Act I

"Escape"

-1-

Alex Haley doesn’t hesitate as he steps inside the half filled BioHazard bin. He shifts the thick silvery refuse bags inside  until he makes a pocket where he can lie down with his legs tucked underneath him.

Haley's eyes, shielded from the unbearable sun by his long lashes, dart up to Corporal Lionel Carver. The young  RLA corporal knelt beside the BioHazard bin, gazing down at him.

“You have to seal it now,” Haley reminds Carver calmly.

Haley fondles the handheld drill he’d stolen from the maintenance shed weeks ago in his hand. He presses the button on the small drill to make sure it still worked. The drill whirred quietly, the pointed tip spinning clockwise. Once Corp. Carver sealed the bin Haley would have to drill air holes for himself or suffocate inside the hermetically sealed waste bin

“I don’t know about this anymore.”

Carver tries to hide the terror in his eyes.

That was what Ft. Pride did to people. It terrorized them.

No. 

That was what Sgt. Kenneth Maxwell did.  He terrified his soldiers in the worst way. He’d terrified Haley too.

And that was why he had to escape.

Haley’s first three months in Ft. Pride has been rough. He’d been relocated with Maxwell after the RLA discovered Maxwell had let three POWs escape Camp Harmony. Maxwell didn’t bother telling the RLA the escape was a distraction so the cartel could infiltrate the camp. He didn’t want to make it worse.

Ft. Pride was desolate and isolated. It wasn’t on the grid--power and water had to brought in by convoys and it’s use was determined by a strict schedule set by Headquarters. There were not plans to build servers or run water lines out this far North of the Sprawl. Ft. Pride existed solely to manage the  prison population at the Northland Penitentiary and to store soldiers the RLA didn't want to deal with.

It had taken some hardening of Haley's heart to get used to the cruelty; watching the prisoners dragged to the execution room and then helping to push the corpses into the furnace. The prisoner in Northland were guilty of  crimes so disturbing that the were seen as unfit to be in society. Haley knew this but as the prisoners were taken to the execution room they were often overcome with an unreconcilable fear. 

Most them cried and begged.

Sometimes Maxwell had let Haley pray with the prisoners in the last moments before their death. It had been awful, but civil.

Haley had been prepared to serve the last of  his 12 month sentence in Ft. Pride with Maxwell, the sergeant who both fascinated and terrified him.  He knew that once he got his release he’d put Maxwell behind him and restart.

But then everything changed. 

Maxwell realized vital two things; he could get high off low doses of the lethal injection meant for the prisoners and that the RLA only required him to ship the ashes of the prisoners back to their next of kin, never the bodies.

He'd brought a prisoner to the execution room and shot him in the head before throwing him in the furnace. Haley had been made to clean the blood and the scent had clung to him for days. Repulsed by all the messy blood, Maxwell strangled the next few with his bare hands. But he’d quickly decided that was too much work as well.

That’s when Maxwell had decided to outsource his killing.

He locked two prisoners with upcoming execution dates in a cell together and whichever one killed the other got a stay of execution from him. The fights were violent and some would last for days. The other prisoners enjoyed the entertainment and most of the soldiers went along with it because it meant they didn’t have to give out the deaths.

Haley had watched Maxwell’s escalation silently. He knew Maxwell got off on the violence and control. And he began to realize that one day Maxwell would kill him. 

Maybe he’d do it on purpose or maybe by mistake. 

Haley had decided not to wait around to find out.

The entire camp was bugged and Haley had been monitoring the soldier’s communication chips when he heard Corporal Lionel Carver calling into Headquarters to report the dogfights and other gross misconduct at Ft. Pride. Most soldiers kept their heads down and didn’t make waves as they waited out their 5 week Ft. Pride rotation.

But not Carver.

He cared.

Haley listened in as  Carver’s call had been transferred to Lt. Winthrop’s office where a staffer promised to look into it. Of course Haley knew that wasn’t going to happen—Ft. Pride was RLA’s dirty secret. As long as prisoners were contained and executed on schedule and Maxwell stayed away from  Headquarters nobody cared what happened there.

After hearing the call Haley had quietly done some research on Corp. Carver. He was one of two line cooks assigned on the rotation. He’d been sent to Ft. Pride as punishment for being habitually late at his home post. He’d been a humanitarian worker before he got drafted. Haley had put himself directly in Corp. Carver’s path and spent every stolen moment sharing parts of himself and gaining Carver’s sympathy so he would be his accomplice for this day. 

The day he'd escape.

“I’ll  be fine,” Haley reassures Corp. Carver now, as he lies in a BioHazard bin, surrounded by bags of refuse. “Just lock me in.”

“It’s a capital punishment to aid an escape from an RLA camp," Carver says.

“No one will know you put me in here,” Haley tells him. “I won’t tell anyone you helped me.”

“What if you get caught ?”

“I won’t.”

Carver didn’t believe in their plan, but Haley did.  It was simple; he’d hide in the  BioHazard that was stored on the same flight that took the old rotation back to Ft. Perch. Once they landed, Corp Carver would  volunteer to empty the BioHazrd bins into the landfill and take him out.  Haley would find a Syndicate, call his sister and she’d transfer him money to get home.

Isla was well off since she’d been given money for returning Skylar—well, Zacarias Washington now.  She was out of the country, having started her world travel at an Ashram in New Calcutta, but he knew she’d help. The RLA wouldn’t waste the resources to look for him. He’d lay low. Maybe go international  and stay with Isla just to be safe.

“Please,” Haley begs. He needed the man for his plan to work.

The corporal closes his eyes and sighs.

Carver holds his palm out and Haley gives him his  tracking microchip. Haley had cut the chip from behind his own ear with a kitchen knife. The microchips were installed as an emergency precaution if a soldier or inmate ever got lost in the desert and needed to be located. But Maxwell mostly used the chips to keep an eye on what went on at his base.

“Are you absolutely  sure  you want to do this ?,” Carver asks.

Haley nods and Carver seals the bin, regretting the day he’d ran into Haley crying outside the kitchen. Regretting asking him if he was okay. Regretting every bit of eye contact with the beautiful boy who was clearly more than his command sergeant’s assistant.  

Carver  drags the BioHazard bin containing Haley to sit with the other BioHazard bins that would be loaded by a drone on to the aircraft that was taking he and his rotation home and away from this hell hole.  He rests a hand on the bin, wishing Haley all the luck in the world, and then removes his work gloves and hurries to join the rest of the unit in the airfield. On the way he tosses Haley’s biochip into the latrines, so the Sergeant wouldn’t be suspicious if he decided to check up on where the boy was.

Carver’s unit stood in formation in full fatigues, as the command sergeant had requested, for their final debriefing. Carver’s rotation  at Ft. Pride consisted of 14 men. Being a cook he’d  been spared the more violent parts of the assignment but he’d had to endure the heat, the brutal hours and the vitriol from the inmates as he delivered their meals.

Sgt. Maxwell arrived late and as usual. He eschewed the uniform standards by never wearing his coat and tie and leaving his wrinkled dress shirt unbuttoned. Sgt. Maxwell walks the line and gives the men their final debriefing, telling them all the ways they were a group of fuckups  as the RLA transport airship carrying their replacement  unit landed.

Carver stares just off into the distance, watching the drones load the BioHazard bins into the airship’s cargo bay without interruption. He let out a breath when they were all loaded and the bay door closes. He only hopes Haley had been able to drill airholes.

Sgt. Maxwell saluted his departing staff and they boarded the airship just as the new rotation, looking scared and anxious, deplaned. 

Sweet, cool air kissed Carver’s face  and blew back his hair the moment he steps on to the airship. He couldn’t help but to smile at the small luxury of air conditioning and he watches a few of his comrades exchanging relieved looks as they slid into the cool seats. 

The soldiers sit, not daring to talk, not daring to fully relax until Ft. Pride was thousands of miles behind them. They watched through the windows as the new rotation’s supplies were removed from the ship, the new water supply convoy unloaded and  the new rotation receive their tracking chips.

Their airship should have departed the moment all the supplies were off but it remains grounded.

After 20 minutes of uncertainty, Sgt. Maxwell walks on to the airship and  the unit startles to attention. 

“Off,” Sgt. Maxwell orders.

The soldiers stand and file out of the airship in a neat formation, facing the new rotation of soldiers in disciplined silence. Carver thinks the new rotation looks innocent, some even cocky, unaware of the horrors they’re about to face.

Sgt. Maxwell is  no where to be seen once they are off the airship, but no one dares to speak a word. They two groups of men stand in formation; shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye, facing each other under the unrelenting heat.

Carver clinches his teeth when he hears Maxwell’s footsteps coming from the airship. He doesn’t have to look to know his superior is dragging something large behind him. It thunks against the dry earth every few steps.

Sgt. Maxwell drags the BioHazard bin to the center of the formation, in the space between the new soldiers and the ones on their way home. His mass of muscles strain against the weight of the  solid metal bin and he  unceremoniously opens the bin, tossing a garbage bag aside and pulling  Haley out by the wrist. 

Haley’s legs must have fallen asleep in the bin because his steps are almost comically unsteady. Maxwell places his hand on the crown of Haley’s head and pushes him to his knees.

Carver makes a point to mimic his fellow soldiers looks of shock. The new rotation soldiers look confused, not used to a civilian’s presence on military outposts, especially not one so young.

“Did you really think that was going to work ?,” Sgt. Maxwell says to Haley.

Sgt. Maxwell lowers himself to one knee and roughly pulls back the right section of Haley’s hair with his fingers.  He folds Haley’s  ear forward and runs his finger over the small, ugly cut  from where Haley had cut out the tracking microchip. A small smear of blood dots Sgt. Maxwell’s finger. Haley flinches at the touch and the Sergeant licks the stray spot of blood off his finger.

“Naughty boy,” Sgt. Maxwell growls.

Sgt. Maxwell stands, pushes Haley’s forehead to the ground and pulls down the back collar of Haley’s shirt. He presses his thumb against the base of Haley’s bare neck so hard that the thin skin begins to bruise, but Carver can make out the small impression of a second microchip.

“You don’t think I wanted to keep a special eye on you,?” Sgt. Maxwell continues.

Haley keeps his eyes reverently on the ground. “I’m sorry, sir--”

“No you’re not. Not yet,” Sgt. Maxwell interrupts. “Who helped you ?”

Haley keeps silent and Sgt. Maxwell roughly tips his face back up. Haley’s bottom lip is trembling but he keeps quiet.

“Tell me who helped you.”

Haley’s eyes follow every movement of the command sergeant’s hand as he removes the thick leather belt.  Sgt. Maxwell folds the belt in half and the leather makes a sharp snap,  leaving an angry red mark from Haley's forehead to his chin. Tears well up in his eyes.

Some of the new soldier’s flinch. Carver suddenly feels like he is going to throw up, his entire body is shaking. He’d heard rumors of Maxwell’s temper but  no one had ever dared challenge the sergeant in the time he’s been in Ft. Pride.

“Who helped you ?,” the Sergeant repeats.

Haley holds his arms up to protect his face as Sgt. Maxwell brings the belt down again. The sergeant quickly secures both of Haley’s wrist in one of his hands,  leaving his face exposed for three more strikes.

The cockiness was quickly disappearing from the new rotation at Sgt. Maxwell’s show of force on a civilian. Some of them looked sick. Carver knew the boy was 18, but he looked so young and had a sweet face.

“Who fucking helped you ?,” Sgt. Maxwell repeats, louder.

Carver considers stepping forward and ending this all, sacrificing himself, but he knew better.

Sgt. Maxwell diverts his attention to the line of soldiers from the old rotation.

“What does the RLA penal code list as punishment for  attempted escape  from  an RLA base ?” Sgt. Maxwell asks them.

“Capital punishment, sir.” Corporal Lowell calls out loudly.

“You are correct,” Sgt. Maxwell says. “Which is why Haley—who only had one precious month left of his original  sentence must feel very stupid right now. "

Sgt. Maxwell uses the edge of his undershirt to wipe the tears from Haley’s face.

“Now, we are all going to stand here, just like this, until Haley decides to tell me who his accomplice was or until the accomplice comes forward.” Sgt. Maxwell tells them. “ And who knows? …Maybe if the accomplice comes forward I’ll consider sparing his life.”

Carver can feel accusatory looks spreading throughout the line of soldiers. Carver knew he wouldn’t come forward. Sgt. Maxwell would kill him. Sgt. Maxwell would shoot him on the spot and toss him into the creamtion furnace without a second thought.

Haley knows this too and commits himself to keeping quiet about Carver. Maxwell wouldn’t risk guessing and killing the wrong soldier. Haley stays perfectly still on his knees,  breathing through the throbbing pain from Maxwell’s beating and reviewing his miscalculations in the escape.

A second microchip. He didn’t even know when Maxwell could have put another tracking chip in him.

They  stand in silence for  two hours until Maxwell receives a message on his Syndicate that Haley knows must be from Headquarters. The RLA airships had strict  schedules and Maxwell couldn’t keep the old rotation here forever.

Clearly fed up with an admonishment from Headquarters, Maxwell dismisses the old rotation back to the airship and they depart. Carver doesn’t even dare give Haley a small second glance.

Maxwell spits a few lines of verbal abuse at his new rotation and then dismisses them to find their barracks.

Once they are alone Maxwell  kneels back down to his level and presses his forehead hard against Haley’s. Haley claps his hand around Maxwell’s neck and moves to touch his lips to Maxwell’s, to remind the sergeant of why he keeps him alive.  He could tell Maxwell had gotten off on humiliating him in front of a crowd and hoped that this was the end of his punishment.

“Please don’t kill me,” Haley begs quietly. “I’m sorry--”

“No, you’re not,” Maxwell tells him. “You tried to leave. You thought you were smarter than me. You’re not.”

Maxwell stands and secures Haley’s wrist behind his back with a cuff. Maxwell walks him towards the only permanent structure on Ft. Pride; Northland Penitentiary. Haley walks compliantly, knowing that there was an empty isolation cell inside the penitentiary that Maxwell liked to use. 

But as they turn down the hall of death row cells Haley suddenly realizes he’s being taken somewhere much worse than an isolation cell.

He’d watched so many inmates lose any sense of self-respect and composure as they were escorted to this same place. He’d sometimes wish they would go in silence and keep some sense of dignity. But now that it is him making the walk to the execution room he does none of those things. 

“Maxwell! Stop!,” Haley screams suddenly, jerking away from Maxwell’s grip. “No, you can’t--”

“That’s the law. Attempted escape is a capital offense,” Maxwell reminds him. “You like when I follow the law, don’t you ?”

They pass through the hallway of death row cells. The small cells were built into the walls with a sheet of clear smart plastic in the front,  separating the hallway from the cells.  The inmates housed there shout profanities and jeer at Maxwell as he passes.

“Please,” Haley begs. “ I’m sorry, I was scared--”

“You don’t know scared yet,” Maxwell says.

Haley knows fighting doesn’t help but he does it anyway. He plants his feet firmly on the ground once they are in sight of the execution room. Without missing a step Maxwell  picks him up and throws him over his shoulder, pining his kicking legs down with his forearm.

“Maxwell, stop !”

Maxwell scans himself into the execution room. The room is utilitarian and small, less than 200 feet of space. As soon as the door slides shut the soundproof room is definingly silent. He wrestles Haley into the pair of wrist restraints built into a padded desk. He pushes Haley back  into the chair attached to the desk and restrains his ankles and waist to the chair. 

“Maxwell, stop—please—I’m sorry,” he begs, unsure of how far this was going to go.

Maxwell gathers Haley’s hair into a ponytail at the top of his head and secures it with a rubber band. He can see Maxwell’s arousal. He hopes for a moment that this is just one of Maxwell’s awful games.

 He loses hope when Maxwell takes his gun off his hip and presses it to Haley’s forehead. He’d seen Maxwell carelessly kill so many other inmates with that same weapon in this same place.

 

“MAXWELL--”

 

“Can you imagine what it will look like when your blood is dripping all over this table ?,” Maxwell says with dark smile. “Do you know how much I want to fuck your  warm corpse before it grows stiff and cold ? How fucking complaint you would finally be? I think that’s the perfect payback for all the shit you put me through, don’t you think, Haley ?”

Haley doesn’t answer.

Maxwell had developed a perverse  sexual appetite in his last few months at Ft. Pride.

Without a word, Maxwell removes the gun from Haley’s forehead and walks out of the execution room, leaving him bound to the chair.

When the door shuts behind Maxwell, Haley’s mind races in every direction. He can’t keep one line of thought straight. Part of him wanted to make peace with death. If Maxwell gave him the injection it could be a nice way to go.

But part of him wanted to beg for his life and  part of him was still trying to escape and a small naïve part of him hoped this was all a game.

There’s no clock in the execution room and he’s not sure how long Maxwell leaves him. He’s exhausted but too scared to fall asleep.

When the door to the execution room opens up again Maxwell is cradling a black lockbox and he isn’t alone. With him is a death row inmate wearing #N34540.  Forge DeCartes.

DeCartes  earned his spot in Northland for a killing spree he’d gone on in the outer sprawl but he was infamous for the blood red tattoos he marked on Mjollner prostitutes.  The artwork covering DeCartes body would have been beautiful if not for the violent and  grotesque scenes each one depicted.

There was a rumor that DeCartes had performed some version of every murder scene  depicted on his body.

DeCartes’ hands are shackled and he is led into the room on a chain by Maxwell  like a dog. The inmate is almost as tall as Maxwell’s 6 foot 7,  with the muscles to match.

He's smiling. 

“Okay, big man. Do I have to fight him or fuck him ?,” DeCartes asks, staring at Haley.

The inmates were never deferential to Maxwell, especially the ones on death row. Most of them weren’t even afraid of him. Not until the very end.

“Shut up until I say you can talk,” Maxwell growls attaching DeCartes’ shackles to the door.

Maxwell sits in the chair opposite Haley, the chair a priest or comforter was supposed to sit in during the execution to comfort the inmate in his final minutes.

“ Maxwell, I’m sorry please--"

“I don’t know which of those pussies you talked into helping you escape or how you even convinced them to turn against me but I can’t have that. You’ve forced my hand.” Maxwell says reaching into his pocket.

Haley watches Maxwell produce the familiar rectangular metal strip with an RLA insignia engraved in the center and his body recoils. Haley turns his face to refuse, but  Maxwell anticipates it. Using his ponytail to keep him in place, Maxwell  pries Haley’s mouth open and  forces the metal gag into his mouth.

Haley had only seen the gags--on the POWs in Camp Harmony--but had never had one put in. He can feel a flexible rubber material molding between his back teeth and creating a seal, forcing his lips closed behind the metal strip. He tries to spit it out and the gag tightens itself harder until he can hardly breathe.

“Don’t fight it,” Maxwell says, tapping his finger on the outside of gag. “Now, you won’t be talking to any of my soldiers. And if you try and convince them with just those pretty eyes of yours they are going next.”

Despite the discomfort of the gag Haley relaxes.

This meant he wasn’t going to die today.

Maxwell stands up and walks back over to  DeCartes.

“N34540, how would you like cold drinking water in your cell ?,” Maxwell asks the inmate.

DeCartes smiles a wicked smile.

“Well, I’d prefer no execution--”

“Don’t get smart,” Maxwell warns. “I’m sure the children of that couple  would have preferred to bury their parents with their heads--”

“I only wanted that bitch’s skull,” DeCartes smiles. “The husband begged me to take him too… I figured I may as well get an extra souvenir.”

“Charming. Five years is the maximum stay of execution I can give at one time,” Maxwell explains. “Or you can die tomorrow as scheduled.”

DeCartes eyes flit to Haley and back to Maxwell.

“What do I have to do ?,” DeCartes asks.

“What you did best. I believe this was confiscated from your cell some years ago.” Maxwell says opening the black lockbox.

Inside sat a tattooing machine and powdered ink.

DeCartes smiles.

“What do you want, big man ?”

“I want my monogram,” Maxwell says walking to stand behind Haley. Once again he pulls down Haley’s shirt collar and presses a finger to the back of Haley’s neck.  “Right here.”

DeCartes smiles wider.

Maxwell walks DeCartes to the execution table Haley was bound to  and shackles the inmate to Haley’s chair. Haley tries to protest but his tongue is trapped behind his sealed teeth. The only sound he can make is a muffled moan.

 DeCartes eagerly starts the tattoo machine in his hand and the needle began to quickly piston up and down. Grinning, the inmate opens a container of black powder.

“I need-,” DeCartes begins.

“Right, you mix your pigments with blood,” Maxwell says. “You sick bastard.”

Maxwell pulls a knife out of his pocket and cuts his own forearm, spilling blood on to the table. DeCartes uses the lid of the powder ink jar to guide the blood into the powder until it becomes a dark slurry that flows effortlessly into his needle.

“Never done this on a sober person,” DeCartes says in a sing song voice, rubbing the skin on the back of Haley’s neck. “This is going to hurt like a bitch--”

“No talking,” Maxwell orders him.

As the needle makes contact with the base of Haley’s neck Haley is momentarily in shock by the intensity of the pain. The  needle  burns and tears through the sensitive skin.  Instinctively, Haley twists his neck away from the needle and DeCartes swears as wasted ink runs down his arm.

Maxwell quickly stands and secures Haley’s head down to the table with a strap, rendering him immobile.

Haley screams, tears flood his eyes and he makes a desperate, agonizing sound through the gag in anticipation of the sting of the needle again.  DeCartes almost gleefully drives the needle back into Haley’s neck and the pain is somehow more excruciating  now that he can’t move. His body trembles violently against the restraints. His face burns as his bladder empties into a puddle at his feet.

Maxwell takes his seat on the other side of the table and rests his chin against the table’s surface, looking Haley in the eye and sadistically wiping Haley’s tears away while stroking himself underneath he table.

DeCartes works for an hour on the tattoo, Haley is out of tears and teetering on the edge of consciousness when the searing needle finally pauses.

“Now, I need--,”  DeCartes starts but before he can finish Maxwell tosses the inmate a lighter.

“Look at you. Are you a fan of my work ? ” DeCartes says, flicking the switch on the lighter

“I’ve studied your cases. You're a sick son of a bitch.” Maxwell replies dryly.

Haley is only dully aware of the conversation happening right in front of him. He listens in a daze to DeCartes heating up the needle with the lighter and when he feels the burning needle against his already raw skin he mercifully passes out.

 

 

***

-2-

 

Haley wakes up naked and floating in a BioHazed bin.

But unlike the one he’d tried to escape in earlier, this one is  filled  to the top with ice water. His calves hang over the edge of the bin and the icey water comes  to his chin, keeping his  neck submerged in the water.

A small morphine bracelet is around his forearm, it’s the lowest dose Maxwell keeps but it makes his pain feel distant.

He’s in Maxwell’s quarters, a small temporary structure built hastily out of plywood. A thick curtain of tarp separated Maxwell’s office  from his personal quarters and Haley could hear the voice of Maxwell’s boss, Lt. Cassia Winthrop, through the curtain. She sounds angry

“We had the CEOs of engineering firms just waiting around for 30 minutes on a tarmac, there are officers who won’t be getting their cleaned uniforms from Camp Harmony for a press ball and not to mention the food deliveries to the front lines!,” Lt. Winthrop shouts. “You’d had better have a good reason for keeping an airship 2 hours off schedule. I mean it, what the fuck, Ken ?”

“I had my reasons.”

“You don’t get to have reasons,” she spits. “I give you free reign down there but don’t you dare think you can fuck up my shit. Don’t forget I control how much water and power you get. You’re at my mercy. Don’t ever do that again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says after a pause.

“And you’re behind on the execution schedule. The courts sent down five more orders today, but I can see the inmates vitals are still online. I have to be able to tell the victim’s families the people who ruined their lives are dead. But I can’t do that without proof. Not to mention you’re behind on my summary briefs-”

“It will be done tomorrow,” Maxwell says. “I had an issue with Haley--”

“I don’t care about your little fucktoy--”

“He almost escaped--”

“--fucking hell, Ken.”

“I caught him. It’s fine”

 “You know Ken, if it were up to me the RLA would have locked you up for all your incompetence a long time ago but you’re getting a second chance--”

“Second chance ? Is that what we’re calling this ? I think you made it clear that I either do this or get the firing squad--”

“Sure. But things might change…we’re swamped up here with all this recent gang activity. You’re loyal, we like that, so do your damn job so I can do mine. Good night, Ken.” 

“Good night, lieutenant,” Maxwell says.  “Tell your husband I said hello.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean--”

Haley hears Maxwell’s screen shut off before she can finish.

Before Haley can remember to pretend to still be passed out, Maxwell steps through the curtain in full uniform. Removing his cap and jacket, Maxwell takes a piece of ice out of the BioHazard bin and rubs it over his face. 

His eyes meet Haley’s and Maxwell gives him a devious smile as pulls him out of the ice water and into the small stall that served as his bathroom.  The space was miniscule, the shower and toilet shared a wall. The other wall, where a miniature sink sat, was made of a mirror.

Haley wants to confirm that Maxwell wasn’t going to execute him, but the gag is still in and he can barely open his mouth.

Maxwell opens Haley’s hand and gives him a compact mirror. Haley slowly opens the compact mirror and looks behind himself to see the reflection of the reflection of his neck in the mirrored bathroom wall.

In a delicate script, surrounded in flourishes, the letter K overlaying the letter M  was permanently inked to the back of his neck. He would have thought it pretty design if it hadn’t been tattooed on his skin against his will.

“Instead of sentencing you to death like the law requires  I’m giving you a life sentence,” Maxwell tells him running his finger along the still burning tattoo. “You belong to me forever now.”

-----

A/N That awkward moment when your character who is monogramming his name on people has basically the same initials as Michael Kors.