THE STAR ATHLETE: Kyle
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Kyle bolted breathlessly across the unkempt yard of the frat house, acutely focused on his destination just beyond its chain link fence. Whether a spell of adrenaline or merely delusion brought on by the cocktail of booze and drugs in his system, Kyle felt an almost euphoric sensation of power coursing through his veins. He could outrun the consequences... and it will have been so easy."This is about so much more than noise ordinances and underage drinking. You guys are in a hell of a lot of trouble here, and your rich daddies can't make it disappear."
A shudder spread throughout the huddle--the chilling sensation that things might not be "OK" this time. A muscled form shuffled nervously in the crowd, shifting weight from foot to foot. This was Kyle, the frat's star athlete. With a full ride scholarship hanging in the balance, he felt pressed to consider his options. In a snap, he decided to make a dart for the door. All he had to do was outrun a few fat cops, hope the back fence and he'd be out of this whole mess. He charged headlong towards the door, shoulder checking one of the slow, fat cops to the floor along the way. Within seconds, he was gone... out the backdoor, and maybe over the fence.
"We got a runner," one cop mumbled, seemingly unfazed.
Another cop nodded--tall and muscular, he had the bearing of a linebacker. His short cropped hair and thick black mustache cut an intimidating figure, and he seemed more than up to the challenge. Without a word, he barreled towards the back yard after Kyle.
Though not far behind, a worthy adversary -- the tallest and most physically imposing of the policemen, keeping apace with the kind of steely determination that seemed to step beyond the demands of the job and into investment on a deeply personal level. The harsh clang of handcuffs slapping against the cop's thigh garnered a Pavlovian response from both men, as time seemed to slow to its ominous rhythm. Clink... clink... clink
Kyle bounded across the detritus of the night's festivities, leaping onto the loops of the fence but failing to find purchase and slipping for but a moment--
The minute advantage needed for the cop to close the gap. With the precision and dexterity of an apex predator, the cop swooped in on his caged prey. Kyle bounced against the fence a second time, imploring his senses to return to him long enough to grab hold. He gripped the top bar of the fence, preparing to hoist his legs up when --
CLICK
The cold bite of steel wrapped around Kyle's exposed ankle. He felt it tighten mercilessly as it pinned him to a lower link in the fence. Tug as he might, his leg was now firmly rooted to the ground. With flight out of the question, fight became the only recourse. Kyle thrashed his body wildly against the chain link, rattling it mightily as it bent and contorted against his weight. His Converse high tops--previously a pristine white--were now smeared with green grass stains as he dragged and thrust them across the ground.
For his part, the cop seemed relatively unfazed by the ruckus. He calmly produced a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket and began pulling them over his tensed fingers, taking time to adjust each until the gloves fell comfortably from index to pinkie. Kyle soon heard another clink--and this one gave him pause. The cop seemed almost playful as he began uncoiling a length of chain, wrapping it theatrically through his gloves like a cat with a ball of yarn.
"You can't arrest me! I didn't do nothing." Kyle barked, entirely unconvinced this was true.
"I can do whatever the fuck I want to you, boy. You're a rat in a cage."
"Man, fuck you-"
The cop advanced on Kyle, pressing his shoulder into Kyle's shoulder blades and slamming his body against the fence. At this distance, the cop need only whisper --
"Even a bear in a trap is still prey for the hunter."
Without another word, the cop began wrapping Kyle's wrist in the chain. He looped it twice around, then padlocked it in place, forming a cuff around the young man's hand. Kyle tried his best to fight back under the circumstances, but the cop had a new form of leverage now, tugging harshly on the chain as he looped it through several rungs of the chain link fence until Kyle's hand was pinned uncomfortably against it. The cop then looped Kyle's other wrist in the remained of the chain, again padlocking it to form a cuff. The result was a pair of exceptionally strong, albeit makeshift handcuffs. Kyle yelped involuntarily as tiny bits of his skin were alternately pinched in the unforgiving chains. He winced as he attempted--with one foot still awkwardly handcuffed below--to position himself comfortably.
"This-" Kyle struggled for words, "you can't do this typa shit, man. I-I... I know my rights, and-and-"
His words fell on deaf--or at least disinterested--ears. The cop had begun wedging two cold metal bars between the young man's lips, securing the contraption around his head and tightening the buckle. It lay somewhat loosely between his lips at first, until the cop began ratcheting the spreader tabs on either side. Kyle's heart rate fluttered wildly as he felt the metal bars begin to push forcefully against the roof of his mouth and his jaw, forcing them apart. He could still speak ... barely ... he needed to say something decisive while he still had the chance.
"WHA'S YOH BADGE NUMMAH? YOH AWE FUCKED"
"My badge number is shut the fuck up, how 'bout that?" the cop barked, seeming to enjoy his position of power, "you have the right to remain silent, boy. Let me help you with that."
The cop reached for a dirty, old tennis ball sitting a few feet away on the lawn. He wanted to shove it into Kyle's gaping mouth, but... evidently it wasn't quite gaping enough. He began painfully ratcheting the gag once more, further forcing Kyle's jaw wider and wider until he could swear it would not give another inch. Even then, it was juuuust enough to pop the ball inside. It filled the young man's mouth completely, forcing his tongue flat against his jaw. Mercifully, the cop loosened the ratchet, allowing Kyle lips and mouth to fall over the ball that had been shoved forcefully inside. Kyle tried to scream, but nothing came out. He wheezed defeatedly, slumping against the fence.
"Relax, boy. Relax. We'll get that ball out again somehow... maybe drill a bunch of holes in it or something. It's just, you didn't really give me time to think and I really needed to shut you up. Then again, this makes it so much easier for us to get to know each other"
The cop chuckled, mostly to himself. He leaned into Kyle, whispering once more --
"By the way.... I'm not a cop."
In fact, none of them were. The entirety of the so-called police force on site that night were nothing more than hired guns -- at best, self-righteous lunatics looking for a chance to play vigilante, at worst, well... deranged psychos. All recruited by Terrel and his brothers through a series of Craigslist ads. Paid to put the fear of God into a bunch of shit-eating frat boys. Perhaps the vetting process--had there been one--would've weeded out the truly unhinged, like Kyle's new "friend", who was more than happy to forgo a few thousand bucks in exchange for a new slave.
Soon, Kyle would be loaded into the trunk of a car, wrapped in an bevy of inescapable chains and padlocks. Maybe someone will notice he's missing in a day or two and go looking for him. Then again, who would think to look in a remote cabin two states away?
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