Signs to the infirmary linen locker were painted on the wall, so navigating through the maze of corridors took no time or effort.

The morphing agent she had taken, had altered Porsche's appearance, making her more plump and fleshy, hence she wore a compression skinsuit beneath to keep her pulp together. Her skin tone also changed to a browner shade and her bond hair quick-dyed to black.

Porsche rummaged through what nurse uniform was available in the dirty bin. She found one, stained and smelly, worn by a petite five-foot pygmy.

She unzipped the nurse uniform, stepped in, and slunk with effort. She cursed as it caught her hip. Carefully, she hiked up one corner at a time, trying not to tear the seams. She felt ridiculous and over the top in the super-tight getup, sending out the wrong message. To the wrong audience.

Officer Myers waited in the outer room and shook his head when he saw her.

"There's nothing else," Porsche said. It's going to have to do.

Trying to look like a dutiful nurse, she slipped out into the corridor with Myers and glimpsed at once the two cameras locking onto her -- one in front, one behind. Porsche picked up a hand terminal and walked with purpose. With the skin-tight outfit, she couldn't help but sashayed with an exaggerated flounce from each step. Sex always made a great distraction. The watchers would see the new nurse on duty, and elbow each other, and they would leave her be. She hoped.

In the daytime, the corridors would have been filled with prisoners moving about. At night, the floor and corridors were devoid of guards.

Officer Myers was on edge, eyes darting from Porsche, then to the doors.

"Hurry," he said between clenched teeth. "She's down in D-Block. We need to move now."

"You need to calm down," Porsche hissed between her teeth. "Act like you belong here."

She followed a few steps behind him without a word, as a nurse would naturally follow an escort.

Ahead, a door swished aside and a uniformed guard came out, startling her escort.

"Drew boy, still here? Your shift ended hours ago."

"Hey Chuck," Officer Myers addressed the guard who took an obvious interest in Porsche and her tight clothes.

"New nurse?" Chuck asked, looking her up and down. "You are?"

Porsche smiled and offered her hand. "Dominguez."

Myers quickly said, "Taking her to D-Block. Got a sick con down there."

"Have fun," the latter replied, making a smirk at the overflowing nurse.

The pair proceeded to the elevator. As the door closed, she could hear him exhale with fright.

"You're doing good," she whispered to a nervous Myers.

He led her down the hall to a set of steel doors, each with a one-way mirrored window.

He waved at a camera over the door. The door clanged open and retracted by motor. They stepped through and waited for a second set of gates to open as the metal door behind them slammed shut and locked. A buzzer went off; the motor struggled to raise the heavy barrier. It cycled through with a teeth-rattling clang; the echoes filtering through the long corridors.

A long linear hallway lit by tubular fluorescents met them. The first thing Porsche noticed was the air -- the scent of ammonia insulted her nostrils, making her wince as if the air here carried pathogens. Sounds seemed stunted -- echoes muffled, whispers murmured, coughs suffered. It was graveyard-heavy. Even the light was repugnant, yellow, and infectious. And she noticed tiles covered all the surfaces -- walls, floor, ceiling. Drainage grills lay every five yards; high-pressure hosing was routine here. Porsche could only guess what sort of things needed hosing. Here, everything was antiseptic, clean, and cruel.

"Where the hell are we?" She hissed.

"Holding tanks, C-level." Myers pointed to glass-walled chambers lining the left and right of the hallway. Inside each cell were dozens of inmates jammed together. Segregated by sex, some prisoners were sitting, others lying on the hard rubber floor with their heads pillowed on toilet rolls. Mounted high on the wall, a flat-panel monitor was blasting a popular sitcom rerun, but no one was watching, its purpose more mob control than entertainment.

Myers said, "Remember this -- you exit through the kitchen staff entrance on B. Got it?"

She nodded.

"Then I'm done. Right?"

"You're on our payroll, so shut up and do as you're told."

Officer Myers cursed to himself but acquiesced.

The corridor sloped lower until they emerged into a short hallway where they faced an arresting set of gates.

A lone custodian occupied the first chamber to the left. He wore a white lab coat and hosed down a metal table that looked as if it belonged in a forensic lab. The sweet odor of formaldehyde and old blood seeped from the room.

Porsche put a hand over her mouth and trudged on.

Ahead, a high-security area loomed. She knew this because of the unmistakable sign 'Authorized Personnel Only' and the hand scanners placed to the side of the metal blast door.

From all indications, the room was a command box.

"This is it," Myers said pointing at the black door with no number or lettering. "That's the Fishbowl, they call it. And this is as far as I go. You do what you gotta do, I'm out of here." He fumbled from his belt a key chain holding a set of chrome tube keys. "Here take this. You'd need it to open the doors manually."

"Wait, is it empty?" She whispered.

"That's your problem," Myers said, scurrying away.

She let him go this time.

Audacity is the spice of life, she told herself. If there were someone inside, she could talk her way out of it. It was her first day, stumbling through this maze. And a little shake of her assets here and there would do wonders. The male psyche was shared by two heads, and the smaller one was L'Enfant Terrible.

She inserted one tube and twisted. Freon spilled out. The room was kept chilled for all the tightly packed electronics. And it was empty. She stepped through into the control room. To her right was a two-way mirror.

Beyond the glass, she saw Marlboro tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged with a ball. Judging from the way she slumped, she was passed out.

And she wasn't alone. Four men were fitting a second prisoner in the same manner. The identity of the second prisoner was a mild shocker, though she expected he would be here too.

Before she knew it, voices outside grew louder coming down the hallway. Too late to backtrack. Instincts told her to stay put.