Byte said nothing more to Deadman, nor even acknowledged him with a nod of her head to indicate some manner of deal had taken place as she jostled herself into line for the climb up with the rest of the prisoners, some of which groaned when they saw she was in front of them. She slipped the pack of cigarettes and book of matches into the pocket of her coveralls. When it was her turn, she began to climb the ladder really slow. She grasped the rungs above her so tightly the already pale skin of her knuckles went white, and she would close her eyes and pause for a brief amount of time after each step upward as she breathed heavily, visibly trembled, and steeled herself for the next step higher. She obviously had a great concern with heights, and this was recognized as a daily routine that she went through. Though it was her established norm, it still often drew shouts of consternation, ridicule, and impatience from other prisoners and even guards for her being so slow on the ladder.
As she neared the top of the entrance to the control room, as per another established practice in regards to her, two of the four guards standing at the top waiting for the prisoners climbing up slipped their hands under her armpits and bodily lifted her slight weight the remainder of the distance and set her down. She muttered, "Thanks guys", as she leaned over, rested her hands on her knees, and took deep, laborious breaths to try to calm herself down. The two guards observed her for a few moments, while she tried to regain some manner of composure, and then returned to the trapdoor.
The whole prisoner population and guards were aware of several times she'd climbed the ladder and fell unconscious from the stress of trying to fight through her fear after reaching the top. The prison system psychiatrist devised and successfully implemented this system for dealing with her phobia after she had received ten stitches after she fell unconscious and cracked her head open when it slammed against the edge of one of the instrument consoles. When concerns of officer safety and established security measures needing to be followed were voiced by the system administration, the psych argued she posed little threat, being small in stature and incarcerated for non-violent crimes, and that this method would prevent any further recurrences of injury. No injuries, which required detail assignments outside the norm, meant routine could be maintained and this system to deal with her quirk was accepted.
She straightened while still taking deep calming breaths as the Bug, which the prisoners not so affectionately referred to the psych as, had advised. She watched the next prisoner in line climb off the ladder, and three of the four guards stepped up to him and turned him away from them and facing her as the fourth guard continued to watch down the ladder. One of the three guards began to cuff the prisoner, while the other two watched him intently and prepared for any funny business he might try. She ignored the mocking sneer of contempt she received from the prisoner as she continued to breathe heavily and looked around the control room.
The room was mostly bare of any manner of identifying information. There was a sliding steel door with a small viewing window situated in the center of each wall, and the trap door which led to the "Yard" down below. The trapdoor resembled those you find in submarines all the way down to the turnstile locking mechanism. It was heavy undoubtedly, because she'd been first in line to go down on occasion and watched two burly guards struggle to lift it. The main control console was off the center of the room, and towards the north door. She knew it was the north door, because she was housed in the north wing. She viewed all of the displayed camera images before returning her attention to the prisoner in front of her as the guard cuffing him announced, "Prisoner two three prepared for return to cell", into the shoulder mic they all carried. The cuffing guard escorted the prisoner to east door as one of the cover officers moved to the console, tapped a virtual keypad situated on the main face of the panel four times, and the east door slid open. Two guards were standing at the entrance to the east corridor, took custody of the prisoner, and walked him towards his cell as the door slid automatically closed.
Byte stopped the counting in her mind noting a thirty second delay between door access was granted, and the door shut automatically. She took another deep, cleansing breath and turned her magnified eyes towards the three guards advancing on her. Officer Caruthers, the guard who would be cuffing her, lifted his hand and made a circling motion as he stated, "You know the drill Beach. Turn around and put your hands behind your back." She did as ordered, and felt her wrists being secured in his handcuffs. Caruthers grumbled, "Prisoner three one prepared for return to cell", as he escorted her to the north door. She heard four taps, and the door opened. She was taken into custody by Officers Smith and Kleinholdt and escorted to her cell.
She silently counted to thirty once more before she heard the door rumble shut. At the entrance to her cell she was turned away from her cell as Kleinholdt tapped a three digit code into the panel at the right of her door. She was then turned and escorted into the cell. She was advised to remain still as Smith removed the handcuffs. Once her wrists were released, she raised her hands up in front of herself to rub the marks that had been pressed against her flesh. Smith and Kleinholdt stepped backward out of her cell, and they pressed the big, red slap button to have the door shut and magnetically seal.
Byte looked around her cell as she flopped onto her bed. She leaned back against the wall and crossed her legs. She looked at the few pictures she had drawn and taped up on the walls. She had requested paper, pens and pencils almost immediately upon arriving at the prison. Her request was, of course, denied due to the hazardous nature of pencils and pens in the prison. Her compromise was a request for pieces of charcoal, which was granted. Charcoal made a helluva mess, but it was better than not drawing at all, and she believed she was even starting to show talent with the medium she'd not even thought of until entering prison.
