Disclaimer: I disclaim all but the CIF.

Episode one, Part two: Who really is in charge.

As always (like this is not still the pilot of this crazy fest) the convicts have taken control of the recording studio to bring a bit more of an illegal flare to this production. Oh my! This particular episode seems to go to two delightfully unibrowed blonds. Uh-oh, they seem to have no distinguishing characteristic between them, just the same wavy hair tumbling nearly to their shoulders, and blue jumpsuits. Wait where did two Superjail! Prisoners get street clothes?... Do those really count as streets though?

Twin One: Hello Earth peoples. It seems that you have come into this story at an 'unfortunate' time.

Twin Two: Very true Brother, they have missed all of the 'fun' we had planned.

Gemelo Numero Uno: Not quite Brother, there is still more fun to be wrought.

Gemelo Numero Dou: Oh yes. Mh-hm *insert some sort of hummed chuckle here* That is, if the Warden continues to use his little 'gift'.

End commercial break!

It may have been the gleaming metal structures of the penitentiary reflecting the scorching rays of the sun, the volcanic fumes of heat that might have reached up this high, or his suffocating suit that caused the heat stroke delirium. Whatever it was, the Once-ler was higher than even a swomme swan could fly. He expected the other inmates to fight. He even expected them to kill one another but what he did not anticipate was the how in this scenario. It was, by far, the most gruesome use of marshmallows he had ever encountered. The puffy confections were laced with a highly corrosive acid and inmates were throwing them at one another and feeding them to each other. Just watching a man's abdomen melt away to expose his inner stomach, intestines, and whatever else happened to be in there was enough to make the Once-ler's stomach lurch with a feeling that he would lose his lunch as well. His mouth was hot with the pre-vomiting bile that he seemed to always get at times like this, but it was no time to lose his rather expensive breakfast, however, because the strikingly masculine guard was prodding him to continue his distracting trek.

Apparently, men were not taken to Superjail! in suits often. The Once-ler, for the first time in his too brief life, was uneasy being the center of attention. It was odd going from a successful salesman with a blooming social life who wanted nothing more than to have all eyes on him to a convict trying to blend into whatever happened to be behind him without success. Vulgar promises were thrown like pointed knives from equally barbaric persons. These men would do much worse than kill him when Alice, the far too manly female guard, was not around.

The redhead kept her eyes forward though as though hers was the biggest, most masculine, body around, which it very well might have been. These petty criminals were far beneath her as she brought the pound's newest dog to be prepared for its kennel. Washing and redressing the inmates seemed to be standard protocol around here along with the assigning of the felon's prison number. The process was far from standard however. A machine disintegrated his four thousand dollar suit and confiscated his shoes and what other belongings he had on him, much to his indignation before dropping him onto a winding slide to be washed. Screams and yells could not be contained as his shaking naked body plummeted through belly flipping loops and nerve jump starting dips. The shiny water slide seemed just as likely to kill him as to clean him. When the body jarring twists and turns finally died down, he was deposited, shivering and dripping, to stand on a conveyor belt. The ground lurched into motion, moving him to stand surrounded by giant vents that blasted him with hot air to dry him. Finally snapped back to reality, the Once-ler huddled his bare form wishing for nothing more than to go home to his nice warm bed with it imported silk sheets. The strip of moving flooring stopped, leaving him naked before the Warden. The purple suited man had an almost stern expression sneered across his face.

A tapping noise drew the Once-ler's attention outwards to notice the folded orange jumpsuit situated between the two black haired men. "Sir, I've got the cell number and all but I'm afraid he's still in isolation." Dejected blue eyes trailed up to focus on Jared, the Warden's short balding assistant. The miniscule man's eyes darted nervously all around as he spoke. Sweat was still beading down his freakishly large forehead and his darkly circled eyes gave him the look of an addict experiencing withdrawals.

Rolling his eyes, the Warden looked incurably bored. The gap toothed man replied, "Whatever. Just put him with the whack job. It's the only room left. They'll meet when I decide to let him out of the box. It is not rocket science Jared. I don't see why I had to be here to tell you this." The Warden fell backwards to plop onto a purple throne that appeared from seemingly nowhere during his descent to catch the annoyed man just in time.

"Alright then," Jared made a motion with his hands that brought the Once-ler to his feet forcibly with the help of a huge black man. He was the jerked forward back to the ground but a new pair of hands caught his slender hips to hold his pale ass in the air. Jared's hig pitched whine began to rattle off a series of numbers slowly, cutting off the Once-ler's brief panic in his exposed position as a sharp pinching pain began to spread over his left cheek. "4 3 6 . . ." The intense pinch was enough to bubble a whimper from deep within him but the shivering man refused to allow it to escape him. He, at least, had that much dignity left. "5 6 8 . . . 2 2 9 . . ." this number seemed to last an eternity and the businessman swore it was the very worst in existence, to all of the senses. It sounded whiney and nerve wracking all at the same time in that almost nasally voice. It tasted of the bitter soaps he had accidentally ingested during his bath slide. It smelled sharply of urine, strong chemicals from the cheap cleansers, and a tad metallic probably from the infernal human labeling machine being used on his rear end. Of course it hurt, he was cold, and he had an idea forming of why this room smelled so strongly of urine. Worst of all was probably the view, Jared was as bland and unappealing as ever, Alice had gone off to do some other unspoken task, and that left the Warden as the only other feature of the cleanly disgusting room. The gap toothed bastard had the audacity to appear both smug and bored about the whole ordeal.

The whole thing was quite an unattractive sight. The Warden may bare some similarities to him but there was no accounting for the man's tastes. All over, colors clashed and battled and although some of the materials were of an acceptable quality, there was no getting past the gaudiness on the man's cane. Anxious gloved hands roamed tirelessly over the jewel encrusted gold surface in what must have been a nervous tick. A prize that expensive must have been the man's pride and joy. Money did not seem to come as easily to the Warden as it did to the Once-ler. Nothing here was appealing, the businessman decided. "1 0 3." With those last three numbers the sharp pinching fell away to leave a residual burning sting.

As the Warden stood, his chair imploded with a quite pop into empty space. "Jared, get him squared away, will you. I want everything to go perfectly tonight. You might as well let than villainous murderous traitor out and invite him as well." The man could go from in charge to fantasizing in a dreamy voice to dropping venom from his every word in a matter of seconds. The naked man's bony shoulders gave an involuntary jerk at his statement. Knowing that his roommate was considered a whack job and could possibly be this murderous traitor the Warden hated so made his blood turn to ice. He clothed himself with quivering clammy hands, trying to both picture his cell mate and expel the undoubtedly brutal man from his mind. Every image of the unnamed convict was worse than the last. While the pale slim body slipped on an orange jumpsuit with a patch matching the ink on his ass, his mind conjured up a rough image of a typical inmate for this particular penitentiary, leaving him with an image of a heavily muscled man scarred and blackened by ink by an unskilled artist. Every image after escalated into a vulgar image of a coal skinned behemoth with red eyes and an inhuman build when the fresh prisoner arrived in his new quarters. The cell was much more spacious than he would have imagined, even with two beds and a couple of chests. One bed was bare and the other was done up in blacks and yellows. Posters on the walls depicted beaches and logos in the same color scheme as the bed. Pulling back a black curtain exposed a sink and a toilet.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my quarters? Speak peasant!" Cringing at the authoritative voice the Once-ler turned to regard a golden mask.

Blue eyes widened in surprise before curiously drinking in the appearance of the new comer. He was of average build, not hulkingly monstrous like so many other inmates at this Superjail!. An orange jumpsuit clothed him just as it did the Once-ler. The biggest difference was that peculiarly shaped golden mask. It even had some weird spike protruding from it.

The newer convict straightened to stand at his full height and crossed his arms exuding every bit of power he held just the morning before even with his rear still stinging under the coarse weave of cheap orange cotton. "Who, you ask? Why, I am the Once-ler, maker of thneeds. These are my quarters as well Mr.?" The smooth talker let his question hang. Showing the other such respect should have been enough to quell his anger. Unfortunately, things that should happen never seem to for the Once-ler.

"Mr.? That is Lord Stingray to you! That damned Warden is not supposed to put anyone in my room. How did you get here?" Lord Stingray paused for just a moment, red eyes slits narrowing in suspicion. "Are you related to the Warden?" Even with his new attire, there were some similarities between the new inmate and the Warden, he had to admit. Both men were rather lanky with dark hair and light freckles but that was where their likeness ended in the Once-ler's opinion. The Warden was an uncultured psychopath.

"No, there's no relation," What would even make the strange convict believe that?

"Why then are you in my room I wonder. That Warden said no more roommates after what happened with that last one," Lord Stingray threw himself across his bed nonchalantly. The Once-ler knew a threat when he heard one but he couldn't quite get what it was. Did Stingray expect him to convince the jail workers to get another cell assignment? They had made this man seem like the most ruthless villain in the joint.

Sorry about the wait. I wanted to post the whole second half of the story but I got guilt tripped by all of the fans of this story. I hope to post the rest soon. Enjoy!^.^