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MATI series - installment 6
 

I wanted a beer.
That was my fuckin' crime.
See, I tried to act like a responsible adult for once in my life. It had been a long ride to get there, and it was either do some speed or hit the sack. Hell, I even left a big ol' wet t-shirt contest before all the cuties got a chance to strut their stuff. They were gonna drag a couple rice rockets out at nine the next morning, and I sorta wanted to get in a few real satisfying whacks with a sledgehammer.
But my fuckin' motel room was thirty miles out. That's what I got for dickin' around. Couldn't even find a place to pitch my fuckin' tent anywhere near the action. And my fuckin' roaddogs weren't gonna be straggling in for a day or two. A couple years before, they never showed. So I got myself a room. Hadn't even been in it yet...
I really needed a fuckin' break. If I even saw a rivet gun, I was ready to go off and kill something. So I made it to Sturgis a couple days early, and I was ready to blow off some mutherfuckin' steam. Starting the next day. I putted on back to my motel, thinking about all the nice titties I already got a look at.
And a beer sounded good. That's about the time I noticed how fuckin' dead the road was. I mean, we're talkin' Sturgis. Figures I'd find the one direction where you couldn't get a damn beer. I just wanted one gas station that was open and would sell me a six-pack.
So - I could lose a little time and turn around, ride back fifteen minutes, or keep goin' and hope for the best. All I needed was one bar. There had to be something...
A few miles further out, I saw it - fuckin' finally. A little orange dot. Neon. It appeared, all of a sudden. Did they just turn on the sign on? Heard me coming. Hey, I thought, works for me. Then I looked down and saw that I was pushin' eighty. Whups. So I let up on the throttle, and checked the place out.
Bud bow-tie logo, and a Marlboro logo on a pole above the door. Alright. I didn't see no windows. Four or five bikes parked there, and a big-rig tractor. Gravel lot, not too choppy -
Then I caught on. It was a fuckin' trailer! Somebody pulled a doublewide off the road and bam, there's yer bar. So long as they had suds, I didn't give a shit. I was just gonna have me a couple, and then go crash. Unless, of course, some pretty little thing just begged me to fuck her lights out...

So I backed it on in, and cut the motor. She leaned pretty good, on the kickstand, but the gravel was firm enough to hold. Decent. I fired up a smoke and looked around again. Nobody was outside. No neighbors, either, to bitch about the noise. Yeah.
I heard music as I walked closer to the door. Stevie Ray. Another good sign. Stomping on the cinderblocks they were using for steps, but they weren't gonna move.
I turned the doorknob. Smoke leaked out.
Good 'n dark. Three fuckers sat at a table, and two more were standing by a cheap-ass excuse for a bar, further on back. My kind of people, alright -
They were acting funny. Bouncing, making weird noises... Staying where they were, though. Fuckin' freaks. I started to grin, and I wanted some of whatever they were on...
I was reaching for the doorknob, behind me. And it shut real fast before I could grab it.
My hands bumped together - and something moved in. Dark things. They jumped on me.
And they started to squeeze.
Somebody's fuckin'... hands were under my jacket, moving apart - and then over my ribs. Right away I started to grunt. And I reared back.
Slammed into the fuckin' door good and hard. The damn thing didn't pop open.
Black hands.
Gloves.

I had no time to wonder what the hell was going on. There was a word that came to mind, but that was out of the mutherfuckin' question. What really got me was that I couldn't see the son of a bitch with the gloves on. They were too big for a chick's fingers. And strong. Up in my fuckin' armpits.
I yelled at 'em as I fell over, sliding along the wall. Gloves. Empty gloves. Sure as hell didn't feel empty.
What the hell were the other shit-stains doing, just sitting there?
But I finally saw the bandannas - not around their necks. Fuckers were gagged! They all had their arms behind 'em. From down by the floor, I could see the fuckin' rope around their boots.
Somebody tied 'em up. And that's why they were hoppin' around like that, sounding like lops, when they saw me walkin' in. They were trying to warn me off...
A coil of rope fell down on my legs. Too late now.
In a heartbeat there were a whole bunch of fuckin' gloves on me. They whipped that rope back behind me, and around my shins, and they all moved like they'd done it a lotta times before.
I was pulling, but they slammed me against the wall again. I didn't know how empty gloves could do that, but they did. Next time I yelled, they pulled a rag between my teeth real fuckin' tight. Caught some hair in it too. Some whiskers...
I gave 'em all the fight I had.
And I still got wrapped up, leaning over with my hands pulled down toward my feet.
"Alright, then," a voice said - from somewhere.

I looked all around, but I didn't see a dude without a gag. The other tramps were tryin' to see the bastard, too. So I wasn't the only one who heard it.
"How many does that make?" the guy said.
"Uh... One hundred and one," another voice said, from somewhere near the bar. That guy sounded like he was stoned. I couldn't see him either. Too fuckin' weird...
"And that one slob's not gonna work out. Okay, we're done," he said louder. "Let's move."
A few voices cheered. All of the bros looked confused, and I sure as hell felt that way.
The door opened, and something slammed through -
A ramp.
The first bike rolled in. One guy started fighting for all he was worth, watching it. He stayed tied up, though.
And I couldn't get anywhere with my knots either.
"Column lock," a different voice said. That one sounded younger than me, maybe not even old enough to drink... "Dark green piece of shit."
"Who's got the dark green piece of shit?" the first voice said. Another guy at the table growled a little. "Ah. Need your keys," and a glove unclipped a hook keyring from his belt loop. It carried them outside...
Fuck, did I wanna get out of there.

"And I know this one's yours," the young voice said to me, as my own ride was wheeled in. "Nice pipes."
I tried to crawl after it, but a glove grabbed my boot and held on.
"Are we off the jacks?"
"Two minutes, boss."
"Make it one. Let's hop, dammit."
As soon as the bikes were rolled in, a bunch of gloves cinched 'em up along the walls with tie-downs. And then cinderblocks sailed through the door and slammed down.
Both of the neon signs were set down on the floor, real careful.
The floor moved a little.
"Gotta secure the meat," the young-dude voice said. A glove caught the ropes that had my boots stuck together. "C'mere, you."
I rolled around, but it dragged me up to where the other guys were. They were making us get in a circle on the floor, facing out.
"Don't need this no more," a whole 'nuther voice said - and gloves got around the table and carried it away. Beer bottles slid off and broke, or they just rolled around. The chairs went next, thrown toward the back end of the trailer.
"Tie these fuckers," the stoned voice said, over the middle of us. All of our heads looked up at the ceiling at the same time.
There wasn't a fuckin' sign of where the voice came from.
Gloves brought over a lot more rope...

When they were done, my arms - upper arms - was tied to the guy on either side, and my boots and legs were wrapped up tight. And it took more than a minute, but maybe not a long longer than that.
Outside, the fuckin' semi started up. The place moved. I heard these loud clanks from the nose-end, which was not the direction they had me facing, as they got the trailer hitched up.
The door opened again. "Set in there?," the young voice yelled.
"Move!" the stoned voice hollered back. They laughed...
Sounding pretty fuckin' happy with themselves.

The whole place started to roll. We swayed, and looked at each other.
I tried to bust the rope, and thought real hard. 101... It must be some kind of total number. Dirtbags they'd caught, like a career total.
But why?
And I thought about where those gloves went, under my jacket. The first ones. What they did.
Bullshit, that was just fuckin' impossible, and I was sure as hell not gonna think about that anymore. It was time to get loose.
Of course, we couldn't do it. Not for lack of tryin', I gotta say. Whenever we got too rambunctous trying to break the fuckin' rope, the gloves clamped on and held us down for a few miles. Shit, they had a real fuckin' grip for being empty. I'd never heard of anything like what was happening there...
And all I'd wanted was a couple beers. Instead I was being hauled off, somewhere. Bad magic workin' on us all. Or at least it was stronger than we were. Maybe smarter.
Shit like that, it just didn't happen to me.

We rolled along for about an hour...
"Which of you fuckers has to pee?"
Oh, hell.

Finally, I couldn't hold it much longer. The gloves brought the damn water-jug back around. Stank like a fuckin' whorehouse.
Not too happy at all, I nodded. Two gloves got my dick out - without hardly touching it, which was a big ol' relief right about then - and lined up the jug.
Whew. That was a whole lot better.
The gag made my tongue all dry. And my fuckin' jaws had gone numb, after the ache went away. But no way I was gonna ask for any favors from these bastards. Not with the whole fuckin' attitude they had. It was way too much like bein' watched by guards, in the county joint.

We kept goin', and I dozed off more'n once.

There was a stop, and I got all ready to make a run for it - but it must've been just to gas up. They didn't even open the fuckin' door.

And there was nuthin' else to do but nod... and look at each other. Mostly the bros looked like they were ready to gladly kill somebody. But one of 'em was all pale n' shit. Real hopeless eyes. I hoped I didn't look that bad.

Hell, I knew I needed a plan. Trouble was they seemed like they had their shit together. Maybe if I acted all meek when they started pulling us out of the trailer, I could surprise 'em enough to run. That is, if they untied our ankles.
It didn't look too good, but I felt like I had to try something.

We finally stopped, and they turned out to be too fuckin' careful.
After a door opened, a whole lot more voices came in. Gloves all over us, when it was our time to get carried out. One by one... There was a good three dozen hands makin' sure I didn't touch the ground. And I fought 'em, but all they did was laugh at me.
They took us over to a big building. Sorta like a barn. It was all dark on the outside. Middle of fuckin' nowhere. Dirt road...
I looked back at the trailer, and it was leaning over to one side. From our scoots. One of the gloves pulled my head back around.
"Face forward, scumbag. You're not goin' anywhere."
"Hey, easy," another voice said quietly. I remembered that one - it was the jack-off who said he liked my pipes.
"Fuck off, Amp," the gruff voice said. "What, you wanna marry this one or somethin'?" And a few voices chuckled at that.
"Or... something," the young dude said, and he broke up.
They all thought that was real funny.
I didn't fuckin' get it.

The building looked all beat-up from the outside. I was glad to see that, 'cause with the loose boards I figured I could probably kick my way out.
But we came up to the door, and I saw light inside. It looked all new inside there. I reached for the door frame as I went through - anybody would - and then I figured it out.
There was the outside wall, real old. But it hid a new building, inside, with a lot better doors. Fuck...
A lot of metal on the walls, fat bars on top of some padded shit.
Looking around, it was obvious why they did that. To the walls.
A whole lotta bikers...
I could believe there were a hundred bros in there. Most were flyin' their colors. They all had their hands up behind their heads. Looked weird, to see that many of 'em. And hearing all the voices... but every dude I saw was gagged. Like me.
The rope let go, all of a sudden. I looked down and saw a big ol' knife - cutting me loose. All by itself? Fuckin' weird.
"Hands up," the young guy said. The one they called Amp. And then he chuckled all of a sudden - that was creepy, too. "Be smart."
The gloves that had a hold on my arms all squeezed, and it hurt... so I let 'em pull both hands up around my neck.
Cold metal. I knew the sound, alright.
So what? Handcuffs - but all I had to do was lift my hands over my head. So I looked over at the other dudes...
And saw their collars.
"Herd 'em up," a guy said over a microphone. "Let's get the fuckin' pictures out of the way."

"Collar this dog," another wild voice said, real close to my head. And yeah, I jumped. So fuckin' what?
"Out," a voice replied, from a long ways off.
"What?"
"No more collars. All gone."
"Aw... hell. What's so hard about counting to a hundred?"
A voice snorted. "Real hard, I guess, if you only bring eight dozen collars."
"Use a choke chain," a quieter voice said, from my other side. "Or rope."
"Yeah," the gruff voice sighed. "Fuck. Amp, go get it."
"Roger..."
I sat there, looking at the other bikers. Everybody looked like they were getting shoved, closer together -
"Alright," the quiet voice said. I turned and saw a belt heading in my direction. Big ol' rebel flag belt buckle. "That's gonna hurt."
"If he acts up, sure," Amp shot back.
The belt looped around my neck, and then I guess it caught the handcuff-chain. Somebody jerked it real fuckin' hard. And my hair was stuck under the gag and the belt, both. I tried to yell, but the gag took care of that. So I ended up growling.
A few voices laughed at me.
"But if he holds still," Amp said - right in front of my face, and talking to me like I was a little kid or something - "I'll let him keep on breathing."
"Yes, indeedy," The gruff voice laughed. And kept laughing.
I looked around, and just nodded my head once.
The belt got a little tug. "This way," Amp said. "You get to be in the front row."

So there were were, all these guys standing in this weird place, with our elbows sticking out in front of us. Most of us were making some kind of noise. A couple of bros managed to get rid of the gag and start cussing, and it wasn't too long until they were shouting into a bandanna again like the rest of us.
"Closer together," the guy on the microphone said. "Squeeze 'em in from both sides." Well, that wasn't too popular. Some of these clubs were out to get each other. There were some shoving matches... but they ended with dudes making this loud croaking sound, and standing taller. The fuckin' hands were pulling up on their collars, until they settled down.
"Gentlemen," the voice said - real bigtime smartass - "as soon as we get these pictures over with, you can spread out a little. And I'll tell you what's gonna happen, here."
Some of the real angry bros kept on trying to yell and pull loose.
"Squeeze in a little more..."
I was almost in the center already, and it got real damn chummy there. From the strangling sounds behind me, I guessed about twenty dudes were being held way up there, by the collar or whatever.

"Take the damn picture!" a voice boomed out. Several others agreed, and laughed. The trouble was the voices were all invisible. All of us riders were still gagged.
But the kidnappers sounded like scooter people, too. It was nuts.
A long thing floated over - like a tabletop, I thought, painted up with words. It slammed down right in front of me. "Look up!" the announcer-voice said. "Point your titties."
There was a camera, way up over us. It started taking pictures, real fast. One of those motors the pros have. Maybe three or four shots a second.
Quick, and smooth as anything, the camera dove down - almost like it was gonna hit me, at the end of the curve. But it stopped a good ten feet up, and far enough back so the sign would still be in the shot.
"I'm good," I heard a voice say.
"Done," the announcer said. "Now. All of you gentlemen who have been smart enough to behave yourself can have your cuffs removed. If you're quiet, we'll even pull the gags. You junkyard dogs will stay trussed up like that."
The belt started to get loose.

"Yeah. Anybody acts up, they get handcuffed and gagged again. We don't put up with your bullshit. Simon says... smoke if you got 'em."
We looked at each other. Huh?
A hand slid into my jacket.
"Yeah. You do," Amp said quietly, pulling my cigarettes out. "Good man. Do what you're told, and burn one. Now."
My own lighter slapped against the palm of my hand.
So I got a Camel goin'. Everybody else followed along.
"There we are. It's a badass party we got here. Show 'em the sign."
In front of me, the table lifts up - about ten feet, again - and turns around.

"Fuck this!" a guy yelled from somewhere behind me. "You c- nnuuh fuhh nnmmff! Fuuuumpf!"
"Don't interrupt me," the announcer said, real calm. "You'll get to make all the noise you want. Real soon now."
Well, that didn't sound good...
We looked at each other. The guy to my right was older'n me, and fairly heavy. Real long beard. Prison eyes. He finally shrugged. I just nodded back -
"Let's break it down for you animals," the microphone-voice said, all friendly-like. "MATI is a secret organization that studies tactology. You'll find out more about that than you ever wanted to know. We've interrupted your Sturgis trip to get your help with a big ol' experiment -"
Three other bikers started yelling, and they all got gagged too.
"And it's not optional. You hear me? We wanted one hundred pieces of shit with a certain... Let's say, a certain ability. And you're not goin' anywhere until we're done with you."
The bros started moving around more, mumbling stuff.
"Yeah," a mean-sounding voice said, from up over us.
"And four of you will be out of commission for a hell of a long time."
Most of the invisible fuckin' voices laughed.
That got us looking around again.
"They said we were crazy," the voice on the microphone went on. "A hundred lowlifes at the same time. Can't be done. But you're here, and we're gonna do it." And the voices all seemed to like that. "Supplies might be a little short, before the first cut, but we'll manage."
"We ain't gonna cut any of 'em loose!" a voice said from the back, and a lot of 'em cheer again.
"Now, c'mon," the announcer chuckled. "You know how it works. Gotta give these asswipes something to look forward to. Of course, you can always hunt 'em down later -"
Big ol' cheers.
"After Sturgis. They gotta rest up... You know. You don't know how honored you fucks are. There's MATI associates from all over the country here, just to work on your raggedy asses. And we're gonna see what ya got, tonight -"
"Yahhhh-hoooooo!" one really loud fucker shouted.
"So half of you will be gone, about eighteen hours from now. Outa here. Back to the rally, with your bikes, and all your parts still intact. Not even a scratch. And - with three hundred bucks extra in your pocket."
Well, huh.

After a second, the crowd started to sound... different.
"The next night, twenty-five more get sprung - and they get eight bills apiece. The third night, thirteen fuckers go and take a couple grand with 'em. Each. You getting the picture?"
Some of the bros started to laugh. That's what I expected, but without knowing what kind of sick shit was gonna happen there, I was in no big hurry to get paid off. If they ever even came through with the money. I mean, shit, they reeled us in easily enough -
A briefcase floated up, from over by the wall. Way up there, so the guys in the back could see. The lid clicked open -
Cash. Just like in a fuckin' movie. Shiny briefcase full of bills.

A bundle lifted out. "Hey. Outcast vice prez." The bundle dropped down - and stopped right in front of a bro way over to my right. "Get his arms. He ain't gettin' no free sample. Dogs gotta work for their money. Hard work."
We all watched as the bills flashed, slowly, in front of him.
"What do you see, hoss? Tell 'em."
"Hunnerds," he drawled.
"Real money?"
"Yeah. Looks real."
The bundle went back up to the briefcase. "How much in a bundle, you ask? Five grand. Old bills, no trace on any of it - and it's the real deal, outlaws. All for you fucks. And how many bundles are in here -"
"Hey. This mutt knows," a rowdy voice yells from behind me, on the left. "His lips were movin'."
"Go fuck yourself," a guy barked, none too happy.
"Black hair?" the announcer said. "No patch. Yeah. You. How many bundles? Look, just say it, so we can get on with it."
"Twenty-four," he finally barked. "Plus some m-"
"Hee-eyyy, one of these scumbags actually went to math class. Front him a joint. It's on me. Good job."
The briefcase looked like somebody shook it. All these bundles were tumbling around. I thought it could be about twenty-five of 'em.
"Whoops," a voice laughed, as one bundle fell out. It only got about two feet away. Then it stopped in midair and jumped back in the fuckin' case.
The announcer went on. "If Hounder doesn't drop any -"
"Yeah, yeah."
"There's one hundred and twenty-one thousand dollars in prize money there. So I guess we got your attention."
Some of the bros actually sounded happy about it. I didn't like it at all -
"And the last four standing will get a fifty-week, all-expenses-paid vacation... to Bismarck."
Muther-fuck.
As everybody started to realize what that meant, they shut right up.

But most of the ghost-voices started to chuckle, and it sounded pretty fuckin' sinister.
"The MATI compound there - or cellblock, to use a word you scumbags probably remember - well, it's underground. Hidden. A good, what, nine miles from the highway? And it's been right there, at the same fine location, for almost three years now. Nobody's found it yet. They ain't gonna find it. Five dudes are in there right now -"
"Four," a voice called out from the back. "Squeaky's bronchitis flared up again."
"Yeah. Four dudes. So we got plenty of room."
"Let's do it," a really low voice rumbled. Several others agreed -
"Wait," the announcer said. "One more thing to say, and then it's on. I gotta welcome you all, I guess. Even though ninety-six of ya are gonna hit the road, and half of those aren't worth a cup of warm spit. So... Welcome to Canada."
And it snickered.
I thought we were in North Dakota, maybe. Or just west of Sturgis a good spell.
"Canada?" a guy yelled out. "The fuckin' country, Canada?"
"Well, yeah," and that announcer was so damn proud. "That's the one. We didn't wanna be bothered by anybody. And you might be thinkin' about a big-time escape, but there's nowhere to go around here. So. Canada. All you MATI associates - thank you, and we mean it. For everything. Enjoy yourselves, and I mean it. The Hundredjam is officially... on!"
The loudest cheer of all went up.
"Odd numbers - downstairs. Let's do it."

Half of the bros were pulled to the stairwells...
"The rest of you fuckheads, just hang. Couple minutes, and we'll get to ya."
A hand shoved me in the middle of my back. "Move it." I looked around...
They were putting us in smaller groups. I ended up facing five other bikers, and none of 'em looked too damn happy.
"Here's the deal," a voice said from the middle of the circle.
Three stun-guns floated up from behind me -
"You move, I zap ya," the voice said. It sounded too fuckin' happy. "No warning. You get to smoke - and keep smokin' - but you don't budge. Got me?"
The business end of one of the stunners was hanging maybe two feet from my face, halfway between me and the bro next to me.

I was thirsty... but I still went and got another cigarette out. So did another dude across the circle from me, not lookin' none too happy. Big eyes.
"That's it. You just gotta be cool for a few minutes. Then we'll get everything ready up here."
Two bros were getting jumpy. I could see it. "We gotta move," one of 'em hissed. "Now. Bunch of pussies."
The voice sighed - and the closest stun-gun moved right up to his face. "You need to shut y-"
Zap.
I jumped. Hell, I think everybody did. But it wasn't the guy I was looking at who got it. Somebody else, way in the back.
Another gun went off. That same sizzling sound.
"You guys really want a demo," the voice over us said, "I'd be glad to show you, up close. You want me to drop ya and hogtie your ass, you just say the word. I'd like that."
"Son of a bitch," the smartass bro mumbled, staring right at the terminals by his chin.
"No? Well. He was right. You're all fuckin' pussies."
I made fists and growled a little. Everybody else got pissed off too.
A black thing flew into our circle. Caught in the air -
A big ol' marker.

"This is the time where I get to write on ya," the voice said, as if it was no big thing. "When I put a stun-gun on your voicebox, you're gonna tilt your head back and hold real still. I'm gonna write your number on your face. Nice and big. There's too many of you clowns to keep track of. And you're all dressed alike."
A hand tapped me on the shoulder. I looked, before I could stop myself. Of course, there was nothing there. But a little piece of paper flew past me, over to the marker.
"Took ya long enough," the voice in the air grumbled.
"Hey, some of 'em are fighters." It was that Amp character again...
"Cover these dogs," the other voice said. "If they sneeze, get 'em."
"Fuckin' glad to -"
"Now, which one's 74?"
"The one that smells like a bong," Amp chuckled. "Hey! You. Don't even breathe. I wanna try this thing out. Might as well be you."
"It's cool," an Indian bro - I mean, Navajo or something - said quickly. "It's cool. I ain't gonna move no more."
I sorta wish you would," Amp said. "So I can drop ya."
A stun-gun pressed up against the fucker's throat. "Now. Tilt your head back."
The marker flew up and wrote a big ol' 7 on one of his cheeks, and a 4 on the other.
Both of the voices laughed.
"38," Amp said. "The short one."
I was next. The marker hung there...
"Shouldn't this one get the old number? The guy he replaced?"
"Naw, they already crossed it off. I just checked."
"Okay, then. Hey. You hold still."
A long stripe, a big circle over my nose, and another circle.
"The big shit," the voice said quietly. Like it was gonna stomp me. "The only three-digit asswipe in the place."
Amp thought that was funny, I guess. "Lucky one hundred," it crowed.
"Next."
"No front teeth, here, he's number 68."

We all looked ridiculous -
Something slammed down, real hard, in the back corner of the room.
"Easy," the voice warned us. "Just some partitions. Almost time, now. 38, you damn well better have a cigarette hangin' out of your mouth before I count to five..."

They built little rooms. No ceilings, and those thin walls like they use in an office or some shit.
A whole bunch of panels were used to make squares in about five minutes' time. The voices sounded like they were real eager to get going.
Each room got a pad. And three boxes.
Then I heard all these weird noises coming from the floor. In the rooms. Squeaking, and these quiet clicks...
After a minute, something dawned on me. The rooms had no doors. No way to get in or out, except from above. The walls were only six feet tall, and I could get over 'em in a flash if I had to.
But it got to me. Making all these rooms, and no way for us to walk in or out.
These fuckers were serious. About... something.
"Set?" the one voice said quietly.
"Just about," a different voice answered.
I looked at the main door, and wondered if there was any chance at all I could make it there -
"Go," a voice yelled.
The fuckin' belt around my neck tightened. I tried to pull at it, and burned myself with my smoke. Dropped that, and got some fingers underneath...
It kept choking me. More and more.
The other bros were lifting up. Off the ground. By their collars, it looked like - and then I was up too.
Hands grabbed my arms and took some of the weight. I coughed hard.
"Fuck," I wheezed. Moving further up... Over some rooms - where other guys were already landing - and all the way to the back row.
Bikers were floating everywhere. Into their little rooms. And the harder they fought, the more the collars jerked 'em around.
The belt let up, and I got a decent breath in.
"You just behave, now," a new voice said. "Almost there."

I was set down on the pad.
Cuffs were waiting. And straps.
Hands wrestled all my clothes off, and slammed me down on my back. Both wrist-cuffs moved fast, stretching me out. Then they pulled my legs out -
Bones shifted around. I yelled.
The pressure on my shins kept increasing. It fuckin' hurt...
Wrapped, tighter, hooked somehow. Right ankle. Left ankle. My heels didn't fit on the pad.
And I was caught good.

Like everybody else, I fought with all I had in me. Didn't matter. All this yelling and cussing, around me. It sounded like we were all in the same boat.
Black walls, three boxes stacked up - my clothes, scattered every which-where...
And me. Down on the pad. Anchored real fuckin' tight.
I pulled at the straps for awhile. Didn't seem to do shit. Big eye-bolts sunk in the floor. I didn't see 'em wiggle at all. Doubled-up straps running from the bolts to two different rings on each cuff. Pulling sideways and up, or down where my feet were concerned. Couldn't arch, couldn't roll, creep up, slide down, scoot over much.
Even worse, I really had to take a fuckin' leak.
Far off... a bro started to laugh.
That was not at all what I expected to hear.
Shit. I was braced for the worst. Get all these bikers, talk big about 'em leaving without a scratch, flash some green - and then they fuckin' strap us down. No way we're gonna stop 'em, whatever they got in mind.
Several bros started yelling.
I laid there and heard 'em thrash, and groan. One dude squealed. A couple others were begging. Fuckin' trying to make threats.
And another dude burst out laughing. Long, lazy chuckles. I could tell, just from the sound, that he didn't wanna laugh. But he kept it up.
Many other guys started too.
I stared up at the ceiling.

Of all the fucked-up shit they could do...
But I wasn't too relieved. It was good that nobody else could see me, but the sounds from the other dudes totally fuckin' scared me - 'cause I couldn't move.
This was serious. I had to get up right away. Immediately. Up.
I had to get out of there.
Some of the bros sounded like they were really ticklish. And if the fuckin' kidnappers only knew -
A sigh.
I heard that. Overhead. And I mean, right there. In the fuckin' little room with me. It was real quiet. A happy little sigh.
"You need a hand, there? Huh?"
It was Amp. Sounding all nice and shit -
And the lid of the top box flew open.
"A couple hands?"
Gloves floated up. Black. Real shiny.
"Hmmmmm?"
And the mutherfuckin' things got full!
Just like that. I woulda sworn there were hands in 'em, except they didn't get pulled on. Not like I'd pull my own gloves on. Floating - and the next second the damn things were solid. And I could still see the insides of 'em, when they turned the right way. Not a fuckin' thing in there.
"I got a bunch of hands," Amp said quietly.

The filled-up gloves came closer. And I really tried to snap those fuckin' straps. It couldn't do this. The only time in my whole damn life I got tickled hard, it made me one-hundred-percent unglued. Batshit.
And I remembered it real clear. Delia, who didn't exactly like it when I passed out in mid-fuck. She tied me down, and the whole next day was pure, screaming hell. A whole shitload of rope on me... Even after I was a twitching basket case, couldn't talk, couldn't fuckin' laugh, she spent an hour playing with my feet. Then, another hour.
That couldn't happen again. Ever. I was too ticklish. Way too much. Some kinda freak thing.
"No," I said - and it came out sounding wimpy, even to me.
"Actually, yeah," it said. Still in that real everyday voice.
"Look - Amp, is that it?"
"Ampcat," it shot back. "But I guess you can call me Amp." It chuckled once, real quiet, way too calm. "We're gonna get to know each other real fuckin' well. Hah hah."
The gloves kept heading down. The fingers moved, so much like real hands it made me wanna freak out. The material was all bulgy, as if the hands inside were a little too big for the gloves. And the fuckin' gloves would've fit on my hands, so they weren't small.
"Amp, no, just listen, stop. Listen to me. I can't take this. I can't... Will you stop those fuckin' things? Just wait. No closer. Don't you do it, don't bring those mutherfuckin' things any closer. I'm serious. Oh, hell, oh hell, oh fuck no, no, Amp, c'mon. Look - please. I can't... I just can't. Stop go through this..."
And they never even paused. Flying down about as slowly as they could have.
"Thought you were a badass," Amp said. "Huh. You outlaws don't sound so damn tough, in here..."
The gloves were landing. I couldn't believe it.
"Just a bunch of big kids."
The index fingers pointed down -
"But I'm bigger than you are."
Touched my belly.

"You can't. You j- unnnh," I grunted. "No... Fuckin'..."
They slid across. Shit. I was gonna die. Oh, shit.
Sliding back.
"No, no, no, no..."
Fingers pressed down - and ran back over. Real easy. Lower, coming halfway up my chest. A big loop.
"You c-can't. Aaah. Fucker... N-nuh. Naaaah. N-no."
All tensed up, as the fingers came over. Kept going. Came back around. Closer to my ribs, and my crotch.
Two more fingers set down. Double-fuck. Sliding on me.
A feeling inside me was getting stronger. It was like I was.. slipping. Falling off a cliff. No, more like I had to sneeze. It was coming, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.
"Nuh! N-nnnno. Don't, d-don't..."
Oh, fuck, if I kept the laughs from getting out, maybe -
"Nnnnnnith. Nnnnaaaaaah. Neeee-nnnn nnnnnn-nnn eeeeee-eeeeeeeethh..."
I couldn't do a damn thing.
A finger rubbed my left nipple. Across, and back -
Boom.
Fuckin' started hollering laughter. Lunging around, but it was way too late. I was really, definitely fucked. It was the scariest thing I could remember. Delia had only worked me over for one day, but these assholes were talkin' big.
And at the same time, letting go and laughing was such a damn relief, I couldn't believe it.

"Here goes," Amp said, close to my ear -
"What the hell are you doin' to him?" a voice said, from way over me.
Oh yeah, I thought. Save me from this bastard -
The gloves pulled off.
"Four fingers," Amp said proudly.
"You're shittin' me."
"Amper - is that you?" A different voice. "Whatcha got there?"
I guess I started to, uh, whimper.
"Damn. Looks mean... and sounds like he belongs in a funny farm," a whole new voice said.
"Yeah..."
"Wanna trade?"
And Amp laughed really loud.
The fingers - came back! Sliding -
"Neeeeee-eeeeee-eeeeeth," I squealed.
"Lookit that."
"Huh."
The gloves reversed course... and crawled over my ribs.
Oh, no, aw fuck. I screamed and bounced on the pad and barked like a dog. Overly happy dog.
Just four fingers, I thought, gotta shut up and calm down, and so what if they're in my armpits -
Digging.
There was nothing else in the world, right then. Soft points pressing in, and hardly even moving at all. Unbearable, and only the beginning...
I slammed my body down one more time. My mouth was wide open. But no sound was coming out. I had to make myself breathe. Tense as a wire.
Fingers. Sliding around my armpits. And not a mutherfuckin' thing I could do about 'em.
"You got a winner here," a real low voice said, sounding real dangerous.

"Aw," Amp chuckled. "You think so?"
"Yeah," one of the other voices sighed. "Dammit."
"Last one we caught."
"Uh-huh," Amp said.
"Shit..."
"Listen," the scary voice said, "you're gonna run the show. Not him. So take it way, way down. You've got all the time in the world. With one like this, build it up as slow as you possibly fuckin' can. Even though it's just gonna kill ya to hold off another second - do it. You won't be sorry in the long run. Promise."
"Cool." Amp sounded kinda impressed. "I'll do it."
The sinister voice snickered a few times - at me, I thought.
"Thanks, Mal."
The gloves lifted off me - and curled around my upper arms. Holding on. In charge, alright. So damn close to my 'pits...
"I had a feeling about you," it told me. "Soon as you got off your bike."
"I'm fuckin' s-serious, now," I giggled.
"So am I."
The fingers slid back down...

Every minute turned into a whole damn day.
The fucker started getting to know me. Two fingers here, three fingers there.
I completely ran out of swear words and ways to beg.
And it kept on tickling. More and more gloves came and dug in.

Over and over, I'd sorta snap out of a daze - and look at 'em. Gloves, feathers, all these fuckin' brushes. And I'd realize that a whole break from the tickling had come and gone, and I'd already caught my breath...
And Amp was starting up again.
Enough.
Alright. Stop... now.

"Sensitive guy," it taunted.
All I could do was try to squirm. The tickling was all over me, and I kept thinking how it was way more than I could fuckin' stand...
"You hide it well, but you're a big ol' softie," Amp said. "Am I right? And I've got you. Load up, Hundred. Feel this..."
A bunch of feathers totally blitzed my sides.
I seized up and bounced a few times, too wasted to make any noise.
"That's it. You know what? Badass? You're gonna get more sensitive. More, and more, and more. Tomorrow, next week, next month."
That time, I think I managed to shake my fuckin' head.

It looked like it was gonna be a good, long fuckin' intro... with the gloves. Seein' what I got.
How about my armpits, fucker? You like 'em? They gonna pass inspection? Yeah. You got big plans. I know. And how about my knees - are they worth your time? Clamp on. Work 'em.

I just couldn't get my mind around how long it went on between the rest breaks.
How my backside could be that ticklish, after all the years I've been ridin', was absolutely beyond me. The fucker had some kind of cream that made me into a king-size basket case, instead of the regular basket case I had been.
Sometimes I watched the gloves, and every tool it was using...
Not smart, maybe, but I fuckin' couldn't let go of the idea that all of it wasn't happening, not really, and there were lots of reasons it couldn't be real.
But I paid attention the way they were movin' all over me.
And I figured something out.
Amp's gloves reminded me of the way my hands looked - when I was cleaning my bike. Hell, maybe my hands looked like that when they were pettin' a nice set of tits, under me. When I was really enjoying myself, and no fuckin' need to hurry.
There's doing something careful-like, because you have to... and it's a whole different thing when you're bein' thorough because ya get such a charge out of it.
Amp was definitely enjoying this. Puttin' it to me.
And even more obvious... no rush.
All fuckin' night.

I didn't know how long I thought that one through. All night, all night. And so on. I couldn't get a handle on still being there tomorrow, in Amp's little room. And tomorrow, hey, it could chuckle say the same thing again - I got all night. Every night. Slow and steady rubbing. The feathers in here, the brushes there.
Oh, fuckin' hell - I had to get out of there. Absolutely, definitely gone. Making that happen was gonna be a bitch, though. I didn't have any ideas...
Maybe the whole bit about letting half of us go was bullshit. They got us here to fuckin' tickle us.
And if Amp was a rookie at this, we were all screwed.
If I managed to break the straps, and started climbing out... well, there sure was enough of the fuckers here to take me down. Break out the chains, maybe. And then Amp's mood would be real damn different, I expected.

If it didn't stop teasing me, I decided I was gonna fuckin' throw a rod. Shit. Maybe ten rest breaks. And it had nuthin' to worry about from me, anyway.
It wasn't funny. I sounded like it was, most of the time. One finger, movin' slow - felt kinda good. Make it thirty fingers, or fifty, maybe six gloves and six brushes...
What a fucked-up way to torture outlaws. Nuking a guy with pleasure like that.
Most of the time, it didn't even tickle all that fast. Real damn careful. I'd snicker and growl out laughter and hoot fairly slow.
It was like I was lost in the night, somewhere. In the desert. The whole world was far away.
The feathers were goin' for effect. Not speed.
It worried me how smart the asshole was...

"Oh yeah," I heard another voice drawl, way up over me. I didn't even wanna look. I was busy catching my breath, and they were all fuckin' invisible anyway.
"Ain't it cool?" Amp laughed.
"Lucked out, kid," the voice said. "But he looks like he can take it -"
A finger poked me on the breastbone, but I just gulped.
"Keep on stickin' it to him."
"Thanks. You guys are the best. I mean it," Amp said, all serious-sounding. "Rubbalux and me definitely lucked out, yeah. What a great final exam this is."
"I'll say."
"You bring somebody special?"
The other voice laughed. "You heard, huh? Fuckin' good time for him. Yeah. He likes it, the little freak. He ain't numbered, though. Big ol' X's on his face. Free-for-all."
"Okay if I try him?"
"Hell, that's why he's here. Pulled a hood over his head and drove him up from Tulsa. He's fun. Name's Deeny."
"Decent," Amp said. "Thanks."
"Get him good. He's VVU. I've been tryin' for years to get it through to him - not everybody's as nice as I am."
And Amp laughed pretty hard. "As nice as you. Oh, yeah. Kicker, you crack me up."
"Yeah, well. Let's show him a good time. Three or four days, and I'm taking him to the rally.”
“Not this one," Amp said. "He's goin' all the way."

"Cocky, aren't ya? Word is you're right. He's lookin' rested enough, there, Amp."
"Just what I was thinkin' -"
"And I better see if the crankster shitbag I got stuck with is awake yet."
"Really appreciate it, Kicker. All your help."
Gloves started landing on me again.
"Anytime, kid. It's a pure fuckin' pleasure. You got the killer instinct."
"Thanks."
And the tickling made me jerk around -
"More stimulation is better than hard stimulation," the other voice said, with a short laugh. "Keep goin' for distance. Get this one in Bismarck, and I'll come cheer him up for a week."
"You better. And bring Deeny. I can keep him busy."
"Haw. No doubt. But don't hold back on him at all. He eats it up. Then, yeah, you got yourself a deal."
But then the fingers got me laughing hard, again, and I couldn't hear nuthin' except myself.

I decided I had to try to talk sense to it. Took me a couple minutes to get my mouth to work...
"Amp. Amper -"
"Amper? Hey, I kinda like the way you say that." It sounded friendly. Real calm. That made all of it even worse, as the gloves dug deep on my belly, my ribs...
"Amp. Look." And then I tried to think of something good to say.
"What is it, Stretch? You can tell me."
The fingers kept on squeezing and squeezing.
"Stop," I said a few minutes later. It was gonna be a long conversation, lots of big pauses.
"No way," it fired right back.
"This ain't right."
"It feels right to me, Hundred. Lookit you. Hard as they come, on the outside."
The gloves sped up.
"But underneath your leathers..."
So much fuckin' excitement, way down deep in my body - and I gave up even tryin' to think.

Another impossible thing was how long the night lasted. It just fuckin' had to be four or five nights.
I got introduced to all these different brushes, little dentist-tools with rubber tips and different feathers. A few oils and creams.
Some plastic balls were dropped into the fingertips of the rubber gloves. Made 'em vibrate. The fingers kept tickling, and they buzzed too. Over the oil.
If I hadn't shit myself hours before that, I would've done it again.
The third box of toys n' shit still had the lid on it.
 

I had this dream. I was in a foot costume. Big ol' foot, some kind of foam. No holes for my arms to get out, which didn't matter anyway because of the handcuffs.
But I knew it was a dream, so I relaxed a little. Still wantin' a smoke real bad.
That was when the feathers started to attack. When they tickled the costume, I felt it go through me like a shock.
Laughing like a fool. Good n' loud. It was weird to hear that, since my voice was all scratchy from the real tickling.
Something pushed me backward, but I didn't fall too far. Lying back on some fuckin' bench. Rope flew over and tied up my own ankles.
I tried to roll off, but something held me there. Watching feathers move in. Tickling the middle of the foot costume -
And my gut suddenly had about four hands on it. Bucking and twisting didn't do any good. I was sweatin' in that thing...
The feathers slid straight down - and I felt it on my sides. They brushed across the big ol' heel, and I got rubbed all up and down my legs.
I just fuckin' roared again. Right at the feather goin' over my head, up to the big toe of the costume -
And a blast of tickling covered my neck, and shoulders, and even my fuckin' ears.
Feathers sawed across the middle of the foot.
But I felt it in my crotch. And armpits.

Fuckin' dream went on and on.
 

I woke up tired. Not in any hurry to open my fuckin' eyes. Didn't even try to move, 'cause I wanted to believe for a few more seconds that the cuffs weren't there.
Several other bros were laughing. Slow and raspy.
It just made no sense...
A lighter clanked open. Something tapped my lip - and I took it. One of my cigarettes. I got a light, and sucked hard. It helped a lot.
"Afternoon."
That fuckin' voice. Ampcat. Definitely happy.
"It ain't over?" I finally mumbled.
There was a pause. "Wow," it finally said. "I got so many smartass answers to that, I can't even decide."
"Got it."
"Smart guy." I just took another long drag. "Hundred, you smoke too much."
That got my eyes open. "Hey -"
"You'd be up for a lot more tickling... Maybe I should just cut you off. Help you quit the damn things."
I couldn't even imagine... Every time I thought maybe I understood something, Amp made it ten times worse.
It laughed at me. "The look on your face. It's terrific. What if I take your smokes away? Oh, shit. No." It kicked out a happy sigh. "Maybe I will, and maybe I won't. At least you're gonna cut down, Stretch. Get your lungs in better shape."
"So I can laugh more," I said.
"Yeah. But mostly just so you can hang in there longer. Extra hours of it - pure asskicking fun."
"Please, Amp. You want me to fuckin' beg you some more? I'll beg."
"Don't matter to me, Hundred. You wanna act like a pussy sometimes, go for it." A hand I couldn't see tapped my cheek. "Right now, I'm gonna get you a big ol' breakfast. Enjoy that smoke." Another laugh. "Maybe there won't be any more smokin' today. Or we could go the other way. Three packs. Ain't made up my mind yet."
That just confused me even more.

"Uh hah hah haaaaaah hah!" I kept barking.
Fuckin' fingers that had really gotten to know my ribs. On and on.
I was sweaty, my belly was all sticky, I didn't want to feel any more of that shit...
And the tickling started back up, over and over again.

That day felt like it was a lot longer than the night before.
Let's try the scrub-brushes, Hundred. Yeah.
Now let's try this lube.
And your fuckin' feet have been left alone for too long.
Time for another rubber.
How about your ass, dude? Is that as fuckin' touchy as the rest of you? Let's find out.

It just kept on...
"Nooooo hoo hoo hoo."
The gloves pull up and hang there. "Yeeeaah. Gonna tickle the biker."
"Aaaaah hah hah haaaaahhhh..."
"Big ol' Hundred's gonna get it."
"Noooooo -"
The fingers started back in.
 

Walls. Ceiling -
I looked up at plain wood slats.
Standing up... wasn't gonna happen. I was sitting on a chair. Thick wood. My wrists were behind me, in wide cuffs, and they were heavy - maybe it had fuckin' horse hobbles on me.
My feet were up off the ground. Just a few inches. More than enough. Oh, damn, did I wanna stomp 'em loose. Plant 'em right on the floor, and keep 'em there. But I couldn't break those cuffs either. So Amp was gonna play real fuckin' hard on 'em again.
I sighed, and leaned back. Ain't finished with me. Hell, no...
The door finally opened. A couple of those fuckin' foam take-out containers floated in...
And under 'em, a six-pack of suds.
"Hundred," Amp said loud, as if we were bros.
"Let me outa here -"
"Wrong. You got it backwards."
"Huh?"
One of the lids popped open, and I smelled beef. My fuckin' mouth was watering right away.
"You're further in," it chuckled. "Not out... Think about it, Hundred. Think hard, now. Why would I move ya?"
After a few seconds, I sighed.
"That's it. You made the first cut. With a rookie ticklin' ya. And we're gonna do it again tonight, bro. I'm so diggin' this. More toys, and supplies... Got all these experts around to answer my questions, 'cause they all wanna see you get it good. But even that ain't enough. Not only do I get to work on somebody, but it looks like you're one of the most unhinged fuckers we caught. Aw, listen to me, I could talk your ear clean off. You look like you're ready to eat."
"Got that right," I mumbled. Twenty whole minutes without a feather drilling me. Maybe a couple smokes.
"Hey. You're a good dude. Let's get yer belly full."

Oh, fuck. It brought some kind of... swing. Hung it up, and tied me in it.
That was frustrating as hell. I could move, but I never got away.

You name it. Every kind of tickling, and teasing...
Fuckin' Amp was getting better at it, or I was even more ticklish. Probably both.
Son of a bitch.
 

"Afternoon, Hundred."
That voice. Smug. Definitely looking forward to something.
Damn, I'm sore. Everywhere.
"Unnh. Fuck..."
"You slept long enough."
Hands curled around my ankles. It dawned on me that I wasn't having the usual fuckin' nightmare. No. More of the real thing. Tickling bullshit -
Fingers.
"Nooooooooooo," I moaned. Couldn't be real. Not happening. And sure as hell not to me.
The fuckin' smooth-ass fingers kept petting my feet.
"Nnnaaah hah huh huh huh huh huh..."
"That's it. Laugh for Amp." And the fucker snickered.
"Nah hah hah hah -"
"I said... laugh it up. I've got your voice back some, now don't I? Gonna show 'em how good I am at this shit."
I started to roll over, but a hand shoved me right in between my shoulder blades. More of 'em tightening around my arms.
Pinned, and tickled.
Aw, not again...
But more fingers skated across my ribs.
"We're gonna have more fun today, dude."
I wailed laughter, and shook my head.
"A lot more fun than yesterday -"
"Noooo oooooowaaah hah hah! Nnnnaaaah hah haaah nnnn-duh huh duh hee hee hee hee heee heeeeeee..."
"What's that, Hundred? Can't make out what you're saying, there."
"Daaaah hah hee hee hee huh hooowaaaaah hah hah huh huh huh..."
"C'mon, now. If you want me to do something - or, maybe stop doing something - you gotta tell me. Your ol' friend... Amper is here for ya." And it laughed again, entertained as all get-out.
I could wail, and fuckin' squeal. But I couldn't get any words out. Just had to laugh so damn hard.
"Well, now, if you're not gonna tell me what your problem is, I'll go ahead and do what I want. Okay. Just stay put. I'm ready to really lay into you today."

That was the day it first put me in the stocks.
Fur strips were being pulled in between my toes. For, like, an hour straight. I howled until my voice was shot.
Then I got a smoke, and some water.
Amp came back at me with a bunch of feathers all around my meat. A couple more were lazy, up by my nipples...
"You think you're tough." It wasn't a question.
I was past laughing. I did open my eyes, though. Watching the feathers. I was drooling, but I didn't care. Maybe it would finally run 'em up and down my dick -
"I say you don't deserve to ride."
That got to me. "F-fuck... you," I whispered.
"Big words." It tickled me for another minute... "You admit you're a pussy, and I might let you go."
I didn't say anything. We'd been down that road before.
"No? Hmmmmmm... Okay, I got it. Listen up, cunt. You take a sledgehammer to your bike, while I watch - and I'll go easy on you. Nobody expected me to win this contest, anyway."
That was ridiculous. I spent a whole fuckin' year restoring my ride -
"Or else I'm gonna fuck with you for an entire year."
"Nnnnnuuh," I moaned. Damn mutherfuckin' bastard. I could get another bike.
"No?"
Oh, shit, shit, fuck, the feathers. Speeding up.
"Last offer. Asswipe. You never touch a motorcycle again... and I'll tear into you so hard you'll definitely go numb. Quit feeling it. I'll make you immune to tickling. But you're done pretending to be a badass. Forever. Punk."
I got real fuckin' pissed off.
Maybe it was gonna nuke me again, but I just didn't care. "Go to h-hell," I hissed. All I could do was whisper it, but oh-fuckin'-well. "You can kiss my ass. All of you. I'm gonna ride 'til I die. Fuckin'... B-bastards. You hear me?"
It snickered at me. "Pansy."
"Fuck. You. Do your worst. Tickle me all year... I'm a biker, and you ain't shit."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Go ahead and drill my feet all you want, I won't change my mind. Lay into me, asshole. Uh... If that's the way you want it."
"Well, actually -"
Oh, wow - the feathers picked it up.

More time went by. I didn't know how much -
"Walk home," it said. "Now."
"Fuck... you! Tickle harder."
"O-kay."
And that time, I thought the whole fuckin' world might just explode.

"Poser," it whispered.
"T-that all ya got?" I panted. "I can't even feel that. If that's what it takes to prove it -"
"Aw, you ain't shit."
"Let me have it, then! Dammit! Bring it on. A real tickler - a whole year. Do it right, for once."
It snorted.
"I'm waitin'. You call this torturrr-raaaaaaah hah haw haw haaaaaww haaaaalll..."

After a few minutes, the gloves went right down and jacked me off. I was so fuckin' glad, even if it was just settin' me up for some double-time brushes or something.
I shot my load and rocked back, waiting for the hands to pounce again.
"Smoke?" Amp said. Real friendly.
"W-whuh?" I didn't get it.
"You got a break coming. Hooo-wheee. Oh yeah, bro."
"Why?," I finally said.
"The judges -" and it laughed for a few seconds - "they were just here. Hearin' you order me to tickle you harder. All year. Even though you're obviously not likin' it."
I thought it over. "But -"
"Hee hee heeee-eeeee."
A cigarette came up. I started smokin' it.
"Aw... shit."
And Amp - well, that fucker laughed like it wasn't ever gonna stop.
 
 
 

I heard the door open. It woke me up...
A stretcher, rollin' a new guy in. Young bro. Cuffed down -
He had a big ol' smile on his face.
"Hundred. Meet Deeny."
"Hey," the kid said. Real excited, and tryin' to hide it.
A cigarette came up, so I took it. Lit up. Then I lifted my head and looked at the kid. "You... know what they do to us in here?"
He nodded fast.
"Naw," Amp says. "He just thinks he does. But I'm gonna set him straight."
Deeny's smile went away, and he blinked a couple times. "Uh..."
"He just got laid off," another voice said. Rough. Slow drawl. I remembered that bastard.
"Is that so."
"K-kicker," he said quietly, "you said a few days."
"Yeah... Thirty's a few, to me."
Finally, the guy starts to slam around. "Wait! Nooooooo -"
"Why not make it sixty?" Amp asked. And I just kept smokin'. Hell, I couldn't see Amp managing to keep its fuckin' gloves off me for that long. Or maybe they'd both nuke me at once. I hated that.
"Works for me," the other voice said. Kicker. "In the meantime..."
A pair of leather gloves lifted up off the table. Heading for me.
No - Three pair.
"Gonna outdo ya, Amp. Right here."
"Go ahead and try. I got a few months' head-start on him." Warped son of a bitch. "Y'know, on second thought, I'm gonna lock this fucker in the hole."
"Have fun."
His stretcher started to move. "Kicker? Wait - now, You're just tryin' to scare me. Uh. Right?"
"Volunteer," Kicker said, quiet and mean.
"No. Please! Kickerrrrrr..."
Out he went.
The gloves started heading on down.
"Only a week," I said. "I remember."
"Yeeeeah." And it chuckled slowly. "He's a good kid. But I like the thought of him sweatin' bullets. Amp's gonna sober him right up. And while that's goin' on..."
All six gloves took hold of me.
"Well, you know what I'm gonna do."

MATI

13oct03