Around three in the morning a car comes down the road, kicking up dust. It makes a wild turn into a gravel driveway, behind an old building...
A creaky warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The bank of solar panels, unseen from the road, is jarringly out of place.
Big wooden doors are wide open, and the car rolls into the dark bay. The doors swing closed.
Lengths of chain rise from each of them, magically... and a lock snaps. The building is secure. The car is locked in, hidden from view. When the dust settles outside, no sign remains that it came by this way.
The driver's car door opens.
An unconscious figure is pulled from behind the wheel. The limp man drifts through the air, further into the darkness... into a smaller room. He's set down on the floor -
Behind him, the door closes slowly.
After a few seconds a ceiling light flickers on, revealing a cluster of equipment in the center of the room.
An elaborate chair faces out from the collection of devices. It consists of a number of pads bolted to a wide frame. Huge manacles are attached at the top, bottom and sides. Clips hang from bundles of wires, running back to a large panel on one of the black boxes.
The equipment comes to life, one processor after another. Power-up tests are successful. A cursor appears on the green display screen, then some cryptic words...
POST OK
AGLCOMPILE
ROM OK
EXT ROM:3 - ISHEHERE OK
EXT ROM:4 - GOTCHA OK
EXT ROM:6 - BURNHIM OK
OK
SEARCHING I/O
EXT DEV:8 - VITALMON OK
EXT DEV:9 - EEG OK
EXT DEV:A - BLOODOX OK
EXT DEV:B - EKG OK
EXT DEV:C - FLUIDANL OK
EXT DEV:D - MEDCONT OK
EXT DEV:E - TIKCONT OK
OK
CONTOPS
- GO
RUN ISHEHERE
READING.
On top of the equipment cluster, another lamp clicks on. Infrared. It rotates slowly, scanning the room. Then it stops.
HITS: 1
28 DEG., <3 METERS (EST)
DONE
RUN GOTCHA
#ABANDON ALL HOPE FUCKER
#COMING FOR YOU NOW
The sound of metal sliding - from under the chair. Slots appear all over the base, getting wider -
Hands begin to emerge. Fingers, then palms... on thick stalks. Snaking out. Four-fingered gloves, the color of lead, but they don't reflect the weak light. Nylon knit coated with teflon, a very tight weave... slick, flexible, durable, unaffected by moisture. They're filled with a articulated frame of miniature electromechanical relays, suspended in a silicone gel with the consistency of thin caulk.
Sixteen hands stop moving, and simultaneously close. Then the fingers relax...
And two of the gloves extend out further... on a heading of 28 degrees from due north.
One of them bumps into the man's thigh - and stops. Touches him again, tracing up and over the curve.
The monitor beeps once.
#FOUND YA
It turns left, following his knee, and his shin. When it loses contact with the tip of his boot, it reverses course, stops over his ankle and descends. Repositioning slightly, it takes hold over his boot and pulls - losing its grip. On the next try, it applies sufficient force to turn him.
In the meantime, the other glove has located his left ankle. They drag him to the foot of the chair and rotate him half a turn. He's still breathing deeply.
Other gloves converge, getting his arms. Their movements are agile and fluid. They lift him off the floor... and set him in the chair.
#TAKE IT OFF
Slowly, they raise his arms and spread his feet. Then the hands let go and fumble for his jacket and his belt. Others detect the end of his pantlegs and hike them up, taking hold of his boots - and still more hands find the heels.
Easing his jacket off, and his boots. Gloves unzip his jeans and start slipping them down... find the collar of his shirt and pull gently. A pair lands on each foot, removing his socks.
Four hands hook their fingers into the waistband of his underwear and gently hike it down.
A click is followed by a low humming sound. A tool appears from the pedestal below the chair - A small rubber wheel on a coiled plastic stalk...
Gloves clasp his wrists, and extend them over his head.
The wheel taps his right arm until it locates his hand, then his fingertips. It sets down and rolls to his wrist, stops, and continues to his elbow. With brief pauses, it begins to measure the circumference of his waist, chest, bicep, wrist... On to his neck, his face, to his left nipple, across to his other pec, down his ribs. Hip to hip.
Hands take hold of his ankles, and stretch his legs out straight.
The wheel continues measuring him. Navel to cock, scrotum to asshole, three different diameters of his thighs. His knees, and shins, and calves. The gloves slide up, and his ankles are analyzed... and his feet. Length, width, size of each sole.The wheel lifts up and retreats.
On the monitor...
#THIS FUCKER IS MAPPED
A low rumbling sound comes from the chair's base.
#AND GOING DOWN
Under his feet, a drawer pops out.
Gloves begin removing huge bolts from each manacle and adjusting their locations. Some go directly to his ankles and pick them up.
Hands find the manacles and hold them open... while his ankles are guided into place. The thick steel bands are closed, and fingers eventually replace the bolts and tighten them down.
His forearms are seized and lifted... until his wrists bump against the edges of the manacles, eventually landing inside. Artifical fingers close the shackles and set the bolts.
#LOCKDOWN DONE
#FATE SEALED
Many gloves return to the drawer and get plastic jars and bottles. Pairing up, they open the containers... some dip into the jars, and others turn the bottles over and squeeze.
Handfuls of cream - hair remover - are slathered all over him.
Globs of moisturizer are smashed against his feet - after which the hands hesitate. They lift off again and land more moderately, massaging the cream into his feet.
He doesn't stir.
The gloves lift off and hang motionless for five minutes... then they apply more cream, rubbing much more vigorously.
The moisturizer is applied two more times.
A drawer opens at the other end of the pedestal. Hands go to it and return with thick napkins, dropping them on his midriff. Others pick them up and wipe off body hair and lotion.
Fingers, thick with cream, come back to life... stroking the now-hairless areas of his body.
#GET INSIDE HIM
Others reach back near the monitor and find a leather cap. Several wires trail from it...
Their fingers creep around it and find the buckle. Turning it as they carry it over, the hands set it on his brow, pause, and slide it further forward. After another pause and adjustment, a thumb searches for the top of a button - and pushes down. A spring releases, pushing an electrode into his scalp.
The gloves set seven more electrodes, pause... and tug on the cap in each direction. It stays in place.
A pair places a wired tube on his left index finger, wrapping its velcro straps around his hand and tugging hard on it.
Next, the hands reach for the loose wires hanging from the sides of the chair. They trace down, lay their thumbs against the sensor pads and hesitate. A slight buzzing can be heard from the cabinet behind him, where the leads terminate. The gloves start to place them, landing slowly, with tiny course corrections. They set the clips, loosely pinching his skin... around his left breast, down the right side of his neck. Under his scrotum. The base of his cock.
Then the hands retract into the pedestal. The hatch doors stay open.
#SO TERMINALLY FUCKED NOW
-
RUN MEDG247
= = = = = = = = = = = =
MedGuardex 2.47
:
#- - - - - HACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKED
#- - - - - HACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKED
#- - - - - HACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKEDHACKED FOR HIS PLEASURE
:
(c) 1982 - 1995, Certified Hospital Data Amalgamation, Ltd.
For institutional use only. Lead placement is described in operations manual.
Calibrating . . .
Trunk 1 - EEG
8 good signals, 8 expected
Trunk 2 - Cardio (8-lead)
? 09 good signals plus ground, 7 expected
?
? +02 extraneous leads
:
#- - - FOR TRACKING ONE GONZO HARDON
:
Trunk 3 - Blood Ox
1 good signals, 1 expected
Loading Expected Ranges . . .
Opening disk file . . . . . . . .
Recording - continuous mode . . .
Trunk 1 - values within normal range
EEG - Wide deltas + shallow F waves (normal sleep)
Trunk 2 - values within normal range
Cardio - apparent normal rhythm
regular respiration, pulse 68 (normal sleep)
Trunk 3 - values within normal range
Blood Ox - 99% avg. (normal)
No alerts
-
#YEEEAAAAH HEALTHY FUCKER HERE
#IN FOR THE FULL RIDE
:
CALL BURNHIM /SHOW-BREAKPOINTS
#
#
#B
#U
#R
#N
#T
#H
#I
#S
#F
#U
#C
#K
#E
#R
#
#
#BURNHIM HARDER
#BURNHIM LONGER
#
#FUCKERS DEAD MEAT
#FUCKERS TOAST
#
#VER 8.21
#
#DAMN ITS HARSH
#
#
#
++#CHECK LEAD INPUT
#GOOD TO GO
++#CHECK BODY MAP
#HANDS UP FEET CUFFED NUTS WIRED
++#WAIT TIL HE WAKES UP
The light clicks off.
Two hours later, he groans quietly, trying to turn over.
++#EXIT SLEEP - ENTER NIGHTMARE
He's still woozy... trying to sit up a few times, but his efforts are uncoordinated.
A tube emerges from the chair-base, under his head. Silently, it rises up and curls, landing on his lip. He jerks drunkenly, but the tube doesn't fall out. Relaxing somewhat, he closes his mouth and sucks a little. Nothing happens -
And then water fills his mouth. He grunts and suppresses a cough or two... and he swallows. He blinks uncertainly. More water is pumped into him. He swallows reflexively - and keeps drinking, tilting his head back a little, hands and feet in motion.
He's made to drink for about twenty seconds. Finally, the water stops and the tube withdraws. More alert now, he wriggles, looking around, grimacing as the electrode clips shift.
"Uh... Hello?" he says angrily.
Several seconds pass.
:
P:93 R:18 EEG: 140 77 12.8 670 5 46 9 CAR: 18 37 40 25 8 26 29 _4 _2 OX: 97
:
#FUCKERS WAITING FOR IT
++#TICKLEHANDS UP AND AT HIM
The light clicks on.
One bulb, hanging over him, casts a dim cone of light. He squints...
After a few seconds of staring, he moves his right foot slowly. Tries to lift it. Blinking again.
A faint metallic sound underneath him -
The gloves rise up.
Thunderstruck, he looks around. Sixteen solid, grey gloves on stalks encircle him. They rise over him a few feet and stop, like a ring of sinister trees.
From each side, one glove comes back down.
He looks at one, then the other - at his belly, and up at each of them again. Shaking his head vaguely, limbs tense and straining. He tries to rear back instinctively. "No!," he shouts, and it sounds almost like a question. "No - stop, awwwwwshiiiiiit -"
:
P:126 R:20 EEG: 290 132 18.0 740 9 86 11 CAR: 27 44 46 36 9 39 31 _7 _4 OX: 96
:
#FUCKERS GOT THE PICTURE NOW
++# T I M E T O B U R N
Gloves cruise directly down to his ribs.
"Naaaaaawwww don't, don't, noooooooooo -"
Thumbs slide on his skin, and he gasps.
++#TAKE T H A T
The fingers curl, and bear down.
"Naaauuugh!" A high-pitched yelp bursts out of him.
Gloves slide up, release, close again - not as heavily - and then they start racing.
He howls, and he squeals. Head banging against a strategically placed pad, arms twisting, legs spasming.
The fingers knead slightly. Sliding fast, without friction. He throws his head around, bucking, then arching. Bawling insanely... Shouting laughter. Roaring like a savage. Being rubbed with nimble, mechanical repetition.
:
P:144 R:18 EEG: 460 164 25.3 805 10 94 14 CAR: 35 49 56 43 15 53 39 _15 _7 OX: 95
:
#NUMBERS LOOKIN FINE
Eyes streaming, he glances down once in a while. The gloves are still there. Exact same locations, same rhythm.
He bays over and over, wrestling distractedly, head rolling back.
Gradually, he stops moving, and his hands relax.
The fingers continue tickling him with the endless consistency of a paint mixer, a printing press, a ceiling fan...
About forty minutes after he woke up, more text spits across the display screen.
:
P:128 R:14 EEG: 430 184 20.3 790 11 85 13 CAR: 32 40 51 41 11 42 30 _18 _10 OX: 93
:
?
??? Alert
???
??? LOW BLOOD OX
++#CATCH YOUR BREATH FUCKER
The hands slow down considerably.
#AVERAGING HARDCORE READINGS
#CARDIO VERY NICE
#EEG GOOD FOR CHANGEUP MARATHON
#COCK GOOD FOR PRIMAL FUCKER FUN
#READINGS SMELL LIKE A JOCK
#ALL SET FOR UPSHIFT
#HEH
#
# H A R D E R C O R E
#
His laughter winds down to vague chuckles.
Eventually, the gloves lift off him. He snickers for a while longer, and doesn't move. Panting...
:
P:142 R:20 EEG: 400 166 17.8 776 10 81 12 CAR: 29 37 46 35 10 38 27 _16 _9 OX: 97
:
?
??? BLOOD OX value within acceptable range
??? OK
# HERE WE GO AGAIN
++# /HARDERCORE
Almost silently, the fingers curl and return...
A randomized progression follows. Several dozen combinations of speed, technique and target areas. Oil, and moisturizers.
In the pedestal, bins and drawers pop open, raided by the silver fingers. Feathers. Several kinds of brushes. All picked up carefully and manipulated - applied cleverly, adroitly.
Small drawers are filled with amphetamines, vitamins, ginseng, kava - and dry dog food in the giant bins.
Two 250-gallon water tanks, filled, rest on the subbasement floor. Plastic coils of tubing run up to a small pump, and from there on up into the pedestal base.
Input from the cranial electrodes is summarized, and used to rank the effectiveness of the stimulation... target areas. Techniques. Custom tools...
One day, over an hour into a permutation - oiled fingers on palms-forearms-neck-pectorals, crawling fur surrounding scrotum, horsehair swept lightly over midfeet and between toes - the power goes out.
A snap...
In the next room, a radio clicks on. Discrete circuit. Marine batteries...
Squirt transmission, every ten seconds. Announcing the power is out at this location, for all who happen to be monitoring a certain UHF frequency.
Next to it, an identical radio sits. Dark now, but squirting every five minutes when the programs are running as designed and no trouble is detected.
He pants in the dark for a good half-hour. Sucks the water tube dry...
The tools are frozen in place. His breathing is the only sound, now that the continual hum of the electronic equipment has ceased.
Rattling the shackles, he discovers a hint of movement in one of the bolts trapping his left hand.
After two hours of pulling, he's loosened the other bolt too. Not enough yet - but it's progress. He pulls at the shackles over and over, making more and more noise. From mumbling to cussing to yelling victoriously. "Yeah. It's looser. Definitely. Slow, but it's opening. You got that? Oh, that's right - you don't know. Fuckin' computer. Power's out. You can't stop me, can ya? Fuck you. I'm gonna slip away. Who's gonna stop me? Hah?..."
He can't hear it, but a trap door swings open over his head. Attic.
Two fuses and a wiring harness are mysteriously replaced.
Rattling the loosening cuff, he cackles again. A scornful laugh. Victorious...
And all too premature.
The light comes back on.
"Wha - What... No. No! Aw, fuck..."
He looks at the hands, still on him, with terror in his face. Stretches, to look back at the consoles and boxes, humming again, glowing, rebooting.
Unnoticed by him - a nut at his right shackle, worked halfway off its bolt after all that work, spins down and tightens. The other bolt needs only a few turns, and it stops too.
"No no no no no.... No.... Haaaaalllllllp, it's starting up agaaaaiiiiiiiin..."
POST OK
AGLCOMPILE
ROM OK
EXT ROM:3 - ISHEHERE OK
EXT ROM:4 - GOTCHA OK
EXT ROM:6 - BURNHIM OK
OK
SEARCHING I/O
EXT DEV:8 - VITALMON OK
EXT DEV:9 - EEG OK
EXT DEV:A - BLOODOX OK
EXT DEV:B - EKG OK
EXT DEV:C - FLUIDANL OK
EXT DEV:D - MEDCONT OK
EXT DEV:E - TIKCONT OK
OK
FILE OPEN ERROR
TRACE DATA LOST
OK
CONTOPS
- GO
RUN ISHEHERE
READING.
On top of the equipment cluster, another lamp clicks on. Infrared. It rotates slowly, scanning the room. Then it stops.
HITS: 1
0 DEG., 0 METERS (EST)
#WELL WELL WELL
#ALREADY GOT HIM LOCKED DOWN
#SO KICK HIS FUCKIN ASS SOME MORE
DONE
RUN GOTCHA /ALREADY
#CHECK FUCKERS SHACKLES
The gloves wake up. Slowly. As he flails and shouts, they finger his wrists and ankles...
#OH YEAH
#STILL HERE HUH
#G O N N A S T A Y R I G H T H E R E
#DO IT TO IT
#F
#U
#C
#K
#I
#N
#
#A
RUN MEDG247 /ALREADY
MedGuardex 2.47
++#CHECK LEAD INPUT
#GOOD TO GO
++#CHECK BODY MAP
#
#
#MAP GOOD
#GOT IT
:
P:138 R:20 EEG: 348 136 21.7 650 9 84 14 CAR: 30 41 42 30 7 29 34 _8 _9 OX: 98
:
#FUCKER IT AINT ANYWHERE N E A R OVER
#
#GOOD NEWS - ALL SET TO DRILL THIS FUCKERS WORLD AGAIN
#LOST ALL THE DATA ABOUT HIS FUN SO FAR, SO GONNA HAVE TO
#DO IT A L L AGAIN
#
#AAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
#
#LUCKY FUCKER
#
#
#
#SUSPECTED JOCK
#
#
#GONNA RELEARN ALL YOUR SECRETS
#AND NOT AT ROOKIE SPEED
#
#
#
#DO HIM UP RIGHT
#
#
#DOUBLEHARDERCOREDOUBLEHARDERCOREDOUBLEHARDERCORE
#
#
#ALRIGHT
#
#
#
#YR WELCUM
#
#
#FUCKER
#
# L E T S G O
RUN MEDG247 -BURNHIM /BURNBURNBURN
Gloves cruise directly down to his ribs. Again.
"Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-"
Thumbs slide back onto his skin, and he moans...
13jul01