Chapter Text
Bling.
The bright flash of the object lying on the grey bathroom tiles glistened in the corner of Thunder McQueen’s eye. Shiny things, dropped coins and banknotes, even lost wallets almost never escaped his attention. Not because he was a particularly lucky individual - to the contrary, really - but more so because he spent most of his time looking downward, to the ground, away from other people’s gazes.
As he crouched down to take a better look at the trinket, he rested the mop he’d just wiped the floor with against the wall. It was a skillfully crafted golden pendant, in an unusual shape, not unlike a beetle with a large stinger in the middle. Most of what he found never had much of a value, but this ornament looked… different. Thunder was not a jeweler or an expert of precious metals, but through his fascination with valuable keepsakes, he had acquired enough experience to be able to recognize a work of high quality. Were it not for that particular ability, his instincts of collecting trinkets would have been reminiscent of those of a magpie bird. Before he could even reconsider, his hand was already extended towards the pendant. Experimentally, he slid his fingertip across its’ surface - feeling the shape it has been cast into, the ridges on its’ beetle-like belly. Slowly, but surely, he felt himself drawn towards the stinger. The tip proved to have been as sharp as a needle and a jolt of pain ran down Thunder’s finger as he pricked himself with it, drawing blood. He sucked his teeth in with discomfort and brought his finger closer to his face to examine the wound — at least, that’s what he would’ve done, were it not for the sudden sound of one of the bathroom stalls opening with a creak.
Thunder had not been aware that someone else was inside - this was the women’s restroom, which he was meant to clean when it was completely vacant. One of the female prisoners was now standing across from him with a bewildered look on her face.
“W-What the hell are you doing here…?! This is the women’s restroom, you asshole…!”
Prisoner FE18081. He recognized her quickly - Thunder suspected this was not beneficial to the image of his character, but he observed every attractive female prisoner he saw at the institution. He found her pretty. She wore a blue headband and her black hair was shoulder-length. Thunder liked the way her outfit would show her midriff, but he sensed danger whenever he’d looked into her eyes. She gave off the vibe of being capable of anything - not an unusual quality inside of a prison.
Rapidly, she started approaching him. “What’s that there on the floor?! Gimme that!”, she screeched as she swiped the pendant off the floor, then glared at him with contempt as she stood with her head high above him, “It’s mine! Did you think you can steal my stuff?! Stupid freak!”
Her voice left an echo in the room as the door leading back into the prison corridors slammed shut behind her.
Thunder was still sprawled on the floor, flabbergasted, as his fingertip dripped bright red blood down his forearm. Within seconds, his shock turned to despair, as he let out a quiet, low-pitched whine.
“Freak”… How could she call him such a thing? He hadn’t even done anything! He was just cleaning… But now, she hated him, too… Now she knew that he was lowlife trash who picks up lost things and peeps on women, too…
Thunder’s warm tears began to form a small puddle in a little concave patch on the floor where the tiles have been assembled unevenly. He appreciated that he’d just wiped them clean. Otherwise, lying down flat on the bathroom floor right now in his bout of misery might’ve been just a little bit unhygienic.
***
When Thunder eventually made it to the canteen for lunch, almost all the food had been gone already. The only thing he was still able to get were the mushy peas and carrots. They tasted off, but he was not feeling much of an appetite, anyway.
By this point, most of the prisoners were rather pent up as they awaited their scheduled yard time. It was one of the best opportunities for conducting business or extorting debts and favors - for those who had a favorable standing in the hierarchy. Thunder was not one of those prisoners. The best he could hope for was laying low and staying out of sight of the troublemakers. Most times, he was successful in doing so. Once in a blue moon, he would rake in a few punches for looking at someone the wrong way. At least, that’s what they claimed it was for. Though he didn’t enjoy the pain, in some sense, he was sure that he deserved the punishment. If not for “looking the wrong way”, then for whatever other sins he’d committed. But most of all, to be singled out for some imaginary transgression… It made him feel like he existed, at least. Not like the invisible ghost he seemed to be to other people most of the time.
Sports Maxx, a tall man in a gaudy suit with jagged-looking blonde hair, was one of the primary dealers of goods - he also happened to be Thunder’s cellmate, which Thunder found to be agreeable. Much better than his previous one, anyway. Sports had only been at the prison for a few weeks, but he seemed to accommodate quickly, so given his appearance and business capabilities, Thunder assumed he was a gangster. That gave Sports a stark advantage over regular criminals at surviving here - he knew the inner workings of this institution and likely had connections to some of the higher-ups. When it came to their sharing a cell, it was unproblematic and quiet, almost… too much so. When Sports was a new arrival, he took the top bunk in their cell without even mentioning it. Sans the occasional transaction, Thunder could almost believe that he was non-existent to Sports.
Thunder spent most of his days observing the other prisoners. It took his mind off the miserable thoughts that dominated his mind whenever he was alone. At that moment, he was still thinking about his run-in with Gwess, the female prisoner who lost the trinket in the bathroom. Why was it that even if people noticed him, they never smiled? They’d look disinterested, angry, contemptuous, even sorry - but they’d never look… happy.
He gazed out towards the women’s yard - there would always be a full line of men assembled on their side of the fence, clinging onto it like caged up wild animals vying for a scrap of meat. Every now and then, the prison guard would have to come stop the cat-calling and shoo them away, but they never stayed away for very long before coming back. The majority of the women stayed far away from the fence, with the exception of a few inmate prostitutes who were, naturally, looking for business. But even their faces betrayed a reluctance of necessity.
Thunder never joined that crowd, of course. He’d still try to steal glances at the women’s yard from afar, but as the janitor, unlike many of the male prisoners, he had the privilege of access to the women’s restroom when cleaning, or the corridor near the sickbay. He felt no pride in it, but he would use those opportunities to swipe money and peep on the female prisoners. Thunder had to admit to himself that the environment of prison was the catalyst for some of his moral corruption. Or perhaps, his arrest was simply the event that enabled him to give in to it. Maybe before he was sentenced, he only ever behaved because he thought he could never get away with giving in to his ugly urges in the free man’s world. Here, incarcerated with prisoners who had committed deeds much worse than he’d ever done, it was possible to get away with just about anything he wanted to do.
As he looked between the backs of the male prisoners standing in front of the fence, he caught a look of a woman standing across from it at a safe, but strangely close distance. He’d never seen her before. She must’ve been new. With a head of shoulder-length, tightly wrought dreadlocks and her palms curled up into fists, her forearm muscles beginning to bulge with the intensity of her grip, she was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. Though she was more than twenty meters away, behind the shadow cast by her furrowed eyebrows, her eyes looked like they were on fire. With piercing intensity, she stared back into the men’s yard. Not at the lot of lechers clawing at the fence, not at the two prison guards scolding them, who were now beginning to put their beating sticks to use, but further out. Thunder followed her gaze. She was looking directly at Sports Maxx.
“For fuck’s sake!”, one of the guards yelled coarsely, “Next thing that needs doing in this shithole is putting a goddamn concrete wall right here!”
The voices in the yard began to get louder. The prisoners began to chant, and circle around the guards, trying to overwhelm them. Thunder began to move backwards to get away from the commotion. That was the moment when he became aware of his dizziness. He gripped at the nearby prisoner in an attempt to support himself, but the strength left his body and he collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.
***
Moments later, Thunder opened his eyes. He was lying sprawled out on a couch in the entertainment room. A prison guard was sitting across from him. Thunder blinked repeatedly and let his grey, cat-like eyes wander from side to side. As he moved his eyeballs, he could sense strain and a headache nestled in the back of his skull.
“Awake again?”, the guard inquired, with no concern audible in his voice.
“Y-Yeah… I’m fine”, Thunder sat up straight slowly, holding his fingers to his temple while he brushed the bundle of blonde locks away from his forehead.
“There’s a glass of water on the table. Stay here for now. They’re like savages out in the yard. If you feel worse, I’ll take you into the infirmary.”
Thunder only nodded lightly in response. Many of the guards were familiar with him - he’d been here for a while, after all. He did not tend to cause trouble at all, so they would not treat him as harshly as some others… most times. He reached for the glass and drank. Now, he was really starting to feel the lack of food in his stomach. The water made him a little nauseous.
Why did he fall out there…? Spontaneously losing consciousness was deeply unusual for him. Aside from the mental problems the doctors have always claimed he’d had, he was a very healthy man. He glanced at the scars across his wrists and inner forearms. How many times did he cut them open in the past…? Despite his attempts to the contrary, he’d always recover. Most times, without any medical help. His body was strong, resilient.
Perhaps that is why he’d stopped trying to die, for a while. There were lines he wasn’t willing to cross. What he could bring himself to do, never proved to be enough to seal the deal. Thunder scolded himself mentally - for not trying hard enough - as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He was living his life on autopilot. Nothing he did had any drive, nothing that happened to him - any purpose. It was like everything led to unending misery.
The image of the beetle-like pendant flashed in front of his eyes. That thing had an aura around it, though he’d only just realized it. Mysterious… Menacing. Like the look on that girl’s face. She must have just arrived here and yet, there was no sadness or remorse behind her gaze. Grounded there with such resolve, such determination. Such a strong will. How did she do it? Why did his chest seem to flutter as he recalled her appearance? And more importantly… what was her relation to Sports Maxx?
“I’m… I’m doing better. I can go back out”, Thunder exclaimed. He wanted to see her again.
“Are you nuts?”, the guard scoffed, “You just passed out. You’re staying here. I ain’t takin’ responsibility for none of you dropping dead.”
Thunder looked to the side as he brushed his shoulder nervously. He had to stay put.
***
That night, he dreamt of her. He was standing on a rooftop, eleven floors high. The cityscape below looked busy… inviting. When he fantasized of suicide, he liked to imagine doing it in public. The idea of traumatizing innocents excited him. Giving them a spectacle that they would never be able to forget… making them look, making them see him, think of him and his pain, whether they wanted to or not, whether they could handle it or not.
One last look at the sky before he jumped… A zeppelin glided slowly in front of the clouds. A zeppelin… strange. It even pulled a banner. The thick, black letters read “LOOK BEHIND YOU, DUMBASS”.
Thunder startled in confusion and turned his head to look, but before he could even finish his movement… There she was, the fierce, beautiful woman with dreadlocks, gripping tightly at the collar of his shirt. Staring him down with the same intensity as he saw her project out in the yard. He suddenly felt powerless.
Just like that, she pressed her lips to his and held him tightly, almost aggressively, locked in the kiss. He wouldn’t dream of protesting. Thunder had never kissed anyone before this… It was his first time. The softness of her lips, the strength of her fist gripping at his shirt, was a lot more touch than he was used to in… well, ever, probably. His lust for death was beginning to subside, being replaced with a familiar thirst for the opposite… Life. Creating it, to be precise. Indeed, he began to feel really, really horny. Yeah, he could keep living for a few moments longer. With how much he craved to touch her… he needed to.
“Do you want to fuck me?”, Thunder knew that she’d spoken and what words she’d said, but he could not hear her voice. He nodded slowly, shyly.
She took a step back and lifted and removed her top, gracing him with a view of her bare breasts. They were round and full, and her nipples a ripe, brown shade. She didn’t linger for long before she slid down her pants and underwear, too. Then, she turned around to rest against the door leading back into the building, as she bent over, presenting herself to him. There was a confidence about her that he found alluring and unusual. At the same time, the fast pace, how frantic her movements suggested that, like him, she felt deeply desperate for some sort of release… Retribution, maybe. For how they’ve been wronged… He felt his heart beating faster and a distinct rush of adrenaline sweeping his body. Would this really make him feel better? Would it wipe the heavy weight of feeling all this emptiness for longer than a moment?
“Come here… Come here and fuck me, you bastard. It’s much better than jumping off that roof, trust me.”
Thunder’s cock twitched inside his pants and he took a reluctant step forward.
“Just do it, already. I want you inside me.”
He took a few more steps, but didn’t seem to get any closer.
“How long are you gonna make me wait?”
By now, he was jogging towards her, yet he only seemed to get further away. Even once his run turned to a sprint - her body only became increasingly out of his reach.
Slipping in and out of consciousness, he tried to hold on to the dream just a little longer, even though he was now floating in an empty space, the woman was now just a tiny dot on the vast horizon, as he continued to run towards her desperately. Eventually, the hallucination faded away and the depressing reality set in for good. It was over and he was awake in the bottom bunk of his prison cell, covered in sweat, with a rock hard cock and a restless, pounding heart to deal with.
Sports Maxx got out of his bunk first, which was unusual. He began to dress and groom himself with the vast array of products he had, thanks to his connections to the outside. In the meantime, Thunder rolled over in his bunk to face the wall, as he tried to calm down the stiffness in his boxers. With every second that passed, he realized more clearly that his racing heart, the sweat covering his back and forehead and the chills he began to feel were not the result of his… “interesting” dream.
It was a fever. A high one.