She was being carted down a long hallway punctuated by steel doors with barred windows. At least she was clothed in the tank top and pajama bottoms from before. Even though the hall was empty and Fake Grady had unfortunately already seen her ass, she wasn’t a fan of just randomly displaying it. She had an idea those barred windows might be for observation, and even in her post-drugged drowsiness, Pamela seriously hoped they weren’t about to lock her in one of the rooms. Karli strode on ahead. She was dressed differently, neither in slut or mourning clothes, but somewhere in between. This stretchy dress pant, collared cotton shirt look actually suited her better, like the other outfits had just been costumes, and, perhaps, this was the real Karli. As her hazy eyesight came into focus, Pamela discerned figures beyond the barred windows. Also, there was something odd and very creepy about them. As she, Karli, and Fake Grady passed, some of these prisoners lunged and grabbed at them through the bars.
