He knew why they'd grabbed him. It had to do with the robotics lab.
Closed, now, thanks to him.
As he wrestled with the straps, he had time to regret being such an asshole. If he hadn't started that chant, and gotten the whole quad laughing when that pathetic "battle of the 'bots" ended - after about fifteen seconds... he never would've started that stupid petition. Even as a joke.
But the new assistant dean was a bigtime jock in his day. He stuck it to 'em good.
Hell, it had been a ridiculous flop anyway. No more third-rate automation workshop. The dean turned it into a sports medicine lab. That had to piss off the wimps even more. Not that they'd do anything...
Those poindexters didn't have the balls to say boo to him.
So apparently they made... some machines to do their fighting for them. Cowards.
But he doubted they had enough of a brain between 'em to make the gloves... move like this.
It made no sense. Just free-floating hands - stronger than he was. What could they have inside 'em, to be able to take him down? They just dragged him right in here, and cuffed him down on this weird padded table.
He yelled and pulled at the fuckin' straps for a few minutes.
Then two of them came back... bringing a black metal box.
The table had something like shelves around it, lower than the surface where he was spread-eagled. He watched them set the box down...
And pull off his sandals.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he yelled, straining the cuffs as much as he could - really pissed off when he heard the fear in his voice.
Another glove floated over him, with a smaller box. Plastic. It looked like the remote for a garage door opener. His head angled back as he watched it.
Between his outstretched hands, it clicked the button with a black leather thumb, and set the remote on the pad.
The box started to click.
Slowly, the nearest side fell open.
Something white started coming out.
Two white things.
No, four white thi-
"Oh no," he said hollowly.
This was absolutely nuts.
They wouldn't do that. The bastards...
There were feathers coming. Right up to his feet. Cuffed down -
Metal rods were growing longer, and the feathers were almost... there.
How did they find out? He'd kill 'em. He absolutely couldn't fuckin' stand to be ti-
Shit!
"Noooooooooo," he wailed. They started to move.
Down, and up. Stroking.
He giggled immediately, consumed with an unfamiliar feeling - terror. He kicked harder, with perfect despair. The cuffs were more than adequate. He was stuck...
Feathers, sweeping gracefully. Stuck, feathers, stuck, feathers, so stuck. Soft and shocking. He whooped.
His toes. Oh, shit. Shit. Down to his heels. And back.
The lights went out.
He laughed harder. Oh shit, no. No. They were gonna leave him... right here.
But first they ripped his shirt off.
A metallic bang, from each side of the table.
Hard plastic clicks right next to one ear, then the other. More buttons being pushed. They wanted him to... hear -
He screamed and reefed on the straps.
And more light, furry torture started on his ribs.
When he couldn't laugh any harder, he just... stopped.
Feathers were stroking from above his armpits to his belt. No movement he could come up with was getting him out of their path.
He tried to distract himself with counting them, but he was so nuts he couldn't decide where one feather's contact ended and the next began.
The only thing he had to look forward to was passing out.
He had a horrible fuckin' feeling it wouldn't happen soon.
After a very long time, a really terrible thing happened.
First the feathers stopped - which was excellent - and he caught his breath. The lack of tickling was pretty much destroyed by the thought of it starting up again...
A flexible little tube was stuck between his teeth. It was shoved between his molars. Curled, and just flimsy enough, he couldn't get it out with his tongue.
A few drops of water slid over his tongue.
He lunged around, but that didn't stop the water. He could either choke on it, or he could swallow. Some choice...
Then a much thicker tube poked between his lips. A motor started wheezing somewhere -
Liquid, again. It was cold and thick. Chicken, maybe. Whatever it was, something terrible had been done to it. Maybe a blender -
But he swallowed several gulps. The excess dribbled from the corners of his mouth and dripped onto his neck. It was so humiliating...
Another tube fired something hard against the roof of his mouth. They fell on his tongue. Bitter taste -
Pills. Oh, fuck.
The water-tube washed 'em down.
All the tubes went away...
And from between his arms - hopelessly far out of reach of his hands - came the sound he dreaded. A plastic click. Then another, and another. There.
He laughed as soon as the feathers began to move.
Struggled, in the dark...
Just the right place for it. Nobody ever went near the old business office. Asbestos, or something. Fenced off. You just walked past it so often you forgot it was even there.
They were going to feed him. Shove pills down his throat.
How long, he thought, whooping like a lunatic. I'm sorry, make 'em stop. Sorry...
The feathers wouldn't hear him. Hell, maybe the gloves wouldn't either. He pulled at the straps and barked laughter until the tears and the snot covered his face.
He laughed until he pissed his pants.
The feathers didn't stop tickling.
He was... so sorry about what he'd done.
And the machines just didn't care.
26jan02