This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Moon Prison
Enjoy !
A squad of four guards stood on the other side of the bars. The communal cell held maybe a dozen inmates, although there were only enough beds for four. The rest used their thin blankets to shield themselves from the rough, cold floor.
The unter-shakari leading the squad pointed a neural whip at Barkin. "You ! 33469 ! Out now. The rest of you, back of the cell. Move !"
There was no subtlety or kindness in his commands, and the other three guards panned the cell with shock rifles to reinforce the point.
"I've got a name," Barkin sighed wearily as he slowly rose from the metal bunk he'd only recently claimed.
"Of course you have. It's 33469." Barkin supposed that prison guards were unlikely to be chosen for their intelligence or kindness, but the sneer in the unter-shakari's voice was harsh even for their breed. Not a man who was ever likely to have seen actual combat against the Einheriar or Slavers.
But he noted that despite their poor manners and obvious lack of breeding, all the guards had clean weapons and kept their mid-grey uniforms sharp and to regulations. Commandant Girkell of Moonprison 588 was known far and wide, even outside criminal circles, for running a tight ship.
A ship Barkin had discomfited when he wrapped a twisted towel around another inmate's neck to use as leverage, swinging the brute around and snapping said neck. He'd had very, very good reasons for doing it, but he wasn't about to tell the guards that. Or anything else, if he could help it.
So now it was time to pay the price. Barkin wondered what it would be; off to the Commandant's office for a lecture and yet another extension to his sentence, or perhaps being taken to a disused corridor hewn out of moon rock where he'd be covered with a mattress so the kicking from the guards wouldn't leave too many marks.
As if reading his mind, the unter-shakari gifted Barkin a twisted, humourless smile. "Think you're off for a chat with the Commandant, do you ? No. You're a troublemaker. You're down for a week in solitary. In the Cracked Cell. Think you're tough, do you ? I wonder if you'll last more than a couple of days ?"
The Cracked Cell. Barkin had no idea what it was, but he'd heard the name whispered with terror by some of the other inmates. That didn't sound good at all.
It took a long time for the squad to get there. He had no idea where in the prison moon he was. But there in front of them was a corroded heavy door. Despite the corrosion, the seal looked good; it was something he knew everyone had an interest in, from Commandant down to the lowliest lobotomised lifer.
They opened the door and shoved him in. The cell was small, about right for solitary. A single flickering fluorescent strip illuminated the chamber with a dim greyish-yellow light. But on the far side was another door. Even more corroded, even more battered. It had a crack right across it, and he could hear a soft hiss. It was leaking air into space !
As the guards laughed, they produced a tray from somewhere. It had enough rations on it for a week. Green slabs of tasteless synthetic nutrition and bottles of water, slightly clouded where the recyclers had removed the toxins but didn't bother to take out things that made it taste of stale sweat and urine. They put the tray by the entrance door.
The squad leader grinned, the cruellest expression he'd yet shown. "All you have to do is put your back to the crack. Keep it sealed and you should just have enough air for the week if you can stand the cold. Or eat. Your choice."
Then the door slammed shut and Barkin heard the bolts seal it.