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Maxwell Weiss; convicted for two counts of Predatory Sexual Assault, one count of rape in the first degree, one count of possession of a controlled substance. Sentenced to sixty-five years in prison, eligible for parole after ten with successful completion of drug rehabilitation and counseling for sexual addiction. Due to special circumstances, he is only to share a cell with non-violent offenders. Work assignment: prison library. Notes: Registered sex offender. Victim of choice is young women aged fourteen to twenty-five. No female visitors permitted.
He knew he was due for a new cellmate soon, the previous had been transferred quickly after Mister Weiss informed his lawyer of the heroin he was smuggling into the prison, and they never let him rest alone for long. Of course, it sometimes took several days to find someone... suitable. As part of his deal for pleading guilty to the four offenses they had evidence on him for, and a generous donation from Weiss Inc. to the judge's pet charity, he was only to room with someone who was unlikely to inflict harm. His lawyer reasoned that most men in prison would have no problem gutting Max when they found out two of the girls he was convicted of raping were only fourteen and given his wealth and status among certain social circles it was only a matter of time before word of his offenses got out.
Max was just coming off work detail, still carrying himself with an air of dignified grace despite his Armani suit being replaced with the blue prison pants and a white t-shirt, when he saw the COs tossing his cell in preparation for a new inmate. They wouldn't find anything, of course, aside from his perfectly legal personal belongings. Even if he did have something against the rules, he sure as hell wouldn't keep it in his cell.
"Oh, a new roomie already?" He asked casually as he approached the unit supervisor, his soft baritone with a distinctive though faded European accent drawing the man's attention without need for further questions.
"High turnover for your room, Weiss. You know this isn't the Hilton - you don't get to pick and choose who you room with."
"Simple solution, sir;" he replied, the 'sir' almost dripping with condescension; "stop sending me fucking drug addicts."
He knew he was due for a new cellmate soon, the previous had been transferred quickly after Mister Weiss informed his lawyer of the heroin he was smuggling into the prison, and they never let him rest alone for long. Of course, it sometimes took several days to find someone... suitable. As part of his deal for pleading guilty to the four offenses they had evidence on him for, and a generous donation from Weiss Inc. to the judge's pet charity, he was only to room with someone who was unlikely to inflict harm. His lawyer reasoned that most men in prison would have no problem gutting Max when they found out two of the girls he was convicted of raping were only fourteen and given his wealth and status among certain social circles it was only a matter of time before word of his offenses got out.
Max was just coming off work detail, still carrying himself with an air of dignified grace despite his Armani suit being replaced with the blue prison pants and a white t-shirt, when he saw the COs tossing his cell in preparation for a new inmate. They wouldn't find anything, of course, aside from his perfectly legal personal belongings. Even if he did have something against the rules, he sure as hell wouldn't keep it in his cell.
"Oh, a new roomie already?" He asked casually as he approached the unit supervisor, his soft baritone with a distinctive though faded European accent drawing the man's attention without need for further questions.
"High turnover for your room, Weiss. You know this isn't the Hilton - you don't get to pick and choose who you room with."
"Simple solution, sir;" he replied, the 'sir' almost dripping with condescension; "stop sending me fucking drug addicts."
