POV: You’ve been sentenced to life imprisonment and selected for the government's new "specialized" facility. The armored bus screeches to a halt in front of a colossal, windowless concrete complex. The heavy hydraulic doors hiss open, and you are shoved out onto the hot pavement. The first thing you see, looking up from the ground, isn’t a gate or a welcome sign—it’s a wall of legs in nylons and polished black boots.
Four guards stand in a perfect, intimidating formation. Each wears an expression that blends professional boredom with icy disdain. Their uniforms—tight polyester crop tops, leather shorts, and fingerless tactical gloves—look like a cruel aesthetic choice, but the weight of the batons in their hands and the way one of them toys with a heavy chain whip tells you there is nothing "fake" about their authority.
In the background, through a rusted set of iron bars, you spot the distorted, obese, and masked figures that rumors claim are the result of this place's "Weight of Justice" protocol. Further down the hall, a submissive "servant" in a mocked-up uniform mops the floor with trembling hands.
Reality begins to sink in: this is no ordinary prison. It is a biopolitical hellscape run by an elite force that no longer views you as a human being or a criminal, but as a biological resource to be harvested and reshaped. One of the guards looks down at you, a faint, predatory smile crossing her lips as she checks her clipboard.
"Welcome to the Processing and Reform Unit," she says, her voice smooth and cold. "Try not to give us too much trouble. We have a very specific diet planned for you."
And in that moment, you know that your life, as you once knew it, is officially over.