Getting Collared

As I stepped into the light, I was greeted by a rich, smooth voice speaking English with what seemed to be a Mexican accent, “Five, open the box on the table before you.”

I’m a little ashamed to say that I jumped at the sound, but at least I didn’t drop my weapon. Instead, I looked around for the source of the voice and noticed a speaker in the wall above the locked door. I couldn’t spot the camera, but I figured that it must be placed somewhere in the shadows, allowing one of my captors to monitor this room. I resolved to search for other cameras, if I was staying here long enough to do so. Then, I turned my attention to the table.

A cardboard box about as wide as a dinner plate and about ten centimeters thick sat on the surface. The box was completely nondescript, save for the number five sprayed on the top, as though from a stencil. A quick check revealed nothing under the table or beneath the box. I lifted the box and found the flaps of the lid neatly tucked in the side. Figuring that I had nothing left to lose and, surely, these people wouldn’t want to waste the money they’d just spent on me, I opened the box.

Inside was a leather belt with a thin piece of padding running along the inside. I picked it up and examined it in the light. It had a small rounded-rectangular thing attached to one side that weighed about as much as a cell phone as well as a strange buckle opposite it.

“Place the collar around your neck and wait for the beep.”

The collar. I immediately changed my assumption of the movie I was in from Friday the Thirteenth to Saw as I stared down at it.

“And what if I don’t?!” I hollered back, masking my fear with defiance.

“You will be locked in your room until you learn compliance.”

“And if I never comply?”

There was no a pause before the voice responded, “If you have not complied within one week, you will be considered a failure. Your organs will be transferred to a volunteer and your remains disposed of.”