Anya's decision

Chapter 2 – No going back

The heavy steel door of the isolation cell clicked shut with a brutal, echoing finality. The concrete floor was cold against Anya’s barefeet now naked like all condemned prisoners she was in the system now, a clinical illumination of the death row block, every surface looked sterile, indifferent, and absolute. 

She sat on the edge of the steel bunk, her mind replaying the stinging reality of the betrayal. The notes left behind, the finality of her husband’s departure, and the hollow ache in her chest had left her utterly hollowed out. The grief was a physical weight, heavier than any physical restraint, yet she craved the cold iron and leather to match the numbness inside. 

The sound of measured footsteps echoed down the corridor. Lydia stopped outside the cell door, her face a mask of professional dread mixed with personal grief. Without a word, she unlocked the hatch, slid the heavy gear through, and entered the cell. 

Lydia moved with practiced, mechanical efficiency, her hands steady despite the tremor in her voice. She secured the heavy canvas straitjacket, cinching the buckles tight across Anya's chest until breathing required conscious effort. Next came the heavy steel-reinforced chastity belt and the thick institutional diaper—standard protocol for long-term death row isolation, ensuring total degradation and absolute control before the final sentence was carried out. 

Locked down completely, stripped of autonomy, and left to the mercies of the system she had once overseen, Anya leaned back against the cold wall. Days stretched ahead in absolute silence, waiting for the dawn of her execution.

Lydia stood in the executive briefing room, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. The boss slid Anya’s signed waiver across the polished steel desk, his expression unreadable as he reviewed every clause, initial, and signature confirming her voluntary surrender to the penal system. 

"Are you okay to do this, Lydia?" he asked, his eyes lifting to meet hers. 

"Yes," Lydia replied quietly. "It's what she wants." 

He nodded once, locking the folder inside the secure drawer. "Then she gets the full protocol. No exceptions, no favouritism. Cell procedure is absolute. Brief the staff today: zero special treatment from prep all the way to the execution chair. Do you understand?" 

"Understood," Lydia said. 

"And make sure she knows the rules of the block," the boss added, his tone sharpening. "Whenever you or any guard enters her cell, she stands at the back with her nose against the wall, exactly like every other condemned prisoner before her." 

With the directives locked in place, Lydia left the office to brief the guards and prepare the block for the gruelling fourteen-day countdown. In her isolation cell, wrapped in heavy canvas and isolated from the outside world, Anya waited for the unpredictable ring of the two-hour call—knowing that at any moment, day or night, the final sequence could begin.

Lydia stood before the assembled shift of guards and medical techs in the briefing room, her expression grim and professional. 

"Cell 12 is locked down," Lydia said, scanning the room. "The paperwork is complete, pending only the warden's final signature, which will be applied immediately before the execution. Per the signed waiver, withdrawal is no longer an option; once the protocol initiates, it follows standard execution procedure to the letter. She has no idea when the order will drop within the fourteen-day window. She is prisoner Anya now, and she receives zero special treatment." 

She paused, letting the weight of the rules settle over the team. "Every entry into Cell 12 requires standard protocol. She faces the back with her nose against the wall. No exceptions." 

A hand went up from the back row. Officer Miller leaned forward, a question on his lips. "Yes?" Lydia prompted.

"Should she have her legs apart Lydia as well as her nose on the wall like protocol dictates, and is she naked and barefoot like other prisoners?" Miller asked, his voice steady.

"Yes," Lydia answered, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "She is stripped naked, barefoot, locked in the heavy canvas straitjacket, chastity belt, and institutional diaper. And yes, standard wall-stance protocol applies: nose against the wall, feet spaced apart, exactly like every other inmate on the block."

Lydia scanned the room one last time, ensuring every guard and tech understood the absolute removal of Anya's former authority. 

"From this moment on, she is simply Number 12. Keep the rotation random, keep the watch tight, and wait for the fourteen-day window to play out."

The heavy iron door of Cell 12 groaned open on its grease-slicked hinges. 

Officer Miller and a second guard stepped inside, their boots striking the cold concrete with sharp, synchronized precision. Per standard inspection protocol, the two-hour unannounced countdown checks and three-hour deep-cell sweeps were absolute.

As the lock clicked behind them, Number 12 did not hesitate. Moving with the stiff, encumbered gait forced by the heavy canvas straitjacket and the rigid steel of the chastity belt, she shuffled backward toward the rear wall. She planted her bare feet wide apart and pressed her face firmly against the cold stone, her nose touching the masonry, hands securely bound at her sides.

"Inspection routine," Miller announced, his voice clinical and devoid of any personal recognition.

While Miller kept his eyes and stance locked on her position to ensure compliance, the second guard immediately set to work dismantling the cell. The soft mat padding on the steel bunk was wrenched from its frame, tossed out into the corridor for contraband and structural sweeps, followed by the institutional-grade bedding. Every seam, corner, and bolt of the cell was searched, probed, and cataloged.

Once the sweep was cleared, the process reversed with ruthless efficiency. The soft mats and bedding were hauled back inside, methodically re-fitted, and locked back onto the bunk exactly as they had been found. 

Miller stepped back toward the threshold, eyeing the rigid figure at the wall. "Cell 12 inspection complete. Secure." 

The heavy door slammed shut, sealing Number 12 back into the silence of the block to await the next rotation.

The heavy cell door unlocked with a sharp, pneumatic hiss, breaking the heavy silence of the block. Lydia stepped inside, moving with the calm, collected authority expected of her rank. 

Number 12 immediately shifted against the cold stone, shuffling backward until her bare feet were planted wide and her nose pressed firmly against the wall. Bound tightly in the heavy canvas straitjacket and steel-reinforced chastity belt, she held the mandated posture without a word, waiting for authorization. 

Lydia stood just inside the threshold, running a clinical, practiced eye over the inmate. Under death row regulations, welfare checks required visual confirmation of physical stability, secure restraint integrity, and psychological baseline assessment. While inmates were permitted to sit on the floor or kneel during standard blocks once told they could, the strict protocol dictated that everyone remained frozen at the wall until explicitly released from the position. 

Lydia checked the log clipboard in her hand, marking down the time and condition of the cell before giving the quiet command.

"At ease from the wall. Sit or kneel."

Number 12 turned her head slightly, offering a faint, strained smile as she looked back at her friend. "Thank you, Lydia."

Lydia froze, her expression hardening instantly. "You mean madam, don't you, 12?"

Inside, Lydia's chest tightened. Maintaining the professional barrier with someone she had known outside these walls required every ounce of resolve she possessed. She stepped closer, levelling a cold, unyielding stare at the inmate.

"Listen to me carefully," Lydia said, her voice echoing off the concrete. "You wanted this protocol, and you are going to respect it. As the execution nurse assigned to this block, I am informing you of how the remainder of this process functions. Just like every inmate before you, you will be kept informed of routine block procedures, meals, hygiene rotations, and mandatory inspections."

Lydia paused, letting the clinical reality sink in.

"The one thing you will not be told is when your execution is scheduled. That information rests solely with the head nurse on the day of the procedure."

Lydia held the inmate's gaze, ensuring every detail registered. "That is the exact path every condemned prisoner takes. When your time comes within these fourteen days, there will be no surprises."

Lydia didn't blink as she continued detailing the clinical prep phase, reading directly from the execution manual's standard operating procedures for the chamber.

"Once you are secured to the transport trolley in the prep suite," Lydia recited, her tone strictly professional, "the medical preparation proceeds to the tissue engorgement protocol."

·         Saline Injections: Sterile saline solution will be injected via fine-gauge medical needles into the tissues of your nipples, vaginal labia, and clitoris to induce artificial swelling.

·         Pressure Pump Application: Manual pressure pumps will be attached to draw maximum blood flow and maintain extreme engorgement of the sensitized tissue prior to the transfer.

·         Node Attachment: Specialized conductive electro-stimulation nodes will be securely taped and strapped to your nipples, clitoris, and anal sphincter.

"These nodes remain dormant during transit," Lydia concluded, keeping her eyes fixed on the inmate. "Once you are strapped into the execution chair, the leads from the chair's terminal harness will be plugged directly into those nodes, ready to deliver the sequence. Do you understand the prep protocol, 12?"

Lydia continued down the checklist without missing a beat, turning the page on her clipboard.

"Finally," Lydia stated, her voice echoing coldly in the small cell, "the heavy copper-wire pear is coated in medical lubricant and inserted fully into your vagina, resting directly against the cervix. It remains dormant, uncharged and unpowered, throughout the transit to the chamber."

Number 12 stood rigidly against the wall, her bare skin chilled by the stone, her mind processing the stark, mechanical reality of the procedure. Looking down at the floor, she finally broke her silence, her voice trembling slightly as the full weight of her decision settled over her.

"What will it feel like... madam?" she asked softly, her gaze fixed downward as she began to truly come to terms with her execution.

Lydia paused, closing the clipboard with a sharp snap.

"When the switch is pulled in the chair," Lydia answered evenly, "the current feeds straight through the nodes and the copper core. It will feel like an absolute, consuming fire from the inside out, locking every muscle and nerve until your body completely gives out. It is designed to leave nothing to chance."

Lydia turned toward the heavy steel door, tapping the security glass to signal the guard outside. "The fourteen-day clock continues, 12. Rest while you can."

The door unlocked, swung open, and slammed shut behind her, leaving Number 12 alone in the quiet dark of the cell.

Lydia paused with her hand resting on the heavy steel door, turning back to deliver the final, unsparing detail of the protocol.

"And the rod," Lydia added, her voice chillingly devoid of emotion as she outlined the centre piece of the chamber's machinery. "Once you are locked into the execution chair, the hydraulic drive activates from beneath. The metal rod slowly extends upward through your anal passage, advancing internally through your lower digestive tract and intestines, stopping just at the base of your throat."

She watched as the reality of the mechanical procedure settled over the inmate.

"You will not be allowed the mercy of unconsciousness," Lydia continued. "Anesthetic blockers and autonomic stimulants will be pumped into your IV line to keep your nervous system fully awake and aware throughout the entire sequence. You will remain conscious as the internal trauma takes hold."

Lydia met Number 12's eyes one last time, laying out the final mechanical consequence of the sentence.

"Death will come from massive internal bleeding," Lydia concluded. "The secondary mechanism, the internal expansion of the mechanical pear will expand and will fracture your internal tissues, and tear apart everything inside as it expands to the size of a football inside you. That is the final stage of the execution."

With the briefing complete, Lydia tapped the release panel. The heavy door swung open, and she stepped out into the corridor, leaving Number 12 to face the silent countdown alone in Cell 12.

The heavy steel door slammed shut with a final, echoing thud, sealing the cell once more.