The Good Granny
They disowned her. They disavowed her. They essentially kicked her out and kicked her to the curb. They abandoned her in her moment of need. They didn't want so much public attention, not when the mainstream media seemed so interested in it (as means of obfuscating and deflecting what the corporatists in the government were doing behind the people's back), completely blowing its importance out of proportion and slander her as being akin to Hitler.
The RAFians, keeping up with this coverage, all thought that this was very heavy-handed and ludicrously framed. Yes, it was bad the man died -- but Velma Lynn Lord wasn't nearly as bad as Adolf Hitler. It was very poorly framed, and Vel Lynn got a ridiculously tough sentence of life in a maximum security prison -- one with a dubious history, including one inmate dying in a scalding shower.
They all thought it was ridiculous, and despicable. But they hadn't the power to do anything about it without completely superseding the law, and their public relations were tenuous at best. They would just have to let this play out.
Vel Lynn didn't shed a single tear as she got the sentence. She wasn't moved. She didn't even ruffle her uncomfortable orange jumpsuit that read #14800185 on the right side of her chest. She suffered wave after wave after wave of anger, resentment, and bitterness. She considered everyone fools. They couldn't see the dangers right in front of their faces . . .
Now she had to rot in jail because of their stupidity, because of their sensationalism. Bah! So be it. She would be the martyr. She would accept this extreme and unfair judgement with quiet dignity and -- oh, who was she kidding? This would be hell. Pure, unadulterated hell.
The guards would punish her most severely because she was a criminal now, and she knew what these guards thought of criminals. Subpar. Expendable. Subhuman
. Not even worthy of basic human rights. If she was in pain from the bouts of torturous "punishments" these monsters liked to employ, she would scream and scream, and she would never be heard. All over an accident. An accidental murder she didn't intend on. That should have been manslaughter, not murder.
But the government need to distract the people from an issue they rather not be reported widely, and her case was convenient cover. All because of an accidental misfire of her weapon -- and resisting arrest -- she would be treated as lesser than human. She would be treated as if she was alien filth. It was almost more than she could bare. Being in a cage, like a friggin' rat.
But, apparently, she did something so bad to get herself locked up in solitary confinement. She never knew what, but suspected it was because on of her jailors didn't like her attitude or something of that nature. She couldn't believe this system, she couldn't believe how absolutely, royally f--
There was an explosion and a massive silhouette stepped through the hole created. When her eyes adjusted, Vel Lynn saw who it was. A grandmotherly giant. The wrinkly, old woman had the build and physique of a Quartz solider from the Gem
species. She had broad shoulders, stood about six and a half feet tall, and had wild, flyaway gray hair that was back-length. She wore a strapless, floor-length, lilac and snow-trimmed, tiered white dress, with what looked suspiciously like combat boots beneath. She held what appeared to be a lightsaber hilt, but with unnecessary angles and points.
"Well, dearie, what are you waiting for? Let's go," she said, in a deep, gravelly sort of voice, as if she chain smoked fifty cigarettes on the way here.
"I don't even know you," Vel Lynn countered.
"Me? I'm just Nana Goodness," she replied, with a malicious sort of twinkle in her eyes.
"You're serious," Vel Lynn said, skeptically.
"Honestly, dearie," she said, "do you really want to be left here?"
If Vel Lynn was truthful, she didn't. But she didn't exactly trust this Nana Goodness, but whatever she offered, it had to be better than here. So, it was with some reluctance, that Vel Lynn accepted her invitation and joined her at her . . . her orphanage.