short
After Hours
Her shift was over. Deaf and blind as she was, she could still feel the vibrations in the floor from the cleaning machine, coming to and fro. Apart from that, she hadn't been prodded, felt up, or tickled for at least ten minutes she estimated. So why was she still standing as a helpless table ornament? The vibrations came closer again. They seemed to remain stationary right near her table and indeed: she felt some prodding and tugging on the sides of her head, and the blindfold came off.
Rogue Mission
Prologue
"No June! There is no way I'm signing off on this. You're not going there!"
"But Sir: if only ten percent of the rumors are true, and these atrocities are taking place on our soil..."
"That's just it, agent Penn: it isn't our soil! That complex functions as an embassy. It is actually on Tahrula ground, and we have no jurisdiction there whatsoever!"
-------------------------------------------------------------
"Welcome to Tahrul, Miss Penn! Later on, we will gladly answer a few of your questions about our facilities. Not all of them perhaps, but a few for sure. But first of all, you'll need to go through our safety procedures. They are very strict and some might say extreme, but we are after all a small vulnerable enclave within your beautiful country and we have to be very, very cautious! Now please stand up straight with your arms stretched to the side, please."
He started patting her down, leaving no part of her body unchecked. This had happened to her on many occasions, and although, like always, her breasts and buttocks weren't excluded, he did not linger. Just part of the job, it seemed. She felt a little relieved, taking into account the stories she had heard about this place.
One day early
Down on her hands and knees, Mrs.Winter rocked her body back and forth through the big iron ring circling her waist and the small of her back. She would not be able to get her hips through, so much was obvious. But she wondered if she might be able to back out of it.
"I don't know, Peter... This thing doesn't feel as secure as many of the other constructs."
"We're not finished yet, Mrs. Winter. It's a one-size-fits-all device: I still have to adjust it to the size of your waist. Just a sec."
And with that, he attached a meter-long tube to the top of the wheel, with a compressed air canister on the other end. As he pressed the button the rubber band on the inside of the ring began to expand. After ten seconds her waist was firmly strapped in and she could not move back or forth any longer. She would have to remain in this position until the boys would deflate the band and remove the top half of the ring. Satisfied with the result Peter removed the tube.
"I'm going to see if Frank has finished with the camera in the other room now, Mrs. Winter. And then we can begin our shoot, OK?"
After he left, she tested her situation and found she had quite a bit of freedom. She could move her arms and legs, look around, bend down a bit. But her waist remained trapped in place at all times, bolted five inches above the floor: she wasn't going anywhere.
The Cascade
Marc was praying. His hands were in his lap, inconspicuously. But his fingers were intertwined and he was praying.
For the last half-hour, he had been watching this quiz together whit his mother. The candidate, an attractive lady in her mid-thirties, had reached a score just three points short of moving into the final. And now she found herself locked in the Loser's Throne, awaiting the Cascade of Defeat.