Gladys swayed groggily as she stumbled out of bed, glaring daggers at the billboard out of hald-closed eyes. The billboard stared back insolently, as though failing to appreciate the magnitude of its crimes. [color=ec008c][i]Urrrrrrgh. They couldn't even wait an hour? They want us out before curfew break?[/i][/color] She felt tired, sore and [i]utterly[/i] uncouth. If the Institute wanted to steal her precious sleep, she could at least [i]feel[/i] civilized before they dragged her off to war.

After several minutes of struggling with her nightdress, which seemed hell-bent on strangling her, Gladys staggered across the room to her bath. It was closer to a hot tub than anything else, with enough space to stretch out fully and simply float in the water. The staff had [i]originally[/i] replaced the shower unit to coax her back into the accursed vault, with the mild consolation of  long soak each night. They'd been on the right tracks, but they had to unclog and bleach all of the pipes after the first night, as well as [i]dramatically[/i] the drain outlet. That had been a royal mess.

Gladys inhaled a breath of hot steam, and sighed contently as the flesh peeled off her bones. Her skin dissolved into so much red sludge, carrying all of her filth and [i]some[/i] of her stress along with it. Waist-long mats of knotted hair turned to sludge, to be replaced with freshly-grown locks. A few years ago - once she'd begun openly chafing at her not-so-gilded cage - the Institute had sent interns to distract her with their toys. Little slivers of personal freedom, as though that made up for being muzzled like dogs. One of the poor darlings had taught her about beauty regimes, of all things.

She never [i]had[/i] found a use for that exfoliating cream.

That intern had run out screaming the next morning, gibbering something about houses and wax. But as utterly [i]banal[/i] as the poor dear had been, she'd been incredibly useful, on multiple levels. Seeing her almighty captors unravel like that [i]was[/i] cathartic, in a petty way. If she could put one more staff member in their own padded cell, surrounded by armed guards, then maybe the Institute would appreciate her position more. It hadn't been easy, once they'd caught on and started rotating her guards. But that just made the game challenging.

Once morning fatigue gave way to frustration, Gladys gave up and permitted her skin to start regenerating. The bastards couldn't even wait an [i]hour[/i], until she could walk out of her cell without an armed guard to frog-march her. Woken up at an unfathomable hour, dragged out of bed for their wars, and they couldn't even afford her the dignity of leaving her cell like a free woman before they muzzled her. If they wanted a pack of well-behaved dogs, then they ought to show some basic courtesy in return. Waiting in her bath for the guard to walk in would be fun, with her nervous system draped over out like hand-towels and the bathroom reeking like a charnel house, but not at all worth it. The brutes would have already been [i]warned[/i], and that ominous 'non-compliance' warning sounded like to much pain for too little catharsis.

There'll be a better chance in the future.

Drying herself briskly, she glanced across the room at the unrepentant billboard, which glared back as boldly as ever. Still plenty of time to dress, thanks to that unholy alarm, but hardly enough time to savour it. The Institute [i]had[/i] thrown her a bone with her wardrobe, once she'd learned to play the game on their terms. They had plenty of silky clothes and fancy toys to spare. They even had a few staff members that tried to be [i]affectionate[/i], although who knows where they found them. It just wasn't a replacement for basic human dignity.

By ten to six, Gladys was inspecting herself critically in the mirror. Now [i]here[/i] was some room for choice. The dress was as elegantly bland as ever, and her skin was as smooth and unblemished as a newborn. There was dignity there, but not enough [i]Gladys[/i]. And the shock collar made the whole ensemble into a prison garb. But after a few months without incident, the guards had [i]reluctantly[/i] authorised her to accessorize, as long as the accessory didn’t include claws or teeth.

Her left eyeball dissolved and ran down her cheek, leaving an empty socket that clashed with the ballroom dress [i]ever[/i] so well. The liquid flesh grew rapidly, proliferating and assembling into a four-foot long segmented [i]thing[/i] - somewhere between a centipede, a Hydra and a boa constrictor. Its chitin gleamed in a lustrous rainbow, like a tropical beetle, and its legs clattered cheerfully as it scampered down her neck. The darling wrapped itself around the shock collar like a neckscarf, then settled its head on her shoulder and snoozed.

[color=ec008c][i]There’s a good girl.[/i][/color]

Before she could appreciate the moment, Gladys heard the rude clatter of shutters behind her, as a guard opened the door. She sighed.

“Make lively, Number 18,” the guard rumbled boorishly. Impertinent. He couldn’t even use her proper [i]name[/i]. 

She glanced imperiously over her left shoulder, flashing the guard a profile of her missing eye socket. [color=ec008c]“It’s rude to barge in on a lady,” [/color]she huffed.

The guard started visibly, and she felt a flash of vindication. That passed almost instantly as pain [i]seared[/i] through her twice-over, as the guard’s hand twitched and her collar sparked. The pain stabbed in her neck and her eye socket at once, as her Grandchild ate half of the discharge as well. It let out something between a hiss and a mewl.

The spasm rippled through both her bodies, and the guard growled in frustration. “No games.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder with one hand, still brandishing the remote to her shock collar with the other. “Move along, [i]now.[/i]”

[color=ec008c][i]Touchy,[/i][/color] she fumed. They always acted so tough once they’d seen her in pain. Gladys pivoted around with an insulted sniff. The guard could put on all of the stoic bravado he liked, but she could [i]smell[/i] the pungent trace of fear running off him. Her Grandchild’s forked tongue was hissing out, and she could [i]taste[/i] his panicked sweat through her eye socket. Disconcerting, certainly. But still a consolation.

Without further resistance - it would just lead to diminishing returns - Gladys left her cell. In the atrium, she could see a few guards shifting uneasily as they caught her eye (or lack thereof), but there weren’t any reactions as satisfying as that of her escort. Most of them had seen worse before, and she was hardly the most intimidating family member they’d chained up in the vaults. It was hard to scare them, but simple enough to disturb them. She looked human enough for her non-human features to feel [i]wrong[/i], and those features always changed from day to day.

[color=ec008c][i]It’s the least they deserve for how they treat my family.[/i][/color]

The auditorium had started to fill by the time she arrived, and Gladys a pleasant warmth well up in her chest at the sight of her siblings. [i]They can’t keep us apart. Even if they wanted to, they need us all together.[/i] Dostya’s massive frame stood out amongst her traditionally-proportioned siblings, and her cheerful antics were so very welcome after a room full of dour guards. Splitting off from her escort, Gladys beelined over to the floor besides Dostya, sitting down with folded legs near Daniel and Alma. Her Grandchild chittered happily as it settled down, migrating into her lap and curling up into a comfortable ball. Nobody had told them to use the accursed folding chairs - such uncomfortable things - and it wasn’t as though she posed a security risk.

[color=ec008c][i]It’s the little things that get you through the day.[/i][/color]