Unafraid, and unwise, you get closer

Yikes, you thought, this new interface is so creepy.

“Damn it,” one of them muttered, “I thought you said he was gone?”

“He was supposed to be,” another answered.

You sighed and moved towards them, only for several of them to point a fist at you.

“That’s close enough,” one of them said, implying the threat of their photon blasts, “We don’t have time to babysit.”

You scoffed and knelt down in front of them. More of them raised their fists, while others looked at theirs in confusion as to why they weren’t glowing with energy.

“Wish they recalled this stupid set weeks ago,” you muttered.

“Watch it, kid,” one of them warned and stepped up, “While we’re still playing nice.”

You scoffed again and picked it up to find an off switch.

“Hey!” Barked the toy in your hand, thinking you were feeling her up, echoed by an angry chorus from the other toys as she fought your grip.

“Put her down!”

“Big mistake!”

“That’s it,” declared a short-haired Carol, seemingly in charge, “Get him!”

Distracted by the toy in your hands, you looked back in confusion at the order, right in time to see the wave of Captain Marvels charge you.

Before you can rise up, two short hairs and two Mohawks leap at you. Surprisingly heavy, the impact knocks you back. You have no time to recover before you hear,

“Come here!”

“Dog pile!”

“Hold him down!”

In the dim light from the skylight above, you see three more Carols vault in the air and dive onto your prone form. The weight pushes you back down, dazing you as the seven toys sprawled across you, clinging to your pectorals, ribs and biceps. One short haired Carol maneuvers up to your head and pulls your hair, and the bomber in your hand springs free and wraps her arms and legs around your forearm. Three more climb on your legs like cowgirls, as more rush you on both sides with ratchet straps, spools of cable, extension chords and a roll of duct tape.

One bomber throws a ratchet strap over your chest to a mohawk on the other side, and two Carols on each side pull it taut, forcing you down as one of the long hairs on your chest ratchets it tighter. While the five on the strap held you down, the Carols on your arms **** your wrists together, while the ones at your sides passed up the spool of cable. Three Carols cross your wrists over your abdomen, while two more quickly wind cable around them. Below them, two long hairs work with the three on your legs to run a ratchet strap around your knees. Once it’s looped, they grab the slack and pull it tight, forcing your legs together. With your movement severely restricted, another few Carols **** your sneakers off your feet and start wrapping an extension chord around your ankles. As your thrashing slowly reduces to wriggling, you see two more approach the side of your head, one short hair carrying the red and blue sash from a Captain Marvel costume kit, the other rolling the duct tape. Your eyes bulge as the one gripping your hair forces your head still.

“No, no, no—!” you protest before the short hair stuffs the sash into your mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” she eerily coos.

She packs most of the fabric into your mouth, then holds it in place as the long hair rips off lengths of tape, and the two of them seal your mouth shut.

They had you in their clutches, but the Carols worked at it for a while, thoroughly securing you as they taunted and laughed at you.

“You comfy, sweet cheeks?”

“Hold still, this is a good look for you!”

“I wish we could do this to EVERY man who interrupted us!”

Once your knees and ankles were secured, they looped their first ratchet straps around your chest and clicked them taut, then laid out an extension cord beside you and **** you end over end, rolling the cordage around your lower abdomen and forearms. “Don’t worry,” one of them teased, “Almost done!”

They finally linked the cable bindings on your wrists to the ratchet straps on your upper torso, forcing your hands upward off your stomach, completely immobile.

“There,” one long hair dusted her hands, “All wrapped up like a present.”

You looked around at your toy captors, all smiling down at you with their arms folded or hands on their hips, smug grins across their plastic faces. While a few of them tugged and tested your newly added bonds, the lead Carol strutted up to your face and planted a boot on your forehead. “Congratulations, kid,” she said insincerely, “You’re the first official prisoner of the Captain Marvel Corps.” A round of cheers and whoops sounded from the toys, before the lead short hair patted your cheek and pushed off you. “Now keep quiet and don’t go anywhere. We’ll have a few questions for you later — hopefully by then you’ll learn your lesson about cooperation while we ladies work.” She strutted away from you, along with most of the assembled Corps, barring a few who stayed behind to keep an eye on you, armed with box cutters and exact-o blades. “Now then ladies,” she addressed as they regathered around the white board a few feet away, “With that rude little interruption out of the way, where were we?”