DAY 2

Jonesy kept saying it was a bad idea, going after the pipeline. Maybe we should have listened.

Protesting was already dangerous enough, with the corporate private security and all. The retribution was brutal enough, and that was just for making a bit of noise. Trying to get the rest of the world to pay a bit of attention. I guess everywhere has their own problems, though, and these fuckers have got good PR or something. Nobody gives a shit that they're choking us to death bit by bit.

Marisa put it into words first. The day after they took Angie and Ronaldo. "If they're going to disappear us just for holding signs," she said, "why bother stopping at holding signs?"

"Why not hurt them?"

Couldn't disagree with her logic. 

So, the new pipeline. They were shredding up god knows how many acres of fragile forest to lay it, gouging the landscape and dumping byproduct chemicals everywhere in the process. The thing about it being so far in the wilderness, though, is that a lot of it was unguarded. So we could get access. Blast the fucking thing. It might not stop them, but it'd slow them down and cost them a shitload of resources to keep it going. It's not about one big killing blow, it's about dozens of little bleeding wounds that'll eventually bring down a giant.

Jonesy said we were stupid. Jonesy wasn't wrong. That's why we're in cells now.

They caught us pretty much immediately. Two dozen roided-up mercenary freaks poured out through the trees, guns and tasers drawn, screaming at us. We never stood a chance. Ellison tried to run, and... well, he wasn't successful. It was a bad scene.

Cells are nice, at least. Our totalitarian captors don't spare expense on anything, apparently, including cages. Each of us in our own little room, sterile white walls and pristine cots, spotless glass doors all facing a center atrium. Like they're going to put on a show for us. 

I gotta get out of here.

DAY 5

Wasn't wrong about a show. They pulled some other prisoner in this morning, some guy I didn't know. They questioned him in that center space. It wasn't gentle. We all banged on the glass of our cells, yelling at them to leave him alone, but they acted like they couldn't even hear us. Four guards holding him down while this interrogator just calmly asked the same questions over and over. 

I don't think they expected to get any answers. I think they just wanted us to see the process.

It wasn't long. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. But you can do a lot of damage in that time, it turns out.

When they dragged him out, groaning, we all just stared at the blood on the floor for a long time. 

Then we stared at each other.

Is that going to be one of us next?

DAY 7

I don't feel good lately. 

OK, that's stupid to say. I'm a political prisoner with no hope of trial or due process, watching others like me get beaten to a pulp every day. Obviously I don't feel good.

But what I mean is, I feel sick. Wrong.

I think the food is off, or the water. It mostly tastes fine - not good, but not spoiled or anything. But there's something about it. Almost a metallic taste coating my mouth after I drink the water. Something that makes my gums tingle when I chew the food.

I held out for as long as I could before eating or drinking, but... not strong enough, I guess. A hunger strike sounds good on paper, but when a perfectly delicious-looking burger just sits there on a tray in your cell... well, maybe you'd do better. Me, I caved. Took almost a week, but I caved. Not proud of it, but it's what happened. Phil was the first to eat, and we all saw him do it, and we were all disappointed in him. But a bunch of us followed suit within an hour. Solidarity, right?

But yeah. Now I'm worried it's doing something to my body. I don't feel good at all.

DAY 11

I feel better today. Better than I have in a while. Stronger. Alert. Energized.

I'm convinced there's something in the food. Not really any question about it. Every time they drop it off I can't stop myself from gorging immediately. I see most of the others do the same. Our bodies need the nutrition, obviously, but it's like we need it on another level, too. Like a drug. Every night I tell myself I'm going to hold out tomorrow, and every morning they push a meal through the slot and I'm a ravenous animal all of a sudden. I can't control it.

And after I've eaten, I feel... well, good. My heart beats rich and fast. My senses are alive. My breathing is really deep and rapid. It feels like I'm locked in.

They brought in a prisoner right after we ate today, and I almost hyperventilated, watching them beat him. My body was so galvanized the whole time that I totally forgot to be horrified and disgusted. I was just rapt.

Afterwards I was horrified and disgusted, of course. At myself, just as much as at them. I saw the faces of my friends, watching from their cells, and I saw them having the same emotions. Something's happening to us. Something bad.

Still. I feel good today. Trying to cling to that as a good thing.

DAY 16

Today, during the interrogation, I saw that Phil had his cock out. 

He wasn't masturbating. He just had it out. He was holding it while he stood there, up against the glass, watching slackjawed as the guards kicked some prisoner on the floor. It made my brain buzz, seeing him like that. It was like he didn't know he was doing it. Like it was an impulse he wasn't aware he'd followed. My own heavy breathing fogged up the glass in front of me as I watched, and my nipples got so hard they ached.

DAY 17

Phil jerked off during the interrogation today. Marisa had her top open, her pert little tits visible. Her nipples looked even harder than mine felt.

It's terrible, what they're doing to us, to these other prisoners. I know that. I don't feel it anymore, probably because I'm desensitized or something. I can't really care about those people. I don't know them, and there's a new one every day. It's just noise. What I feel is this itchy-brained thrum of fixation and fascination. And seeing Phil and Marisa, I can feel that thrum turning into something sharper, more clear. Something like lust.

I know I shouldn't feel that but I can't really say why. Everything gets blurry in this place. I don't remember what we were doing that got us here. I mean, I remember, I know the facts. Protests, pipeline, blah blah blah. I don't remember why I cared, though. Those feelings feel amputated, dead. Now there's just the thrum, buzzing through my limbs. Making me pant and squirm as I watch.

DAY 20

Today, instead of bringing in some prisoner we don't know, they pulled Jonesy out of his cell.

They gagged him and held his arms and hit him in the stomach. Didn't even ask any questions. Didn't bother pretending it was anything other than a show of force.

He looked so weak like that. Helpless and pathetic. Couldn't do anything at all.

And they looked so fucking strong. Mighty. All-powerful. They can do anything they want and we just have to take it.

I didn't cum as fast as some of the others, but I didn't last until Jonesy hit the floor, either.

DAY 31

The Guard who came into my cell today didn't ask any questions, which was disappointing. I was hoping He would let me tell him more things I thought of. I gave up all the names I could remember a few days ago, which wasn't much more than Phil and Marisa and Donovan had already given, but it still felt so fucking good. So good to give in. Divulge. I know They are going to capture the people we're betraying, and They're going to hurt them, and that makes me thrum so deep and so powerful that I can almost cum just thinking about it.

Today, though, the Guard just wanted me to suck His cock, so I kept quiet and I did that. Whatever He wants. It feels so perfect to just give in to that. They don't hide the drugs in our meals anymore, They just give it to us directly and we take it eagerly and let it ruin us. I know it's probably doing horrible, irreparable things to me, and I don't care. I love that. I love helping Them destroy whatever's in Their way.

I think Jonesy's still holding out a little. He gave in like the rest of us after his third beating, but I think he's still holding back a little bit of information. I hope the Guard lets me tell Him. Maybe He'll let me stroke Him while They punish Jonesy for it. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot.