When Abigail was told she'd be transferred upstate, she smiled. This didn't feel like she'd won the lottery. It was better. If she won a bundle of cash, she couldn't use it - not in here. But a transfer to a low-security facility a godsend.

It didn't matter how much money she had - and Abigail did have quite a bit - she still had next to zero freedom in a high-security prison. Hearing that up north, on the coast, there was a new and small private institution was the best news she had heard in a long time. Not since she was sentenced to many years for a litany of charges relating to fraud and embezzlement, at least. Gail was practically humming when the guards at the state penitentiary brought her to the bus for her transfer.

The spring in her step didn't last long. Not when she got to the new, unnamed and mysterious Upstate facility. It was build into an old asylum on an old hill with a cloying, unyielding gloom about it all. The hum and song also disappeared once she was introduced to the mysterious owner - a corporate type, an executive with pale skin and piercing eyes and a need to see things glossy.

Gail's new uniform was tight, advanced rubber polymers. It stuck to her skin, kept shiny and glossy by consistent polishing. The cells were barren, which at first seemed truly inhumane - until she learned what else was happening.

This was just a holding area; a processing zone while the facility was still being remodeled. Phantom - the mysterious corporate buyer - had all kinds of exciting new devices to try.

The guards wore threatening costumes made of thick black-and-red rubber, wearing masks and hoods and stern, unyielding attitudes. The other inmates all seemed to be 'of a type' that Abigail couldn't quite put her fingers on. And the new holding facilities were a fetishist's dream.

Gail saw one during an exercise period and it made her jaw drop. A half-dozen men, every one of them moaning, squirming, and packed into intensely tight rubber vac-seals on the wall. Their bodies exposed, their toes twitching, their gagged mouths gurgling between breaths of air - and all of them hung up on the wall of the entry corridor as if they were portraits in some medieval castle. There was seemingly no rhyme or reason to who was taken and assigned to what bizarre punishment or therapy.

It wasn't just groups, either. More than once, Gail saw captives hauled out of their cells and subjected to fanciful restraints within full view of the others still in the processing area. Women buckled up tightly to long gurneys; hooded and masked and wearing thick inflated rubber mittens, and then kept in place by a spider's web of straps locking them down.

Strict guards kept a stricter schedule. And as the holding areas started to clear out, Phantom started to make appearances; often looking winded after what was seemingly an intense play-session. That was when Gail realized the order of things; the prisoners were to obey the guards, the guards obeyed Phantom, and Phantom made the rules. Anyone that caught her eye was her next plaything - subjected to the next new experimental procedure in her own private prison.

his art is unique and inspiring, and does something I always value - puts a tasty little vignette into every image. DEFINITELY worth checking out, and not just for his lovely generosity in using MirageCorp here!