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Mass restraint procedure inside the facility: A line of detainees being systematically fitted with heavy steel ankle shackles. The guards secure the connecting chains tightly over their footwear, executing standard security protocols for higher-risk inmate movement.

Hell, yeah, but it depends on what the situation is.

For arrest and immediate transport, especially if I’m arrested out in public:  light, strong police cuffs, behind my back.  Light leg shackles optional depending on how long it will be before I’m transported to a proper confinement facility.  Double locked so I don’t tighten the cuffs by leaning back when loaded into the back of a police car, but certainly tight enough that I can’t escape them.

For transport between station and jail, or from jail to prison:  full transport restraints.  Cuffs and black box in front with a waist chain tightly padlocked around my middle.  Leg irons on ankles, connected to the black box with a chain.  The leg irons have an O-ring in the middle of the chain that connects them, so guards can padlock the chain to the floor of the transport vehicle if needed.

For time alone in a cell, like for 72 hour punishment in the hole:  heavy permanent ankle irons and a heavy chain connecting them.  The idea is that the weight and the sound of the chain rattling on the hard concrete floor constantly reminds me of my status as a prisoner being punished.  If handcuffed, heavy steel irons with a heavy connecting chain.

For doing time at hard labor, probably no handcuffs, but heavy ankle irons with a heavy connecting chain that also has an O ring midway.  The O ring is for padlocking another chain which can be fixed to a post or wall, so that even though I can move around sufficiently well to do my hard labor (swinging a hammer on the rock pile, digging ditches), I can’t walk off.

I love the sound of handcuffs ratcheting onto my wrists behind my back.

The soft fabric of the crib was a deceptive comfort, the padded walls a cage that stifled my every instinct to fight. The leather of the restraints felt cold, a harsh reminder of my complete powerlessness. Then came the weight between my legs, a soft, soggy mass that grew as my own body worked against me. All of it, a perfect storm designed to break me down to my most basic form. A thing that had no control.

The stillness, the utter silence, was always my enemy. It allowed my thoughts to play. To run wild. Then, the voice cut through the darkness. My tormentor. My keeper.

"Thinking about sticking you in a straitjacket and pulling the middle strap so tight it pins your diaper against your princess parts" Her words were clear, sharp and concise. I flinched as I thought of what she meant, the pain was nothing compared to the psychological torment. "Watching gleefully as you grunt and your cheeks burn, the strap forcing you to push harder and your mess to spread everywhere.” And the next part. That would be it. My doom. "Nap time, baby.” She finished, in a tone that was filled with a perverse form of motherly affection. And I was to be the puppet. As I always have been. As I will always be.