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Carefully, they drive the car for him.
Leather gauntlets control his arms, forcing him to keep a loose grip on the steering wheel. All movements are meticulously controlled. His athletic shoes have been taken over, counteracting his efforts to kick or move his feet. Wraparound glasses are strapped to his head, with black opaque lenses.
This man is a fine selection, wrestling less and less. That will change when the car's engine is turned off. He will renew his struggles -
Ah, here is the turnoff.

14.7 miles east of the interstate known as 787. A sturdy house, meticulously remodeled to suit them, standing well alone.
No human knows what goes on inside - except those who have been brought here, and they're prevented from learning any information that could reveal the address.

As expected, he resists desperately when the car door is opened... but Containment Subclan pulls him out of the car. He walks out of the garage as if he's at war with his limbs. And since his muscle development is considerably above normal, the risk of an accidental sprain or other damage must be eliminated.
Quickly, more team members permeate the back of his clothing, and lift.
His shoes break contact with the ground. He rotates smoothly, until he's parallel with the ground.
The garage door is closed, hiding his car.
Yelling at the starry sky, he is carried into the dark house.
Security locks the front door immediately... and then the inner cell.

He floats down to a padded rack. Maintenance Subclan removes his clothing.
Containment waits eagerly with the chain-mail restraints.
The cuffs and the pad are imperceptibly moving. He will detect nothing more than a faint tingling sensation, which is absolutely unnoticable when other stimuli occupy his attention. One of the Maintenance subclans is encouraging blood circulation, to guard against any tissue damage.
When he is suitably helpless, Sequencing flips a switch -
A lighted sign mounted on the ceiling stutters to life. It displays 25-centimeter red letters against a yellow background:

And below the words, the simple outline of a hand... lacking wrinkles and nails. Its lines are made up of many small dots.
He stares at the sign, as intended. Although he begins to squirm with greater determination, his reaction is not that of a man who recognizes the logo... or knows what is in store.
Personalization Subclan swarms around the middle finger of his right hand, immobilizing it. Some of them burrow deep into the skin between the first and second knuckle. They produce an indelible gray dye -
And the Clan logo appears. It cannot be removed by any means known to the humans. The bottom side of that finger, facing the palm, now displays the dotted outline of an empty hand, fingers slightly curled.
On the other side of his finger, solid letters materialize:

Under the letters, a sequence of dots and lines becomes visible. They are the binary representation of his unique Clan number. When he is recaptured, Logistics Subclan will retrieve and parse all of the data pertaining to him in order to augment each subsequent experience.
The preparation phase is complete, and another subclan receives executive control. All of the specializations find an analogue to contentment in fulfilling their duties, ceaselessly monitoring and adjusting. The property, the house, the locks - and, of course, the new subject. He has been brought here for one purpose.
Stimulation rolls a cart over to his rack.

In the weak yellow light, the usual complement of first-contact tools have a distinctive gleam. He stares at them so attentively that he stops writhing. Maintenance notes the increase in pulse and respiration.
There is... movement.
A pair of burgundy velvet gloves rises slowly from the surface of the cart. The cloth fingers and palms are dense with subclan members, collectively capable of the most subtle gradations in pressure and speed. Many of the nearby tools, including these empty hands, give the men a visual symbol of what "tactologize" will mean to them.
He displays the usual panic, yelling as he flails around. Shouting directly at the gloves.
They levitate, and move over his feet.

Despite his protests, the velvet spreads over each of his arches, under the straining toes...
And the thumbs press against the middle of each sole.
Baseline readings are established. Contact, firmer pressure -
Slight lateral movement.
He grunts repeatedly, straining at the restraints with a newly informed determination.
Personalization records the physical reaction data from 38 muscle groups all over his body.
Stimulation moves the velvet thumbs down to his heels, and makes them ease back up -
A squawk bursts out of him, and his toes curl and stretch.
Slow oval paths are traced around his soles -
The chuckling begins. He shakes his head continuously, and bounces on the padded rack.

Containment brings nine thin leather straps. At this early stage, the reduced access will be irrelevant - and more than offset by the added psychological effect.
Stimulation continues teasing his feet as the additional restraints are applied to his waist, shins, thighs, upper arms, forearms...
His range of motion is reduced to insignificance.
And the thumbs begin moving faster.

A loud whoop, infuriated cackles, and renewed efforts to shift his body are the immediate result.
The velvet presses down a little more firmly, and the other fingers begin to squeeze.
He squeals, and wails -
The gloves begin to shift. Four fingers touch each sole... and creep up.
Slamming his head on the pad which was provided just for that purpose, his laughter continues to build.
Stimulation Subclan rubs his toes too, as if the fingers are about to slide between them. But not yet. They slide down to his heels, studiously riding the contours...
Logistics confirms the successful analysis of initial reaction data.
The fingertips make one horizontal pass, skating much more firmly -
A loud shriek immediately results, followed by vigorous hoots.
Resuming the vertical course, the fingertips are dragged from heel to toes... making him convulse and tug at the restraints. Low, warbling howls are interrupted by crude barks of intolerable excitement.
When the first tears are squeezed out from his tightly closed eyes - Stimulation removes the gloves.
He is allowed four minutes to pant for air. Fifty milliliters of ice water...
And the fingers continue to madden him.

Adjustments are made continually to maximize the impact.
The periods of contact average five minutes. Pauses are shortened. More water is administered every third break.
A different texture is introduced each tenth period.

Maintenance continues to clean up his waste products. It's also reporting a slight decline in neural activity during the 32nd period. So the feathers are pulled out from between his toes...
And four new gloves drift to his torso.

After period 1-51, the focus is shifted to his knees and thighs.

Ten periods later, deep coverage of his feet is accompanied by subtle genital feathering. Ejaculation is not permitted yet.

Almost eleven hours after arrival, he is allowed to sleep.
 

Period 2-1 is primarily intended to dispel any confusion he may have, and introduce him to the new body position. It is brief, targeting only his soles.
He bucks, giggling weakly. Face-down, he squints at a mirror which was deliberately placed to reflect the image of the TAC sign overhead.
Center panels of the rack have been removed, to permit nearly total access...

A large meal is given to him, mostly with the use of a spoon.
Then the vitamins, along with a liter of water.
He's given a few minutes for the food to settle, which he uses to battle Containment's expert bonds.

The next period is immediately preceded by a stream of oil bring poured from his neck to each of his calves.
Small, firm-bristled brushes spread the oil everywhere.
A depilatory was applied while he slept. After that cleaning and moisturizing, Maintenance reports an increase in tactile sensitivity which exceeds standardized projections...

The brushes are staked out everywhere. Each armpit and sole are divided into quadrants, which are stimulated consecutively. In some subjects - such as this man, it is discovered - this technique eliminates neural fatigue completely.
Every third period, his nipples are gently scrubbed. This is alternated with similar coverage for the underside of his knees and the back of his neck.

After thirty periods, he is fed again.
A single feather dusts between his legs, and softer brushes blanket his insteps and toes.

There is a brief, involuntary ejaculation during period 2-46. From the silent groans and attempts to continue thrusting, it is obvious that he did not find it altogether satisfying.
Immediately, impact magnitude ramps up. Logistics accepts the confirmation of this benchmark and modifies the running projections... while Stimulation continues scrubbing his ribs and arms without a pause.

A stimulant is added to the water which he drinks after period 2-60.
Soon after, his distress is much more robust...

The brushes move more slowly as they target key locations. Various harmonics are activated by provoking multiple zones simultaneously. This exploration can be virtually infinite in scope, heightening specific effects at the same time his overall sensitivity - his nervous system's capacity to process the stimulation - is continuing to increase at a very good rate.
Overall it's a very intriguing evening for the Clan.
 

Like the day before, period number one is tame. Allowing him to get oriented again...
Cleaned and prepared again, he will spend the initial periods with his limbs high in the air. The thick chains jingle as he tests them, contorting his body, but they will not yield - for Containment is covering each link, ensuring their integrity.
Now he must eat.
And not long after that, a dozen feathers rise up...

Period 3-9 marks the end of laughter. This occurs earlier than it did during the previous days, and it confirms the drastically increased impact that Stimulation is delivering, even with light contact.

After only seventeen periods, he is allowed to doze.
Containment releases the chains. His limbs are returned to their original position, flat against the padded expanse of the rack.

When his eyes flutter and open, a light snack is forced upon him. Both the sleep and the food will be needed. The next periods will be different - longer, and much more grueling. The value of recapturing this man for future use will now be determined.
A clear plastic box is brought up from the cart's lower shelf. It pauses in mid-air, commanding his full attention...

Two liters of the Clan's favorite oil are poured inside it. The box is placed between his splayed knees.
Eight thick rubber gloves dive into the oil. They are the largest gloves he has seen here. Circling around the box, leaping out - and diving back in. They move in a way that indicates aggressive confidence.
Oil splashes on him and the rack.
His facial expression reveals a new level of terror.
The final qualification test begins when they rocket up from their box - and attack.

Another order of magnitude is reached.
Stimulation uses the unique information already learned. The fingers not only maul him in the most reactive locations... but Personalization ensures that each motion is precisely targeted, with all variables optimized, and Maintenance watches his neural activity and vital signs attentively.
His body is rigid. Mouth open, but not laughing.
Nine expert minutes...

Seven electrifying periods crawl by.

3-25 is special. Two more gloves join in... but they don't dive into the oil tank.
One buries its fingers in petroleum jelly, and takes its position at his anus.
The other is cloaked under a thick layer of desensitizing gel. It initiates this activity period - with thirty seconds of palpation on his genitals.
Then all the greased gloves join in.

The following six periods grow longer and longer, each filled with increasingly effective brutality. Maintenance and Personalization continue to correlate the data.
His limp, glassy-eyed appearance is to be expected... but dozens of neural measurements tell a triumphantly different story.

At long last, the Clan lets him slide into unconsciousness.

The initial evaluation is over.
And this man will be tracked. Definitely. Logistics has begun drafting outlines for his next four confinements. While the excitement could continue now, it has been useful to allow the subjects to recuperate in a setting more familiar to them, where the psychological assimilation of their future can occur at an individualized pace.
A spring-loaded needle is placed in his right nostril, and positioned. It snaps -
He grunts... but doesn't fully wake.
There. An RFID chip is embedded approximately three millimeters below the tip of his nose. It contains his four-digit TAC number.

Forays with a handheld scanner usually detect at least one of their previous subjects in any large gathering of men in the greater Albany area. It is their territory.
As other Clans formed, it was inevitable that some would choose to specialize in the same techniques - but none of them can claim to be the first to concentrate on tactologization.
TAC has trained seventeen other Clans. All urban areas in and around New York State are now monitored. If a subject leaves the territory in which he was tagged, the appropriate Clan is immediately notified.
If his travel is too rapid, the subject is promptly captured and returned.
 

Five hours later, their newest subject finally wakes up. He's been washed and dressed.
The restraints are gone.
A bed-tray floats down, bringing him another large meal.

After he's done eating, his right hand is pulled up, in front of his face.
He studies the artwork on his finger.
Now, a sheet of paper floats directly to his hand. It's a photocopy, on cheap white paper... with the TAC logo at the top. It welcomes him to the oversight and protection of the Clan. The majority of the text contains instructions. Commands.
He will be captured again and again, but between those events he will obey the rules that are laid out for him.

A certain brand of skin moisturizer is to be used twice a day, and more often if he spends time outdoors, from head to toe. Maintenance has already placed a full case of it on the passenger seat of his car.
His chest, abdomen, groin and armpits are to be shaved at least weekly. The itch from regrowing hair will encourage him to be consistent. His feet will be scrubbed daily with a medium-bristle brush and liberal amounts of the skin cream, on all surfaces, for a period of not less than three minutes each.
He will take fiber supplements and vitamins, which are also waiting on his car seat. No fatty foods. He will visit a dentist until there's no more work to be done - of any kind - using the envelope filled with currency that has been placed under the box of skin cream. He will brush and floss his teeth each and every day. Any emerging health problem must be attended to within forty-eight hours.
Tobacco, alcohol, drugs, tattoos, getting branded, getting pierced, artistic scarification, risky sex, the use of any sex toys or bondage gear, mosh pits, arm-wrestling, mountain climbing, ice skating, inline skating, skateboarding, rugby, boxing, football, wrestling, the wearing of any variety of boots, walking barefoot on any surface other than his bathroom floor, painfully hot baths and any other activity which could possibly be interpreted as a deliberate or indirect attempt to mutiliate or reduce the sensitivity of his skin are forbidden. He is required to work out for a minimum of eight hours each week, and sleep for no less than seven hours every night.
Monitoring of compliance begins immediately. Each infraction will lengthen the next confinement by at least four days.

After he stares at the paper for a few minutes... Confinement unlocks the cell door and swings it open.
Hissing, grimacing, he gets up. There is hesitation in his movements - but that is not unusual at all. Men do not always believe that the open door is the very signal for which they've been waiting.
Moving ever more quickly, he leaves the cell - and tries to run toward the front door which has just been opened.
Looking up at the sky as he clears the house, the man heaves a deep sigh.
The front door closes.
He is free - until the next tactologization. Logisitics already has the plan finalized...

Behind him, small things dart up. Waiting.
A new sensation - as if finely ground dust was being blasted - races through his fingers. Palms. Forearms.
When it reaches his head, his entire body freezes in position. Silent whimpers trickle out from between his closed lips.
At the base of his skull, a twinge of pain has quickly developed into a deep burning ache.
His left hand begins to move. And his right. The rest of his body has developed a tremor...
Unable to stop himself, he takes hold of the inner lining of his jacket - down near the bottom - and rips it open.
His palm darts underneath, and something lands on it... giving the appearance that it had been hidden within his jacket all along, waiting for an occasion of great need.
As his hand rises up, he sees the unfiltered cigarette. And he screams.
The odd warmth near his brainstem explodes -
Outwardly, he flinches hard, once, and relaxes. The muscular control-override is now complete.

He takes the cigarette between his lips and holds it. No amount of willful effort penetrates the casual ease of his movements... as his fingers search the lining again. A matchbook is pressed into his palm.
One last desperate moan escapes him, but his hands tear a match free and strike it smoothly. He leans forward.
Counterclan Albany Tobacco makes him suck in hungrily.
Even before he's coughed all the smoke out, the door of the house opens.
As he's dragged back inside, CAT makes him take a last hard puff...

The Counterclan is in the mood to celebrate.
They know all about the rules he's been given. The paper, now lying on the ground, rises slowly into the air - and crumples.
There is no evidence to suggest that TAC has identified the foreign nanites yet from those of their own nightmare-tickling clan. And the next time they release him, the number of neuroreceptors for nicotine will have doubled. Permanently there. Clamoring for a smoke...
The tug-of-war is keeping a dozen robust men in constant rotation. Punished by TAC, driven to absolute distraction by CAT until they smoked, captured again and again. At this moment three other subjects are in other nondescript Clan houses, experiencing the highly personalized discipline as a result of their tobacco use.
Counterlogistics stores the output of the man's RFID chip, and starts designing his next three post-capture infractions. If they choose, he won't even have a chance to get in his car before they force him to pause and light up again...

Wildly happy, CAT decides to go back into town. It's not even one in the morning, so there's plenty of time to corner a devoted straight-edge follower or community college jock, assume control of his voluntary muscles and force him through his first couple packs - to get the desensitization over with - so he'll be just a few compulsory cigarettes away from a cool new addiction.

13oct03