(Not much "action" in this one, FYI)
The gag was in his mouth before he knew it.
"Keith... You didn't really think you were gonna get away, did ya?"
Fingers clamped around his sides.
He jumped and yelled - roaring laughter from the first few seconds. No, no, wait. Not Keith.
He wasn't Keith. He was Duane.
But the tickler had called him Keith. And it seemed to be really pissed off...
Day after unbearable day, it thoroughly kicked his ass. No gentle tickling. Oh, no. It was out to punish him.
And it kept calling him by the wrong name...
Every time he woke up, another part of his body ached. That was in addition to the effects of the psychotic assault from all of its gloves.
It was tattooing him everywhere. That included his scalp, hands... and his neck. Making a point, he guessed - future escape attempts were gonna be a lot harder, if he was marked up.
He'd stare at the tats he could see - gloves and feathers spreading over his chest and belly, down his legs...
But really, he had very little time to think at all.
After what felt like a few years of full-scale pounding, he had a dream.
A different voice, talking to the kidnapper that had been grinding him...
"I'm sure."
"Aw... shit."
"What are you gonna do? Look at him."
There was a sigh. "Don't worry about it."
The new voice hummed for a few seconds. "Look. No offense, but this is really over the line, Jackhammer. Anybody looks at these tats, they might just ask all the wrong questions."
"Hey, I was only paying him back - for you. Trying to run away -"
"And I appreciate it. I guess. Only problem is, he's not Keith."
Hooray, he thought, falling asleep. Somebody believes me...
He slept for a long time.
The room he woke up in was a different one. It looked vaguely like a motel, except there wasn't a window. There was a bathroom, off to his left.
The leathers were in a pile on the floor. He stared at them - a gift from the kidnapper - and remembered his own clothes being ripped off. All he had on was a new pair of boxer-briefs.
Most important of all, there were no cuffs or rope or restraints anywhere in sight.
A pack of cigarettes was on the table, alongside the bed. He helped himself, and set the ashtray on his chest. Just moving his arm was exhausting...
After a few minutes, the door opened.
He watched it close, swinging back in without a sound. Nobody came in. Or rather - nobody he could see.
He tensed up, automatically, and a dozen overworked muscles hurt so much he groaned to himself.
"Easy there, Duane. Relax." A totally different voice, coming from the air over him.
He sighed, and wondered if he could possibly make it to the door as quickly as he wanted to. But it hurt to move at all...
"I'm Raise," the voice said pleasantly. "You're safe now. I'm not gonna tickle you."
"Well, uh... G-good," he whispered. It came out as a whisper, because his voice was worn out. Had been, ever since the second day.
"We have an unusual situation here," Raise said - and Duane felt like laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Unusual situation... But laughing would've hurt too much, and he had a bad feeling if he started to laugh, right then, he'd freak out and keep laughing, unable to stop himself. So he just nodded.
"Mistaken identity. Apparently, you look a lot like some guy named Keith."
"Uh-huh."
"You're free to move, okay? Put out that cigarette before you burn yourself. Aw... Here." The open pack drifted off the table and went to his left hand, waiting for him to grab it. "A tickler who goes by the name of Jackhammer spotted you. Thought you were this guy Keith, who slipped away from a friend of Jackhammer's. And it decided to pay you back."
"My wallet. Everything in it says I'm n-"
"Uh... Apparently your stuff was... well, Jackhammer burned it all. Without checking."
"Burned?"
"Y-yeah." There was a pause. "Sorry about that."
Duane blinked, and lit another cigarette.
"It was pretty sure you were Keith. And obviously, it was wrong. Even if it had been right, it really... did a number on you, buddy."
"Uh-huh."
"We don't like to be that... obvious. It works out a lot better if no one can prove we exist."
"How many of you are th-"
"No idea." And Raise chuckled a little. "I don't think an estimate is going to make you feel any better. Is it?"
Duane thought it over. "No," he finally muttered.
"Ah. Anyway, Jackhammer's friend... did the right thing, finally, and contacted us. We made Jackhammer give you up - and it's going to be on probation for awhile. No unsupervised tickling until it shows a little more intelligence than it did with you."
"This is pretty fuckin' bizarre."
"I guess I can see why you'd say that. But it works for us."
"No doubt." He took a thoughtful drag. "So, uh, why am I here?"
"Well... Jackhammer really went overboard with the tattoos."
No shit, Duane thought to himself. But now they were gone.
"Wow," he finally said, looking himself over again. Couldn't believe it.
Raise laughed when he said that. "Yeah. Pretty cool, huh?"
"They were... real tattoos. Right?"
"Oh yeah. We've got a way to remove 'em. And frankly, we're just as amazed as you are. How well it worked. You have the honor of being the first guy... well, east of the Mississippi to have it done."
"Huh." He got an idea, and looked at the chrome lighter. Checked himself out - and even the neck he remembered was reflected back at him. No ink anywhere that he could see.
"We don't encourage ticklers to mark their guys up - that way," Raise continued. "Hands, neck, face. But just like people, some of us wouldn't know how to be subtle if our lives depended on it... Worse for you, since you didn't even have it coming anyway. So we asked around - and sure enough, there are some real pros out west who have a way to erase tats altogether."
He stared at his right forearm. All those feathers, just gone. "Wow. And they'll stay erased?"
"Gone for good, Duane."
"How does it w-"
"Uh-uh. Tricks of the trade. Top secret."
"Of course," he said glumly.
"After you rest up, we'll cut you loose. I mean it. You did enough laps with ol' Jackhammer to hold you for awhile. How does a big, juicy steak sound?"
He looked around the room, still wondering exactly what "for awhile" meant. Totally bizarre. Everything. Dammit, he was hungry, though. "Actually, that sounds really good..."
"Rare?"
"No. Uh. Medium. More on the done side."
"Gotcha. You sit tight, and I'll bring you more food than you know what to do with." A remote control hovered off the nightstand and tapped his chest. He grabbed it, mostly so it wouldn't touch him like that. "You look like a guy who could use a toke. Am I right?"
"No, thanks... Not here," and he looked around the room again.
"Uh-huh," Raise laughed. "I get it."
Then it occurred to Duane that turning down their hospitality might not sit real well... "I don't suppose you've got Heineken? Dark?"
"Dude, we've got everything. Sit tight."
The door swung open again. He watched it close, waiting for it. The click. That fucking sound which proved he was a prisoner here, too... and all the kindness was a big kick in the proverbial balls.
But the sound never came. The door wasn't locked, apparently. He went to check it - but all he had to do was start to roll over, and he changed his mind right away. It hurt too damn much.
Duane laid around and slept for a couple more days. Raise checked in on him, brought him painkillers - which he liked, maybe too much...
The door opening didn't even make him jump anymore. He'd gotten up and checked it a few times. It was always open.
Hell, one time he strolled down the hall. White plastic on the ceiling, and the walls. Thick white carpeting. Black doors, and all of them seemed to be locked. He had a pretty good idea what was going on, inside - so he hightailed it back to his own room.
The next night, a little bag came on in. Bobbing around, suggestively...
He took it - because apparently it was going to hang there, all night, if he didn't - and said thank you. After a minute, he heard a chuckle, and the door opened and closed again.
Duane stared at the weed, and finally made himself set it on the table. But he kept looking over at it.
Made it a full day. Almost. There were no clocks around, so he had to guess from what was being shown on TV. There were all kinds of porn programs...
Five or six channels were always showing guys getting the fuckin' shit tickled out of them. There was something fascinating about that - watching somebody else go through what he had - but even when he was stoned, Duane could see how it would be dangerous if any of the ticklers even noticed he was watching one of those channels.
So he found a good old-fashioned fuckfest - one guy and one girl, tearing it up - and rolled himself another hooter. But he was more horny than he thought, for some reason...
Well into the act, he looked at the door. It hadn't moved or anything, but Duane wasn't sure that meant he was really alone. Or they could've had cameras. On him, all along. Watching him play five-on-one. But he decided, sensibly enough, that there was nothing he could do about that. The fucker they called Jackhammer had only gotten him off a few times, all those days it whaled on him, and come to think of it the last time could have been a week ago. So he decided, oh well.
Afterward, he slept like a rock.
A long shower was just the thing. A little more unfinished business, in there, with his cock.
As he toweled off, he felt great. Ready to move a mountain...
There was a tray on the bed. Breakfast. He scarfed it all down, fired up a smoke and headed back into the can to sit for a minute and do his business.
When he came out, the leathers had been moved. They were on the bed. He took that as a hint, so he got dressed. More boxer-briefs, leather pants, black t-shirt, riding jacket. Duane left the gloves off - and looked around for the boots. Or sneakers. Anything.
No footwear. Well... they had to have something, right? Because it was time for him to go. Clear out. That was a phenomenal thought. Out of here. Free a-
The door opened.
"Raise?" he said - and it was scratchy, but he had a voice again. Yet another cool thing.
"Nope," another tickler said. It sounded easygoing. Duane thought of it as a younger voice. If it had been a person, he imagined it was a guy in his mid-twenties...
"Oh."
"Raise is kinda busy, so I came instead." The voice almost sounded like it was about to laugh. "You can call me Vise."
"Vise? Alright. So, uh, am I gettin' sprung?"
"Time to... vacate the room," Vise said.
That wasn't the same as a "yes", Duane thought to himself. And he started to worry. "Right."
"You like the weed?"
"That's some good shit," he agreed, nodding. "You brought it?"
"Uh-huh. Raise said you'd been through a lot."
Duane sighed, and got a cigarette.
When he'd kicked out smoke, Vise made a little grunting noise. "Yeah. Wrong guy, huh?"
"Definitely -"
"The thing I can't get over... is how almost you pulled it off."
That made him freeze. Right there. "Uh -"
"See, I know 'em both. Jackhammer, not so well. But Ordealer - that's the first tickler you met, what, two years ago? I was trained by Ordealer, see. And I know, better that anybody here knows... It's a careful son of a bitch. And it hates leaving any trail."
He started to get to his feet, very slowly. "I don't know what they told you, but my name i-"
A hand landed on his shoulder, and shoved him back down on his ass. His cigarette flew out from between his fingers and headed for the ashtray, being snuffed out while he watched it. "Duane. I know. But you were born Keith. Don't you even try lie to me, amigo - I went and talked to Ordealer."
"About... me?"
"All about you."
Another hand bore down on his right shoulder. And by his legs, maybe from under the bed, a roll of tape cruised on up.
"No! Now wait a minute -"
But it was tearing off already. Surgical tape, a good three inches across. He reared back, but there were more hands behind him, waiting. Of course. Maybe two steadied his head, and at least two curled around his wrists and forearms. The tape slapped over his lips. Another strip tore off -
As he watched it come over, hands pulled his arms behind his back. Cold metal got around his wrists, suddenly right there, clicking, tightening.
Dammit, he thought. Oh fuck, I was so close...
"You got it backwards, Keith. Shut your mouth and listen. You just wait a minute."
When a third strip of tape was pressed down, it was obvious he wasn't going to get his mouth open. He yelled, but it might as well have been loud humming. Gagged, and handcuffed. He knew what that meant.
And he'd been so damn close to getting away.
"Ordealer taught me real well, dude. And it's big on souvenirs. Photos, and shit. Keith. There's even a fairly clear shot of your old driver's license."
Duane sagged.
Son of a bitch. They knew.
"When I went to ask it - about you - Ordealer didn't mind letting me know. It recognized you right away, Duane. And it's been itching to get at you again... But Jackhammer had you marked up pretty well. Sit still, dammit."
Duane - it kept calling him that. Hell, he was made. Fuckin' ticklers.
The gagged man previously known as Keith just shook his head slowly.
"Maybe the only thing Ordealer hates worse than sloppy work... is stupid fuckin' risks. You couldn't be allowed to go out and show those tats off, Keith. So it lied to Jackhammer. Had to get you cleaned up, somehow... and obviously Jackhammer was plumb out of control, so we had to do something about it, before it tickled you into a coma or something."
He looked at the door, hopefully. As if Raise would wander in - and defend him? Sure.
"Ordealer was willing to pick its moment to deal with you... but I'd already come along, and asked the right question. I mean, shit. Jackhammer said you were Keith, and Ordealer said you weren't. One of 'em was wrong."
Dark leather floated up - that time, Keith saw it come out from under the bed.
"Or - one of 'em was lying."
It was a hood.
He stared at it - no eye-holes, and it looked pretty snug - as it landed in his lap.
"So we're going to go for a little walk, Keith. You pulled one over on us, and we're not afraid to admit it. Changing your name like that, dyeing your hair. Cool. And shit, dude - it almost worked. If I hadn't known Ordealer as well as I do, you'd be driving home in a hot car right now..."
The hood started moving toward his head. Keith lunged around, but the hands had a good grip on him. Especially the back of his neck -
"So here we are. And you've earned a break, we figure, because you're such a sneaky bastard. If you do what I tell ya, I promise we're not going to tell Jackhammer that it was actually right. About you. Because you can guess what it gets like when it's really honked off at a guy. Huh?"
The hood started tugging down, blocking the room from his sight.
"Think it over, Keith. Duane. Hah - actually, your name just changed again. Now it's 9794. Get used to that number... So. Either I tell Jackhammer, or we can just keep it to ourselves. You, and me... and Ordealer. All up to you."
Then the hood was all the way on, and the chin-strap was buckling down...
Vise stood him up, and shoved him forward. He stumbled on the thicker carpeting in the hall, and hands caught him. They kept a death-grip around his biceps and turned him to the right.
"You know," Vise whispered - a loud whisper, but right over his right ear - "Raise might want a piece of you, since it got snookered too. It's a lot more creative than Jackhammer. Hmmmm..." It pulled him to the left.
He padded on, desperately trying to come up with something he could do. The right thing to say when the tape was pulled off his mouth. His heart was pounding as hard as it ever had, that first time he was jumped and tied up...
Down another hallway, and another. How big was this fuckin' place anyway? Like a big mall, only full of torture chambers. At least, that was what Keith was imagining, as he reluctantly walked along. Door after door.
Finally, the hands had him stop, and sat him down on a chair. A dull sound could only have been a door closing. Shutting him in.
Even through the hood, he heard Vise heave a big ol' sigh.
"Almost there," was the first thing he heard after it yanked the hood off. Keith looked at himself in a big mirror, as the chain of the handcuffs was caught by something - a metal clip, maybe - and he braced himself...
The tape was pulled off quickly. Since he didn't have a mustache any more, it didn't exactly hurt.
"O-kay," Vise said, sounding very pleased with itself. "It's decision time. 'Duane' can be... let's say, officially released almost two hours ago, in one of the pool cars. Real simple for me to type it in. And that's that."
A pack of smokes slid out of his jacket pocket, and Vise wasted no time getting him one. "But what are we gonna do with Keith? Huh? That's the big question. He's already got a number. 5822. Do you go wanna watch me update the database - 5822, discovered by Ordealer, and recaptured by Jackhammer?"
"Or?" Keith finally said.
"Or... Do I update the new record we created for Duane, 9794... with code VVU?"
"Who's Veeveeu?"
Vise laughed. "It's not a name, dumbshit. Three letters. V, V, U. The second letter stands for 'victim', as you would've figured out eventually. And the 'U' stands for 'untimed'. No limit."
"No! Oh, fuck," Keith wailed.
"And the first 'V'... well, that stands for 'voluntary'."
He had to repeat the word to himself about six times, before it all sank in.
"You wouldn't."
Vise laughed loud, like a crazy mutherfucker. As if it had been just waiting for the opportunity to laugh like that.
Sure it would...
"I think we're gonna have to let Raise in on it, either way," Vise said. "It was being nice to you, but it's not stupid. You're already logged in the system now. I don't know any other dudes who have two MATI numbers. We're not closing out both of 'em. Hell, so long as I don't tattoo your fuckin' nose, I bet Raise will find the whole deal pretty entertaining. Not nearly as entertaining as you will, of course..."
He whined, once, and forced himself to stop it. MATI? What was - hell, he didn't care. This was insane. Worse than the other times.
"Some choice," he barked. "Either way, I'm fucked."
"Yeah. I've got a room all picked out for you. Either way. No matter what you do, you're about to get some quality time - with me. Prison infirmary... That's our next stop, and dude, you're gonna be in there for a while. I kid you not. Big ol' bars to look at, all the standard furniture to hold you down -"
"Well, shit. If it doesn't matter what I decide... uh..."
"Sure it does. You wanna go in there as Keith, or Duane?"
He took a long drag, and tried to keep the cigarette from shaking.
"Jackhammer will beat the door down, just to get at Keith. The real Keith. It's in some deep and serious shit right about now because of you. Or - you can be Duane, a voluntary sign-on, stuck here for as long as I want. Me, and Ordealer. And Raise. Jackhammer won't think twice about you... and it'll be a lot more fun if you're Duane. Right?"
He shook his head, totally dazed by it all.
"Aw, c'mon now. VVU's get more time off to recuperate. I mean, it's not like they're going anywhere. Not for long..."
"No time limit? I mean, can't you let me have a fuckin' release date?"
"Sorry," it laughed. "Nobody gets out that easy. It's not like you had one before. See, only first-timers can sign up as VV. New fish. You're a veteran at this, so you get that open-ended 'U' after your code. Get it? VVU's get the works. Because they wanted to be here, we make sure they have more fun than they can handle. They enjoy themselves here." The cigarette was pulled from his lips. "Shit, if I have enough fun with ya I'll even cut you a four-day pass now and then. Get laid, blow off some steam. I mean it, Keith - or should I say Duane? Hmmmm? You want us to just forget all about that mistaken-identity bullshit? Sign you up?"
He shook his head vaguely, open-mouthed. "No. Just wait, now. I can't..."
"Sure you can. Look. Your back's against the wall, dude. There ain't no way you'll find our tickling to be as... okay, as painful as what Jackhammer did - and will do, to your ass."
Behind the mirror, a faint red glow -
Numbers. Some kind of electronic sign, maybe, close up against the other side of a two-way mirror. 9794.
"So," Vise said briskly, "read off what you see there, as it goes by. And buddy, you better say it like you mean it. Volunteering to be here. Right? You do that, and I'll forget to tell Raise that you're Keith. Ol' Duane here decided to stick around and have more fun. It's not that unusual. Guy sorta likes it, keeps getting popped - what the hell. And Raise, ol' Duane's definitely been asking for you. Wants you to get a few licks in. Like a reward for being so nice to him. And the dude likes it intense... Heh. Jackhammer will never have to know your little secret. If anybody could use some supervision, well, I guess it's Jackhammer."
He looked all around. The digits stayed right there. "I can't."
"Keith."
And it didn't have to say anything else.
He moaned. Closed his eyes, for what seemed like a full minute, trying to thinking of anything he could do to avoid this...
"9794," he said, finally.
"No," Vise shot back. "Take a deep breath. You sound like somebody's holding a gun to your head."
"Well?" he snorted.
"Yeah, yeah."
"Holding a Jackhammer to my head, more like."
"Hey. Good one. There - you see? I like a prisoner with a little attitude. Shit, you already know Ordealer, it likes to play with ticklish meat... Now say it again. And it wouldn't hurt you to smile -"
"Oh, fuck that," Keith shot back. "And fuck you. I'm being blackmailed here. For the record."
"Uh-huh. I'll edit that out, of course. Go on," it said quietly.
He still got the impression it was pretty excited...
"9794."
"Good. Sing it real pretty, now."
Letters started appearing, behind the mirror.
"VVU. Voluntary victim, un... Untimed. I choose to be here." Keith shook his head slowly -
"Keith. Quit fuckin' around, and say it again."
He did, but he rolled his eyes.
"Okay. Go on."
"I want to be here," Keith continued, reluctantly. "I know the tickling will be beyond anything I have ever imagined. I understand that 'untimed' means I have no say in how long I will be here. I am VVU, I know what that means, and I agree. Starting now. I am 9794."
"Good job!" Vise declared. A hand patted him on the shoulder. He saw nothing there, but it sure felt real. "That'll work. Here..." And Keith - er, Duane - was given another smoke.
"You want another take?" he said sarcastically.
There was no answer. After maybe thirty seconds, Vise said, "Huh?" It sounded as if it was farther away, but after that it was right over him again. "Naaah, I got it. It's cleaned up and stuck inside your file. And it's in there for keeps. Oh, fuck yeah, you're in for it now."
"No kidding."
"Untimed, buddy! Hangin' out with Ordealer again."
"Yeah -"
"Instead of taking a car and racing out of here, you just had a total change of heart. About the whole tickling experience. It happens..."
Metal clicked, and his handcuffs came loose from the back of the chair.
"Don't need this now," Vise said, and the hood flew across the room. "Okay, 9794... Duane... Let's party."
The door opened, and hands grabbed his upper arms again.
"I, uh..." Duane gave it up, and tugged on his cigarette.
"You what? Out with it, amigo. The more I know, the more I get to use against ya." And it chuckled a few times. He had no idea if it was serious or not. The hands made him walk out, and turn right...
"I didn't have a whole lot of choice."
"That's true."
"You boxed me in."
"And I was glad to do it. Because now there's some revenge you won't have to live through, but you're gonna get some major tickling action. By the way, you're welcome." Down a hall, totally fuckin' quiet as always, and another right turn.
He nodded. "Is there... Was there any way I could've changed your m-"
"Uh-uh. Absolutely not. Zero chance of that. And you know what else? You'll drive yourself bugshit wondering about it. Hah. But there was no way in hell I was gonna watch you get away. A few days ago, I made up my mind. The only place you're headed..." The hands turned him, suddenly. Facing a closed door. "Is right here."
"So. This is it," he said stupidly.
The door started to open. Slowly. Swinging in -
"Ooooo. Do me a favor," Vise ordered. The handcuffs came off his wrists and flew past him, rattling across the floor. "Even if you are VVU... Fight me."
"What?"
Fingers slid into his armpits. "Put up a little resistance. Or I'm just gonna have to tickle it out of you -"
Duane squawked, sounding much like a gigantic rooster, and tried to jump back.
"Oh yeah? You think so, huh? Escape artist?" The hands let him twist sideways, and set him down on the carpet. And the fingers kept tickling.
"C'mon," he yelled.
Hands lifted his left foot.
"Oh no -"
"Oh yeah," Vise promised. "Goin' down."
About ten fingers started rubbing his foot - and as soon as he started to thrash, they got a lock on his other ankle.
"Noooooooo hoooo hoooooooooo..."
There was no need to pretend anything. There was no way he could take any more... Not tickling.
Anything but more tickling.
Duane pounded his head on the carpet. It seemed to move, under him.
He was sliding -
The hands just dragged him right through the doorway.
"No noooo nooooo-oooo!" he hooted, clutching at the door-frame. He wasn't acting scared. He definitely did not want to move another inch -
"Hey, thanks," Vise said quietly. "I get such a charge out of this."
More hands! They started working on his ribs... as if they were bread dough.
Duane squealed louder - okay, it was a scream. And he had to let go, so he could slap at his own sides. But the invisible hands just hopped right back on. Drilling him -
"Let's see how you like... the rack," Vise shouted.
His shoulder blades hit something cool. No carpet, in there. It was right about then that the hands picked him up, by the arms and ankles, and carried him further in. Not much light, but he could make out the wall of bars. Corny as hell.
The door swung out, and all the light from the hallway was gone.
That time, he heard a solid deadbolt click.
MATI
14nov2002