The disembodied words he read on screen echoed throughout his mind. Resistance was very appealing, because it equaled to 'freedom' in Christian's mind. No more would he be stuck in a pod, eating whatever goop dispensed for the day. Maybe his conditions would be worse, but he'd be free.

Of course, he also considered the fact he'd be turning his back on the company. Christian didn't even know if there were sizable forces outside of the company that could shelter him. The resistance, however big it was, seemed confident they could pose a threat to the company.

He typed, sealing his fate, "Yes. I want to join the resistance."

Not less than ten seconds later, Christian's pod was broken into by Mutation Control soldiers. They charged in, securing the small pod. Not that there was much to secure besides the front door. They grabbed Christian, knocked him out and took him away.

...

A modest court was reserved for Christian's trial. Company banners flew proudly in the room, with a weighing scale etched into the judge's podium. On the left was a representative from the Mutation Control Department, on the right was Christian. Christian had tape over his mouth, though it wasn't like he had any words to say.

The representative started to speak cheerfully, "As we all stand here today, we should recognize that Christian was stopped by none other than the Mutation Control Department's eager and accurate action. How many more Christians could be lurking in the shadows, quick to act against the company? We may never know, but we'll be here to stop them."

The judge pretended to carefully consider the representative's words, then slammed his gavel down twice. He mocked, "Order in the court, please. I will now make my decision." then after two seconds, he continued, "Christian Wells, your punishment is five years at MP-17. Only the worst scum and abominable aliens go there, a place perfect for a would-be traitor. I think if you do make it out alive, you will be a reformed man."

These trials very clearly weren't meant to be fair, considering Christian had zero say in whatever happened. As to what MP-17 was, Christian had no clue but it didn't sound good. The worst scum? Was he really at that level?

In the middle of his thoughts, Christian was interrupted by a nonchalant man who lead him to his cell. The court rooms were right next to the prisons, so there was no need to knock anyone out. Especially when, like in Christian's case, some prisoners would only be there for a few hours up to a few days.

The prison block murmured at the sight of fresh meat, but nobody yelled. If they did, a shock collar would briefly electrocute them. It was for the peace of mind of the guards.

After a few more steps, Christian walked inside his new temporary home. Blood stains littered his cell's walls, hinting that deadly disputes between inmates had happened before. The cell was small, smaller than a pod. The bed, or at least what Christian assumed to be a bed, was a human sized concrete slab placed in the middle of the floor.

As the whispers quieted down, a few inmates did something strange. They got down on their stomachs, put their arms out and started pushing up. Up and down, their muscles bulged and breaths hurried on the hard concrete floor. Christian, being from a mostly stationary background, didn't understand what they were doing. There was no need to do any movements or training before coding, anyone could do it.

As he didn't know when he'd be sent off to MP-17, Christian decided to give it a try.