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[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]

When the alarm sounds, she stands at attention in her tiny cell, keeping her eyes trained straight in front of her. Until the sound stops, she is not to shift her position. She waits for the inspection to be over, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore the sweat tickling her all over. No guards are needed for this inspection: the camera is trained to send corrective measures straight to the electrodes in the suit below the thick padded uniform at the slightest deviation from the posture she is required to hold. The inspection times are random, every few minutes or so, and the amount of time she has to hold the posture is random, another few minutes before she is allowed to move. On good days they let her rest for 8 hours, and on other days she gets no rest at all, forced awake by the blaring alarm every time she tries to doze off a little. Even the precious hours of sleep she gets are constantly curtailed by her own drool dripping from the gag, her own sweat pooling and stinking in the suit, the hard cell floor.

[tightsweatyclothes]

[tightsweatyclothes]