HOME | DD

Description
The Acquisition

At first, a leaden heaviness. Then, a faint light rising from that heaviness, a dim brightness flickering behind his eyelids. Nausea, dizziness, nausea again. Was he still there? Well, yes, apparently he was, something reassuringly cool, smooth and solid beneath him suggested that he was. He tried to reach for his head but something wouldn’t let him. He tried to get up, again something wouldn't let him. Then he sensed the strange taste in his mouth, and something else there. Finally he opened his eyes, and suddenly the nausea and heaviness were gone as he realized what was going on.

Marcus sat on the concrete floor, his legs stretched out, his back leaning against solid steel. His legs had been tightly wrapped with generous amounts of silver duct tape along their entire length. Even his boots were taped firmly together. His wrists were taped closely together behind his back, and more lengths of tape had been wrapped around his torso, securing his arms to his sides, and another layer on top of that had been wound around the steel pole behind him, keeping him firmly in place.
A large piece of cloth had been stuffed into his mouth, secured with even more layers of tape across it. Whoever had got him here had made a pretty good job of making sure he stayed here. His jacket was gone, he noticed, including his wallet.

Where was “here” anyway? Marcus looked around as best as he could. A large, empty warehouse, opaque light seeping in from crusty windows somewhere above him. Not a soul to be seen or heard. It must be evening already, probably on the same day he had entered the bar, but he couldn’t tell for sure. All he knew was: This was not the back room of the bar which that mischievous little black-eyed rat of a boy had tricked him into entering. It was far too large and too quiet here, whereas the bar had opened right onto a noisy thoroughfare.

He cursed himself and his vain boldness. How could he have been so stupid to walk blindly into situations like this. He tried to think clearly, to guess what, whoever his captors were, they might want from him. If they just wanted to rob him and leave him here to starve, they could have just cuffed him without wrapping him up like a Christmas present. So it must be ransom they were after. That was faintly reassuring - he had no family to speak of, but his company was loaded and could produce the funds to pay for his release. Whatever was at hand - At least he was alive and that gave him some hope. Unless of course, it occurred to him, they were out to get some homophobic thug friends to beat the shit out of him for fun.

Marcus wasn’t one to wait dejectedly, so he decided to try as he could to free himself. He could bend his knees, but to no avail, as the tape round his legs criss-crossed in so many layers it would not get loose even if he strained against it. Next, he jerked his shoulders to and fro to get loose of the tape around his torso, but that just meant more pain. He noticed they had used extra strong tape, probably from army supplies. He tried to rub the ends of the tape gag against the edge of the steel post behind him, but he could not twist his head around enough to make it work. Small beads of sweat were beginning to run down his forehead.

“MMMMM-MMMMPHHH!” he shouted angrily, his legs pounding the concrete floor, thrashing about, his careful plans of breaking free now turning into a wild, abandoned and futile frenzy of struggling.

“That him, eh?”

Marcus froze. In his desperate groaning, mmmph-ing and twitching, he had not heard them coming in. Three men, now standing in front of him, looking down at the helpless prisoner. He recognized the smaller one on the left, it was the spiky-haired barkeeper who had set up the trap for him in the first place, but now seemed a little nervous. There was another slim and fresh-faced young guy with short blond hair, camouflage pants and a black hoodie, carrying something that looked like a canvas bag rolled together, while the third one was a little older, late twenties or early thirties, tall and muscular with short hair, and wearing a leather jacket, smelling faintly of after-gym shower gel.

The leather-jacket man knelt down next to Marcus, sizing him up, scanning him impassively like a prospective purchase in the bargain bin. With two fingers he lifted Marcus’ head from below the chin, looked him in the eyes and said “Mmm-Hm.”
What was going on here? Marcus half prepared himself for a nasty sideways smack into his face. Instead, the muscular guy began prodding and squeezing his upper arms, shoulders and legs one after another, checking, testing. Then, without warning his right hand shot out into the gap between Marcus’s legs, grabbing his member through his jeans, which, to Marcus’s blushing embarrassment, was in full erect mode.

“He like it, hm?” said the leather guy and got up again. The other two guys laughed.

Marcus had to admit that, despite his dangerous situation with no way out in sight, he did, indeed, find being helplessly trussed up pretty arousing. He had played tie-up games as a kid, like most of his friends did, and had definitely preferred to be on the losing side back then.

As for now, he didn’t want to admit to losing just yet. If only they allowed him to speak, he might strike a deal with them. He did think of himself as a talented and smooth negotiator, his career had proved that and that was why his boss had sent him into these unchartered waters after all. He could make one or two phone calls to the right people, he might let his captors have what they wanted and still go free. If only he could get them to remove the bloody gag.

“Mmmphhhh-MMH! MMMH!” he tried to get their attention.

There wasn’t much of a reaction to his muffled shouts. The tall guy, who, as was now becoming obvious, seemed to be in charge of this whole operation, had taken his cellphone out of his pocket and was taking pictures of Marcus from different points of view, while the other two looked on and quietly smoked cigarettes. He then seemed to remember something, put the cellphone away and approached Marcus again. With one swift movement out of thin air, he grabbed the end of the tape that sealed Marcus’s mouth and tore it off. The surprise made the sudden pain hardly more bareable.

“Awwwww F*CK!” he roared and spit out the soaked wad of cloth.

His wails were cut short when his captor grabbed his jaw with his large rough hand, and forced his mouth open.

“WHAT TH - Fnnnnghhhh!”
Marcus squirmed and whimpered as his cheeks burned. What the hell was that all about? The man seemed to examine Marcus’ teeth and, after a quick scan, let go of his jaw with a satisfied nod.

Marcus gasped for air. He realized this was his only chance and he took it, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
“If you want money, no problem, we can negotiate, I can get you as much as you want if you just let me make a ph-mmmmmPPPH!”

That was as far as he got. With no hurry, the leather-clad guy had produced something black and red from his pocket, stepped forward and stuffed it into Marcus’s mouth. It was a big rubber ball gag, more than 2 inches in diameter, and it silenced him at once. The kidnapper buckled the gag’s black leather straps in Marcus’s neck to keep it firmly in place. Marcus groaned desperately but produced no more than a suffocated “Ngg”.
So much for his skill in making deals.

“K-To "Negotiate”?” the tall guy turned to the two younger ones, asking for translation. The kid in the black hoodie answered something in their native tongue, and the tall guy burst out laughing. The two young ones grinned along, until the leather-jacketed man briskly cut off the laughter and turned businesslike. “Pet tisic” he said to the others. To Marcus, who had just a very faint knowledge of the local languages, it sounded like a number. The barkeeper and his friend exchanged glances and quickly nodded in acceptance, their eyes beaming. Without fuss, the tall guy took a small roll of cash out of his inner pocket, counted off a sizeable amount of bank notes and handed a half of it each to the younger guys.

The deal done, he turned to his new acquisition. With a Stanley knife that made Marcus instinctively gasp and raise his tied feet in defence, he cut the lengths of tape that bound Marcus to the steel pole, leaving the rest intact.
He called over something to the others, and the hoodie guy threw him another roll of silver tape.
“Goodnight, boy,” the leather guy said to Marcus in his heavy accent, his face just a few inches in front of his tied-up prisoner's. Then he quickly wound the tape several times tightly around Marcus’s eyes and head, rendering him helplessly blind.

Marcus couldn’t see his new owner reaching out for his gag, but he felt it being buckled one notch tighter in the back of his neck.
Marcus couldn’t see the boy in the hoodie unwrapping the roll of canvas he had brought with him. He couldn’t see what it was, but he felt the thin bag being pulled over his head by six busy hands, right down to his feet, enclosing him completely.
He couldn’t see the roll of tape being picked up again, but he heard its Zzzzip-sound and felt it being wrapped around the canvas bag, a few times around his feet, then around his legs at the knees, then around his torso.
He couldn’t see the tall man kneeling down, but he felt himself being hoisted up and effortlessly thrown over his shoulder, like some bag of cement, and carried out of the warehouse.
He couldn’t see the make of the car he was thrown into – a black SUV with blackened windows, for the record – but he felt the carpeted floor of the cargo hold on which he landed, and he felt it pressing into his torso and legs when he was strapped onto it with belts attached to small metal hooks on the floor.
He heard the back door being shut, and the suddenly muffled sound of voices outside, then car doors slamming, another car driving away.
He heard the tall guy climbing into the driver’s seat, and felt the engine vibrating below him.

*

Sergej looked over his shoulder. Good job. Gagged, taped, bagged, taped again and strapped tightly to the floor, the newly acquired package slightly squirming in the back of his car would be easy to transport the 50 miles to its destination. He turned the key, hit the gas and let his SUV slowly snake its way between the buildings of the abandoned factory site, through the open gate and onto the street, unwatched and unnoticed.

*

Not too far away, in a nondescript office, a man received the photos of the tied up prisoner on his mobile phone. He raised his eyebrows and tapped the edge of his desk with his fingers in satisfaction. A fine addition to his stock. That meant the next lot was complete now. He leant back in his office chair and made a few phone calls.

Description
The Acquisition

At first, a leaden heaviness. Then, a faint light rising from that heaviness, a dim brightness flickering behind his eyelids. Nausea, dizziness, nausea again. Was he still there? Well, yes, apparently he was, something reassuringly cool, smooth and solid beneath him suggested that he was. He tried to reach for his head but something wouldn’t let him. He tried to get up, again something wouldn't let him. Then he sensed the strange taste in his mouth, and something else there. Finally he opened his eyes, and suddenly the nausea and heaviness were gone as he realized what was going on.

Marcus sat on the concrete floor, his legs stretched out, his back leaning against solid steel. His legs had been tightly wrapped with generous amounts of silver duct tape along their entire length. Even his boots were taped firmly together. His wrists were taped closely together behind his back, and more lengths of tape had been wrapped around his torso, securing his arms to his sides, and another layer on top of that had been wound around the steel pole behind him, keeping him firmly in place.
A large piece of cloth had been stuffed into his mouth, secured with even more layers of tape across it. Whoever had got him here had made a pretty good job of making sure he stayed here. His jacket was gone, he noticed, including his wallet.

Where was “here” anyway? Marcus looked around as best as he could. A large, empty warehouse, opaque light seeping in from crusty windows somewhere above him. Not a soul to be seen or heard. It must be evening already, probably on the same day he had entered the bar, but he couldn’t tell for sure. All he knew was: This was not the back room of the bar which that mischievous little black-eyed rat of a boy had tricked him into entering. It was far too large and too quiet here, whereas the bar had opened right onto a noisy thoroughfare.

He cursed himself and his vain boldness. How could he have been so stupid to walk blindly into situations like this. He tried to think clearly, to guess what, whoever his captors were, they might want from him. If they just wanted to rob him and leave him here to starve, they could have just cuffed him without wrapping him up like a Christmas present. So it must be ransom they were after. That was faintly reassuring - he had no family to speak of, but his company was loaded and could produce the funds to pay for his release. Whatever was at hand - At least he was alive and that gave him some hope. Unless of course, it occurred to him, they were out to get some homophobic thug friends to beat the shit out of him for fun.

Marcus wasn’t one to wait dejectedly, so he decided to try as he could to free himself. He could bend his knees, but to no avail, as the tape round his legs criss-crossed in so many layers it would not get loose even if he strained against it. Next, he jerked his shoulders to and fro to get loose of the tape around his torso, but that just meant more pain. He noticed they had used extra strong tape, probably from army supplies. He tried to rub the ends of the tape gag against the edge of the steel post behind him, but he could not twist his head around enough to make it work. Small beads of sweat were beginning to run down his forehead.

“MMMMM-MMMMPHHH!” he shouted angrily, his legs pounding the concrete floor, thrashing about, his careful plans of breaking free now turning into a wild, abandoned and futile frenzy of struggling.

“That him, eh?”

Marcus froze. In his desperate groaning, mmmph-ing and twitching, he had not heard them coming in. Three men, now standing in front of him, looking down at the helpless prisoner. He recognized the smaller one on the left, it was the spiky-haired barkeeper who had set up the trap for him in the first place, but now seemed a little nervous. There was another slim and fresh-faced young guy with short blond hair, camouflage pants and a black hoodie, carrying something that looked like a canvas bag rolled together, while the third one was a little older, late twenties or early thirties, tall and muscular with short hair, and wearing a leather jacket, smelling faintly of after-gym shower gel.

The leather-jacket man knelt down next to Marcus, sizing him up, scanning him impassively like a prospective purchase in the bargain bin. With two fingers he lifted Marcus’ head from below the chin, looked him in the eyes and said “Mmm-Hm.”
What was going on here? Marcus half prepared himself for a nasty sideways smack into his face. Instead, the muscular guy began prodding and squeezing his upper arms, shoulders and legs one after another, checking, testing. Then, without warning his right hand shot out into the gap between Marcus’s legs, grabbing his member through his jeans, which, to Marcus’s blushing embarrassment, was in full erect mode.

“He like it, hm?” said the leather guy and got up again. The other two guys laughed.

Marcus had to admit that, despite his dangerous situation with no way out in sight, he did, indeed, find being helplessly trussed up pretty arousing. He had played tie-up games as a kid, like most of his friends did, and had definitely preferred to be on the losing side back then.

As for now, he didn’t want to admit to losing just yet. If only they allowed him to speak, he might strike a deal with them. He did think of himself as a talented and smooth negotiator, his career had proved that and that was why his boss had sent him into these unchartered waters after all. He could make one or two phone calls to the right people, he might let his captors have what they wanted and still go free. If only he could get them to remove the bloody gag.

“Mmmphhhh-MMH! MMMH!” he tried to get their attention.

There wasn’t much of a reaction to his muffled shouts. The tall guy, who, as was now becoming obvious, seemed to be in charge of this whole operation, had taken his cellphone out of his pocket and was taking pictures of Marcus from different points of view, while the other two looked on and quietly smoked cigarettes. He then seemed to remember something, put the cellphone away and approached Marcus again. With one swift movement out of thin air, he grabbed the end of the tape that sealed Marcus’s mouth and tore it off. The surprise made the sudden pain hardly more bareable.

“Awwwww F*CK!” he roared and spit out the soaked wad of cloth.

His wails were cut short when his captor grabbed his jaw with his large rough hand, and forced his mouth open.

“WHAT TH - Fnnnnghhhh!”
Marcus squirmed and whimpered as his cheeks burned. What the hell was that all about? The man seemed to examine Marcus’ teeth and, after a quick scan, let go of his jaw with a satisfied nod.

Marcus gasped for air. He realized this was his only chance and he took it, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
“If you want money, no problem, we can negotiate, I can get you as much as you want if you just let me make a ph-mmmmmPPPH!”

That was as far as he got. With no hurry, the leather-clad guy had produced something black and red from his pocket, stepped forward and stuffed it into Marcus’s mouth. It was a big rubber ball gag, more than 2 inches in diameter, and it silenced him at once. The kidnapper buckled the gag’s black leather straps in Marcus’s neck to keep it firmly in place. Marcus groaned desperately but produced no more than a suffocated “Ngg”.
So much for his skill in making deals.

“K-To "Negotiate”?” the tall guy turned to the two younger ones, asking for translation. The kid in the black hoodie answered something in their native tongue, and the tall guy burst out laughing. The two young ones grinned along, until the leather-jacketed man briskly cut off the laughter and turned businesslike. “Pet tisic” he said to the others. To Marcus, who had just a very faint knowledge of the local languages, it sounded like a number. The barkeeper and his friend exchanged glances and quickly nodded in acceptance, their eyes beaming. Without fuss, the tall guy took a small roll of cash out of his inner pocket, counted off a sizeable amount of bank notes and handed a half of it each to the younger guys.

The deal done, he turned to his new acquisition. With a Stanley knife that made Marcus instinctively gasp and raise his tied feet in defence, he cut the lengths of tape that bound Marcus to the steel pole, leaving the rest intact.
He called over something to the others, and the hoodie guy threw him another roll of silver tape.
“Goodnight, boy,” the leather guy said to Marcus in his heavy accent, his face just a few inches in front of his tied-up prisoner's. Then he quickly wound the tape several times tightly around Marcus’s eyes and head, rendering him helplessly blind.

Marcus couldn’t see his new owner reaching out for his gag, but he felt it being buckled one notch tighter in the back of his neck.
Marcus couldn’t see the boy in the hoodie unwrapping the roll of canvas he had brought with him. He couldn’t see what it was, but he felt the thin bag being pulled over his head by six busy hands, right down to his feet, enclosing him completely.
He couldn’t see the roll of tape being picked up again, but he heard its Zzzzip-sound and felt it being wrapped around the canvas bag, a few times around his feet, then around his legs at the knees, then around his torso.
He couldn’t see the tall man kneeling down, but he felt himself being hoisted up and effortlessly thrown over his shoulder, like some bag of cement, and carried out of the warehouse.
He couldn’t see the make of the car he was thrown into – a black SUV with blackened windows, for the record – but he felt the carpeted floor of the cargo hold on which he landed, and he felt it pressing into his torso and legs when he was strapped onto it with belts attached to small metal hooks on the floor.
He heard the back door being shut, and the suddenly muffled sound of voices outside, then car doors slamming, another car driving away.
He heard the tall guy climbing into the driver’s seat, and felt the engine vibrating below him.

*

Sergej looked over his shoulder. Good job. Gagged, taped, bagged, taped again and strapped tightly to the floor, the newly acquired package slightly squirming in the back of his car would be easy to transport the 50 miles to its destination. He turned the key, hit the gas and let his SUV slowly snake its way between the buildings of the abandoned factory site, through the open gate and onto the street, unwatched and unnoticed.

*

Not too far away, in a nondescript office, a man received the photos of the tied up prisoner on his mobile phone. He raised his eyebrows and tapped the edge of his desk with his fingers in satisfaction. A fine addition to his stock. That meant the next lot was complete now. He leant back in his office chair and made a few phone calls.