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"How could I be so damn careless?" Irina thought to herself. On what had been her first assignment -- a relatively simple one -- she had gotten caught by the occupying forces. One of their troops, apparently dressed as a civilian, had seen her attempting to plant the small incendiary device. He radioed for backup, and before she knew it, she was surrounded.
Now she found herself hooded and handcuffed, riding in a military transport to some unknown destination. She felt sick to her stomach. She didn't have a clue what they were going to do to her, but suspected she'd be executed as a rebel.
The ride plodded on for what seemed like hours. Her arms were getting sore from being pulled behind her back, and breathing underneath the thick hood was difficult, to say the least.
Finally, the vehicle came to a rest and she heard the engine turn off. The door opened and moments later, she felt a rough hand pull her by the arm. Unable to see or pose any meaningful resistance, she complied and followed. Her feet plodded along a short concrete path before she heard a heavy door open. By the sudden increase in temperature, she guessed that she was now indoors. She was shoved along for a few more steps, then brought to a stop.
"Who is she?" droned a nasaly female voice.
"Irina Shumeyko," said a man, who Irina recognized as the one who had cuffed and hooded her. "Twenty-six years old. Lives alone in a lower class apartment complex. No record of arrest. Records show that she has worked as a waitress in various restaurants for the last ten years." Attempting to conceal her identity was impossible; the ID chips that had been injected into anyone born within the last half-century told them everything they needed to know.
"We picked her up attempting to place a small incendiary device," the man said. "One of our agents saw her -- says it looked like a pretty amateurish job. She probably hadn't done anything like it before."
"All right, take her in for processing," the female voice said. "Put her in 59H when you're finished." Irina heard a few items being passed back and forth between the two before she was tugged along once again. A few more sets of heavy-sounding doors opened and closed before they came to a stop.
The hood was suddenly lifted from Irina's head -- she was blinded by the light in the room, but it felt good to breathe again. The room was plain and bare, save for a large desk behind which sat a middle-aged soldier. Two guards stood on duty.
"All right, we'll take her from here," said the man behind the desk. The soldier who had arrested Irina turned around and departed.
"Shumeyko, was it?" the man behind the desk said. He sounded surprisingly polite for a prison officer. "All right. We're going to uncuff your hands and search you. Bear in mind that this will be a strip search -- rebels tend to be very good at concealing weapons and contraband. If you don't resist, it won't be that bad."
Irina felt a chill come over her. She was overly self-conscious about her body and had certainly never been seen naked by three strangers... much less hostile ones. One of the two guards in the room walked behind her and removed her handcuffs, much to Irina's relief. She took the opportunity to stretch her arms and rub her wrists.
"Now, I need you to stand in the middle of the room and undress," the man behind the desk said. His tone turned a little harsher. "If you refuse to comply, the guards will do the job for you."
Irina looked at the floor as she moped into the middle of the room. She bent down and began untying her shoes as slowly as possible, trying her best to delay the humiliation.
"We have a pretty steady flow of prisoners to process, so we'd appreciate it if you hurried up," the man behind the desk snapped coldly. Irina glanced up at him with a look of nervousness, and noticed that the two guards in the room were pointing their weapons directly at her.
Irina worked a little quicker -- she slipped off her shoes and socks and kicked them out in front of her. She removed her sweater and tossed it on the floor, followed by the cotton shirt she wore underneath. She proceeded to unbuckle her belt and slip off her jeans. Now standing in her bra and underwear, she paused.
"All of it," the man snapped. "Oh, and the jewelry, too." Irina plucked out the earrings she wore and tossed them onto the floor into the pile, followed by the necklace and ring she always wore. Realizing that there was no more postponing of the inevitable, she unfastened her bra and tossed it on the floor. While covering her chest with her left arm, she then used her right arm to wiggle her underwear off, before sticking her right hand in front of her crotch.
"Hands on your head," the man behind the desk snarled, his tone becoming harsher by the second. "Please. It's not like we've never seen a pair of tits come through here." The two guards chuckled. Irina, shivering from nervousness and cold, put her hands on top of her head. Her pink nipples stood out hard from her smallish breasts.
One of the guards, clearly having done this many times before, grabbed her pile of clothes and placed them on the desk. He then returned to Irina and walked in a circle around her as he looked her over. Irina thought that would be the worst of it until he suddenly approached and individually lifted up her small breasts. Entirely pointless, as there wasn't a whole lot to 'lift up' -- Irina suspected the guard had ulterior motives. He then squatted down and put a hand on one of her disproportionately large hips and inspected between her legs, from her inner thigh to her untrimmed bush. He circled behind her and spread her ass cheeks, peering inside.
"She's clean," the guard said. The man behind the desk nodded and he escorted Irina, still entirely naked, through another door into a small room containing an open shower stall and a small table containing what looked like a tool box.
"All right, I'm going to cuff you again for a moment," the guard said. He turned Irina around and roughly cuffed her hands behind her back again. Irina heard him rummaging through the box for a moment. "Okay, now stand still." Afraid of what the consequences might be, Irina obeyed. She felt him pulling her wavy, raven hair out into a bunch and then heard a few quick *snips* -- he was giving her a rough haircut. A few more quick snips and he put the scissors back in the box. Irina couldn't see herself, but imagined it was probably the shortest (and worst) haircut she'd ever received. The guard unfastened her handcuffs again.
"Okay, now clean yourself off," barked the guard. Irina walked towards the stall and turned on the knob. Hot water -- almost unbearably hot -- sprayed down on her. Facing away from the guard the entire time, she rubbed herself down with the nasty-looking bar of soap that was provided for her use. She finished, and the guard tossed her a towel that she used to dry herself off.
"Tsk tsk... give the towel back," said the guard with an evil-looking grin. Irina was attempting to wrap the towel around herself to hide her nudity. With a look of shame, she returned to the guard and handed him the towel. He grinned and gave her an intentionally cruel look as he looked her milky skin over from head to toe. "Not the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, but you're a cute one. Heh..." Irina felt sick to her stomach, being looked over like a piece of meat
The guard shoved her a one-piece orange jumpsuit. No bra or underwear, but Irina didn't complain. The sooner she covered herself up, the better. She slipped into it and zipped up.
"Let's get you to your cell," said the guard. "Let's move." He opened a door that led to a dimly-lit hallway -- on each side of the hallway were metal doors with a tiny little grate towards the top -- prison cells, she assumed.
The guard walked her down the hall, opened her cell and shoved her inside, before slamming the door. "Good night," he said in an ominous tone as he slammed the door. "You'll be taken tomorrow to interrogation."
Irina looked at her cell -- a nasty metal toilet and a metal bench without a matress that was presumably supposed to serve as a bed. She curled herself up and fell asleep crying, wondering how she got herself into such a mess.
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