Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Cross-Fit
by Servus Venandi
The “cross-fitness” of crucified inmates is a running joke among guards at the NA East Detention Center. Each cellblock has a pair of T-shaped steel crosses on the lower level, used in nonlethal disciplinary applications against unruly residents, or schmucks who otherwise get on the bad side of someone with a little power. It can be a spectacle—nude prisoners, arms spread, struggling for the entertainment of guards and detainees alike. Some handle it better than others.
When Sage did a few weeks at NA East leading up to her fateful transfer to Zone 9 Asylum, she was already in fine shape. Assassination campaigns that span the galaxy tend to demand a certain level of physical prowess, after all, and wasting away inside the concrete walls of an ocean-based jail threatened her finely-honed edge.
After she drop-kicked the warden during orientation and got cruxxed less than an hour after arriving, however, Sage realized atrophy wouldn’t be a problem. All she had to do was violently resist some petty command once per day. They’d manhandle her, possibly lay a few stripes across her tits and ass, and then put her on one of the crosses in Cellblock F. It was a free hour-long workout, sometimes longer if she really pissed someone off.
By the time the poorly-named justice system shipped her off to the nuthouse in late EY2418, she was in better physical shape than when they’d arrested her.
To this day, Sage is fondly reminded of those grueling days on the cross every time she hangs from a pull-up bar.
I’m cross-fit as fuck, motherfuckers. Try me.
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by Servus Venandi
The “cross-fitness” of crucified inmates is a running joke among guards at the NA East Detention Center. Each cellblock has a pair of T-shaped steel crosses on the lower level, used in nonlethal disciplinary applications against unruly residents, or schmucks who otherwise get on the bad side of someone with a little power. It can be a spectacle—nude prisoners, arms spread, struggling for the entertainment of guards and detainees alike. Some handle it better than others.
When Sage did a few weeks at NA East leading up to her fateful transfer to Zone 9 Asylum, she was already in fine shape. Assassination campaigns that span the galaxy tend to demand a certain level of physical prowess, after all, and wasting away inside the concrete walls of an ocean-based jail threatened her finely-honed edge.
After she drop-kicked the warden during orientation and got cruxxed less than an hour after arriving, however, Sage realized atrophy wouldn’t be a problem. All she had to do was violently resist some petty command once per day. They’d manhandle her, possibly lay a few stripes across her tits and ass, and then put her on one of the crosses in Cellblock F. It was a free hour-long workout, sometimes longer if she really pissed someone off.
By the time the poorly-named justice system shipped her off to the nuthouse in late EY2418, she was in better physical shape than when they’d arrested her.
To this day, Sage is fondly reminded of those grueling days on the cross every time she hangs from a pull-up bar.
I’m cross-fit as fuck, motherfuckers. Try me.
--
