangers, but I’ve felt better. Maybe some pain meds would make me feel better?
“Yeah, good luck with that. Philippe made me promise not to prescribe anything that’s habit forming, and my parents taught me never to sleep with someone you like to argue with.”
He slaps the clipboard onto one of my knees, and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize that that was a test. After several seconds, I dramatically grab my leg and begin writhing in pain, before realizing that there was no point. Hey, whatever happened to the hippocratic oath?
“Oh, I had my medical license taken away long ago, I don’t have to worry about that. I can give you a lollipop, though.”
I stand up and give him a polite thanks, but no thanks. And it’s with that, that I realize that I have no idea what I’m going to do now.
—
During my stay in the Geneva LBZ Hospital, I was forced to learn a lot about this place, both because people loved to talk to new inmates, and because I was a captive audience.
Geneva Launch Base Zone/Internment Facility used to be exactly what that horrid little Texan described it as: an LBZ designed to process and transport free chargon on the backs of prison labor. By all accounts, it did its job pretty decently, if not for the unbelievably cruel warden and guards. They resented having to be exposed to any more chargon than they had to, already cursed to shorter lives by virtue of being Earthlings, and they took it out on the inmates whenever they could. If you didn’t die from artificial old age, you died from the beatings you took because someone with a baton was having a bad day.
Philippe, Doc, and Wolfgang, the third in their polycule, got it the worst. Depending who you ask, it’s either because of the severity of the treason they committed on the outside, or because the guards just hated to see people under them being happy. They quickly became the unofficial leaders of the inmates, their natural charisma causing others to lean on them for guidance, 3 pillars larger than the smoke stacks outside. Philippe, the largest, could solve any argument, Doc knew more about medicine than anyone on staff, and Wolfgang could build a truck without any tools if he had to.
What happened next is a bit of contention. Most of the nurses claim there was some sort of disaster, some say there was some kind of invasion. Doc and Philippe refused to talk about it, but Wolfgang told me to talk to someone named “Ishikawa” for the real information.
But whatever happened, the three of them saved the day and were hailed as heroes by both the inmates and the guards, and the entire population of the LBZ marched peacefully to the offices. The warden turned over everything to the three of them, who became the new leaders, calling themselves the new Wardens. I guess the capital W means something.
They implemented several new rules:
1) What you did on the outside no longer matters. (Which is good for me, considering I didn’t do anything)
2) Each according to their abilities, each according to their needs. (I don’t know how any of the chargon gets processed that way, but I guess they figured it out)
3) No leaving the compound for any reason, no exceptions. We must be self-sustained. (The only rule I’m not a fan of)
Don’t get me wrong, this place is nice, and the free food ain’t so bad, but this isn’t the place for me. I need to get the hell out of here, and I have a feeling that the third of these boys was the fastest ticket out of here. It was time to report to the garages.
Art by https://x.com/menacing_marsh
Category Story / Anime
Species Human
Size 72 x 120px
File Size 4.5 kB
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