Career Opportunities, Part Two free porn video

Career Opportunities, Part Two By Valerie Hope The 'diversions' arrived an hour or so later, delivered by two orderlies accompanied by more of the musclemen, which Dr. Kelly seemed to have in such great supply. Two large boxes were delivered, full of books, magazines, games and other such stuff. The men clomped over in their ungainly boots and tore into the treasure trove excitedly. "What the hell?" Hollis exclaimed in shock as he began pulling items out of the boxes. "What is this shit? Vogue? Cosmopolitan? Elle? Glamour? What the hell are they playing at?" Hale held up two books - Making Faces by Kevyn Aucoin in one hand and Charles Worthington's The Complete Book of Hairstyling in the other. There were shoeboxes full of cosmetics, curlers, brushes and hairstyling products on the floor between his knees. "A ton of CDs," Joe said, pulling out handfuls of albums. "Look at this: Madonna, Pink, Meshell Ndegeocello, DJ Shadow, Moby, Britney Fucking Spears... what is all this crap? It's all dance music!" Corey slumped against one of the boxes, defeated. "Not a single deck of cards." Steve was pawing through the trunks, looking forlorn. "All that's missing is the s'mores and the Barbie dolls and we could have a goddamn pajama party." Hollis clomped back to his bed, angry. "Damned if I'm going to let them wear me down like this. I'm going to sleep." Hale was looking through The Complete Guide to Makeup and Hairstyling. Steve looked at him strangely. Hale shrugged. "It's better than nothing," he explained, returning his attention to the book. *** "Corey. Corey. Wake up. C'mon, wake up." Corey reluctantly surfaced from a pleasant dream that he couldn't quite remember and opened his eyes to view the gaunt face of Steve. The churning, foaming fluid under his cap was now a strange, orangish color shot through with strange fibers. "What is it?" Corey asked, struggling to sit up. "Lunch," Steve said. "Look." The screens were once again lit up with the image of the woman from the last few days. Her appearances were their method of telling time now. The contents of the trunks were spread all around. Every one of them had read every single book and magazine twice or three times and played every CD to the point where they were starting to actually enjoy the music. Even Hollis had broken down and started reading just to pass the hours. Only the boxes of styling products and cosmetics hadn't been touched. "In five minutes, the enclosures on the wall opposite these screens will open up and a tube will emerge. We're testing an experimental nutrient paste for the military. You should find it quite tasty and filling. We will welcome any comments and suggestions." The screens winked off and the men became excited. Stomachs began to rumble in anticipation. "I don't give a shit what it is," Hollis said, "just so long as there's a lot of it." The five men headed for the wall in the peculiar, hips- rolling gait and small steps they'd adopted in order to move effectively in the clunky boots. Each took up position near one of the wall sconces. Their appetites had returned and then some once they'd begun the regimen of exercises the TV-woman had introduced. The exercises centered around aerobic and cardiovascular endurance, a little strength training, and yoga-like flexibility exercises. Apparently one of the drug cocktails they'd received was designed around increasing joint and muscle flexibility, since all the men were able to easily stretch and touch their noses to their knees and place their palms on the floor, even in the raised-up boots they wore. Aerobics and cardiovascular seemed a little easier, as well - maybe they were testing some sort of performance enhancer. Also of note was the change in their appearances. The oldest of them - Hollis and Joe - had sported much in the way of worry lines, furrowed brows and crow's feet. But over the last day or so, their faces had become smooth, firm and youthful again. Both the men were secretly delighted but tried not to make much of it. But all of the men, regardless of age, were finding their skin softer, smoother and tighter. Maybe Hart-Pearson had some sort of anti-agapic in their R&D pipeline. At least everything was happening gradually now. After the first night and the rapid shedding of their body mass, the men didn't have quite the recuperative powers they did before their capture. Things took longer to settle in, now, it seemed. It was even starting to show in their personalities. Where before they'd all been quick decision makers and excellent analysts, now they tended towards argument, vacillation and distraction when they attempted to make any decisions. And where all the men had been fiercely independent before, now they tended to shy away from anything that didn't include the entire group. Hale suspected that it was a natural reaction to their situation, to prefer safety in numbers. Corey and Hollis weren't so sure. It wasn't that they felt any different - everything seemed to be happening in a natural course, so nothing felt out of the ordinary to them - but it was a radical departure from the men they used to be. A soft chime sounded three times and the sconces slid back into the walls, revealing a small hole. With a nearly- undetectable whirr of machinery, a soft flexible tube extended from the hole, about six or seven inches long. Without hesitation, the men wrapped their lips around the tubes and sucked hard. The tube had a warm, rubbery feel that Corey found pleasant and repellent at the same time. A thin trickle of warm, pasty fluid hit his tongue. The taste was odd - Corey had certainly never tasted anything like it before - but not unpleasant. "It works better if you milk it out, like this," Hollis said to the others. He demonstrated by wrapping his fingers around the base of the tube and squeezing the fluid onto his tongue with long strokes. The other men followed suit immediately and found that by a combination of milking and strong suction they could get a mouthful of the nutrient paste at a time. The woman on the screens hadn't lied, either - it was both tasty and filling, leaving the men licking their lips and fingers afterwards. The rumbling stomachs subsided almost instantly. "You will be provided with this paste three times per day," the woman on the screens said. "It will be your only sustenance for a while. Your long convalescence has limited your collective tolerance to food. We don't want you to get sick." Hale suppressed a tiny belch. "It'll do," he said, rubbing his flattened stomach. Their enforced diet had left them all emaciated. The first meal in nearly a week left them all with cramps and discomfort, which they took stoically. Once their bodies became used to processing food once more, the cramps subsided and left them all very sleepy and logy. Most of them took straight to bed after the afternoon exercise program and slept straight through until the evening feeding from the wall sconces. This time, once the tubes retreated back into the walls, instead of having their customary free time before lights-out, a strange, keening chime began to sound from the walls. The video screens lit up with the familiar woman's face again. "You have all performed excellently," she said with a warm smile. The glow of satisfaction that the men felt was genuine, but they didn't know whether or not it was from the nasal implants or through some strange Helsinki-syndrome reaction to their captors. All they knew is that they looked forward more and more to their brief contacts with the woman on the monitors. "Tomorrow morning, after your breakfast, you will be visited by the orderlies again. You aren't to give them any trouble, is that understood?" "Yes, ma'am," they all chorused. "The orderlies are going to adjust the implants behind your ears. We want to start using it less and less so that you become used to moving and walking on your own. If this trial goes well, in three or four days we'll remove the boots and let you start wearing clothes and footwear of your choice." The men were elated. Corey even went so far as to clap his hands. "Now, then, I want you to tell me if there's anything bothering any of you," the woman said. Joe raised his hand. "My stomach hurts," he said, and the other men nodded. "To be expected. Your food, you see, contains an experimental drug. It helps regulate the uptake of certain hormones in your bloodstream, but one unfortunate side effect is that it causes muscle cramps. They're going to be quite painful, I'm afraid." Hollis sighed and resigned himself to the pain. The others seemed restive and a little afraid, which was out of character for them considering the discomfort they'd already endured. Corey suspected the implants in their noses were hard at work - he even imagined he could hear it humming infinitesimally. "We can give you an additional drug to counteract these effects, but we have to let it be your choice. The drugs react to one another, you see. To take the anti-cramping medication, you have to maintain the levels of the other drug in your food constantly or run the risk of seizure." "How serious?" Hale asked. "Very serious, unfortunately," the woman replied. "We're very sorry we didn't foresee this happening. If you want to learn to live with the cramps, that's your decision. If you decide to take the other medication, you have to be very conscientious." Corey had made his career or making hard decisions, but now he felt small and lost. He floundered, panicked, wondering what he should do. "What do you think we should do?" he asked in a very small voice. "I would take the counteragent," the woman said. "You won't be in any danger if you eat regularly. Skipping a meal could be disastrous. Our hope is that your bodies will build a tolerance to the original drug soon and this won't be necessary after a few weeks." "I want to take the other drug," Steve chimed in. The others nodded emphatically. "Very well," the woman said with a kind smile. "Under your beds, you will all find a package. Take it out and open it." The men did as they were told with enthusiasm, clearing away the magazines and books that had piled up beside the beds and digging through the wrappings on the packages quickly, like children on Christmas morning. "Inside you will find several items," the woman explained. "Find the small, unmarked box that looks like this." She held up a plain white box, about the size of a dollar bill, wrapped in cellophane. The men found the boxes and opened them quickly. "These look like cigarettes," Joe said as he looked in the little white box. "Exactly," the woman said. "They're measured doses of the counteragent. We don't want you to take pills because of the state of your stomachs, and we don't feel comfortable allowing you to inject yourselves. This is the simplest answer and is almost as fast-acting as an injection. Whenever you feel the cramps coming on, have one." "But I don't smoke," Hale said. "You'll learn," the woman said. "It's easy. I'll take you through it. In your packages you will also find ashtrays and disposable lighters." "What are these?" Hollis asked, holding up a pair of what looked like work gloves. "You'll wear those for the next few days," the woman explained. "They're a delivery system for a new skin moisturizer we're developing. We've elected all of you to determine their effectiveness." Corey slid his hands into the gloves with a little apprehension. They fit snugly, like the Isotoner gloves he'd given his mother when he was a teenager. They didn't restrict movement and there was surprisingly little tactile loss. The gloves were covered with hard plastic chits on the back of the hands and fingers, and the skin of his hands tingled for several seconds once he had them on. The tingling wasn't at all unpleasant and it soon subsided to a little tickle concentrated around his cuticles. "And this?" Steve asked, holding up a strange, flat disc of beige plastic, about the size of a quarter. "That is to be swallowed," the woman said. "It is designed to relax the muscles of your throat so that you can eat more effectively. It will lodge in your throat tonight and do its job while you sleep. The outer coating contains an anesthetic, so you'll feel no discomfort or gagging." Joe shrugged and swallowed the disc. His eyes bulged and he coughed a little bit, wiped some tears from his eyes and finished with a smile. "It's not so bad," he croaked, and the other men laughed nervously before swallowing their own. "Now, it's almost lights out," the woman said. "Just time for a quick lesson. It's very simple. You take one of the cigarettes from the pack and hold it between your first two fingers, like this..." *** The morning chime rang, but the men were already up and about, in their shower stalls. The soap they'd been issued had been changed, now - far from the rough astringent that had been the only thing able to cut the greasy sweat of the bio-shedding (as Hale had taken to calling it), the newer gel was gentler and left their skin feeling soft and smooth and smelling good. The scent was unique to each of them - Hale got lilac, Steve's scent was more like jasmine, Corey's with a hint of roses, Hollis' more like strawberries and Joe's scent redolent of lavender. The scents were pleasant and left them feeling - well, "pretty" was the only real word for it. It also seemed to keep body and facial hair from growing back - none of the men seemed to need shaving anymore. Corey was the first out of the shower and toweled himself off. When Hollis finished his shower and came out wrapped in a towel, Corey bid him a cheery good morning. In the most melodious soprano voice he'd ever heard. "Oh God," Corey said. "What happened to my voice?" "Maybe it was the disc," Hollis answered in a breathy, phone-sex alto. His hands flew to his mouth in alarm. Hale's head came out of the shower stall. "What's the matter with you two?" he asked in a nasal-sounding mezzo with a thick, wide Brooklyn accent. "Holy shit," he spat upon hearing his voice. "Why are you talking like that?" Corey demanded. "I dunno," Hale replied. "I had these weird dreams last night. D'you remember Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny, with the big hair and the "Yeh, you blend" and everything? I dreamed about that character all last night. I guess I started talking like that and didn't even realize it." "It's not getting any better," Hollis pointed out. "Dammit," Hale swore in the thick Brooklyn. "I'm tryin' to stop, but I can't." "This is, like, insane," Corey blurted. "I totally don't know what's going on." Hollis looked at him in alarm. "What did you just say?" "I was, like, I totally don't know what's going on and stuff," Corey said. "Did you dream last night?" Hale asked. "Oh my God, you guys, I totally did," Corey said. "I dreamed of all the cheerleaders in my old high school." "It has to be the implants," Hale said. "They must have influenced our behavior while we slept, when we're easiest to influence." "Can we, like, stop it?" Corey asked. "Let's get the others," Hollis said. By the time they were all dry and seated on their beds and the haze from their morning cigarettes floated above their heads, they'd all discovered their new voices and inflections. In addition to Corey's bubblehead cheerleader and Hale's Brooklyn hairdresser, Joe had dreamed of and taken on a lilting Georgia drawl, Steve now had a husky, hoarse contralto and the upbeat inflections of an aerobics instructor and Hollis was manifesting a throaty, come- hither purr. All of them showed no trace of an Adam's apple whatsoever, which explained the higher pitch and timbre of their voices. The chime sounded three times and the wall sconces slid back. With an ease, which was now well-practiced, the men rose to their feet, knees together, and crossed the distance from the beds to the wall in the jacked-up boots with a swaying, lissome stride. The tubes extended from the walls and the men guided them deftly into their mouths. Wrapping his gloved fingers around the base, Corey was easily able to push the tube so far down his throat that his nose bumped his knuckles. He jerked back in surprise. No discomfort or gagging like last time. One look let him see that the other men were able to do the same with ease. He grinned and took a fresh hold on the feeding tube. "At least there's, like, one good thing about this," he said, swallowing the tube whole. *** The days went on without much event - Joe, Corey, Hollis, Hale and Stephen settled into a predictable routine for the next week or so. Not knowing whether the implant technology in the noses or their own behaviors were responsible, the men found themselves depending on the routines to keep themselves motivated. They still discussed escape, but saw no real opportunities to enact any of their plans. With their decreased heights and musculatures, they felt very vulnerable and weak and any of the physical demands of any plan for escape were met with a great deal of fear and trepidation. So the days began in the morning - they thought it was morning - with the chimes. A cigarette and a shower, then an hour of toning exercises under the watchful tutelage of the woman on the monitors. Then they were allowed a meal from the wall tubes, as much water as they wished and a handful of unexplained pills that were administered every morning. After breakfast they were put to yoga and flexibility exercises for an hour, and then another hour and a half of high-intensity aerobic dance to thundering music. Any attempts to not participate in the exercises were met with the worst punishment of all - withholding of cigarettes and food. After only one skipped meal or a half a day without smoking the medicated cigarettes, the unfortunate rebel was wracked in half with cramps and nausea, blinding muscle spasms and fever. None of the others were allowed to share their own rations, either, let they all suffer the punishment. The restrictions were lifted as soon as the rebelling man apologized sincerely to the woman in the monitors and his fellow prisoners, hugged everyone tightly and promised never to do it again. After the dance, the men were given lunch - a real meal on a disposable tray with plastic spoons. It usually took the form of salads, fish or chicken. More unidentifiable pills were provided with the iced tea or water, which accompanied lunch. Afterwards the men were sedated and slept for an hour and a half. Wakened again by the chimes, there was an hour of conversation with the woman on the monitor or with themselves, usually about current events - the men called these their "chit-chat" sessions. After only a few days all of them were comfortable with their new voices and inflections, as well as very accomplished at lighthearted, flirtatious small talk with the woman in the monitors. The men were then allowed another brief cleaning-up period - time enough usually only to put a light dusting of scented powder over their exposed skin. Dinner was served shortly after and this was the men's surprise of the day. It could be anything from prime rib to cheeseburgers to grilled swordfish, usually served with wine and fresh hot bread. The portions were strictly regulated, but it was an unnecessary precaution. After their long captivity and the changes in their bodies, none of them cold hold much food anyway. Dessert was usually something chocolate and served with some kind of a liqueur shot as well - a buttery nipple or flaming apple pie, or a whipped-cream confection shot called a 'blow job.' They were given one more quick mouthful from the tubes on the walls and sent to bed shortly thereafter. And that was life. Not much of one, but largely enjoyable. Until Dr. Kelly took a hand. *** Corey was awakened suddenly, not by the familiar soft chimes but by a rough shake from a man's hand. He struggled to sit up but his wrists and ankles were restrained. The musclemen from before were shaking all the men awake none too gently while Dr. Kelly paced in the middle of the room, looking very satisfied. "I hope everyone slept well," he said. "We have a very busy day ahead of us." "Yeh, well what d'ya plan to do now?" Hale blurted in his thick Brooklyn accent. "A few new drug therapies that we wanted to test," Kelly said with a chilling smile. "And some other revolutionary things, as well." "Like what?" Corey challenged, grimacing at his perky, bubblehead voice. Kelly tossed something onto Corey's bare stomach that landed with a wet slap. It was cold and somewhat gelatinous feeling, but warmed quickly to his body heat. "What do you think that is?" Kelly asked. "It feels like silly putty," Corey said honestly, trying to crane his neck to see the substance. One of the musclemen removed it before he could. "Not quite," Kelly explained. "It's something our bioengineering division cooked up. A completely gene- neutral polymer. It will take on the genetic pattern of whatever cells it comes into contact with." "You mean a universal prosthetic?" Steve said, a little awestruck. "A zero-percent chance of rejection, if it works," Kelly said. "We can manufacture it as flexible as cartilage or as hard as tooth enamel." "And I suppose we're going to be your guinea pigs," Hollis spat. "As always," Kelly said. "But this time will be a little different. More fun, perhaps." "Like, fun how?" Corey asked. Kelly smiled mirthlessly. "This time I'll get to hear you all scream." *** It took the better part of an hour to get the men out of all their 'garments.' The clunky boots were removed, causing no end of discomfort as their confined muscles finally relaxed and blood flow was restored. The devices behind the ears were removed as well, leaving them a bit disoriented and dizzy. The skintight gloves were shed along with the strange diapers, the catheters removed, leaving them nude except for their strange 'shower caps.' While they shifted uncomfortably with the various aches and cramps, a medical team entered the room and began dressing the men's genitals with tight bandages, pulling their penises tight between their legs and tucking their testicles inside their bodies and holding them fast with gauze and tape. Once all of them had settled, the medical team - under Kelly's gleeful instruction - moved ahead. All of the men were fitted with gags fit entirely in their mouths - in essence gluing their teeth together temporarily. The gags also gave an effervescent, 'fizzing' feeling on their teeth and gums. "Not to worry, gentlemen," Kelly announced. "Simply a new product we're moving through FDA trials. Whiter teeth in 8 hours. The only downside is that it makes you unable to open your mouths for 8 hours. But for our purposes here, it's ideal." The nurses were spreading thick, cold lotion-like goop all over their skins, making them yelp and shiver as their bodies were slowly slathered with a good quarter-inch application of the clear paste. "Not to worry. Just a little dermatology study. What you're feeling is an emulsion, which is delivering massive doses of synthetic collagen, elastin and Vitamin E to your skins. If it works as we hope, these synthetic chemicals will not break down over time like those the body produces naturally. The marketable product will probably have to be used once or twice per year - anything more and we couldn't turn a profit. But the dose we're giving you should be enough to give you the skins of babies for the rest of your lives," Kelly explained. Out of the corner of his eye, Corey could see another team of technicians wheeling in a great deal of equipment. Two large boxes, one about the size of a breadbox and the other more than big enough to hold Dr. Kelly were wheeled into the room on trolleys, each of the hard plastic outer shells covered with all manner of electronics and wires. The trailing wires, in a harness as big around as Corey's wrist before he shrunk, led to a wheeled table with several obviously high-powered computers on it. Another trolley held three large pressurized tanks. The technicians set up quickly, fitting hoses to the canisters and booting the computers while another team opened the boxes longitudinally in half. The interiors seemed to be made of some kind of flexible matte black material. "Now, then, who will be first?" Kelly mused happily, pantomiming an 'eeny meeny miney moe' with one finger over the restrained men. He finally came to rest over Corey, fixing the prone man with an evilly glinting eye. "How about the Chairman and CEO?" he said flatly. "Yes, I think that would be highly appropriate. Prep him." Corey's gurney was wheeled over towards the setup. Techs in scrubs and masks released his restraints and seemed amused more than anything by his feeble attempts to fend them off. Kelly himself began the process, using an injector gun fed from the pressurized tanks. He injected Corey in a dozen places - cheeks, chest, hips, thighs, buttocks, stomach, calves. Corey struggled as best he could, but to no avail - the technicians held him as effectively as the restraints ever did. After a few agonizing minutes, they lifted the limp and exhausted man from the table and led him - dragged him, actually - towards the boxes. "You're about to become a part of medical history, Corey," Kelly said amusedly. "You should be honored." Corey tried to curse him through his stuck-together jaw, but only high-pitched squeals and yelps were audible. Kelly laughed and gestured towards the boxes. "Save your strength," the heartless doctor told Corey. "You're going to need it. This is going to hurt like hell, I'm afraid." He patted his pockets frantically, in mock alarm. "And I left the house without my anesthetic! What a calamity!" He dissolved into laughter and many of the techs laughed callously as well. They began by inserting a couple of IV feeds into his body, beneath each nipple and also in each buttock. Then they started the process of inserting Corey's exhausted body into the larger of the two boxes. It was filled with a spongy kind of foam, very porous but also extremely dense. There was a roughly oblong cavity in the foam, into which Corey was lifted roughly. There were channels out of the cavity which Corey's arms and legs - slick with the collagen emulsion - were fed easily. After attaching the IV needles to tubes inside the foam of the box, the techs sealed the box quickly. Corey's body was completely encased in the foam, which molded to the shape of his body without a single gap, leaving him unable to move and hardly able to breathe. Only his head stuck from a hole in the top of the box. The smaller box went over his head, leaving him blind and deaf and able to breathe only through a tube in his nose. Corey doubted that he would have been able to struggle even if he'd had his old musculature, much less with the denuded and spindly body he had now. Still, he tried, but his arms and legs might as well have been encased in concrete. Unable to do anything else, Corey began to cry. It was a silent weeping, mostly, since his jaw was stuck shut with the adhesive and he wasn't able to draw a deep enough breath to sob. Outside the box, Kelly overlooked the computer monitors carefully, making last-minute adjustments over the technicians' shoulders. Finally, with a look of anticipation, he nodded. The lead tech keyed in a command and pressed enter. Even through the whirring and hissing of the mechanisms in the boxes, and despite the locked jaw, absence of deep breaths and the insulating foam, they could still hear Corey's high-pitched screams. All of the men tried to struggle, to curse, but to no avail. Hearing their friend like that was a hell for them, but nothing - they knew in their hearts - compared to the hell inside that damned box. Corey felt as if he was having his hide peeled off in strips. The foam was relentless, either using its density to push on his skin or the porous cavities to act as a vacuum and pull. His skin stretched and swelled, feeling as if he were being striped with fire. And it was constant - no ebb and flow, just relentless pain that didn't change, and all over his body. He felt the pain along his face, jawline, cheeks, brows, neck, shoulders, chest, back, stomach, buttocks, thighs, knees and ankles. He sucked in as much of the air as he could, trying to scream, trying to thrash away from the pain. But he was unable. Nothing worked. His eyes leaked tears in an endless stream and what pitiful cries and moans he could manage between his clenched-together teeth were the only outlet he had. Never before had Corey Taylor, CEO and Chairman of Endotech Incorporated, All-City tailback and black belt in Kuk Sool Won, ever come face to face with such an enemy. Never had he tasted utter helplessness. Something in his mind seemed to break, to shatter, and his screams became more like pleading, a mute entreaty to some twisted god to end the suffering. That twisted god answered in a twisted way. After an agonizing eternity of seconds, Corey Taylor blacked out. *** He awoke an indefinable time later to the sounds of weeping. Exhausted, he tried to raise his head but met with very little success. Something about the room had changed, he could tell, but he couldn't really even focus his eyes to see. His eyes seemed filmed over with a haze of color. The adhesive on his teeth was softening, thankfully, and he managed to open his mouth and draw a raspy breath. Even though his vision was blurry enough to render him effectively sightless, he could feel that something was very wrong with his body. He was wrapped in a cloth-like cocoon, keeping his arms against his sides and his legs immobilized, but thankfully not with the horrible paralysis of the foam-filled box. There was a little bit of give. Somehow that comforted him. After managing somehow to dismiss the throbbing headache that was pounding in his temples, Corey cleared a throat that seemed lined with toxic sludge and croaked in his high, little-girl voice: "Is anybody awake? Hello?" "Yeah," Hollis grunted in his new throaty contralto. "Wish I wasn't." "I'm up," Hale said in his broad 'Jersey girl' accent. "Steve and Joe are still out. They were the last to go through." "What did they, like, do to us?" Corey asked. "Dunno," Hollis said. "I feel all out of kilter. But I can't see." "I can't either," Corey replied. "Must've done something to us, when we were, y'know, out or something." "I'm scared as hell," Hale put in. "Me, too," Corey said. "Fucking terrified, to be honest. I think Kelly may be right, I'm about to the point where I'll sign Hestia over to him just so he'll leave us alone." "You actually think that bastard would leave us alone after what he's already done?" Hale spouted. "No way. We can accuse him. We're going to die here." "Don't talk like that," Hollis warned. "Look, we're going to get out of this, okay? We just have to figure something out." "Who's there? Who's talking?" Joseph suddenly said, his thick Georgia drawl making even his alarm seem sing-song to their ears. "Relax, Joe," Hale said soothingly. "You're fine. It's over, buddy. We're all okay." "What the hell happened?" Joe asked. "Nobody's really sure. I'm sure Kelly will be in to gloat soon, though," Hollis said. "Probably once Steve wakes up. Until then, I think we should try to figure out just what in the hell we're going to do about our situation." "What can we do?" Corey asked hotly. "We're, like, useless in a fight, and Kelly never comes in with less than a dozen goons. We can't break out." "So we call for help," Joe said. "How? I know roughly where we are, but who's going to, like, believe us?" Corey said. "Kelly's got us totally sewn up in a bag, y'all. I think we have to like, ride this out." "That's a bunch of fuggin' bullshit," Hale interjected. "There's gotta be somethin'." Corey's heated rejoinder was cut off by the three chimes. They sounded several times, managing to wake Steve up. The familiar female voice came from the monitors. "Good morning," she said brightly. "You are all through the worst of the recovery period and should be regaining your strength and energy soon. You've been fed while you were out, and it seems that the worst of the drug interactions should be out of your system." "Then how come I still want a cigarette?" Hollis asked. "Because tobacco is very addictive," the woman answered plainly. "You've all been smoking constantly for weeks now. It stands to reason you're addicted to it. But don't worry. Although you can't effectively smoke in your present condition, there's a small tube next to each of your mouths. Although we cannot give you access to cigarettes right now, we can supply the smoke. "Now, on to other matters," the woman continued. "The bulk of the medical treatments are over. You have the rest of the day for recuperation - I suggest you sleep as much as you can. Tomorrow you will be expected to resume your former schedules, with mealtimes and exercise times as they were before. None of you should experience any loss of strength or muscle tone." "What about our eyesight?" Steve croaked. "It will return in a few hours. Dr. Kelly tested an experimental dye on your irises. The vision will be cloudy until the excess dissolves. "It is important to note that tomorrow will begin your allotments," the woman said brusquely. "You will be given a set amount of points every morning. You may use your points to purchase your meals, your clothes and your cigarettes. Good behavior and progress get you more points, bad behavior and resistance cost them." "Did you say, like, clothes?" Corey piped in. "Indeed," the woman told them. "As of tomorrow, after your showers, you will have your choice of clothing. This selection - and this selection only - will cost you no points. After that additional clothing will come out of your allotments. If you do exactly what is expected of you tomorrow, you will each receive fifteen points. Bonuses and penalties are up to Dr. Kelly and myself to award." "How much does, say, a meal cost, so we know what we're up against?" Hollis said, ever the financier. The woman sounded amused. "A standard dinner - fish, salad, bread and wine - would cost you five points, dessert and additional point. Lunch is three. A pack of cigarettes costs you four points. A pair of sandals is six points, a pair of jeans anywhere from seven points to fifteen. Points unused at the end of the day will be rolled over." "How much does a drink from one of the tubes cost?" Joe asked. "Those are free," the woman said brightly. "We wouldn't want you to starve just because you spent all your points for the day on a pair of blue jeans or silk pajamas." "So all we have to do is ask for one?" Joe continued. "You'll have to learn to ask properly, of course," the woman said. "But it will generally get you what you want." "Good to know," Steve chuckled. "More like words to live by," the woman corrected cryptically. "I will go away and let you sleep now. I'll even play some music to help you get drowsy. Good night." The chimes sounded softly and then were replaced by a soft, lulling dreamy kind of music, vaguely classical and vaguely New Age as well. The exhausted men were asleep in moments. *** Corey awoke before the chimes, feeling quite refreshed and the torture of the other day like a distant, unpleasant memory. The restraints on his body were gone, and the accumulated sweat and grime of the last few days were enough to make Corey want a shower before even his customary morning cigarette. Besides, he and the others had all made liberal use of the little hookah tube beside their mouths during the night. The room was covered in a pleasant blue haze from their 'midnight toking.' The room was very different. There wasn't a square inch of the walls that wasn't covered by a mirror surface now. The lighting had gone from harsh fluorescent to a soft white or amber incandescent. The wall opposite the feeding tubes was now a long counter, with five stools set before it in front of those little Hollywood starlet mirrors with the lights all around the rims. The foot of Corey's bed, instead of just the plain shower stall, now had a tall armoire and a small desk and stood before it. On top of the desk was a small touch screen computer display as well as several small boxes and an unopened pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Corey took a final deep puff from the hookah - no sense in spending his points unnecessarily - and swung his legs over the bed rail. He tossed off the covers with a flourish as he hopped down, ready to make a mad dash across the cold tiles for the shower stall... ...and screamed like a soul damned for eternity.