Written by Lukas Tyler

Note: This was my actual experience from a weeklong prison roleplay event and 100% accurate to the best of my ability. Originally this story was written only as a personal reference of a very meaningful experience I had. I tried to preserve every step, every thought, and every interaction. This is not fiction.

I think I’m at the right spot. None of us have ever been here before. The guy that was supposed to drive cancelled three days ago. I volunteered because I get motion sickness in the back seat, but being the young guy I feel I have to take the worst seat. I like the power and control that driving gives me. But it also means when something goes wrong, it’s my fault. One of the two others in the car is telling me to follow the GPS. I’m trying to match the red circle on a screenshot to Google Maps. He tells me to turn right. I don’t. I block out everything he’s saying, trying to focus on what instinctually feels right. I keep driving and then find a parking lot with a dozen cars, and an old white school bus with paint over whatever label it used to have.

There’s a building the size of a small house with one door propped open by a chair. A chain link fence at least 12 feet tall topped with razor wire exists mere feet past the building. Inside the fence stood worn square buildings that looked of 1960s construction with peeling white paint. It wasn’t meant to be inviting. It was meant to say you don’t belong here. And no one was there. The county road had an occasional car on the other side of an overgrown ditch that separated us from them. It felt like the right spot.

A screenshot back from the group confirmed it was the correct spot. And we had 45 minutes extra until we were supposed to be there. My nervous bladder insisted I go. The guys I rode with had no need. I suggested we go back to the gas station 5 miles down the road. It was the nearest sign of civilization. They had no interest. I focused on an old tree in the vicinity of the parking lot and walked over. Just a dribble came out. My nerves wanted me to go, but I didn’t need to. Three minutes passed. One car passed on the road, otherwise there was silence, no birds, no wind, just a stagnant world. Their nerves must have matched mine. Another found a closer tree than I did. The third walked into the building. No one was there. He located a bathroom and described it as the set of a horror movie. No gas station would ever look that bad. He requested we go to the gas station, and we did.

The gas station attendant was pleasant. The restroom was old and worn, but clean. Without appreciating it I enjoyed sitting on a porcelain toilet and having the chance to lock the door myself. We were warned there would be no chance to use the restroom for a while.

We drove back to the parking lot and waited. Every time a white van passed someone in our group said, “I think that’s them.” It wasn’t very frequent, there were few cars on the road, but when you’re looking for a specific vehicle type more of them than you would guess appear. Eventually one of us was correct and a plain white van pulled into the parking lot.

Two gentlemen in green polos and green cargo pants, one with a black duty belt full of tools, hopped out. He grabbed a heavy bucket from the car and walked straight towards me. Bucket down – I was in handcuffs. It took maybe 20 seconds from applying his parking brake until I was cuffed. No words were exchanged.

Ankle cuffs went next. Then a belly chain, tight enough to be uncomfortable, connected my wrists to ankles and wrapped around me. “Is that too tight?” one of the gentlemen in green asked. The chain was very tight. I couldn’t move. Even when I sucked my belly in there was no adjusting. The belly chain connected to my cuffs to the irons on my ankles. The quietest “No, Sir” I’ve ever muttered crawled through my lips. I questioned if it was actually too tight, but finally there were words exchanged. Then a black box locked over the chain cuffs. This fixed my hands into position. There was no turning them, no adjusting myself. I was exactly where they wanted me to be. Even if I was allowed to say them, I had no words. I couldn’t make them. Fuck! The only thought in my head was that the fourth guy was right to cancel, but it’s too fucking late for me now. The chains were on. I reminded myself to exhale.

“What’s your name?”

Finally the question I anticipated. I know this one. My name was the one familiar thing I had. “Lukas, Sir.” Despite my nerves, I got my name right.

He walked me around to the back of the van. Two metal steps extended from the back of it. He let go of me. I couldn’t move. Nothing was physically stopping me from trying, but I was still incapable. Had I moved the irons on my ankles would not have let me go far. And moving without permission is not how this was going to start for me.

He opened the double doors. Eight inches behind the doors were more doors. These ones were made out of steel and arranged in a diamond pattern. The type you’d expect on an animal control vehicle, so dogs could breathe easily. The doors were attached to a box. Divided in the middle. Five seats on the left, four on the right. There were inches of space between the roof of the van, and the roof of the box, making it even smaller. My guy in green let a different guy in green go in front of him. That guy in green had my passenger from my back seat locked in cuffs.

“Step.”

His head was pushed down. My passenger was put on the right side of the van. I wouldn’t see him again for hours.

“Step.”

My head was pushed down. Hunched over, I shuffled to the back of the van. He told me where to sit, even though I already knew. A seat belt, connected to the box, wrapped around my waist and under my cuffs. I started dripping sweat that must have smelled of pure hormones and nerves. The front wall of the box was solid white steel that seemed to push against me without touching it. Out was not an option. The vented back wall closed behind me. I reminded myself to exhale.

Slowly more gentlemen started making subtle noises on the other side of the wall and started filling my side of the van. Next to me – a familiar face. By familiar I mean he sat in my passenger seat for the 90-minute drive. His name was one I knew, but prior to meeting him with my rental car that morning I had only exchanged a dozen text messages with him. I clung to that minimal familiarity. My safe space was a guy I didn’t know, and with whom I had talked with for less than two hours. Yet in this environment that very marginal feeling of safety mattered.

I shimmied around and grabbed the car key out of my pocket. It felt like a victory to be able to move that much. I double tapped the lock button. Then I did it again because I hoped it worked, but I really wasn’t sure. My whole world was this box. I wanted to extend my power outside the only way I knew how. My head was clear enough to remember I had prescription medications I was supposed to bring in the car, and I had no way to get them, or even say where they were.

Some guy in green loaded another unfamiliar face into the box. This guy had a polo shirt on. Fuck. Was I under-dressed? I tried to make a joke about missing the memo to dress up. That’s what you do for court, right? Look nice so the judge is nice? The bad joke was met with silence, except for movement in the other half of the cage. Some guy in green asked me for the rental car key. Of course I gave it to him. He already took my power, security, and sense of calm from me. Maybe if I’m quiet and nice he’ll be quiet and nice. One fourth and final unfamiliar face loaded into this half of the cage. We couldn’t spread out to share elbow room. The seat belts and a 5-inch raised divider between each seat insisted that we didn’t shift around.

The doors to this cage shut. The back doors to the van shut. There was only blackness to my right, past the fourth gentleman on my side of the cage. Touching my toes – a solid white steel wall. To my right – a solid steel white wall. Behind me – a solid steel white wall. I looked around, taking in my surroundings. The smell of metal and fear. Two small lights, flush with the top of the cage. A hole that looked like a speaker may lie behind it. Would they talk to us during the ride?

We started moving. We drove. We turned. We drove. We turned. I thought where we parked would be close to where we were going. One of the guys pointed out I had a hole behind my left shoulder. Since I was in front, a single screw hole let me see where we were going. I had a view over the driver’s seatbelt at a 60-degree angle. I could see there were large trees to the left of the road. I couldn’t see anything else. I reported to the gentlemen in the cage with me that we were on a divided highway with painted lines, and when we were on a less-finished road. I had a job, a purpose, that gave me something to focus on and therefore a relative calm. We reached another fence, again chain link topped with razor wire, at least 12 feet tall. A gap. Then another chain link fence. A few feet shorter, and the wire affixed to the top was different. I reported.

Some distance after this the van stopped.

To be continued …

Metal would like to thank the author, Lukas Tyler, for writing this true story and welcome him to the Prison Library!