Trouble At Customs

You don’t know how long you’re in there. Whatever they did to deactivate your devices continues unabated after your departure from the customs checkpoint leaving no way to track the time or, more concerning, call for help. Attempts to probe the inky darkness of wherever you are reveals precious little, other than the bars of your cell will still shock you if touched. The cage is barely wider than you, so any careless movement results in automated discipline. In short, you’re in a void. The only inputs the occasional bite of electricity when you blindly graze your prison and your own panicked breathing. The only companion you have is your own thoughts, and they make for poor company indeed.

How did this happen? You don’t even know what that blue powder was. Sure you’ve “experimented” with recreational **** in the past. Extensively. Some would say the research is ongoing. But you weren’t an idiot. This was a high stakes business trip. You knew you were going to go through a custom checkpoint. There was no inkling on your part to bring any sort of controlled substance through security, much less in such a careless manner. Your luggage was in the private cabin throughout the entire voyage, with no one having access to it but yourself. No one but-

Once again you are shocked, although this time it’s not from the bars, but by a searing white light that floods your consciousness. Instinctively your hands shoot up to try and shield your eyes, earning you another shock, this one definitely of the electronic variety (did they HAVE to make this cage so narrow) as your elbow brushes up against a bar. When your eyes finally adjust, you see that you are in a bare room save for your cage. The floors, walls and ceiling are all made up of a cold and uncaring metal. You notice many seams indicating doorways or storage compartments, one of which opens with a slight hum.

Two women wearing the same uniform of the customs officer enter, one with red hair in a militaristic bun carrying a large briefcase. The other has ebony hair cropped short under her cap. She holds her security baton in one hand casually and approaches you. Red hangs back and from the floor, a platform automatically rises in front of her which she sets her brief case down upon and opens it, although you can’t see it’s contents.

In spite of your current situation, you do your best to rally. Confidence you tell yourself. That’s the key. “I’m glad you’re here. There has been a terrible misunderstanding. You see-”

“Prisoner. Remove your clothes.” Says the black one simply.

Your jaw hangs slackly, cut off mid word by the sharp command. For a moment you’re stuck. Whatever you had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Pardon?” Is all you can say after a moment.

“Remove your clothes. I will not ask again.” Behind Black, Red is typing away at a hidden keyboard.

“Now see here!” You cry. “I am a Coalition Citizen and I have rights! If you will not-AAARRGH!”

Black withdraws her baton. “Let the record show the prisoner has refused to follow orders. Proceeding to enforce the directive.”

“The record shows it.” Replies Red. There is a chime and the bars of your cell retract at the same time as Black reaches forward to grab one of your arms.

“Wait! Let go of me!” Foolishly you try to pull away from her. Mistake. The baton hits you in the gut. No shock this time, but it knocks the wind out of your sails, both literally and figuratively.

“Let the record show the prisoner is using physical **** to resist an officer.” A metal armature ending with two claw-like cuffs descends from the ceiling as Black manhandles you toward it.

“That’s not! Just let me go and I’ll-ooof!” Another blow to the gut.

“The record shows it.” If Red is bothered by your resistance, she doesn’t show it. Roughly you are locked into the cuffs, your arms pulled above your head. You have a few inches of height on Black, but she easily overpowers you. The metal arms move like a scorpion, some AI driving it to aid Black in your detainment. The cuffs lock tight, pinching into your wrists and lifting you up.

“Please,” terror creeping into your voice for the first time. “Whatever you’re going to do, I’ll cooperate.” There is a strain in your arms as the machine lifts you up so your toes dangle. Black ignores you. With business-like efficiency, she unbuckles your belt and pantses you, boxers and all, leaving your manhood exposed. You shiver. You didn’t realize how cold it was here until just now. “Please! This isn’t necessary!” A shrillness in your voice as you dangle helplessly. With a tug that pulls your legs up so you’re fully suspended, Black removes your pants past your shoes. Next go those as well, and your socks.

“Do you need help with his arms?” Red inquires.

“No.” Black says, unbuttoning your shirt and exposing your chest. “He’s going to do what I say, isn’t he?” She smiles as she pulls open your shirt and jacket.

“Yes!” you say quickly, nodding frantically. The machine releases you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was **** to do so. You try to rub your wrists, but Black has other plans, quickly pulling your shirt back and down so your arms are behind your back. With that you are naked as the day you were born.

“Keep your hands behind your back.” Black says simply, returning to Red so she can acquire a set of cuffs produced from the briefcase. You don’t dare disobey, but you can’t help but fidget as she returns to you. The cold metal contrasts with her warm hands as he locks the cuffs around one wrists, and then the other. Once locked, there is a hum and magnetic forces pull your wrists together as tightly as any chain.

“Please.. Can’t I at least speak to a lawyer?”

“After you’ve been processed.” Black says.

“Well, how long does that-AAHHH!”

“You were doing so good.” She replies, pulling away the shock stick. “Perhaps we can help you.” Red smiles and tosses her something that you don’t think will help the situation at all; a bright orange ball gag.

“Now just a minute-agk-mmmmm!” Black pushes the gag past your protesting teeth and fastens it behind your head. Once secured, the ball morphs in your mouth, expanding and lengthening, rendering it impossible for you to articulate a word of protest. “MMMMMM!” You scream, but it’s muffled, even to your ears.

“Typical offworld male.” Says Red.

“Right? Why don’t you add another count of resisting to the record?”

“Good idea.”

“MMMMMMMMMMM!”

From there it’s all quite straightforward. At least from their perspective. To match your hands, ankle cuffs are locked in place. These are actually connected by a short metal tether, which renders you unable to do more than hobble along. A security collar is locked around your neck. Black explains how it can track your location, vitals, and administer discipline in the form of shocks or ****, which she demonstrates. Indeed, she chokes you for so long with the collar, that you almost pass out. The sadistic guard only releases the **** when you fall to your knees.

“Alright. Let’s get him to the scanner and then his cell.” Red says, closing up the briefcase. Black jabs you in the back with the baton.

“Move it!” With a whine you obey and you are led out into the hall. Reinforced doors line the passageway until it opens out into a circular room. The center is dominated by a circular platform and there is a wall mounted interface which Red uses to key in a few commands.

“Step on the platform prisoner.” Black commands. You gulp. So far, you have not had good luck with platforms on Helicon IV. Trembling you try to tell your foot to take a step forward, but you hesitate.

“Update the record with another count of disobeying an officer.”

“MMMM!” You squeal and hurry onto the platform. Red chuckles and activates the bio scanner. A circular hoop that you thought was just the lip of the platform rises, spinning slowly. A green line of light runs over your body as the scanner rises above your head, levitating on its own accord, before lowering itself back to merge with the platform. A holographic projection of your passport is projected before you.

“Prisoner, confirm this is your documentation. One grunt for yes, two for no.” Black commands. Bitterly you nod. “Update the record. Prisoner refuses to respond to simple questions.” Black smiles.

“MMMMM!” You scream, more in rage than in compliance, but it is enough for Black. She looks over Red’s shoulder as they look at the terminal readout.

“Looks like he’s here on a business visa,” Red replies calmly. “His company will have to pay for a lawyer.”

The company? Oh no… That is not good at all. “MMM! MMM! MMM!” They’ll fire you for sure! This would ruin your career. You scream into the gag, trying to make them listen, make them understand.

But Black doesn’t want to hear it. Pointing her baton at the collar, it contracts, cutting off your protests. The screams quickly die down to gurgles, and then quiet altogether as you fall to your knees once again.

“Alright. You’ve had your fun,” Red says. Begrudgingly Black thumbs the deactivation command, allowing you to breathe again. The two march forward and grab you by the arms. They drag you past the bio scanner and through a door into an elevator. You feel yourself going down as they take you deeper into the bowels of… Well, wherever this is.

When you finally reach the floor, your eyes go wide with horror. Rows and rows of cells, all lined with transparisteel. Most host bound prisoners. The majority of the prisoners are male like yourself, but many of the cells do feature women. You even see a few Adenians, featuring extra restraints to accommodate their superior, physique.

The two frogmarch you down to an empty cell. Well, cell is a strong word. There’s a hole in the corner, presumably for waste, and a metal tether in the center. It’s not even tall enough for you to stand, more of a box than a room. Red pulls the cord out and hooks it to your collar. With a whining sound of a winch, you are pulled downward as the tether tightens. At the same time, the line between your ankles contract, pulling you together. You fall painfully to the ground and are dragged inside the cell.

“One last thing prisoner,” Black says as you wiggle on the ground. “Kiss my boot.” The black footwear in question is pushed forward. It’s stylish but functional, matching the shiny black of their uniforms. And there is no way you’re kissing it. Maybe it’s the shock. Or outrage. Or just simple stubbornness, but you shake your head. “Mmmmnnn nnnhhh!”

“And that’s one more count of disobeying an officer, for a grand total of….” Red checks her pad as Black shocks you. “Two counts of resisting an officer, four counts of disobedience, and of course one count of possession of a Type 2 controlled substance. The judge is going to love you.” The two laugh as they shut the cell door, leaving you there to wriggle like a worm until the shocks stop.