June soaked up knowledge as a shadow soaks up light. She was eternally in search of secrets, though she understood that such information might undo her. What had to be revealed must first be hidden, for its revelation to be of any consequence. It was that philosophy that drove an ordinary art student to dive deep into the occult or the taboo. For June, it drove her to concoct this cockamamy scheme to be stuck in a private prison for a few days as a part of her journalism career. Luckily, she wasn’t doing it alone. 
June stared at Klara as she drove. There were so many people in the world, and so few worth knowing. Klara was one of them. Her face seemed to always smile, even when her countenance was completely relaxed. Klara had a deep cerulean stare that made June nervous. They were the eyes of a competitor. Klara didn’t like losing, so she rarely lost. She knew it was best not to play against her. Klara made for a phenomenal friend, much better than as a rival student of communications.
The one time that June had managed to catch a glimpse of Klara’s personal effects, she saw a German passport. That was about all she knew about Klarra’s personal life, though she was well acquainted with her compatriot’s personality. Klara had a stereotypically Teutonic sense of efficiency, matched by an arrogance and drive for victory that only occasionally let her down. 
June, being a fellow student of journalism at Danner college, found that juggernaut drive to be admirable.Their destination could have been twelve hours away instead of two, and Klara would still have volunteered to drive the whole way. She would have insisted just to prove a point. Without that drive in her life, June wouldn’t have gone on the trip. She would have been happy to spend the weekend drinking, streaming, and lounging around. Sometimes it was helpful to have a partner so fiercely determined. It might rub off on you, she thought. 
The occasional copse of trees was the most exciting thing about the car ride. She ran fingers through her blue-dyed hair and stared out the window of the car, idly fiddling with her copious piercings. Klara’s car was comfy, but it was still dreadfully boring being the passenger. She ruffled and un-ruffled her pleated skirt. She adjusted the double-breasted blazer’s top few buttons. Eventually, she pulled out her phone. 
“Do you mind if I play a video?” asked June with a smile.
Klara shrugged. “Hmm.”
“Was that a yes ‘mm’ or a no ‘hmm’?” 
“Hmm. Whatever,” reiterated Klara.
“Sometimes I think I understand you better when you’re gagged,” said June. She plugged her phone into the car’s power and audio. Klara’s cheshire cat grin grew. Her eyes briefly flitted from the road - a long, hilly highway surrounded by bare-looking woods on both sides - to the phone. 
The video was another short clip about “The Promenade.” It was a private prison, hours away from their alma mater of Danner college. A reputation for rehabilitation and positive results over endless putative punishments had gotten it a lot of positive press when it opened in the early 2000s. There weren’t really any news articles about it since then, until 2015 - when several pretty unusual pictures surfaced. They depicted the prison population wearing what the internet agreed was unusually kinky equipment for an arm of the Justice department.
Her phone, warm in her hand, slipped to the floor of the car as June stole a few fleeting minutes of slumber. The nature of her crimes was vague, and the trial was quite contentious. But in the end, the consensus was that she did something she should not have done. She was not repentant. She instead wished she did everything that was forbidden. A hood slipped around her head, straps and cold steel wrapped around her body. She disappeared into some hole to be forgotten, light closing in around a black hood and fat gag.
June slowly woke from her exploration in the kingdoms of sleep. The car was stopped, and Klara was smoking. The parking lot of The Promenade stretched before her. A bumper crop of nondescript cars surrounded it, followed by an eight-meter-tall harvest of perimeter fencing. Heavy equipment in the form of prison buses and vans slept in the lot. The prison was somewhat secluded. Hills and lonely wooded spots surrounded the prison. An industrial farm loomed in the distance. Klara waved to her. June stretched and stepped out of the car. A week of documenting prison life was off to a decent start.

---

Sandra Serif presented the gag to Prisoner P-9. She opened without being prompted. It was a large, spongy ball attached to a hard rubber panel. The ball ballooned up inside P-9’s mouth, filling her jaw and forcing her cheeks to bulge out. Warden Serif snapped straps around her prisoner’s ears and behind her head. Tiny droplets formed around the outside of P-9’s eyes, accompanied by “ugu” sounds from her gagged jaw. 
“Looks nice on you, P-9,” said Serif. She smiled. The prisoner stared up at the domina, breathing shallow breaths as the warden produced a rubber sheath. Aside from a slit for the nose, it was solid and shiny. Serif stretched it around her captive’s ears, mating it with the gag and making sure it was properly aligned. The bulging, blushing cheeks were now pristinely covered with smooth, black rubber.
“Perfect.” 
“Mnngh,” replied P-9. 
Serif patted her prisoner twice on the cheek. The warden was wearing long rubber gloves, and it made for a pleasant smacking sound. It was prison policy to wear protective equipment when dealing with prisoners, especially in situations where fluid transfer was a possibility. It was Sandra’s personal policy to wear long gloves at all times. It was also her policy to keep a swagger stick at her side, hanging around her belt should she ever choose to need it. 
Before she could go further, Sandra tapped her watch. “P-9, looks like I have an appointment.”	
“Ughg.”
“Good, I knew you would understand. I’d love to stay, but I have to deal with them personally.”
The prisoner wore a standard-issue orange jumpsuit. It was standard-issue for the Promenade, at least. Pockets at the hips,  zippered pockets at the thighs, and two more on the chest - none of them would have been allowed in any normal prison uniform. Then again, neither would the dozens of tight vinyl straps hugging P-9’s body. She was webbed up and down her limbs and waist, keeping her perfectly restrained to a high-backed chair. Sandra needed someone still when trying out new toys, after all. 
Serif stretched and turned to leave the room. Someone would be along to return P-9 to her cell later.
The two students were past the first few entry checkpoints when Warden Serif caught up to them. The walls were stark primary colors, only broken up by stripes to guide visitors to different parts of the compound. A turf of hard metal and sky of buzzing light strips greeted them as they finally passed the walls and entered the administration building. The Warden was waiting for them. 
“Ah. You’re the two students from Danger college?”
“Danner,” replied June. “Ma’am.”
“Danner college approves of your project?”
“Documenting prison life?” queried June. “I’m surprised you approved it.”
The Warden shot an icy glare at the taller Klara. “Well, your friend has a way with words. She got around our press people and found my direct number. She twisted my arm, and I simply had to let you in.”
Klara subtly elbowed June, eying her with a great big grin. See what I did?
June shot a glance back. Yeah, yeah. Nicely done.
“What do you have in that backpack?” Serif raised an eyebrow and nodded her head at June’s bag. 
“Oh, my camera, microphone, and so on.”
“Mmm. Why did you bother bringing them into the prison?”
June swallowed. “Well, I - I got permission from all the guards.”
The warden nodded again. “I understand, I’m sure you did. No nail files or sharpened toothbrushes in your bags, I trust. No, I want to know why you brought them in with you.”
“To… document our experience?”
The Warden chuckled. “And when would you be doing that? During your exercise hour?”
June pursed her lips. 
“Miss Klara, if you’ll come with me, then. You said that you’d be here documenting the prison experience, correct?”
Klara’s mouth grew into a half-smile. She turned to June, and the younger girl was struck by her steely gaze. She knew what they were in for.

---
	“They don’t know what they’re in for,” said Warden Serif. She was watching them being processed through the facility on monitors from her panoptic control room. Their bags were taken from them and carefully locked away. Guards carefully stood near them, measuring them for a jumpsuit. June was a bit surprised - she assumed that it would be a ‘one size fits all’ affair, or at least a ‘small, medium, large’ option. Her curiosity rumbled as they continued to take notes on measurements far in excess of what they needed. To be certain, they didn’t need cup size.
	They might be for identification purposes. There were always stories about people sneaking out of prison or using inane tactics to switch places with other prisoners. Maybe they’d use it to create a perfectly detailed record of June’s body; more intense than simple fingerprints and other biometric scans. She eventually concluded that it must be part of some scientific study. Her data and personal information was always being used; in a prison, she assumed that the lack of privacy would be turned out tenfold.
	June was snapped out of her reverie by a sudden, meaty thwack a few feet away. Klara had elbowed one of the guards pretty firmly in the face, dropping some incomprehensible curse word. 
	“What are you doing?!”
	A guard wiped away blood from his nose as he backed up. Klara pointed to him, as if it was self-explanatory. She raised one eyebrow, and puckered her dark lips. June didn’t seem to understand, so Klara reiterated her point by pointing to her, and then to the guard, and back. The not-so-subtle gropage had been resolved with similarly unsubtle violence.
	The guard tending to June spoke into his radio. “Yeah, we got a 10-91-L. Gonna need some assistance leashing this one.” 
	Klara protested, and when the additional guards came, she continued protesting. They continued with the process with clinical efficiency. 
	The two inmates began with an orange jumpsuit. Its snug fit was not lost on the young women. Clearly, all those measurements resulted in a very carefully designed outfit that hugged their hips and fit them like a soft glove. Pockets at the hips made for a surprising luxury, as did the zippered cargo pockets on the thighs and chest.
	If pockets were luxurious, then the brown boots that they were issued were the absolute pinnacle of decadence. The simple leather boots, ending below the knee, were the epitome of opulence in the prison. The guards dressing them let both girls take a few steps, and even run in place to make sure that the fit was comfortable. The whole getup was reasonably comfortable. That was good, since the guards made sure it was going to be impossible to remove.
	Sandra had departed, but she had deployed one of her trusted administrators to make sure all went well for the guests. Doctor Michelle Goodeve had short, blonde hair and bangs, and seemed to be narrating her own life’s story.
	“Going to be hard to get all this off. That’s intentional,” she said. 
	“Why so many pieces of restraint?”
	“Made them myself. Well, didn’t make them. Contracted through Sandra - that’s the Warden, to you - to get them made. Designed them myself.”
	“You didn’t really answer my question.”
	“Huh?” Michelle raised her head from June’s knees, where she’d been busy attaching cuffs. “Sorry, what did you say?”
	Clearly, she hadn’t been listening. “Nothing,” sighed June. 
	Fat metal cuffs now graced her thighs. Visible bondage made from polished, stainless steel had a subtle shine in the fluorescent lights. Bright gold squares on front of each cuff were used for near-field signals to remotely unlock cuffs. When those were unavailable, small keyholes for custom-designed keys were nicely hidden at the bottom of the shackles. A short length of chain ran between the two of them,  jingling as she stepped. She wouldn’t be winning any marathons - not that she had any reason to run. This was about documenting “the full experience,” apparently.
	A canvas straitjacket came next. Long, floppy sleeves up top, and a lower portion that covered her groin like a leotard. The slim-fit orange jumpsuit must have been made with the straitjacket in mind. Her arms flipped through quite easily, gliding to the ends which were then tucked behind her back. Staring at Klara, she could see that they were being strapped and locked in place. The guards must have spent a few extra seconds seeing that Klara’s straps were sufficiently tight.
	“The collar is nice, too,” said Goodeve.
	“Collar?”
	Doctor Goodeve nodded. A cowl-like black leather collar was fastened around June’s neck and shoulders. A single massive strap went down from the center of the collar. It cleanly separated her breasts, covered and tightened through loops around her forearms, slipped beneath her crotch, and then went back up to attach the cowl in the back. Lateral twisting, twirling, and squirming was still an option for June, but she could see that it wasn’t quite so for Klara.
	She looked at Klara, expecting to see similar gear. She had an extra piece in place, though - for “security purposes,” the blonde student had another layer of canvas wrapped around her straitjacketed arms. It went down to her hips, fastened with two more heavy-duty straps around her waist and forearms. Not only was she straitjacketed , the wrap covered up all the fasteners and zippers with a single, smooth piece.
	“That was Sandra’s. The Warden to you,” repeated Goodeve.
	“What, that wrap?”
	“The warden likes things clean and tidy. She doesn’t like messes. We take prisoner behavior very seriously at the Promenade.”
	“So you cover up a tight straitjacket with an extra layer…”
	“Mmmmhm.”
	“...and you make sure that they’re all bound so that they can’t create messes.”
	The doctor nodded. “Correct. She brought me on as staff psychologist so that I could find ways to keep the place clean, tidy, and running the way she wants. We agree with her methods.”
	“So, the way she wants… that’s without pesky journalists visiting, right?” June said it as a joke, with a slight smile. Michelle placed a finger to her mouth for a moment to think, then nodded very soberly. Her smile meant that she wasn’t joking when she responded. “Correct. She doesn’t like it one bit.”
	Michelle returned with a small, black ball. She was polishing it with a cloth.
	“What’s that piece?” June tilted her head.
	“Gagging is mandatory. Some prisoners are allowed to talk, others are not. After that little stunt she pulled with the guard, Klara’s speech privileges have been revoked.
	“Since when is talking a privilege?” asked June.
	“Since you stepped inside. Rules are there for a reason, yes they are.” 
	Klara resisted for a moment, but there wasn’t much fight in her. The black ball slipped between her open lips. 
	“That gives her something to chew on. It also provides basic nutrition for a few days. Food is also a privilege. That will be explained tonight, during evening free time.”
	Klara and June had matching masks fastened over their faces. Both of them were thick, black leather that covered from the neck to the top of their nose, looping around their ears and the back of their neck. It pressed against her lips, muffling her speech. Klara’s speech was made completely unintelligible, thanks to the ball between her lips as well.
	“What now?” asked June meekly.
	“Your cells,” said Doctor Goodeve. “The Warden will meet you there.”
	A pair of guards wheeled out wide, hospital-grade wheelchairs for the two new inmates. These prisoner transport chairs also had loops for their wrists, a pair of heavy cuffs for their ankles, and a few more straps than a clinical chair might normally possess. Both girls were seated in them, with straps carefully tightened and tucked over every possible place. Above and below their breasts, their waistline, even their neck were subject to straps, buckles, tightening, and locks. It let both of them squirm slightly, shifting up and down, but they simply couldn’t get enough momentum to do any real damage.
	The trip to their cells gave them a short tour of the facility. Stripes on the walls, much like a hospital, directed prisoners, guards, and visitors to various portions of the Promenade. This way was for lawyers, this way for doctors, and so on. Several locations including “Solitary Confinement,” an exercise hall, and various classrooms were all just a short jaunt off the main, circular promenade of the prison. 
	Warden Serif was waiting for them at their cells. She removed Klara’s gag. “It wouldn’t be fair for you the first night,” she said. The hanging implication that it would be fair on subsequent nights made June shiver. After some brief instructions and rules, she had the two of them brought inside their cozy cell. Aside from dinner later and free time, their first night would be quite restrictive. Further details, she promised, would come tomorrow.
	Klara slumped against one wall. The cell was entirely padded, as though they were in an asylum. Considering that many inmates were bound at all times, it made sense. Better to keep the edges soft when they could lose balance anytime.
 June sat on the ‘bed’; an extra soft spot a few inches raised above floor level. It was like a futon, if a futon was designed for a prison cell where everyone was bound and helpless. “You really got us in it, huh?”
	The blonde raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
	“I mean you got us in deep. This jacket is tight, and I’m basically wearing half of a gimp mask.”
	“Your desire for journalistic accuracy was very admirable,” continued Klara. “I wanted to make sure you had the best possible experience to write on.”
	“We could have just gone to a prison. Like a regular one.”
	“But then you wouldn’t have been checked in. We could always commit some grand theft auto, but it would take too long to get checked in.”
	June gently thumped her head against the soft pillow. “But why a whole week?”
	“Well,” said Klara. “Once I started talking to them, and doing the research, and learning about the gear… I figured we would want some time to enjoy it.”
	June tugged at her bonds. She started to smile.

===

	June’s sojourn into the lands of dream was cut short. She was recalled by the urgent message that something was just outside their cell door, and that it was trying to get in. 
	All of the cells were some advanced polymer, transparent but for now opaque. They could be darkened or brightened with a dimmer switch on the exterior, in case the prisoner needed privacy or the Promenade was in lockdown. 
	She heard a low, rattling sound. It wasn’t the chains of Jacob Marley being dragged, but it was most definitely the sound of metal on metal. Clasps opening and closing, or D-rings jingling against some fastener. June tried to hold her breath, shutting out all other noise to listen.
	It was outside, but not outside. The jingling was faint, and coming from other cells. Vents and piping must have carried it from adjacent rooms. Then came the sound of thumping, thudding, and grunting. It was as though someone had dropped to wolf-fours and was scratching and sniffing at the walls. The pounding was arhythmic at first, accompanied by what were surely gagged grunts. Over time, it morphed into a hymnal of low, rising human sounds. A chorus of louder chain-rattles approached crescendo.
	June gasped for breath, exhaling loudly. The sounds in the other cell quickly finished and subsumed. Stars swam before her eyes as she regained her breath.

====
	The second day was when they were supposed to be doing research. Both girls were given fairly free reign of the Promenade; allowed to visit the showers (where they were stripped and cleaned), the classrooms (all full) and other rehabilitation facilities (though they didn’t feel like exercising in the yard). 
	On the second evening, Sandra Serif came to visit herself. She sang the usual praises for interested students and filled the two of them with the empty assurances that all prisoners were being treated humanely.
	“Humane is a strong word,” said June. “Considering that they are almost always physically restrained in some way.”
	“Not almost always,” responded Serif sharply. “Always. But it’s not always a heavy straitjacket and canvas wrap. Sometimes it’s simply a pair of cuffs, or even less.”
	“Like I said. Humane is as trong word.”
	Warden Serif sighed, raising her hands. “You two had the full day to explore the Promeande. You were allowed to walk anywhere you chose and in any order. You were given, essentially, free reign of the grounds. Do you really think that would be allowed in a normal penitentiary?”
	“No,” said Klara with a grin. “But neither would these ledergimpe masks you have us wear.”
	Serif turned to the cell door. “I am glad you are so jovial. Our ‘open’ prison plan gives so many more freedoms to inmates. They are able to focus on classwork, rehabilitation, and cognitive behavioral therapy. I hope that you can see how lucky you - and they - are.”
	“What is that supposed to mean?” asked June. She tilted her head to the side. 
	“I only mean that you two seem to be enjoying your little ‘field trip.” Her eyes flashed with cunning, and maybe a shade of desire. “Almost all the prisoners, like you, are allowed to explore the Promenade as though it were a resort. Any other penitentiary would keep you cooped up in your cell all day long. You, like all of the prisoners here, should be thankful to be incarcerated in my little facility.”
	The Warden turned to leave. Klara spoke up again. 
	“Question.”
	Serif turned back. “Yes?”
	“Sounds.”
	“Hm?”
	“...we were discussing earlier today. There were sounds last night. Strange ones. Rattling chains and moaning. Sounded like someone was hurt or something.”
	The Warden’s face drained of its desire. A bit paler, she bit her lip and shook her head.
	“I didn’t hear anything like that.”
	“Nein, of course not, Warden. You were asleep in another wing. But we heard them.”
	“There weren’t any such sounds.”
	“Well - well, maybe it was just our imagination.”
	The Warden stepped out the door, turning back only a moment to insist on her point.
	“There weren’t any noises in your room yesterday. Don’t put that in your school report unless you want a state-sponsored lawsuit for defamation.”
	Klara and June eyed each other as the door shut and the lights began to dim.
	Once the sounds of the Warden were gone, Klara broke the silence. 
	“Okay. I changed my mind. I believe you.”
	“You haven’t heard anything,” said June.
	“No, no, I have not, freund. But I heard denial, and anyone who denies something that vigorously is competing with the truth.”
	June smiled. Klara couldn’t see it behind her half-mask, but june had a twinkle in her eyes that gave it away. She got settled in bed, and tried to balance the scales of falling asleep versus staying awake enough to listen for more noise.
	
	She opened her eyes, stifling her breath. There was a ‘thump’ sound. And this time, it came from inside her room.
	June tried to will her eyes into adjusting faster. The darkness of the cell silhouetted a figure standing next to the door. 
	The figured turned to June.
	“Shhh,” said Klara.
	“What are you doing?!” whisper-screamed June. “You might spook them!”
	Klara shrugged - not an easy task in her straitjacket. “Hush now. Did you not see that the door is unlocked? Our Warden forgot to lock it after our conversation this evening.”
	June looked around the room for a moment. The only two people in her cozy cell were herself and her partner-in-crime. She flopped her head back down against the pillow. “Fine. Sneak out if you want. I’ll stay here and listen.”
	Klara nodded, sliding the cell door open and stealing off into the night. June shut her eyes and concentrated. 
	The long hallways of the Promenade were under surveillance; the watchful eye of the Warden and her staff was ever-present as Klara explored darkened corridors. But this was no prison break. Here and there, prisoners were escorted throughout the halls. Inmates doing janitorial tasks still roamed free (or free enough) and so long as she looked confident, Klara was confident that her after-lights-out excursion would draw no attention at all. 


===

	On the afternoon of the third day, June was brought to where Klara was being held. After breakfast and cleaning, the determined student had been politely informed by a guard that her fellow visitor had been detained in the isolation wing, and that Chief Psychologist Goodeve had requested her presence.
	June was glad that she did. She felt weak in the knees at the sight of her friend’s predicament. The room stole her breath and made her wobble. She felt her face redden and her pupils widen when she saw Klara. 
	Doctor Michelle tapped the visitor on the shoulder. “No, no, little pumpkin - that’s not Klara.” She tapped the tag on the outside of the cell. “The one next door - this is Klara.”
	The reaction didn’t change. Every single inmate in the isolation block was geared up in the same way - complete and utter overkill. The slim polymer door to their tiny room was identical across the hall; transparent smart-glass with a screen indicating the room’s contents.
	Deep within the shell hung Klara; a pearl of white canvas suspended in a clamshell of black. The small screen indicated that she had been changed from her prior straitjacket and wrap into a ‘superior’ model; thicker, bulkier, and less visually appealing but with better features for long-term wear. Tiny diodes and nodes could stimulate her muscles when needed, and also when not needed - purely for insidious purposes. The jacket was just as form-fitting as the one provided on the first day, but rather than ending at her groin, it went down… and down… and down, never ending and looping back on itself. It was a sack that only ended when she did, complete with individual padded sections for her feet. Internal leggings and an external wrap meant that she could theoretically walk in it… not that she’d be able to, considering her getup.
	The full-body straitjacket was sealed up with nine wide black leather straps. It gave her the appearance of an old fashioned prisoner’s outfit with its horizontal stripes. Each stripe-strap was pulled tight, looped around and through belt-loops, and tightened with a heavy brassy buckle. Poor Klara; she was practically mummified in all that canvas. 
	Just like an ancient Pharaoh, she had her own sarcophagus, too. June couldn’t count how many heavy nylon belts were in use, but every one of them looped through D-rings on the sides of the strait-sack. They were attached to two parts of a frame, each bearing a tiny part of her weight. The result kept her practically levitating off the ground; a white-and-black trophy packed up in a protective layer to keep it from damage. Her feet were off the ground, and her head tucked into the sack slightly. Klara could see her feet wiggling with anticipation as she entered the room.
	I wonder if she knows who’s here? June thought to herself. There was no way that her confidante would know what was happening around her in that hood. Or “hoods.” June wasn’t really sure how to describe the nexus of restraint gear wrapping up her cohort’s head. There was a black hood, for starters. It seemed to be made of the material and in the same style as the bite-proof mask that they had both been assigned upon entry. But only a few bits of it were visible. Above it was a blindfold; wide, thick, and stretching across the front of her face. It was white with brown straps, and bulged slightly were padding increased pressure on Klara’s thoroughly isolated head. It ran down to the top of her cheeks, where it was covered up by an absolutely tremendous gag.
 June thought of the posters she’d hang up around Danner college; she didn’t wait for the old ones to fall down, she simply covered them up with her own free speech pieces. In the same way, the harness-gag covered Klara’s face. Her cheeks bulged through the hood; there must have been a gag inflated within her mouth. The harness consisted of a thick, restrictive covering that obscured whatever other oral packing that Klara was now enjoying. It was something like a muzzle, covering the bottom of her chin and the top of her neck, going all the way up to above her nose. A cutout for the tiny nostril-holes in the leather hood let her breathe, but another strap ran from the bridge of her nose up and back, disappearing behind her head. It made her look rather pathetic as she shifted her head left and right, hardly able to move it and certainly not able to elicit more than a gentle mmnf mmf from her gagged and packed lips.
The frame itself was housed in a metal cage; a needless cruelty that Doctor Goodeve nonetheless seemed proud to have made. All of this was her own design - at Warden Serif’s insistence, of course.





	 
Elevator pitch:
Bloomingdale Asylum, 1872. Atlanta housing industry, 1988. The Promenade, 2019. At least, that’s what the rebellious student June and her close friend Klara hope for! June’s penchant for investigative journalism is going to get her in over her head when she and Klara go for a weeklong excursion to “The Promenade,” a strange private prison funded by wealthy donors. Despite its reputation as a place of rehabilitation, the two rebellious gal journalists soon find that The Promenade’s focus on restraints means that finding the truth is impossible - and finding a way out might be, too!
The two are treated to the full course of restraint and dehumanizing gear. The Promenade uses a variety of tools in the form of nutrition and physical restraint to keep violent criminals under lock and key.