The Devil You Know/Chapters 1-2

Chapter One
It had started out simply enough; go in, get evaluated, serve his sentence, and leave. He had figured that he wouldn't be in for more than a few months until he was back on the outside, hunting in the Outer Rim. But, seeing as how it had been over two years, with the disciplinary sanctions adding to the time, then he could not help but wonder... The additional charges against him were for things that he swore he had no part in, and they mirrored his original indictment; another assault that he has no memory of ever committing. As the charges and accusations continued to mount, he had to wonder if perhaps the staff simply had a vendetta against him. But, why? A number of the other convicts were ones that he had brought in himself. One would think that prison staff would be thankful.

Zuckuss shook his head slowly. He was seated on his spartan bunk in his cramped cell. It was just after another meeting with the disciplinary committee and they were still undecided as whether to send him to the Hole again or just transfer him to another cellblock in hopes that he would stay out of trouble. If he were any other inmate, he would already be serving his minimum of ninety Standard days in a 23-hour lockdown. However, since his charges and sentencing were based around his legal and mental competency&mdash;or lack thereof, according to the judge&mdash;then his psychiatrist was present and had posed the possibility of transfer to another yard. Though, Zuckuss was wary about the transfer; it would be to the Secure Needs Unit, a cellblock usually reserved for the high-risk inmates. Inmates that included former gang members, and those whose crimes were of a deviant sexual nature. In Gen Pop, those inmates would be high-profile targets and thus be assaulted, or even killed, with little regard to the consequences to the prisoner that committed the act. Zuckuss's psychiatrist reasoned that since he was a well-known bounty hunter on the outside, that he was at as much risk as the other high-profile inmates, and thus it would be in the best interest of his safety that he be moved to the SNU.

The committee said that they would discuss the matter and reconvene at a later date. Zuckuss was then returned to his cell, flimsiwork describing his charges in hand, to await a verdict, however long that would take. Part of him was unsure about the possibility of transfer; he had no doubt brought in some of the SNU inmates himself. Would he not be a target there, as well? And the thought of sharing a cell with a deviant, regardless if that individual was one of his former bounties or not, just sickened him. He would need to voice his concerns with the board concerning that. Whether or not they would heed his words remained to be seen.

There was a knock on his cell door as the tray slot opened. "Zuckuss?" That was the voice of his psychiatrist, Dr. Gawynn Karastee. "I need to review something with you. You still have your flimsiwork?"

Zuckuss stood and approached the cell door. He sat with his back against the wall so as to be eye level with the tray slot. "Zuckuss swears that he did not do what they claimed he had done. He only wishes to serve his time and be released.  They are spreading lies." Nothing but lies. The mists confirmed it, as Zuckuss had absolutely no recollection of getting into the altercation that apparently resulted in another inmate's broken ribs. The corrections officers were spreading lies. They knew who he was on the outside. Perhaps you did do it...

Zuckuss shook his head. "No."

"'No'?" Karastee repeated. "So, you don't have your flimsiwork? Then, what are you holding?"

Zuckuss glanced down, saw the flimsiplast he was still clutching, and promptly handed it through the tray slot. "He apologizes. Must have drifted off for a moment."

Karastee took the forms and nodded. "I should schedule a med check for you. They may need to be adjusted..."

Zuckuss bristled at the words. Of the annoyances in Bedlam, he hated the medication regimen most of all. The pills caused more trouble than they did the benefits they were stated to do. He had lost his sense of taste, his stomach was upset more often than he cared to count, his hands shook like a palsy victim, and he frequented the refresher more. The pills also clouded his mind; made it harder to read the mists. There were days where he couldn't read them at all. He felt empty, then, when the mists would leave him. He had explained to Karastee that he needed to be able to read the mists and that the medication was interfering with that. But, he was told that it was for his own good, that it was to quiet the voices. What voices? The mists were not hallucinations! To think so was blasphemous!

Out in the hallway, Karastee read through the flimsiwork. "All right, this occurred last week, Taungsday, actually. What do you remember from last week?"

Zuckuss cast his gaze to the ceiling as he thought back. "He had work detail." Mopped the floors of his tier, and later sent to another block to clean two cells that had flooded. The work was disgusting; an inmate had flushed contraband down the toilet and it backed up into the adjacent cells. And while Zuckuss worked, other inmates shouted at him. One expressed interest in getting him alone in the shower. He had avoided that fate, thankfully, as he usually showered alone in an airlocked refresher, filled with ammonia so that he would not need to wear his respirator. And as far as he could tell, his work detail ended without incident.

Karastee reviewed something on her datapad. "Do you remember anything else?"

"Being out on the yard," Zuckuss shrugged. "They did a shakedown. Zuckuss spent several minutes face-down outside until they gave the all-clear."

Karastee nodded slowly. "Well, see, this is where we have a problem. Your story doesn't match up.  Work detail was the week before, and the shakedown?  Earlier this week.  Do you remember anything between that?"

Wait, what? That did not make any sense to him. Last week, Zuckuss did his work detail and was involved in a shakedown. Nothing worthy of note happened between those events, just his daily routine. He could not recall being involved in the supposed altercation for which he was accused. He would have remembered it. Perhaps you did do it...

"Quiet," Zuckuss muttered.

"Excuse me?" Karastee peered through the tray slot. "All right, Zuckuss, I think I know what happened. You may have dissociated." Dissociated. That word always came up whenever Karastee wished to accuse Zuckuss of things that he did not do. "We'll need to work on that, keep you from doing that so often..."

Hopefully such methods would not require additional medication, but Zuckuss had been incarcerated long enough to know otherwise. He shook his head slowly.

"Well, I'll discuss this with the board and get back to you as soon as I can," Karastee handed the flimsiwork back to Zuckuss and stood. "Try to stay out of trouble until then." With a hollow "bang," the tray slot was closed and Zuckuss could hear Karastee's heeled shoes click-clack down the corridor.

Zuckuss glanced down at the flimsiwork in his hands and then turned his face to the ceiling. "What in the mists is happening?"

Chapter Two
It happened again. Those damned blackouts. This time, however, he was at least remotely aware of the passage of time. There was an obvious discrepancy, a gaping hole in his memory. He had retired after lights out and awoke in the mess hall, mid-way through chow. How much time had transpired between then and now, he could not tell. What happened during that time also remained a mystery. He just hoped that he stayed out of trouble.

Zuckuss hunched himself over his meal tray. He had held his breath and removed his mask to eat, but had promptly replaced it once he had "woken up," so to speak. It took him a moment to calm his breathing, though he did not remove his mask. His meal, either lunch or dinner, he could not tell, sat before him, half-eaten. He took the opportunity to do a quick survey around the mess; he noticed that he was seated with his back to a corner, a suitable vantage point so that he could maintain a loose watch on the other inmates. One of the corrections officers, a chisel-faced Twi'lek named Makibbin, was watching him.

Zuckuss held his breath, removed his mask, and took a few more bites of what he could only assume was a stew of some type. The flavor did not clue him in, either, as everything tasted bland and chalky, a side-effect of his medication. It was edible, however, and his stomach craved it. Might as well placate the roiling beast with something.

One of the inmates stood and approached him. The inmate was a tall Human male with a shaved head and a body that was covered in tattoos, many of the designs were stylized symbols that marked the man as a gang affiliate. The man placed both hands flat on the table and leaned his weight on them, watching Zuckuss closely. After a long moment of tense silence, the inmate sucked his breath in through his round nose and spoke. "Well?"

Zuckuss replaced his mask and glanced up. "Well, what?" He knew the inmate's name as Wes, a prominent member of some supremacist COMPNOR off-shoot group. Usually, Wes and the other members of that gang left him alone, as Zuckuss was wise to keep his own distance.

Wes leaned forward. "You said you were gonna kick the scarns outta me today. You gonna do it, bug?"

Zuckuss gave Wes a puzzled look. "Of course not. Zuckuss said no such thing..." He returned his gaze to his meal and pushed the food around with his fork.

With a swing of his arm, Wes knocked the tray to the floor and the clattering impact caught the attention of the other inmates. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He stormed around the table as he hissed through his nose again. "Now, either you're gonna kick my ass, or I'm gonna kick yours." He pulled Zuckuss to his feet and shoved him backward. "You don't say Sith like that, you keep to your own kind." He shoved the Gand backward once more. "And this third-person nerfspit? Sure weren't talking like that yesterday when you said you were gonna split my head open..."

Zuckuss's back hit the wall behind him as his mind began to race. ''Oh, you are in for it now... Look at what you did.''

"Quiet," Zuckuss hissed under his breath.

Wes grabbed Zuckuss by his uniform, lifted him off of his feet, and slammed him against the wall. And there he held him as he leaned in close, snorting. "What was that, bug? Got something to say to me?"

Over Wes's right shoulder, Zuckuss could see Makibbin approach. The Twi'lek whacked his nightstick against his palm. "Let him go, Wes. He ain't worth it."

Wes held Zuckuss in his stern glare for a moment longer. His voice dropped to a vicious snarl. "I hear you talking smack about me again and I will kill you." He released the Gand, turned on the ball of his foot, and stalked away.

Zuckuss watched Wes leave. Most of the inmates had returned to their meals, though a few snickered and flashed lewd gestures in his direction. He shook his head and began to gather the contents of his overturned tray before Makibbin stopped him.

"Don't worry about it," Makibbin jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "just go back to your cell."

Zuckuss did as he was told and climbed the stairs to his assigned tier, followed closely by Makibbin. He entered his cell and the door was slammed shut and promptly locked. Seating himself on his thin bunk, Zuckuss kicked off his shoes, crossed his legs, and leaned back against the wall. He had apparently threatened Wes during his blackout? Why in the mists would he do such a thing? Prison conduct stated that one grouped with one's own kind and never associated with other gangs, much less threaten them. To do so would be suicide, and Zuckuss had learned early on that if one was to survive in prison, one needs to follow the rules to a fault. Are his blackouts trying to sabotage him? It felt as if someone else was taking control of his body while he slept. He had apparently struggled with this for as long as he could remember, but it was manageable while he was on the outside. He had 4-LOM to fill him in on the details, and he had fragmented memories of past blackouts. But lately, it seemed to him as if whatever it was, this "dissociation," as his psychiatrist termed it, was out to ruin him. ''Look at what you did. You should be ashamed of yourself.''

"Quiet," Zuckuss muttered. This was not his doing, could they not see that? He would never threaten another inmate, he would never harm another inmate, he only wished to serve his sentence and be released. They are all spreading lies! But, perhaps you did ''do it. You should tell them.''

"No," Zuckuss said tersely. "He had done nothing wrong. There is nothing to tell."

You did ''do it. You should tell them.''

Zuckuss shook his head. "No. Be quiet." He felt a dull ache begin to throb behind his eyes as he stood and paced his cell. The other inmates had already been corralled and one of the COs, Makibbin, stopped before his cell. He tapped his nightstick against the door to get the Gand's attention.

"Talked to the warden a minute ago," Makibbin nodded behind him, "told him what happened. From now on, you're getting your meals in your cell and your pod time will be separate from everyone else.  Don't wantcha getting into any more trouble.  It's either this and you shape up, or you're going to the Hole.  Do I make myself clear?"

Zuckuss nodded.

"Good," Makibbin turned to walk away. "The warden'll talk to your doctor about this and you'll get a copy in writing." With that, he continued down the corridor.

Zuckuss watched him for a moment, then went to his bunk and flopped down on it. He heaved a heavy, gusty sigh. He needed to find out what was causing these blackouts and he needed to find out soon. Before anything else happens. Before he gets himself in real trouble.