Canned (M/M) - *part 10 FINALE! 24.05.23*

[Straitjacketed]

Another role-play collaboration between myself and another TUG member - this is fast becoming my favourite way of writing - reformatted slightly and published here with his permission. My character's narration is in default font, his is in purple.

This is the first time I've played with [mention]blackbound[/mention] but both our characters have appeared before. Mine is the hapless escape artist protagonist of 'Vicious Cycle' and his is the narrator of (the first part of) 'Your Wish Fulfilled'.

The events of 'Canned' take place around a month after those of 'Vicious Cycle'.


Canned - part 1

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

In the end, I did escape.

I mean, some would claim I was just lucky - lucky that Steven’s diabolical set-up suffered a key mechanical failure on a "flushing the suit out" day when the sedation didn't take full effect - but there was a certain amount of skill on my part, too.

Also, I was his prisoner for over a month. I don't call that lucky.

At first, I was all set to have him arrested, charged with kidnapping. I wrote everything down, in detail. Then the oddest thing happened: I hesitated. I wasn't sure why, but I just... didn't report him. I put it off.

First, I told myself, I’d seek out the videos he posted and either delete them or send them to the police. I found the videos and, well, they'd attracted a shit-tonne of views. People assumed it was some kind of elaborate publicity stunt and they were here for it; they thought it was kind of dark, but they loved it.

So, I went with it. I made a new video bragging about my escape and my followers skyrocketed. I don’t know that they all believed me, necessarily, but the fame snowballed and, with it, income.

Involving the law would've screwed with that, made me seem fake.

I can't say I'm 100% happy with how it panned out; sometimes it still all feels like too much of a compromise. I got another bike, for example, but it just sits there in the garage; I can't bear to sit on it, much less ride it. Even wearing my leathers feels triggering.

Even though escaping was the basis of my online fame, it was a long time before I agreed to another challenge. I was super-cautious with vetting prospective challengers and chose a simple rope escape. Nothing special but my followers ate it up. Another followed, similarly issue-free.

My mojo was - is - back!

And that's pretty much where I am when I receive your message. It's short and sweet but you're respectful (I take a moment to appreciate the phrase "world-class escape artist") and sound a little tentative - all of which inclines me to accept.

It sounds like something different from rope, anyway.

As is my routine, I let you specify what I should wear for the challenge and I ready my default, the neoprene "Houdini bathing suit", the one with the secret pocket for the folding blade. I've since added a standard handcuff key and, as usual, my lock pick is secreted in position behind my right ear.

You get to choose the time and place and, this time, I Google the hell out of any location details I'm given. I also Google you...


I like a challenge, especially if my "victim" thinks they know what they're getting into. I'm a bit like a malevolent genie, I guess - you have to be very, very careful what you wish for, and how you wish for it.

Of course I've heard of you and your kidnapping. The whole thing was inspiring, to say the least; you wouldn't believe how many requests I got from clients for a similar treatment - if somewhat less permanent. I'm glad you eventually managed to get away and are back on the escape artist circuit, because there's something I want to try, and who better to try it on than you.

So I send you a message: "Hey, I heard of your reputation as this world-class escape artist, I think I've got something pretty good, not too sure about it though; would it be disrespectful of your time to ask you to try it out?"

I make the whole thing as inviting as possible: my name's right there, and if you search for it, you'll see that I'm a pro dom, so my request should make sense. It'll be at my dungeon, which has a real entry on Maps and reviews going back years. They're all positive, too, for some reason.

I also request you come in your street clothes as I'll be providing the undersuit and suit. I'll let you puzzle about that for a bit.

Let's see if you bite.

To be continued...

[blackbound]

It was great fun to collaborate with you, [mention]Straitjacketed[/mention]. Hope people enjoy reading it as much as I did writing.

[Straitjacketed]

It was great fun to collaborate with you, @Straitjacketed. Hope people enjoy reading it as much as I did writing.

It was a breeze, wasn't it? I very much appreciated being on the receiving end of that truly evil imagination of yours.

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 2

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

The pro dom thing is intriguing. I don't pretend to know much about that whole area: isn't it basically fluffy pink handcuffs and domino eye masks?

Then I remember reading about an escapologist from back in the '90s, a guy who issued a challenge to an DBSM (how exactly does the acronym go?) club in New York. I can't recall what they tied him up in but he got out and the whole thing massively boosted his career.

I can't think of any other escape artist who's done anything similar. Kink is a good angle and I could pretty much claim it for my own.

Yeah, I'm going to go for this. Your glowing reviews seal the deal.

I accept your challenge, frowning just a little at the mention of a suit and "undersuit". That makes me think of deep-sea diving but diving just doesn't fit with the DBSM stuff.

I guess I'll find out.

For now, I go ahead with wearing my default neoprene kit as underwear but practise my sleight-of-hand palming of keys and blades, hoping I'll have a chance to switch my tools to whatever outfit you want me to wear.

I think long and hard about what one might wear to a dungeon. Leather? I'm still a bit too traumatised to zip myself into the bike gear I wore constantly for over a month. Shiny and black seems right, though, so I find a dark tracksuit with a bit of a sheen, to cover the neoprene, and pull on matching sneakers.

And then I head for your dungeon.


I've cleared my schedule for you and prepared everything. Getting the power cables installed took a while, but they'll be useful for other visitors. Nothing to do but wait.

And then there you are. I can tell that you're nervous, but hopefully my welcoming and friendly manner puts you at ease. It's pretty obvious that you don't really know anything about BDSM either, so I offer you a tour before we get started. "Anything you want to know about, just ask. Except about what's behind the curtain - that'll be your challenge."


I'm not sure what I expected from a dungeon - something mediaeval, maybe - but your manner is so friendly that I immediately warm to you. Your offer of a tour is impossible to resist.

"I'd appreciate that," I nod, trying not to stare at the Forbidden Curtain.

What I really want is to gain clues regarding my own specific challenge. I try to ask questions that lead you in that direction ("do you usually ask your clients to wear, uh, suits?") but, for the most part, I peer curiously around at my surroundings and whatever you do show me. So far, no fluffy pink handcuffs.

I'm also doing my Escape Artist Checklist in my head:

1. Any worryingly specialist-looking items of restraint? No-one so far has brought stocks or a pillory to a challenge but it's starting to occur to me that if those exist in any place, they might exist in a dungeon...

2. Any form of restraint visible? Rope, chain, tape? Something else?

3. Anything I can be restrained to? I know from experience that being tied to something is harder, escape-wise, than being free to wriggle around, loosening my bonds. Thankfully, I see no exercise bikes...

4. Anything I can be wrapped or bundled up in? Extra layers are an even bigger problem, especially if they're tough enough to prevent me getting at the knots or fastenings. I'm gambling on there not being a diving suit. Maybe you just meant you wanted me in formal clothing?

5. Anything else likely to hood, muffle or stop me using (in descending order of usefulness) the tools of my trade: fingers, teeth, toes, eyes, hearing? Spending over a month in boxing mitts was particularly unpleasant, but even a standard pair of gloves can reduce my dexterity and screw with my chances of escaping.

Lightning never strikes twice, though, right? And, I remind myself, you basically just want my help trying out an idea.

I'm sure I have nothing to worry about.

To be continued...

[Red86]

Having read both of those stories before and knowing how you both like to play with fantasy, I suspect this will be another long and extreme escape challenge!

Off to an interesting start and I'm definitely curious to see what happens!!

[blackbound]

Having read both of those stories before and knowing how you both like to play with fantasy, I suspect this will be another long and extreme escape challenge!

Off to an interesting start and I'm definitely curious to see what happens!!

Welcome! Strap in (or have someone strap you in), it's going to be a wild ride.

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 3

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

I notice you're relaxing as I give you the tour. Good, I don't want to think of me as some psychopath. As I walk you through the various furniture and meticulously organized shelves and displays of ropes, chains, paddles, collars, gags, blindfolds, plugs, cages, clamps and so on, I can see you making a mental inventory. I don't think it is what you expected; you seem to be particularly wary around the X-shaped cross, pillory and rack.

"A little tease," I smile. "I'll only be using one thing that you can see in this room right now. Everything else is a surprise."

You keep your face carefully neutral, but I think I can detect some relief.

We chat some more. Admirably, you manage to not ask any direct questions about what fate awaits you.

"Do you usually ask your clients to wear, uh, suits?" you ask. That question makes me grin. "I make my clients wear what they th-" I catch myself. "What they say they want. I'm more of a... fulfiller of wishes. Clients approach me with their desires, and I make them happen."

"But not in this case," you assert. "No," I reply. "I've had a very particular and specific request, something I've not done before, and I needed someone to help me test it out. I've never had an unsatisfied customer yet, and I can't thank you enough for helping me make this happen. Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it too."

"I almost forgot about remuneration," I start, but you decline. All you want is the footage, to promote yourself. That's perfectly fine with me; I have the cameras set up.

Eventually, I'm as antsy as you to get started; I legitimately don't know if this will work or not.

I reach behind the curtain and pull out the undersuit, holding it up so it unfolds.

"´Well, are you ready to begin?"


Well, hey, I won't pretend this isn't a lot. I'm feeling massively reassured, however, by your matter-of-fact normality - even when demonstrating the more bizarre pieces of apparatus in your... I guess I'm feeling less self-conscious referring to it as a dungeon.

When you tell me you'll be using one thing that's visible to me, I'm relieved. That cuts down the chances it'll be the pillory, rack or any of the other big pieces of equipment. I didn't recognise all of the smaller items but rope and chain are familiar to me. I feel on relatively safe ground.

"... I'm more of a... fulfiller of wishes. Clients approach me with their desires, and I make them happen."

"Wow," I say, impressed, "you really are like a genie."

Your description of a customer request piques my interest even more.

"... Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it too."

"Well," I respond, with a laugh, "I hope I'll enjoy escaping from whatever it is."

Money isn't what I'm here for so when you hand me the undersuit, I'm keen to get started.

"Sure, let's get going! You want me to, uh, change into this?"

I unfold and examine the undersuit carefully. What is it made from? How much of me does it cover? Are there any pockets, crevices or other parts of the suit where I could legitimately stow my blade, lock pick or handcuff key?

Most importantly, are you going to let me change into it behind a screen - somewhere I'll have the privacy to transfer my various tools - or am I going to have to attempt this in full view?


"Sure, let's get going! You want me to, uh, change into this?"

I nod and hand you the undersuit, then study you studying it. It's a disposable adult-sized onesie, brown-grey, made from processed plant fiber, thin yet sturdy. It covers the entire body except for the face (though there's a hood), including hands and feet, and what you can't tell from the outside is that the fingerless gloves are internally reinforced to make bending your fingers impossible. You'll find out when you've put it on. There's a zipper along the side of the leg portion that moves across the chest and ends right at the throat, and a flap closes over the entire length via a velcro strap.

"You can leave your underwear on, if you like. I'll help you get it on, it's probably easier that way. If nothing else, you won't be able to close that zipper."

To be continued...

[Red86]

Interesting choice of suits to wear for this challenge. Curious to see whats behind the curtain!

Welcome! Strap in (or have someone strap you in), it's going to be a wild ride.

Come now, I think we've determined I'm the one that prefers to strap others in, not being strapped in myself . However, I'll take a seat, grab some popcorn and watch this unfold

[TightropesEU]

I like where this is going

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 4

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

"Okay," I say slowly, "I guess I'm not used to people asking me to wear this much coverage; usually, they seem to want me in my underwear."

The garment itself seems... all right, I guess. I turn it over in my hands, checking how it fastens, how stretchy it seems, whether the hood can be worn down. The fabric doesn't seem overly oppressive (not like the rubber suit I was sealed into for weeks on end), it can be unzipped, it can probably be cut or torn if necessary.

The hands are a little bit of a concern being mitts rather than gloves but I assume you're joking about not being able to close the zipper. It's just a fucking zipper!

I strip off my tracksuit and sneakers, putting them to one side, and stand in just the lightweight neoprene singlet/shorts combination. I'd rather have privacy - with you helping, I'm not going to have a chance to extricate my escape tools - but at least they're on my person. It shouldn't be too hard, once I'm a little out of view, to pull that zip down and get at my knife or my handcuff key.

I climb into the undersuit, pulling it up past my waist, feeling the fabric drag a little on the hairs of my legs. If I can, I'm going to try to get away with not wearing the hood; that way, I can easily get at the lock pick behind my right ear.

The moment my hands reach the ends of the sleeves and you're drawing the zip up, I realise something's up with the gloves.

"Are these... are these stuck in some way?"

I raise a hand and peer at it intently. Are my fingers separated inside? Are they held flat or semi-curved? I squeeze with all my might, testing the strength of the glove.


I close the velcro over the zipper before replying.

"The undersuit's basically for your protection if something goes wrong, but surely I can't make escape that easy, right?"

The mitts hold your fingers together, making it hard to separate them. You manage to bend your fingers somewhat, but you can only get about halfway to your palm.

I pull the hood up over your head and approach the curtain.

"And now, the main attraction."



To be continued...

[Straitjacketed]

I like where this is going

My character very much... doesn't.

[DeeperThanRed]

This gear fondly reminds me of one of those old-time diving suits. I think our escape artist's skills will be tested to their full extent!

[blackbound]

This gear fondly reminds me of one of those old-time diving suits. I think our escape artist's skills will be tested to their full extent!

Very astute observation!

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 5

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

I'm trying not to seem irritable with what seem like malfunctioning gloves and, when the hood goes up over my head, my instinct is to shake it off.

I'm still fussing with the undersuit when you pull back the curtain and it's a beat or two before I look up and stop in my tracks.

"Wha-"

I try again.

"What," I croak, "even is that thing?"

I can't comprehend.

"It's... it's for diving?"

Well, I guessed something right.

I glance at the camera, checking it's recording, wondering how I'll look if I back out.

"And," I continue, stupidly, "you want me inside it?"


"Yup," I say cheerfully. "It's a diving suit like they wear for deep-sea diving."

It's an old diving suit alright - a monstrosity made entirely of metal to withstand the pressure of the deep sea. Curiously, there are no gloves or boots on it; instead the arms and legs end in massive rubber gaskets, as does the neck. The helmet is to the side - it's also full metal, with all kinds of weird tubes coming out of it, some apparently designed to connect to the suit; another big one sticks up from the side, probably for the air intake hose.

With some modifications that'll become apparent later, I think.

"That's why I said I've no idea if this will work at all. I've certainly never used one, I had to look it up on the internet... but it's what the client wants, and he's paying for it."

You appear pretty flabbergasted. "You can still say no, of course, no harm done."


I consider what I know about diving suits. Not a huge amount, other than having spent several weeks stuck inside something as heavy and rubbery as a diver's drysuit.

That would've been a modern suit, though. This one's surely an antique, a monstrosity straight out of the nightmares of Jules Verne. Late 19th Century? Early 20th?

The thought that it's an antique goes some way to countering the chilling appearance of this thing: antique stuff is always more fragile than it looks. I got back in the gym routine pretty soon after my release and my muscles are back in good working order. I reckon that, if nothing else, I should be able to break out of this thing.

This is a big swing. If I say no, I guess the video just never goes online. On the other hand, that thing is dramatic as hell and busting out of it would make my career.

I make a show of examining the gaskets, shaking the hood off my head and hoping you don't notice.

"Okay," I say, "I'll test it for you. So long as you don't blame me if it gets, I dunno, damaged or broken."

To be continued...

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 6

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

"The customer had this refurbished and assured me it was rugged, but yes, if anything breaks you won't be held responsible. You just figured out another reason I need to test this first."

You take a deep breath, and nod.

The suit is in two halves, and we start with the bottom. I have you sit on the rack and you insert your feet. There's a second set of heavy gaskets at hip level, and it takes us forever until you're through, your feet sticking out the bottom.

It's not as heavy as expected, but it's very clunky. You can barely move, and we both chuckle as I prop you up against the rack so that you don't fall over.

"Ready for part two?"


"The customer had this refurbished and assured me it was rugged..."

Ah, fuck.

Well, it's not like my key or lock pick would've done me much good anyway. And I'd swap the knife for an old-school can opener.

I check the gaskets as you work to fit me into the lower half, wondering if there's scope for me to squirm or turn around inside the thing itself or whether the rubber will prevent movement. I haven't quite yet got over the reinforcements to the undersuit gloves and am still surreptitiously squeezing and clenching inside those.

I pay special attention to the way this thing fastens. Rotating or pulling my limbs inside isn't going to do me any good unless I can open it or break a big enough hole to wriggle out.

The fact that I'm able to bend my knees enough to sit down is promising, though. At least the joints work.

"Uh, sure," I tell you, "I'm ready."


It takes us even longer to get you inside the top half. Again, there's massive gaskets at the shoulder level, but eventually your head and arms are through, your hands sticking out the end.

I've no idea how you're planning to get out of this, but you're the escape artist, not I.

I pull the hood back over your head. Don't think I didn't notice. "Sorry, this is for your own safety."

"Before we put the helmet on, there's one more thing the customer wants. It's not bondage without a gag, after all."

I lift a rubber gag harness with a stiff plastic tube. One end obviously goes in your mouth, with the rubber covering the lower half of your face, and a bunch of straps to go over your head and around your neck to keep it in place. The other end has a valve that connects to the helmet's air intake hose pipe.

"Open wide."

To be continued...

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 7

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

How do the two halves of the suit marry up? I look to see if you're bolting or screwing or locking it in some way.

I feel a bit like Sigourney Weaver at the end of Aliens and fantasise about stomping around in this like it's enormous mecha-armour.

The gag looks complicated and I lick my lips nervously.

"Is that really necessa-" I start to ask, then it's in.


I strap the gag on tightly, but not uncomfortably so. I doubt you'll be able to dislodge it, especially not after I add a few small padlocks. You know, to be safe.

The helmet goes on next - I connect the breathing tube to the intake hose, put it on backward, then screw it 180 degrees.

That's not all, of course, that wouldn't make it suitable for deep-sea diving.

"Stand up straight please, time to close this baby up."

I get out the electric torque driver and start fastening the massive bolts that weld the upper and lower half together, pressing the gaskets into a watertight fit, then do the same with the helmet collar.

And now, time for the custom parts. I retrieve four metal spheres. Two screw onto the arms, and they, too, are bolted in place.

The other two are for your feet, so I carefully lower you to the ground and, just like that, they too disappear into two spheres.

I can't quite interpret the noises you make throughout, but I don't think you're particularly amused.


"Hhngggaaahh!" I protest.

I feel deeply stupid with my mouth held partially open around the plastic tube and am sure we can negotiate its removal. You seem a totally reasonable guy.

Seemed.

I continue trying to discuss the matter with you but the insert part is pressing my tongue to the floor of my mouth and you're busy fastening up a load of little straps... and was that the click of a padlock?!

My frustration builds as you connect the tube to a large helmet with a glazed porthole for the face (does that thing open?) and then you place it over my head. I panic for a moment, in darkness, then it's turned around and at least I have vision again.

"Hhaggh hngh hngghhahhy!" I'm still trying to tell you the gag isn't necessary but my incoherent attempts to communicate sound tinny and metallic echoing around the enclosed space.

"Stand up straight please, time to close this baby up."

I give up on trying to talk about the gag and stand. If nothing else, I'll get a sense of mobility inside this thing.

Bolts! Fucking massive great bolts!

This is overkill! How am I supposed to unfasten those?!

As you finish with the mid-section of the suit and start working on the helmet, I increase my grunting and try to make eye contact with you through the porthole.

I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say, just register a kind of WHAT THE FUCK!

If this were mecha-armour, I'd be stationary. Can I even move in this thing?

I attempt to bend the elbow joint, trying to move my hand - still mitted inside the stupid undersuit - toward the bolts at the waist, to check whether I can grasp and maybe unscrew them.

And that's when I see the spheres. Metal spheres.

"HHNNGGGOOOOHH!!" I complain, scowling at you through the face-porthole.

Somehow, having hands at feet open, at least notionally, stopped me from feeling completely claustrophobic - and when you screw then bolt those horrible metal balls over my hands and then my feet (meaning I can't even stand upright anymore!), it's the final straw.

I've been canned!

To be continued...

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 8

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

I promised you that I'd use only one visible item in the room. Well, it's time.

I lower the two magnets from the ceiling and turn on the power. The lights actually flicker as they attach to your sphere-covered hands.

And now, the moment of truth. Will they hold your weight? I engage the winch...

Slowly...

Sloooooooowly...

Success! You're standing upright, arms overhead, balancing precariously on the spheres before I lift you even higher.

You're protesting loudly, so I gaze in through your viewport, getting your attention. "Only for a moment!" I say.

Then I slide the other two magnets in place under your feet, and those spheres attach with a clunk.

I lower you a little, as promised. You're standing there in an X shape now, fixed in place by powerful magnets.

But I'm not done.


It all feels surreal, a nightmare or a lucid dream in which, suddenly, I'm unable to control my movements.

Can I even touch the insides of the spheres, with my fingers, my toes?

Lights flicker like we're in Frankenstein's laboratory. The clang of my arms being attached reverberates through the suit and, in an odd sort of way, I'm relieved to find there's that much mobility: my limbs can move.

The relief is short-lived when I find myself suspended, a collection of metallic spheres held crosswise.

Instinctively, I tug at the attachments, at the suit. God only knows what I'd do if successful - or if you turned off the power - but I can't not try to resist this hellish situation.

All the while, I'm trying to peer through the viewing porthole, watching wide-eyed for your next move.

To be continued...

[blackbound]

I'm starting to think our title's scaring people away from this...

[Straitjacketed]

I'm starting to think our title's scaring people away from this...

Oooh, maybe!

[Red86]

Being covered in head to toe steel, I don't think our little Houdini has much, if any chance to escape that contraption . I wonder how long his new friend will keep him if he fails to escape on his own

I'm starting to think our title's scaring people away from this...

Oooh, maybe!

Uhmm.... I consider (probably many others too) shitcanned as being another term for being let go/fired from a job. So I'm not exactly sure that is the case. As the story progressed, I get where the title came from. Perhaps it just isn't a catchy title for many?

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 9

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

Now for the thing I really don't know if it'll work.

You never noticed the hexagonal screws on each limb, did you. You couldn't have seen the ones on the spheres, not with the helmet on.

I undo the one on your left foot with a wrench; it opens to the inside of the sphere.

I retrieve the spray can from behind the curtain - the last item - and attach its nozzle to the hole.

Then spray.

With any luck, all the free space in there should now fill up with expanding foam, up to the gasket. Not exactly like polyurethane foam, that might hurt you, but it'll dry out and harden very soon.

I watch for your reaction.


"HHNNGH?!"

It's all happening faster than I can process. This is still meant as an escape, right? My mind is refusing to contemplate alternatives.

Initially, all I feel is some kind of coolant around my foot then it becomes apparent that what I took to be a liquid is a solid... becoming more solid by the moment.

My initial panic that you were somehow filling the suit up in a way that would drown me subsides when I realise the whateveritis isn't extending beyond the ankle and wrist gaskets... and then I panic afresh when both hands and feet start to set in their semi-flexed positions. Not only trapped in spheres of metal but now solidified there.

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!

I grimace and snort as best I can through the tube and gag insert.

How did I end up trapped like this? You seemed such a nice guy!


I continue to fill up the other "compartments", leaving the torso and head unfoamed, of course - far too dangerous.

To be continued...

[Red86]

We we're already at overkill bondage with this suit and the spheres, but expanding foam to! Does he have any other surprises

I don't think Stu will be getting out of this suit any time soon, even if his new friend doesn't have any bad intentions like the last time. Sounds like he's going to be just hanging around for a while

[blackbound]

We we're already at overkill bondage with this suit and the spheres, but expanding foam to! Does he have any other surprises

The signs are there if you know how to look for them

[Straitjacketed]

Canned - part 10 (finale)

(Co-written with [mention]blackbound[/mention])

Oh hell no!

Any thoughts I might've had about pulling my limbs into the suit or even finding a more comfortable position dissipates vanishes as you continue to fill up the various segments of my metal carapace.

One by one, arms, legs and groin solidify, fixing me ever more firmly in one position. I try moving around as much as possible while the stuff is setting but it expands, filling whatever small amount of space I manage to create.

It's impossible not to flash back to my month spent sealed into a heavy drysuit, hands and feet enclosed and helpless, gagged and hooded. This is that predicament on steroids: rubber is swapped for metal, gloves and boots for foam-packed spheres, padlocks for bolts, repetitive cycling for immobility.

Only my upper body, neck and head have any degree of movement and they're fully enclosed, as fully bolted into my metal prison suit as any other part of me.

"Hhnngggghhh!" I entreat, through the glassed-in porthole that is now my only window out of this nightmare.


I get close to your helmet, to make sure you can hear me.

I take out my phone and dial.

"Hi, Steven... your biker boy? He's here...Yup... OK!"

"What my client wished for was to see you again. He'll be here in about two hours, I guess you have until then to escape."

I walk away as you writhe and scream inchoately.

THE END

[HambonePA]

Now that's a hell of an ending!