Prison parties were rare — almost mythical — but today was an exception.
The official reason: anniversary of the facility's founding.
The real reason: an excuse for the warden to show off a "rehabilitative environment" to the press and siphon off a little more budget money.

The recreation yard looked halfway festive — a few sagging silver balloons, folding tables stacked with stale cookies, and watery orange drink. But for the inmates, any event that broke the monotony of gray walls was worth celebrating. A battered speaker pumped out old pop hits that were more static than music.

Viv had no real interest in dancing. But Pen did — her eyes brighter than they'd been in weeks.
"Come on, Alex, just for fun," Pen said, grabbing Viv's wrist.

Viv sighed... but let herself be pulled into the crowd. At first she just swayed to the beat, but the surrounding inmates — young women starved for something resembling joy — began to close in around her. Laughter, shouts, hands clapping along.

Pen stayed close, her blonde hair catching the dim prison light. She tilted her head and smiled at Viv. Viv shrugged... then suddenly spun Pen around. A chorus of whistles and teasing calls rose from the crowd. It was lighthearted, harmless — just a moment of being human in a place where humanity was in short supply.

Until a voice cut through the music like a knife:
"VAUSE! Enough!"

The music died instantly. Heads turned toward C.O. Holtler — uniform stiff, face flushed red, jaw clenched.
"Back away from her. NOW," he barked, jabbing a finger toward Viv.

Viv stood still, her hands loose at her sides. Calm. Unbothered. Even smiling faintly, like she was watching a wild animal bare its teeth.

Holtler stalked forward, voice rising.
"Didn't I tell you to keep your distance from the younger inmates? Especially her?" His glare flicked to Pen, who instinctively stepped back.

"Officer Holtler," Viv said evenly, "we were just dancing. Not a crime, last I checked."

"This is not a nightclub, Vause. I don't want to see you grooming these girls into your little... lifestyle."

A ripple of whispers spread through the yard. Everyone knew Holtler's reputation — his special brand of hostility toward anything queer.

Viv looked him dead in the eye, voice flat but razor-sharp.
"If you're looking for a problem, Officer, maybe you should start with your own prejudice."

It was gasoline on a fire. Holtler's jaw tightened, his grip on the radio turning white-knuckled.
"That's it. SHU. Now."

No one seemed surprised as Viv was escorted out of the yard, the music never returning. But Pen stood frozen, her eyes locked on Viv until she disappeared through the door.

And Viv — cuffed, flanked by guards — still wore that same faint, maddening smile. Like this was just another move in a game only she understood.