THE CAPTIVE GAME (M+/M+) * DEC 15 NEW CHAPTER 21: BREAKING CHAINS *

[Htdgagfreak85]

CHAPTER 15

"We are not just a product of what we have done, but also of what we can undo."
— Viktor E. Frankl

DAY 2 – UNSPOKEN STRUGGLE

Arthur’s muffled groans echoed through the small room, his muscular body strapped tightly to the bondage chair. His wrists were bound to the armrests, his thighs spread apart and secured to the seat with thick leather straps. A heavy leather stuffer gag filled his mouth, silencing him, sealing his lips in an unyielding grip. His eyes darted wildly toward Mr. C, pleading, desperate for release, but Mr. C only shook his head.
“MMMMPPPHHHH! MMMMPPPPPHHHHH!” Arthur moaned frantically, struggling against the restraints, his muscles flexing and straining as he fought to speak.
“I’m not taking the gag out, Arthur,” Mr. C said firmly, standing at a distance. His voice was calm but carried an edge of tension. “I can’t risk it. You’d just start shouting, and there’s no way I can deal with that right now.”
Arthur’s chest heaved with frustration, sweat beading on his forehead. He twisted his head, trying to dislodge the gag, but the thick leather strap held it firmly in place, and all he could manage were muffled whimpers. His mind raced. He thought he knew where they had taken Seb, his stepbrother, but he couldn’t communicate it. The more he struggled to make Mr. C understand, the more hopeless his situation felt.
Mr. C turned his back for a moment, as if trying to distract himself from Arthur’s desperate attempts to communicate. But the sight of Arthur—strapped down, naked, helpless—kept pulling his attention back. Mr. C swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on Arthur’s well-toned body, the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, the powerful muscles rippling with every strained movement. He felt a conflicted knot tightening in his gut—both guilt and arousal swirling together.
Arthur noticed it. He saw how Mr. C’s eyes roamed over his body, lingering on his exposed muscles, the way his thighs were spread wide, the way his chest flexed with every frustrated breath. A flicker of realization passed through Arthur’s mind. He was helpless, yes—but perhaps not entirely powerless. If Mr. C was aroused by seeing him like this, maybe Arthur could use that to his advantage.
His thoughts shifted. The panic of being restrained and gagged subsided slightly, replaced by a calculated idea. Arthur locked eyes with Mr. C, his gaze intense, a subtle shift in his expression as if to say, I know what you’re feeling.
Mr. C caught the look, and for a moment, he froze. Arthur moaned again, softer this time, more controlled. “MMMMPPPHHH…” His body stilled, but the tension in his muscles remained, now less about struggling and more about... inviting. Arthur arched his back slightly, flexing his arms just enough to make the straps strain, showing off the way his body was bound. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his eyes locked on Mr. C, watching carefully for a reaction.
Mr. C’s breath hitched. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling like this—he shouldn’t be enjoying this—but the sight of Arthur so utterly restrained, the way his body was presented in the chair, was stirring something primal inside him. He tried to shake it off, stepping back, but his gaze lingered again, taking in Arthur’s flexing muscles, his bound arms, his heaving chest. He felt heat rising in him, his pulse quickening despite himself.
Arthur could sense it. He moaned again, a low, drawn-out sound—“MMMMPPPHHHH”—his eyes narrowing as he deliberately shifted in the chair, his muscles flexing in just the right way to highlight the tight restraints. He wasn’t struggling anymore; he was performing. And Mr. C was watching.

DAY 2 – ON THE EDGE OF CONTROL

The air between them grew thick with unspoken tension. Arthur’s mind raced, calculating how far he could push this, how he could use Mr. C’s conflicted feelings to his advantage. If he could just get Mr. C close enough—just get him to touch the gag, to remove it—then maybe, just maybe, Arthur could talk his way out of this.
But Mr. C wasn’t stupid. He could sense the shift in Arthur’s demeanor, the subtle manipulation behind those pleading eyes. Yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. The conflict inside him was tearing him apart—half of him wanted to maintain control, to stick to the plan, but the other half… the other half wanted something else entirely.
Arthur’s moaning grew softer, more deliberate, his body flexing in the restraints as he continued his slow, calculated performance. His muscles tensed and relaxed in rhythm, drawing Mr. C’s attention with every movement. The leather straps binding his thighs, wrists, and chest only accentuated his exposed form, making each shift of his body seem more deliberate, more enticing.
“MMMMPPPHHH,” Arthur groaned again, this time more drawn out, his eyes locked on Mr. C, who was visibly struggling to keep his composure. Mr. C’s gaze had wandered back to Arthur’s bare chest, then down to the muscles straining against the leather straps that pinned his legs to the chair.
Mr. C swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way—shouldn’t be thinking this way—but Arthur’s body, helpless and exposed, was making it impossible to resist. The soft, pleading moans, the subtle shifts in Arthur’s hips... every movement sent a surge of heat through him.
He could feel the pull, the temptation becoming too much to ignore.
Arthur could sense it too. He saw the way Mr. C’s eyes lingered on him, the way his breath quickened, the way his resolve seemed to be crumbling. Arthur moaned again, his body arching slightly, showing off the way the restraints held him immobile. He knew exactly what he was doing—and he knew it was working.
Mr. C took a step forward, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s exposed, sweat-slicked body. His breath came in shallow gasps as he fought the growing desire surging inside him, but each step closer made it harder to resist. The conflict in him was palpable—he was fighting it, but he was losing.
Arthur’s eyes flicked down toward his own body, as if inviting Mr. C’s gaze lower. His hips shifted subtly, drawing attention to his groin, where the tight straps emphasized his nakedness, his vulnerability. He moaned again, this time more insistent, more inviting. “MMMMPPPHHHH…”
Mr. C’s heart raced as his eyes followed the subtle movement of Arthur’s body, his gaze lingering on the obvious reaction below. Arthur was hard. His cock, rigid and pulsing against the straps, made Mr. C’s head spin with desire. The sight of Arthur, helplessly bound and aroused, was pushing him over the edge.
Without thinking, Mr. C reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered over Arthur’s chest. His fingers brushed lightly against the firm muscles, feeling the warmth of Arthur’s skin, the tension beneath the surface. Arthur’s body reacted instantly, his muscles twitching under Mr. C’s touch, a soft groan escaping from behind the gag—“MMMMPPPHHH…”
The moan sent a jolt of electricity through Mr. C, and before he could stop himself, his hand traveled lower, tracing the line of Arthur’s abdomen, feeling the tautness of his stomach. His fingers moved lower still, drawn irresistibly toward the hard length between Arthur’s legs. His breathing quickened as his fingers wrapped around Arthur’s cock, feeling the heat, the firmness.
Arthur’s body tensed, a deep, guttural moan vibrating through his chest. “MMMMPPPHHH…” His hips bucked slightly against the restraints, the sensation of being touched there, while bound and gagged, sending waves of pleasure through him. His eyes met Mr. C’s, a mixture of frustration and desire swirling in them.
Mr. C’s hand moved slowly, almost tentatively at first, stroking Arthur’s cock with growing intensity. He knew he had crossed a line, but he didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t stop. Arthur’s moans grew louder, more desperate—“MMMMPPPHHH MMMMPPPHHHH!”—his body arching against the chair as his arousal built with every stroke.
The leather gag muffled Arthur’s moans, but the sound only made Mr. C more aroused. His other hand reached up, sliding across Arthur’s chest, feeling the hard muscles flexing under his touch. Arthur’s skin was slick with sweat, his breathing ragged as he writhed in the chair, his body completely at Mr. C’s mercy.
“MMMMPPPHHHHH!” Arthur’s moans became more frantic, his hips jerking against the straps holding him in place. His cock twitched in Mr. C’s hand, and he was getting closer, the tension building in his body with every stroke, every touch.
Mr. C leaned in closer, his breath hot against Arthur’s neck, his hand moving faster now, more urgent. Arthur’s entire body was trembling, his moans turning into whimpers as he fought against the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him. He was helpless, bound and gagged, and Mr. C was pushing him to the edge.
Arthur’s body tensed one final time, his muscles straining against the restraints as he reached the peak. His moan—“MMMMPPPPPHHHH!”—was loud and desperate, his entire body shuddering with the intensity of it. His cock pulsed in Mr. C’s hand, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, leaving only the raw, animalistic need that had taken over.
Mr. C pulled back slightly, his hand still wrapped around Arthur’s cock, feeling the warmth, the slickness. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, the reality of what he had just done settling in. He had crossed a line—there was no going back now. But in that moment, he didn’t care. The sight of Arthur, trembling and spent, still bound and gagged, was all that mattered.
Arthur’s eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, were still sharp, calculating. He had succeeded. He had broken through Mr. C’s resolve, made him give in to his desires. And now, Arthur had the upper hand.

DAY 2 - PULLING THE STRINGS

Arthur sat tightly bound in the chair, his mind racing. The straps cut into his skin, but his thoughts were focused on something else—an opportunity. He knew that, for a moment, Mr. C's resolve had cracked. The paramedic’s gaze had lingered too long, his touch a little too unsure. Arthur wasn’t just a prisoner; he was a potential key, and he needed to make that clear.
He moaned again, but this time, he added something different to the sound. He wasn’t just desperate anymore—he was playing into Mr. C’s humanity. “MMMMPPPHHHH…” His voice lowered, almost like a plea. He arched his back slightly in the chair, tensing the muscles around his chest as if straining to breathe. His eyes widened in mock panic, signaling a silent message: I can’t breathe properly.
Mr. C, standing a few steps away, noticed the change in Arthur’s demeanor. His professional instincts as a paramedic kicked in. He couldn't let someone under his care truly suffer—not like this. Despite his best judgment, Mr. C’s conscience told him to check if Arthur was truly struggling or just putting on a show.
“I’ll loosen the straps a bit, but don’t think for a second I’m letting you go,” Mr. C muttered, half-convincing himself as much as Arthur.
Arthur kept his gaze fixed on Mr. C, his breathing shallow, carefully controlling his panic to keep the act believable. His wrists ached from the tight restraints, but as soon as Mr. C moved in, Arthur tensed with anticipation. As Mr. C leaned down to loosen the strap just enough to make breathing easier, Arthur’s mind raced with a singular plan—this is my moment.
Arthur's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the straps loosen just enough for him to make his move. Mr. C, oblivious to the subtle shift in the situation, kept his eyes on Arthur’s exposed body, concern and guilt clouding his judgment. Arthur moaned, quieter this time, feigning discomfort in the chair, a new, deliberate tone in his voice.
“MMMMPPHHH…” Arthur let out a different sound, softer, as though the gag was finally becoming unbearable. He leaned slightly to one side, his body shifting in a way that made it look as if he were struggling to breathe.
Mr. C, a paramedic by training, picked up on the signs immediately. His professional instincts kicked in. “Arthur, hang on. I’ll loosen it a bit more—just a bit. We don’t want you passing out, do we?”
As Mr. C stepped closer, his hands reached for the restraints again, loosening them even further—just enough to free one of Arthur's arms. Arthur moaned again, but this time it was a calculated sound—one that signaled an invitation rather than discomfort.
But Mr. C had a different plan now. Seeing the growing danger of Arthur's subtle freedom, his eyes narrowed. "Maybe we should sedate you," he muttered, reaching for a syringe. He turned, just for a moment, to prepare the sedative—just long enough for Arthur to make his move.
Arthur’s chest heaved as his hand slipped free from the loosened strap, but the rest of him remained tightly bound to the chair. His legs were still strapped wide apart, his body held in place by the thick leather belts across his torso and thighs. He gritted his teeth, knowing his window of opportunity was small—he had to act fast before Mr. C noticed his partially freed hand.

DAY 2 – TURNING THE TIDE

Arthur’s fingers worked feverishly on the second strap while Mr. C busied himself with the sedative. The moment his other hand was free, he subtly clenched both fists, preparing for the right moment.
Mr. C, oblivious to the shift in control, turned around, syringe ready, stepping closer. Arthur locked eyes with him, masking the anticipation with a heavy moan, pretending to still be restrained.
Just as Mr. C leaned in, Arthur lunged. With a burst of adrenaline, Arthur gripped Mr. C’s wrist, twisting it sharply. The syringe wavered in Mr. C's hand as he gasped in shock, his body jerking backward. Before he could register the danger, Arthur drove the needle into Mr. C’s side.
The syringe plunged deep into Mr. C’s flesh, and his eyes widened in horror. "No… you—" Mr. C gasped, but the words faltered as his knees buckled beneath him.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, heavy and uneven.
Mr. C staggered, grabbing the edge of the chair for balance, but the sedative was already working its way through his veins. He swayed, blinking rapidly as his body betrayed him. His legs gave out entirely, and he crumpled to the floor with a dull thud, his eyes half-closed, his consciousness slipping away.
Arthur’s heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Mr. C’s body collapsed to the floor, the sedative beginning to take hold. The syringe still dangled loosely in Arthur’s hand, his mind buzzing with adrenaline as he realized he had done it—he had managed to overpower him. But his momentary victory was overshadowed by the reality of the situation: he was still strapped to the chair, and time was running out.
Both of Arthur’s hands were now free, the last vestige of restraint at his wrists undone in the heat of the struggle. He wasted no time and immediately went for the remaining straps, his fingers shaking but determined. First came the strap across his chest, then the one binding his waist to the cold steel chair. Each buckle loosened brought him closer to freedom.
His legs were next—his thighs and ankles still held tightly in place by thick leather straps that had cut into his skin. Every movement sent a dull ache through his body, but Arthur gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep going. He had been bound for too long, his muscles stiff and uncooperative, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. With one last tug, the strap around his thighs gave way, followed by the one at his ankles.
Finally, Arthur was completely free. He stood up slowly, his legs trembling under the strain of standing after being held down for so long. His muscles screamed in protest, but the rush of adrenaline kept him upright. For a moment, the room spun slightly, the blood rushing back to his limbs making him lightheaded, but Arthur gripped the chair, forcing himself to stay steady.
The last, most humiliating reminder of his restraint still remained—the leather stuffer gag. His jaw ached from being pried open for hours, his lips swollen and sore from the tight straps holding it in place. He reached behind his head, his fingers clumsily fumbling with the buckle that had dug into the back of his skull. It took longer than it should have, his body still stiff and sluggish, but eventually, the gag fell away.
Arthur spat the leather stuffer out, his jaw finally closing with a sharp ache. He coughed, trying to rid himself of the awful taste, the inside of his mouth raw from the pressure. The relief of being able to breathe properly again almost brought him to his knees, but there was no time to savor it.

DAY 2 – THE FINAL SHIFT

He glanced down at Mr. C, who was still conscious but too weak to move.
“You… you don’t understand…” Mr. C mumbled, his words slurred from the effects of the sedative.
Arthur ignored him for the moment. He had to focus. His hands fumbled slightly as he removed Mr. C’s clothes. The paramedic's uniform didn’t fit perfectly, but it would do. The cool fabric clung to his sweaty skin, but the relief of being dressed again after the humiliating experience of being naked in that chair was overwhelming.
Arthur knelt beside Mr. C, his voice low and steady. “I know where Seb is,” he began, glancing at the unconscious man. “Sutherland didn’t take him for some random reason… it’s revenge. Pure and simple. And I can’t let him go through with his plan...”
Arthur’s voice faltered for a moment, the weight of his own guilt catching in his throat. He looked down at Mr. C, seeing the confusion and fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I have to do this.”
Arthur moved quickly, securing Mr. C to the chair. The irony wasn’t lost on him—just moments ago, he had been the one in this position, but now it was Mr. C, trapped and bound. He worked with precision, fastening the leather straps tightly around Mr. C’s wrists and ankles, ensuring there was no way for him to escape. The final touch was the gag—the same leather stuffer gag Arthur had been forced to endure. He slid it into Mr. C’s mouth, buckling it tightly around his head, sealing his lips.
Mr. C let out a muffled groan, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. But there was nothing he could do now. Arthur stepped back, taking a moment to catch his breath. The sight of Mr. C bound and gagged in the chair should have filled him with a sense of triumph, but all he felt was cold determination.
“Sorry, Mr. C,” Arthur whispered. “But I have to save Seb.”
Arthur stood back, surveying his work. The role reversal was complete—Mr. C, once the captor, now sat naked, bound, and gagged in the very chair where Arthur had been held.
With one last glance at the bound paramedic, Arthur turned and made his way toward the door. He didn’t know what would happen next, but one thing was clear—he couldn’t stop now. The real battle was just beginning.

“The measure of a man is what he does with power.”
— Plato

[blackbound]

Ooh, Arthur's a devious one. An Oscar-worthy performance!

I wonder what Mr. C was trying to impart. Presumably there's more twists coming that are impossible to predict - like this one...

[Bradstick]

What the fuck Arthur!!! You knew why Seb was taken and about the revenge. Why did he allow Seb to get captured in the first place. At the very least use a company that doesn’t want revenge on your step brother.

I am excited for the next chapter!!!

[Htdgagfreak85]

Ooh, Arthur's a devious one. An Oscar-worthy performance!

I wonder what Mr. C was trying to impart. Presumably there's more twists coming that are impossible to predict - like this one...

Thank you @blackbound! Arthur really knows how to put on a show, doesn’t he? And you’re absolutely right—there’s more to Mr. C’s intentions than meets the eye. Just when you think you know what’s coming, another twist sneaks up! Keep an eye out; I promise there’s plenty more intrigue and surprises in store!

[Htdgagfreak85]

What the fuck Arthur!!! You knew why Seb was taken and about the revenge. Why did he allow Seb to get captured in the first place. At the very least use a company that doesn’t want revenge on your step brother.

I am excited for the next chapter!!!

Great catch @Bradstick! Arthur's choices certainly raise some big questions, don’t they? And you’re right—his actions are as complicated as his motives, which makes everything even messier. While I can’t give too much away, there’s more to come that will shed light on why he did what he did. Thanks for sticking with the story—chapter 16 is just around the corner!

[Htdgagfreak85]

Author’s Note:
This chapter may look a bit longer than usual, so I’ve divided it into two parts: The Cost of Trust and Desperate Gambit. Although presented as two parts, they form one continuous narrative, with tension and stakes building from one to the next. For the most intense experience, I recommend reading both parts in one go. Let yourself get swept up in the unfolding drama—trust me, it’s worth it.

CHAPTER 16, PART 1
The Cost of Trust

“Sometimes, the only way to find the truth is to risk everything on a single trust.”
— Unknown

DAY 2 - Out of Captivity, Into Uncertainty

Sam stood, still naked, looking at his team with resolve. His muscles were tense, but his expression held a sense of urgency. “We have to reach for a phone,” Sam said, his voice rough from the hours of captivity. “I need to make some calls. But first… I need clothes. I can’t walk around like this.”
Mr. A nodded, glancing at Dr. Foster. “What are we going to do about that? Mr. Sutherland’s team took everything.”
Dr. Foster, somewhat embarrassed, cleared his throat. “I… I may have something in the car, but it’s not exactly your style.”
Sam gave him a small, sarcastic grin. “At this point, I’ll take anything. Let’s just hope it’s better than a birthday suit.”
They moved outside to Dr. Foster’s car—a rather old, vintage vehicle that stood out against the modern setting of the area. Sam raised an eyebrow at the sight of it. “Forgive me, Dr. Foster,” he said, his tone laced with amusement, “but your vintage car isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a quick getaway.”
They rummaged through the trunk, and after a few moments, Dr. Foster pulled out a somewhat outdated, oversized jacket and a pair of slacks that looked like they belonged to a professor from another era. Sam threw them on without complaint, the jacket hanging loosely around his well-built frame. He grimaced, but it would have to do.
“We’ll need more than just clothes,” Sam said, glancing at the car. “We also need a decent vehicle. Your vintage ride isn’t up for this kind of trip.”
Dr. Foster shrugged helplessly. “It’s all I’ve got.”
Sam sighed. “Let’s at least get to the nearest phone booth.”
The black sedan pulled into the night, its headlights casting thin beams across the narrow road. Dr. Foster’s vintage car hummed beneath them, and Sam, sitting in the passenger seat, was pulling at the oversized, out-of-style jacket that Foster had managed to find in his trunk. It wasn’t much of a fit, but considering he’d been naked a few hours before, it was better than nothing.
“Not exactly your style, is it?” Foster quipped, a smirk barely lifting the corner of his lips.
Sam didn’t respond. His mind was already elsewhere, far from the awkward fit of borrowed clothes. He tapped his fingers against the door handle, glancing out into the dark, his thoughts churning as fast as the car’s wheels. The plan was moving forward, but now it was about to take a sharp turn.
Mr. A leaned forward from the backseat, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan, boss? Who are we going to meet?”
Sam’s eyes didn’t shift from the road ahead. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice calm but edged with a tone that killed further conversation. He wasn’t about to explain. Not yet.
As the vintage car rumbled along, its engine sputtering, Mr. A exchanged glances with the others in the back. Tension lingered in the air like a thick fog. None of them knew what Sam had set in motion, but whatever it was, they were a long way from the previous nightmare, only to step into a new one.
Two hours into the drive, they finally spotted it: a phone booth on the side of the road, half-lit under a single flickering streetlamp. Sam motioned for Foster to pull over.
“Wait here,” Sam said, stepping out as the car’s engine stuttered to a halt. Foster dug into his pocket and handed Sam some coins. As Sam approached the booth, the faint hum of electricity buzzed in the stillness, the payphone standing like a relic from another time.
Sliding the coins into the slot, Sam dialed a number he hadn’t used in a long time. It had been given to him for use in case of emergency only. The voice on the other end was terse and familiar, with no need for introductions.
“They’ve taken them,” Sam said.
There was silence, then a slow exhale.
“Where are you?” the voice asked.
Sam glanced back at the car where Foster and his team waited. “Doesn’t matter. But I need something from you. We’re headed your way.”
Another pause, then a measured response: “You sure about this?”
Sam’s lips tightened. “They’ve crossed the line. I need you ready.”
The line clicked dead. Sam pocketed the receiver and headed back to the car, his expression set, his jaw clenched.
Foster turned the key, and the car sputtered to life again. Mr. A glanced at Sam. “Who was that?”
Sam slid into the passenger seat, closing the door with a thud. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone final. “Just drive. We’ve got a long way to go.”
Dr. Foster's vintage car—a beat-up Cadillac from the 1960s, more suited for leisure than the type of urgency they faced—whined as they piled in. Sam glanced at the old leather seats, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it quickly vanished as he slid into the passenger side. "We’ll need another car soon. This one’s not exactly what I had in mind for this trip."
As they drove, the team remained silent, tension hanging thick in the air. Sam’s mind raced with possibilities, but he didn’t share his thoughts with the others. They passed small towns and lonely stretches of road, the only sound the hum of the engine and the faint hiss of wind cutting through the cracked windows.
After nearly two hours, they reached a modest suburban neighborhood, the streets quiet and unassuming. Dr. Foster slowed the car, following Sam’s directions until they pulled up in front of a seemingly ordinary house. The lights were on, and a lone figure could be seen through the window, standing near the door.
"This is it?" Mr. A asked, his voice filled with skepticism. "We drove all this way for a house in the suburbs?"
Sam’s eyes darkened. "You’ll see soon enough."

DAY 2 - The Contact: A New Power Emerges

The door opened as soon as they rang the bell. A tall man in his early 40s stepped out, impeccably dressed in a sleek, tailored suit. He had an aura of command that immediately filled the space, his eyes sharp and calculating as they swept over Sam and his team. His face betrayed no emotion, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he moved, like a predator evaluating his prey.
"Sam," the man said with a nod. His voice was smooth, almost too casual for the seriousness of the situation.
"Leon," Sam replied, stepping forward. "We need your help."
Leon didn’t miss a beat. "I know. Come inside. You must be tired from the drive."
They entered the house, which was far more luxurious inside than its exterior suggested. The air smelled of fine leather and expensive whiskey, and every inch of the room screamed wealth and influence. Yet, the tension in the air was undeniable. Sam’s team followed him in, scanning the space, noting the subtle signs of a well-established criminal operation hidden in plain sight.
Leon’s team of men—equally sharp-dressed, though less imposing—stood in the background, their expressions unreadable. There was an unspoken hierarchy here, a clear power dynamic, and Leon was undoubtedly at the top. His team didn’t move unless he gave the signal.
"Your timing couldn’t be better," Leon said, pouring a glass of whiskey for himself. "What’s the job?"
Sam hesitated for a split second before responding. "It’s not a job, Leon. I’ve already told you about it on the phone. It’s personal. I’m dealing with a situation—one that requires your particular set of... resources." Leon sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face. "I see. I assume this involves Mr. Sutherland?"
Sam nodded. "He’s crossed a line. And I need you to help me cross it back."
Leon’s face remained impassive, though the mention of Sutherland clearly struck a nerve. "Sutherland has a lot of enemies. What makes this different?"
"I have two of my people taken, as you already know. And it’s not just business—this is personal for him," Sam replied, his voice hardening. "And I need them back. Fast."
Leon's lips twitched into a smile. "Ah, personal grudges. Always messier than business." He set his glass down on a nearby table and crossed his arms, glancing over at Sam’s team. "So, you came to me. That means you know this will cost you. I don’t get involved without a price."
Sam met his gaze, unfazed. "I’m willing to pay. Whatever it takes."
Leon studied him for a moment before finally nodding. "Alright then. Let’s get to work."

DAY 2 – An unsettling proposition

As Sam and his team were about to sit on the wide leather couch, the door to the basement swung open. Sam heard the faint sound of muffled screams rising from below. Leon, entirely unfazed, smirked as he noticed Sam and his team's reaction to the eerie noise.
"Ah, don’t mind the guest," Leon said casually, sipping his whiskey. "He’s being... persuaded to share some useful information. Nothing you haven’t seen before, Sam."
Sam’s face tightened, but he said nothing, his eyes darting toward the basement. There was a knowing look in Leon’s eyes, almost as if he were daring Sam to ask.
Leon, reading Sam's silence, chuckled. "I must say, I’m really enjoying your latest gift. That chair you designed—it’s been working wonders downstairs. You’ve really outdone yourself this time."
Sam’s stomach turned, but his expression remained stoic. He had created that chair with a specific design in mind—a tool of control, not of torture. But knowing Leon, the limits of control were always pushed too far.
"And here I thought it was a piece of art." Leon’s voice was low, amused. “But there’s always room for improvement, Sam. Some... modifications could make it even more interesting."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Modifications?"
Leon smiled, dark and gleaming. "Yes. Small changes. More restraints, more precision, and a few new features would push the subject to their absolute limit without ever breaking them physically. You’d still have your prized 'non-lethal' tool, just with a bit more... bite."
Sam’s gut tightened. He had his limits—there were lines even he didn’t cross, and Leon knew it. But here they were, staring at him again, just as they always did whenever Leon was involved. The temptation, the darkness that seemed to hover around him.
"I’ll think about it," Sam said, his voice flat.
Leon clapped his hands together, that smirk still on his face. "Of course you will. Why don’t we go down and take a look at how it’s working, hmm?"
He gestured toward the stairs, and Sam's team exchanged uneasy glances. Dr. Foster shifted uncomfortably, clearly rattled by the muffled sounds still creeping up from below.

DAY 2 - In the Basement: The Familiar Stranger

As they descended into the basement, the smell of cold metal and sweat hit them. It was a dimly lit room, almost clinical, but with an unmistakable air of cruelty lingering in the space. In the center of the room sat the chair Sam had designed, its metallic frame gleaming under the faint light. And strapped to it, entirely naked, was a man in his late 30s, lean and muscular, his body slick with sweat. His head hung low, but his body jerked violently every now and then, reacting to whatever Leon’s men had done to him.
Sam’s eyes narrowed as he approached, studying the man strapped to the chair. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him, but he couldn’t place it.
"Recognize him?" Leon asked, his tone almost playful.
Sam shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the man’s face. "No... Should I?"
Leon stepped forward, crouching down beside the chair. He lifted the man’s head by the chin, forcing his eyes open to meet Sam's. The man groaned weakly, a muffled sound escaping through the gag strapped tightly around his mouth.
"He’s one of Sutherland’s men," Leon said casually. "The one who cracked the codes to open the doors to your hideout."
The revelation hit Sam like a punch to the gut. He stepped back, his heart racing as the pieces fell into place. This was the man responsible for breaching his operation, the man who had helped Sutherland take his people. And now, here he was, strapped to the very chair that had been designed under Sam’s vision—now twisted into something far more sinister.

DAY 2 - Ramping Up Tension: Leon’s Manipulation
Leon straightened up, brushing his hands together as if to dust them off. "He’s been quite the guest, I must say. Very resistant at first, but your chair has a way of changing minds, Sam. And now..." Leon trailed off, his smile widening. "Now he’ll tell me whatever I want."
Sam felt his mouth go dry. He glanced at the man once more, now fully aware of the weight of the situation. His design, the chair he had created, was being used to break the very people responsible for putting him in this mess. A twisted kind of justice, but one that left Sam feeling more hollow than satisfied.
"We’ve got a deal, Sam," Leon said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Help me improve this design, and I’ll help you with whatever you need. But just between us..." Leon leaned closer. "There’s no going back once you cross that line."
Sam clenched his fists at his sides. This wasn’t just about rescuing his people anymore—it was about how far he was willing to go. And Leon, with his persuasive charm and shadowy operation, was pushing him right to the edge of that line.

DAY 2 – Strings attached

Sam stood firm, his mind racing as Leon led them out of the basement, leaving behind the muffled screams of the man strapped to the chair. The chill of the underground lair clung to his skin, but the decision that lay ahead weighed far heavier. Leon’s casual demeanor, as if the man in the basement was just another tool to manipulate, sent a shiver through Sam's spine.
Leon poured himself another drink, swirling the liquid in his glass as he turned back to Sam. “You need my help,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of satisfaction. “And I don’t offer it for free.”
Sam stared at him, his mind going over the unspoken price hanging in the air. He knew that Leon didn’t simply help people—he expected something in return, always something valuable, whether that be loyalty, leverage, or power. But Sam’s focus wasn’t on the price—it was on Luke and Seb, wherever they were, trapped under Mr. Sutherland’s twisted control.
Mr. A shifted uneasily beside Sam, his eyes flicking toward Leon. Despite his usual calm, something about Leon’s proposition seemed to unsettle him. Mr. B, on the other hand, stood close to his partner, tension evident in his posture.
Leon, always sharp in observing human behavior, smiled as he raised his glass. “You know, Sam, you’ve got a good team here. And Mr. A…” Leon’s gaze settled on him, “I see potential. A leader.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, sensing the manipulation beginning to unfold. “Mr. A stays with me.”
Leon raised a brow, still grinning. “Of course, of course. I wouldn’t dream of splitting up a well-oiled machine. But you know, Sam, if Mr. A were to lead the mission…” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. “I could offer him... opportunities.”
Mr. A tensed, his gaze flicking to Sam for the briefest moment before returning to Leon. It was clear the offer tempted him, as it would any man in his position. Leon was dangling the promise of more—a future of control, influence, and perhaps even freedom from Sam’s shadow. Mr. B, however, bristled at the notion. He stepped forward, speaking for the first time since they arrived.
“With all due respect, Leon, Mr. A has no reason to leave,” Mr. B said, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. “We’re a team.”
Leon’s grin didn’t falter. “Oh, of course you are.” He took a sip of his drink, savoring the taste before continuing. “But the thing about teams, Mr. B, is that every member has their own ambitions. Some people just want more. And Mr. A…” Leon turned his sharp eyes on him again. “I think he’s ready for more.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. He knew Leon’s game all too well—divide and conquer, manipulate from the inside. And he was using Mr. A’s ambition to plant the seed of doubt.
“Enough,” Sam said firmly, his voice brokering no argument. “We didn’t come here to play games, Leon. We came for your help.”
Leon’s smile faded slightly, but he nodded. “Of course. I have everything you need. Sutherland’s location, his movements, his weaknesses.” He placed the glass down, his expression growing more serious. “But you’ll owe me, Sam. And I expect Mr. A to lead the charge.”
There was a long, tense silence. Mr. B’s fists clenched at his sides, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Mr. A, for the first time, seemed torn, his eyes darting between Sam and Leon, calculating the cost of either decision.
Sam sighed, knowing he was in a tight corner. He needed Leon’s resources, but giving in meant risking Mr. A’s loyalty, and by extension, the cohesion of his team. “We’ll see,” Sam finally said, deflecting the issue for now. He couldn’t afford to lose focus on the mission ahead.
“I’ll give you some time,” Leon said, his smirk returning. “But don’t take too long. Opportunities like this don’t come around often.”



DAY 2 – Tipping the scales

Sam’s mind was racing, calculating the options, weighing the cost of Leon’s help. There was no other way—he needed Leon’s resources and connections to retrieve the boys. But Leon, ever the opportunist, wanted something more than just a favor; he wanted Sam’s trust, and Mr. A was the key to that.
Leon's smirk grew, reading the conflict in Sam's expression. “You know I’m the best shot you’ve got, Sam. It’s just a matter of letting things fall into place. Your man, Mr. A? He’s got what it takes to lead this. But let's drop the pretense—no more of this ‘Mr. A’ business.”
Leon turned, his tone casual but pointed. “Al, isn’t it? And your partner, Bart. There’s no need to play games with me. I already know who everyone here is. Time for you to step up, Al.”
Mr. A—Al—stood frozen for a moment, caught between his loyalty to Sam and the allure of what Leon was offering: recognition, power, a chance to prove himself. Bart’s gaze snapped to Sam, wide with disbelief, his voice edged with desperation. “Sam, you can’t be serious. This isn’t right. You can’t let him get sucked into this.”
Sam held Burt’s gaze for a long moment. He understood the pain in Burt’s eyes, but the reality was clear: without Leon’s resources, there was no mission. No rescue. Sam’s voice was low, almost pained. “Burt, we don’t have a choice. This is the only way.”
Leon grinned as if sensing his victory. “See? Even Sam knows when to play the cards right.”
He approached Al and patted him on the shoulder, the gesture almost fatherly. “You’ll be leading one of my teams, Al. No worries, you’ll do fine. Just... follow the plan. And don’t worry about Sam—he trusts you. This is your chance.”
Burt’s fists clenched at his sides, but Sam shook his head subtly, a silent warning. There was no point in fighting this right now.
Sam stood silent, arms crossed as Leon’s smirk lingered. The offer was on the table, hanging thick in the air. "You’ll think about it, Sam?" Leon raised a brow, his voice dripping with challenge.
Sam exhaled sharply, not answering directly. "I need a moment with your guest," he finally said, his eyes sharp. He knew he was losing control of the situation and that Leon’s hold was tightening.
Leon tilted his head, amused by the request. "Ah, I see. You want to take a more... personal approach. No objections here." He gestured toward the basement door. “Be my guest.”
Without hesitation, Sam nodded toward Al and Bart. “You two stay up here. This is something I have to handle alone.”
Dr. Foster shifted uncomfortably at the mention of staying behind, the tension between Bart and Al more palpable than before. Leon's team stood, watching silently, no emotion betraying their reactions. They were well trained, professional, the same type of men Leon would trust with any operation.
"Try not to break him too soon, Sam," Leon called out as Sam headed toward the basement stairs. “He’s got more to give.”

“The strongest bonds are those tested by the fires of doubt.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

CHAPTER 16, PART 2
Desperate Gambit

“In desperate times, the line between risk and recklessness blurs.”
— Sun Tzu

DAY 2 – Breaking Silence

As Sam descended into the basement, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees, and the dim lighting cast harsh shadows on the cold cement walls. In the middle of the room sat the chair he had designed, twisted now into Leon’s version of ‘persuasion.’
The man in the chair stirred slightly, his face gaunt, his eyes barely open. His wrists and ankles were tightly bound to the metal frame, his body slick with sweat. The air smelled of metal, sweat, and desperation.
"Look at me," Sam said coldly, stepping into the light. The man groaned, struggling to lift his head, but Sam grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“You know why you’re here,” Sam continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “You opened the doors for Sutherland. You cracked the codes. You helped him take my people.”
The captive groaned through the gag still in his mouth. His eyes, although dulled by exhaustion, flickered with recognition.
“Answer me,” Sam growled, yanking the gag out.
The man coughed, his voice hoarse. “You... you don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly.” Sam’s grip on his chin tightened. “You’re going to tell me everything. Right now.”

DAY 2 - Upstairs - Leon and Sam’s Team

While Sam worked below, Leon poured himself another glass of whiskey, his gaze resting on Mr. A—Al. “You know, Sam’s a smart man, but he’s too cautious sometimes.”
Al said nothing, but Leon wasn’t deterred. “I can tell you’ve got potential. You’ve been his right hand for how long now? And yet, here you are, just another player in his game.”
Mr. B—Bart—bristled beside Al, his fists clenching. “Al doesn’t need your games, Leon.”
Leon smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, it’s not a game, Bart. It’s an opportunity. I see what’s going on here. You’re afraid of losing him, aren’t you?”
Bart’s jaw tightened, but Al remained silent, clearly torn by the unspoken tension between them. “We’re a team,” Bart said, his voice steady but strained. “You can’t divide us.”
Leon shrugged, swirling the liquid in his glass. “I’m not dividing anything. I’m offering growth. It’s up to Al whether he wants to stay in your shadow or finally step into the light.”
Bart’s frustration was evident, his glare cutting across the room toward Sam’s partner. But Leon didn’t push the matter further. He had planted the seed of doubt, and that was enough for now.

DAY 2 – Uncovering Dedalus

The man’s breathing was labored, each word strained as he tried to gather his strength. “You can’t stop him... Sutherland, he... he’s always ahead. You don’t know what you’re up against.”
“I know enough,” Sam snapped. “And you’re going to give me more. Where are they?”
The man groaned again, his head falling forward. “You’re too late... He’s already... moved them.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. He needed more. He couldn’t let this man slip away without giving him something useful.
“Don’t lie to me. Where are they?” Sam demanded, his voice hard.
The captive’s face twisted in pain, but he remained silent, defiant.
Sam leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “You think Leon is your problem right now? You’ve got me standing right here. If you don’t tell me where Sutherland took them, you won’t have the luxury of sitting in this chair anymore. You’ll wish for it.”
Finally, the man’s resistance broke. His lips quivered as he spoke.
“They’re probably at his villa now. He moved them while they were still unconscious. Someone told him that the location was no longer secure. They left me there to clean up all the traces of their presence, and that’s when those bastards got hold of me...”
“Where’s this villa of his? Tell me.”
“It’s no secret, the place is in plain sight. He calls it Dedalus. Below the surface, it’s a maze—a labyrinth that shifts. Not literally, but the hallways and routes are reconfigurable, mechanically controlled. It’s impossible to navigate without help. The whole place is rigged with cameras, sensors, pressure plates… the best tech money can buy from the black market.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “And how does anyone make it to the center?”
“Only his top men know the way. At the entrance, they’re given a handheld device. It’s got a built-in tracking system that changes based on passcodes. They punch in the right code, and the device shows them which path to take. No passcode? The walls shift, blocking your path until you’re trapped.”
Sam’s pulse quickened. This sounded far too elaborate to be an ordinary villa.
“There’s a core in the center,” the man continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s where he’s taken them. But good luck getting there—he’s got it locked down tight.”
Sam shoved the gag back into the man’s mouth and stepped away, his mind racing. The weight of the man's words settled in. Dedalus was a puzzle, and without the proper codes, they had no chance of reaching the core where Seb and Luke were being held.

DAY 2 – Temptation in the dark

But as Sam’s gaze lingered on the man—battered, bruised, completely at his mercy—something darker stirred within him. The man’s body was stretched out, his muscles taut from the strain of the restraints, his skin glistening with sweat. A subtle, forbidden thought crept into Sam’s mind, and before he could stop himself, he stepped closer.
The man groaned softly, his head falling forward again, and Sam’s fingers hovered near his arm, the temptation growing stronger. He could break him completely if he wanted to. He could take this moment of control and push it further, feel the rush of power that came from having someone so utterly helpless beneath him.
His hand reached out, almost instinctively, brushing against the man’s bare skin. The heat radiating from the man’s body sent a shiver through Sam’s spine. The bruises, the rawness of his restraints—it all fueled Sam’s darker desires.
Without thinking, Sam’s hand moved lower, trailing down the man’s chest, feeling the tension in his muscles. His breath hitched, and for a brief second, the world outside the basement faded away. The man flinched under his touch but couldn’t move away, not with the ropes keeping him in place.
Sam’s fingers pressed harder, feeling the rhythm of the man’s pulse beneath his skin, a sensation that sent a surge of adrenaline through him. His thoughts grew darker, the fantasies in his mind taking hold. He could push this as far as he wanted. The man wouldn’t be able to stop him.
But just as Sam’s hand brushed against the man’s waist, the spell shattered.
“Sam!” Mr. A’s voice echoed from upstairs, sharp and commanding.
Sam jerked his hand away as if burned, reality crashing back into him. He stepped back quickly, shaking his head to clear the fog that had clouded his mind. What the hell was I thinking?
The man let out a weak, pained groan, still unaware of the moment that had just transpired. Sam clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing, the guilt gnawing at the edges of his conscience.
“I’m coming!” Sam called out, his voice hoarse.
He turned toward the stairs, the temptation still lingering in his mind like a poison, but he pushed it down, forcing himself to focus. There were more important things at stake here. The mission wasn’t about his dark impulses—it was about getting Seb and Luke back.

DAY 2 - Negotiating with Shadows

Sam emerged from the basement, his face tight and tense. He found Mr. A waiting at the top of the stairs, a concerned look on his face.
“What took you so long?” Mr. A asked, frowning.
Sam shook his head, dismissing the question. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, brushing past him. The weight of what almost happened still lingered, making his steps feel heavy.
Leon was lounging in the sitting area, sipping his whiskey with a smirk on his face, as if he knew exactly what had transpired below. His eyes gleamed with amusement as Sam approached. “Everything alright down there?”
Sam shot him a hard look but didn’t answer. He could feel the tug of Leon’s presence, always pushing him toward that edge. He needed to focus, to pull himself together.
Leon chuckled softly, swirling his drink in the glass. “So, what’s next? You have what you need?”
Sam nodded tightly. “He gave me Sutherland’s location. Dedalus, some underground labyrinth.”
Leon’s eyebrows raised, impressed. “Ah, Dedalus. That makes sense. Only a madman like Sutherland would think of something like that. Shifting walls, changing routes—sounds like quite the fortress.”
“It is,” Sam said, his voice tense. “And we need to figure out how to navigate it. Fast.”
Leon’s smirk never faltered. “You know I can help with that... but you’re going to owe me for it.”

DAY 3 – The Trojan Horse

After hours of exploring all the possibilities, the new day arrived as they decided to go to the basement to try to extract more information from the man in custody.
In turn, they threatened him in many ways, but it was clear by then that he didn’t know more than he had already spilled. Sam stepped back from the man, watching him struggle against the restraints, his muffled groans rising from behind the gag. The silence that followed was thick, laced with tension. Sam’s mind raced through options, but each seemed worse than the last. They were running out of time—and ideas.
Leon, who had been watching from the shadows, approached with his usual calm yet unnerving smile. He circled the chair, eyes locked on the man tied to it. "You know," he began, his tone smooth and calculated, "this might just be our way in."
Sam’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Leon tilted his head toward the captive. “He’s one of Sutherland’s men. He’s already trusted enough to crack your codes and infiltrate your base. That gives us an advantage—if we use him.”
The man groaned again, but Leon silenced him with a glare. “Imagine this,” Leon continued, eyes gleaming with excitement as he worked through the plan in his mind. “He returns to Sutherland with a prize. You.”
Sam’s eyes darkened. “You want to send me in, trussed up, as some kind of Trojan Horse?”
Leon chuckled, his fingers lightly tapping against the chair. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it? He brings you right to the center—straight into the core of Dedalus. Sutherland won’t expect it. It’s the perfect bait.”
Sam took a step back, considering the implications. His heart raced at the thought, the risk hanging heavily in the air. But Leon was right. Gaining access to Sutherland’s fortress was nearly impossible without an inside man. The captive—the man who had been stripped of everything—was their only key.
Leon wasted no time. “Al,” he said, addressing Mr. A, “fetch some chains. We need to make this look real.” Al hesitated for a moment, glancing at Sam, but quickly complied. The sound of heavy metal clinking echoed from the adjacent room as Al rummaged through Leon’s collection.
Sam’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He hated this—hated the helplessness of being paraded as bait. But the weight of Seb and Luke’s lives bore down on him, leaving him no room to argue. This was their best shot.
“I’ll need you stripped down,” Leon said nonchalantly, eyeing Sam with a clinical detachment. “Sutherland’s men won’t believe you’re in custody unless you look the part. No weapons, no clothes.”
Sam’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. He’d been stripped of dignity before—he could do it again, if it meant getting closer to rescuing the boys. He began removing his borrowed clothes, tossing them aside without a word.
Dr. Foster watched from the corner, his face pale, a mixture of anxiety and something like pity flickering across his expression. “This is insane,” he muttered, half to himself.

DAY 3 – Collateral Ties

Leon turned his attention back to the man strapped to the chair. The captive’s eyes, wide with panic, flickered between Sam and Leon, fully grasping the weight of the situation. But Leon wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper as he leaned down to the man’s ear.
“You’ll do exactly as I say, won’t you?” Leon asked, though his tone made it clear this wasn’t a question. The captive’s face was slick with sweat, his breathing shallow. “Because if you don’t... well, let me show you what’s at stake.”
Leon snapped his fingers, and one of his men appeared at the doorway, dragging another figure behind him—a young man, bound and gagged, his face a mirror of terror. The resemblance was undeniable. It was the captive’s brother, naked, tightly restrained, struggling futilely against the ropes that bound him. The gag in his mouth stifled any attempt to scream.
The captive’s eyes widened in horror, a muffled cry escaping his own gag as he squirmed desperately against his restraints.
Leon smiled darkly, watching the fear unfold. “I’m sure you recognize your brother. He’ll be staying here as our... guest while you complete your mission.” He gestured toward the man’s brother. “He’ll be kept safe, of course. That is, as long as you cooperate.”
The captive’s muffled pleas filled the room as Leon continued, his tone soft but deadly. “You see, it’s very simple. You get Sam into Dedalus, and your brother leaves here unharmed. If you fail... well, you can imagine what happens next.”
There was a long, agonizing pause as the captive's eyes filled with despair. He nodded frantically, the fight draining from him as he realized there was no other option.
“Good boy,” Leon murmured, patting the captive on the shoulder before turning back to Sam. “Everything is falling into place.”

DAY 3 – Bound Resolve

Leon then paced in front of Sam, a sinister smile curling on his lips as he weighed the details of his plan. Sam stood in the center of the room, his body tense. He had expected some form of restraint, but when Leon turned to him with a knowing glint in his eyes, Sam’s stomach tightened.
“We’ll need to make this look as real as possible,” Leon said slowly, almost relishing the moment. “Sutherland won’t be fooled unless you’re delivered in the exact same condition as before.”
Sam clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what that meant. He had been trussed up in a brutal hogtie—police-grade cuffs biting into his wrists and ankles, chains connecting everything in an unbreakable grip, and a thick gag jammed in his mouth, sealed with tape and secured by a muzzle. The memory of it sent a shiver down his spine. Hours spent in that torturous position had pushed him to the edge, and now, he was expected to endure it all over again.
Leon’s eyes flickered with dark amusement. “You’re going back into the hogtie, Sam. Same cuffs, same chains. It’s the only way. Sutherland will recognize your suffering—it’ll sell the ruse. And don’t worry,” he added with mock sincerity, “our friend here will have the keys.”
Sam’s gaze shifted to the man still strapped to the chair. The captive looked terrified, glancing between Leon and Sam, realizing he was now responsible for executing the plan that could end Sam’s freedom or save his own brother. The added pressure was clear.
Mr. A appeared at Leon’s signal, carrying a set of cuffs that looked almost identical to the ones that had restrained Sam before. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, as he stepped toward Sam. Sam’s muscles instinctively tensed, his pulse quickening as he watched the heavy restraints come closer. Every inch of him rebelled at the thought of being rendered helpless again, knowing the kind of pain it would cause.
“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” Sam muttered under his breath, casting a sharp look at Leon.
Leon chuckled. “Believe it, Sam. You know it’s the only way.”

DAY 3 - Back Into the Cuffs: The Hogtie Tightens

The process was agonizingly slow. Mr. A worked with precision, first locking Sam’s wrists behind his back in the heavy police-grade cuffs, then connecting his ankles with a similar set of restraints. The tension in the room mounted as the chains rattled, clinking against the metal floor as the hogtie began to take shape.
Sam’s breathing quickened, every muscle straining as his body was contorted into the same agonizing position he’d endured before. His ankles were pulled toward his wrists, a length of chain binding them tightly together, leaving him no room to stretch or adjust. The unforgiving metal dug into his skin, making every movement a reminder of his helplessness.
“Make sure it’s tight,” Leon ordered coolly from behind, watching as Mr. A secured the final chain. “We don’t want him slipping free too soon, do we?”
Sam’s lips tightened in frustration as the last chain snapped into place, locking him into the unbearable position. The cuffs cut into his flesh as he tried to shift slightly, testing the limits of his movement. It was just as bad as before—if not worse.
His head jerked as Mr. A approached with the gag. Sam’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t just any gag—it was a thick sock gag like the one from before, like the one that had been stuffed into his mouth for hours, sealed with layer upon layer of duct tape, and further secured by a muzzle designed to make sure no amount of struggling would let him spit it out.
Mr. A hesitated briefly, his eyes meeting Sam’s. But with a sigh, he pushed the balled-up gag past Sam’s lips, stuffing it deep into his mouth. Sam groaned against the pressure, his jaw stretching painfully as the sock filled his mouth. The first layer of duct tape was applied, then another, and another, until Sam’s protests were reduced to nothing more than muffled grunts.
The muzzle came next, locking over his mouth and nose, ensuring the gag stayed firmly in place. Sam’s chest heaved as the reality of his situation sank in. He was once again utterly helpless—hogtied, gagged, and completely at the mercy of the men around him.

DAY 3 - The Perfect Bait

Leon stood back, admiring the work. “Beautiful,” he said, almost like he was admiring a piece of art. “Now, you’ll be the perfect gift for Sutherland.”
Sam groaned through the gag, his voice lost behind the layers of tape and leather. The chains rattled as he struggled, but there was no escape from the merciless grip of the cuffs. His wrists throbbed from the strain, and his legs were already aching from the contorted position.
Leon turned to the captive man strapped to the chair. “You’ll take Sam to Sutherland yourself. Tell him you captured him. It’ll give you access to the villa, and once inside, you’ll deliver Sam to the core.”
The captive’s eyes widened in fear, his muffled protests barely audible through his own gag. Leon ignored him, continuing with his plan. “Of course, you’ll have to play it smart. We’ll make sure you have the keys—just in case you need to free Sam at the right moment. But remember,” Leon’s voice turned icy, “if you try to betray me, your brother stays here.”
At this, Leon motioned toward the bound figure of the man’s brother—still gagged, still helpless, but wide-eyed with terror as he squirmed against the ropes binding him.
The captive nodded frantically, his face pale. He had no choice but to comply.

DAY 3 - Bound by Doubt

As the plan was finalized, Sam’s mind raced. He was trapped again, just as before, and the weight of the situation pressed down on him with an intensity he hadn’t anticipated. The idea of being taken back to Sutherland in this state—vulnerable, bound, and at the mercy of his enemies—was unbearable. But what truly ate at him was the uncertainty of whether this plan would even work.
His body screamed with discomfort as the chains kept him immobilized. The gag, now soaked with his saliva, made breathing difficult, each inhale restricted by the tight muzzle. And the worst part was knowing that his fate lay in the hands of a man whose loyalty had been bought at the price of his brother’s life.
As Leon gave the final instructions, Sam’s thoughts darkened. He felt a deep sense of dread, knowing that once he was delivered to Sutherland, anything could happen. Would he be freed in time? Would the captive stick to the plan? Or would Sam be left at the mercy of a man who had already taken everything from him?
Leon’s voice cut through the tension in the room like a blade. “You’ll deliver him just like this, Anton, that’s your name, isn’t it?” he said to the man still strapped to the chair, gesturing to Sam’s helpless, hogtied form. “And make sure Sutherland sees how much pain he’s in. We need him to believe it. If anything looks off, he’ll know.”
Anton nodded reluctantly. His brother, still bound and gagged as collateral, lay helpless in the corner, eyes wide with fear. Anton understood that his brother’s life depended on his ability to deliver Sam successfully into Sutherland’s hands.
Anton had no choice but to follow through. Leon released him from his bonds, and gave him something to wear.
When he was ready, he crouched next to Sam, tugging at the cuffs and chains to ensure everything was as tight and inescapable as possible. Sam’s eyes flickered with frustration and helplessness, barely visible behind the layers of duct tape sealing his gag and the leather muzzle.
“I’ll have the keys,” Anton muttered, more to himself than to Sam. “When the time is right… I’ll get you out.”
Sam groaned into the gag, the leather muffling any attempt at communication. He wanted to scream, to resist, but the restraints allowed no such release. His muscles ached from the unforgiving position, the metal cuffs digging deeper with every shallow breath he took.

“Victory often belongs not to the most powerful, but to those willing to endure.”
— Miyamoto Musashi

[Htdgagfreak85]

Chapter 17: In Chains of Solace

"The chains we forge in our minds are often the hardest to break."
— Charles Dickens

Six Months Earlier, at Dedalus

Seeds of Obedience

Six months earlier, Arthur’s days had begun to blur together—a series of confined spaces, orders barked by faceless men, and long, silent waits. The loyalty he’d thought unshakeable was beginning to feel worn, tested by Sutherland’s relentless control.
But when he was summoned into an unfamiliar wing of the facility, one he hadn’t seen before, he sensed things were about to change. It was quiet, sterile, unlike the loud, metallic echoes of his usual surroundings. Arthur was on edge, his mind racing with questions.
He hadn’t anticipated that the day would bring him to Dr. Calder.

Calm Under Constraint

Arthur blinked against the dim, sterile light as he was led into an unfamiliar room. The walls were clinical white, but a heavy, unsettling silence filled the air. A tall man with graying hair and a calm, composed demeanor stood waiting. He wore a lab coat, crisp and professional, a clipboard resting in his hand.
“Arthur, is it?” The man’s voice was soft, yet carried an authority that made Arthur uneasy.
Arthur tried to pull back, his shoulders tensing, but two of Sutherland’s guards held him firmly in place. “What is this?” he demanded, his voice wavering.
The man smiled—a reassuring yet unnerving expression. “Relax,” he said, adjusting the light so it shone softly, casting a warm glow. “I’m Dr. Calder. I’m here to help… let’s say, ease your mind a little.”
Arthur’s gaze darted between the doctor and the guards, but he was powerless to resist as they lowered him into a reclined chair. The leather was cool against his skin, and he flinched as the guards quickly and efficiently strapped him down. Thick, secure restraints encircled his wrists and ankles, leaving him unable to move. His chest tightened with apprehension as a final strap crossed over his torso, anchoring him to the chair.
“What are you doing to me?” Arthur’s voice slurred slightly, resistance slipping as he felt the prick of an IV needle sliding into his arm. A warm sensation began to course through his veins, the edges of the room blurring.
Dr. Calder observed his patient’s slackening expression with interest. “Nothing harmful, I assure you. We’re simply enhancing your relaxation through a process called mnemonic integration—a guided focus exercise. The compound we’re using, a neural suppressor called Dexazolamene, helps lower your inhibitions and engages the prefrontal cortex, allowing you to accept suggestions with greater ease. You’ll just need to let go.”
Arthur’s mind grew hazy, his thoughts floating in and out as the sedative took hold.

Binding of the Mind

Dr. Calder continued, his tone calm and measured. “I find that mnemonic integration works best when paired with rhythmic auditory reinforcement. It’s a bit like a trance state, but not quite. It uses elements of what some call ‘induced compliance.’ Listen to the sound, Arthur. Just the steady beat. Let it clear your mind.”
Arthur wanted to resist, to pull away, but the drug coursing through his veins made it impossible. His gaze settled on the doctor’s face, and slowly, he felt the tension draining from his body. The metronome’s consistent, lulling beat was no accident; it was a technique known as tempo-resonance alignment, designed to alter the listener’s sense of time and heighten suggestibility.
“That’s it,” Dr. Calder murmured approvingly, leaning forward, his voice lowering, each word precise and intentional. “You’re safe here. You’re protected. All you need to do is relax and listen. Do you understand?”
Arthur nodded weakly, his eyelids growing heavy.
“Good,” the doctor continued, speaking in a rhythmic, cadenced voice. “Now, I’m going to say a word. Each time you hear this word, you’ll feel safe and calm, and you’ll trust the person who says it. This word is solace. Repeat it for me.”
“Solace,” Arthur mumbled, the word heavy on his tongue.
Dr. Calder’s lips curled into a slight smile. “Very good, Arthur. You’ll find that, whenever you hear that word, you’ll be filled with calm. You’ll feel at ease. It’s like a bridge—your anchor to this sense of peace. Solace. Just keep repeating it in your mind.”
Arthur’s head lolled to the side, the rhythmic beat of the metronome syncing with the soothing hum of Dr. Calder’s voice. “Solace…” he murmured again, barely aware of the word’s weight pressing deeper into his subconscious. The technique was designed to create a neurological pathway linked to the verbal cue.
Dr. Calder made a note on his clipboard. Each session would deepen Arthur’s response to the trigger word, setting a mental chain reaction in his brain’s limbic system that could be activated at any time by the right person. Calder’s intention was clear: create a tether in Arthur’s mind that anyone trusted with the word “solace” could exploit.
Time seemed to blur as Dr. Calder continued. Arthur drifted in and out, each word sinking into his mind with greater ease. He couldn’t resist, couldn’t fight it. His brain was being gently rewired, the connections reinforced by each session. The process continued for nearly an hour, layering further folds of trust and control over that single word.
When Dr. Calder finally released him, Arthur had only a faint memory of the session—a foggy blur of lights, soft sounds, and a profound sense of calm.

Present Day

Day 3: A Risky Gambit

Arthur trudged along the deserted road, clutching one of Sam’s team’s backpacks he’d grabbed in haste during his escape. He’d hoped to find spare clothes, water, maybe even a weapon if luck was on his side. But as he unzipped it, his heart skipped a beat. Inside, he found a fake gun, handcuffs, rope, a bottle labeled “chloroform” with some rags stuffed beside it, and a few ball gags and duct tape rolls. His fingers brushed over each item as a desperate, reckless plan began to form. His heart raced with a frenzied urgency—if he played his cards right, this might be his chance to get Seb back.
A pair of headlights appeared in the distance. Spotting an opportunity, Arthur stepped into the road, waving his arms to flag down the car. The vehicle slowed, and the driver—a young man, fit and close enough in build to resemble Mr. C—rolled down his window, eyeing Arthur with a mix of curiosity and caution.
“Hey, man, you need a ride?” the driver asked, leaning out of the window.
Arthur forced a friendly smile. “Yeah, I could use some help. Been stranded out here for hours.”
As the driver nodded and unlocked the doors, Arthur climbed into the passenger seat, his heart pounding. The moment the door clicked shut, he pulled out the chloroform-soaked rag from the bag and clamped it over the driver’s face. The man’s eyes widened with shock, muffled screams filling the car as he twisted and kicked in a frantic attempt to break free. But Arthur held firm, waiting as the man’s resistance gradually weakened, his eyes rolling back before he slumped into unconsciousness.
Arthur dragged the driver’s limp body out of the car, pulling him to the side of the road. He worked quickly, stripping the man down to his boxers before securing his wrists and ankles with rope. He stuffed a large ball gag into the man’s mouth, the leather pressing tightly against his cheeks as Arthur fastened the straps, then added layers of duct tape over it to ensure the man’s cries would be reduced to mere whimpers. As the captive’s eyes fluttered open, Arthur saw panic flooding his gaze.
“Mmmph! Mmmpphhh!” the man moaned desperately, wide-eyed with terror as he realized his helpless state. His muffled protests grew louder, frantic and confused, as Arthur bundled him into the trunk and slammed it shut.
Arthur put on the driver’s clothes and climbed into the seat, gripping the steering wheel as he steadied himself. His heart pounded with a mix of dread and exhilaration. He was determined to see this through.

Day 3 - Facade of the Captor

Arthur pulled up to the gates of Dedalus, his heart pounding in his chest. He could still hear the muffled, desperate moans from the man crammed into the trunk, his voice barely audible through the thick gag, now sealed further with a tight layer of duct tape. As he waited for the gates to open, Arthur tried to quiet his mind. He had to stay focused. He had no idea about the true depth of Mr. Sutherland’s motives—only the assumption that Sutherland’s fixation on Seb was due to some twisted attraction to his stepbrother’s vulnerable, youthful appearance. To Arthur, that made his plan seem viable, even if tenuous.
He forced himself to believe this story might be enough to appease Sutherland. The guards recognized him immediately, waving him through with nods, none the wiser about the man bound and gagged in the trunk. Arthur drove straight to the villa's entrance, his breaths shallow, knowing that each step he took brought him closer to the confrontation he was dreading.
When he arrived at Dedalus, Sutherland’s villa, Arthur’s pulse raced. He parked, then pulled his captive from the trunk, heaving the bound, gagged man over his shoulder as he made his way to the main entrance. The man struggled, moaning in fear through the gag, but his cries were reduced to muffled whimpers, only adding to Arthur's facade. Arthur strode forward, gripping his captive tightly, ignoring the frantic mumbles and helpless writhing from the man on his shoulder.
Inside, the room was quiet except for the echoes of his prisoner’s muffled protests, growing louder as Arthur laid him on the ground at his feet. Just then, the large screen on the far wall came to life, illuminating the dim room with Mr. Sutherland’s image. He was watching, his expression impassive but his eyes glinting with curiosity. Arthur tried to steady his voice, pushing down the swell of nerves.
“Arthur,” he greeted, his tone as sharp as it was calm. “You’ve brought me quite a sight.”
Arthur swallowed, feeling the weight of Sutherland’s gaze on him. He cleared his throat, steadying his voice. “I… I managed to escape, and I captured one of the men who turned against me,” he said, gesturing to the squirming captive. “I thought… maybe we could make a trade. He’s valuable to Sam. Perhaps you’d consider accepting him in exchange for Seb.”
Sutherland’s expression didn’t waver as he scrutinized the bound man, whose eyes were now wide with terror. “Mmmph! Mmmpphhh!” The man’s muffled pleas grew louder as he struggled against Arthur’s grip, clearly trying to communicate that he was not who they thought he was. But the oversized ball gag held firm, rendering his desperate attempts to speak into mere muffled sounds.
“Interesting,” Sutherland mused, his voice laced with skepticism as his gaze drifted over the young captive. “You expect me to believe this is one of Sam’s team?”
Arthur nodded, his pulse hammering. He hoped the sight of the restrained man would pique Sutherland’s interest, that he would see value in keeping him for leverage.
Sutherland’s lip curled into a faint smirk. “Bring him to the core,” he instructed, his tone rich with intrigue. “Let’s see just how valuable your ‘exchange’ really is.”
Arthur felt a flicker of hope as he tightened his grip on the struggling captive, who moaned in panic as he was half-dragged, half-carried down the corridors. The man’s muffled cries of distress grew more desperate, but Arthur ignored them, his focus entirely on reaching Seb.

Flashback: Arthur’s Descent Into Sutherland’s Trap

Arthur never saw the trap coming. It had all begun so innocently—a simple promotion, a move from the busy grind of Eaglecrest Financial to the secluded elegance of Mr. Sutherland’s villa. Back then, he’d been a junior accountant, eager to prove himself in a competitive firm, where Sutherland was among the most prestigious clients. The billionaire’s account had always been handled with particular care, his influence extending even over senior associates. So when a whisper spread through the office about a high-paying personal assistant role for Mr. Sutherland himself, Arthur had felt a spark of ambition. It was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.
What he didn’t know was that the opportunity was anything but random. Two years earlier, Sutherland had begun a quiet investigation into Seb’s family, a reaction to the dark events that involved his nephew Daniel. Through his hired private investigator, Sutherland learned of Arthur—a young, competent accountant connected to Seb, the very target of his simmering grudge. From that moment, Sutherland began crafting his plan, carefully laying a path that would eventually lead Arthur right into his grasp.
Through a senior associate, Sutherland spread the rumor of an opening, a prestigious role with high pay and excellent perks. It was a tailored invitation, designed to lure Arthur in, and it worked. Arthur accepted without a second thought, seeing only the career boost and the salary that would help him support his stepbrother, Seb, and their future. He moved into Sutherland’s villa, barely noticing that, bit by bit, he was leaving his old life—and Seb—behind.
Arthur remembered those first months as a whirlwind. Sutherland had treated him well, extending casual invitations to private gatherings and luxurious trips, drawing him further into his inner circle. The real turning point, though, was the vacation on Sutherland’s yacht. Sutherland suggested he bring Seb along, and Arthur hadn’t seen the harm. He could still recall how Sutherland’s eyes lingered on Seb, as if sizing him up, noting every nuance of his character. At the time, it seemed like friendly interest. But the truth was darker. Sutherland had been planning, observing, looking for cracks he could exploit.
Seb had always been a complicated young man. They shared the same mother, but their fathers were different, a detail that had only strengthened their bond after the tragic accidents that took their parents. Arthur had become more than a stepbrother; he’d become a father figure, the only family Seb had left. But he’d known that Seb was different, harboring certain… interests, a fascination with bondage and scenarios that most people wouldn’t understand. Arthur had accepted it, sometimes even humored it, believing it was just another quirk of Seb’s unique personality.
Months passed, and the tension was building. Arthur could feel it without realizing what it was, a silent pull drawing him deeper into Sutherland’s influence. Then, one evening, Sutherland approached him with an unusual proposal. He spoke of a “kinky desire,” an idea he’d been harboring. He wanted to watch Seb in a scenario—an elaborate, staged kidnapping—purely for private entertainment. Arthur, stunned at first, listened as Sutherland painted the concept with enticing, almost poetic details. It was a harmless fantasy, Sutherland insisted, something Seb would ultimately walk away from unharmed. And Arthur would be well-compensated for his involvement.
The offer was impossible to refuse. Sutherland promised that every detail would be handled by professionals. He even mentioned a “company” that organized such experiences, a team known for its authenticity and expertise in psychological scenarios. Sutherland assured Arthur that it would be safe, though Seb would need to be kept oblivious to maintain the realism. That element of surprise was crucial, he said. It would make the experience authentic, a real, visceral thrill for his own “eyes only” film.
Arthur’s hesitation faded as Sutherland outlined the plan with clinical precision. The high pay, the assurances, the chance to indulge Seb’s own tastes—it all seemed manageable, even harmless. Arthur thought of it as a strange gift, an experience tailored to Seb’s unique personality. And when he learned about Sam Harrington’s team, the one renowned for their professional skill and expertise, he felt reassured. Though Sam initially seemed perplexed by the request, Sutherland’s money—and his apparent fascination with Sam’s methods—proved convincing. Sutherland had a particular interest in the bondage chair Sam had designed, a piece that had garnered attention from both legitimate entrepreneurs and shadowy figures alike. It was a detail Arthur filed away, a curiosity he didn’t fully understand at the time.
And the cameras—Sutherland had spared no expense in arranging top-of-the-line recording equipment, placed to capture Seb’s every reaction.
So, at the time, Arthur had convinced himself it was harmless, that Seb would be unharmed and oblivious to the setup. But now, in the cold corridors of Dedalus, the weight of that choice settled heavily on him. He felt the shackles of his decisions, each one tightening around his mind.

Present Day

Day 3: Face to Face with Captivity

As Arthur approached the final chamber, two guards stepped aside, revealing the doorway to the room where Seb was held. Arthur's heart pounded, but his breathing stilled as he entered. As he dropped his captive on the floor, his gaze found his stepbrother instantly. The sight stopped him cold.
There was Seb—strapped to the modified bondage chair in the center of the room. His slender, vulnerable frame was completely exposed, his wrists and ankles bound tightly to the armrests and legs of the chair. A thick leather gag sealed his mouth, pressing deeply into his cheeks, muffling any sound he might have tried to make. His eyes, glazed with exhaustion and resignation, stared blankly ahead, but as Arthur stepped closer, Seb’s gaze shifted, focusing on his stepbrother’s face with a flicker of recognition.
Arthur’s throat tightened. “Seb… what have they done to you?” he whispered, his voice breaking. He stepped closer, eyes filled with horror as he took in the bruises on Seb’s wrists, the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, the defeated slump of his shoulders. “Oh, Seb…”
Luke sat nearby, bound and gagged in an identical chair. His wide, frightened eyes looked lost, and he seemed as helpless as Seb. Both boys had been reduced to hushed, humiliated figures under Sutherland’s sadistic control. They looked like they had been restrained for a long time. The room reeked of stale urine and the foul odor of waste, a stench that clung to the air, thick and inescapable. The oppressive smell, coming from the buckets under their chairs, hit Arthur hard, a visceral reminder of the boys’ prolonged captivity.
Arthur’s captive, still bound and gagged, struggled faintly on the floor beside him, but Arthur barely noticed. His focus remained on Seb, the pain in his chest sharp and raw. The sight of his stepbrother, once so full of life, now reduced to this state—naked, humiliated, hopeless—was almost too much to bear.
“Seb,” he murmured again, his voice thick with regret. If only he had known, if only he had done something sooner…
His heart pounded with desperation, but a glimmer of hope lingered in his mind. He still believed, however faintly, that this plan might work. Arthur didn’t understand the real reason behind Sutherland’s fixation on Seb, the deeper history that had drawn them all to this moment. He was ignorant of Seb’s role in the suffering of Sutherland’s nephew, of the tangled motivations that had fueled this entire ordeal.

Day 3 - The Waiting Game

Sutherland, watching from his screen, could see Arthur’s naiveté. He leaned back, intrigued, knowing that Arthur’s ignorance played perfectly into his hands. Arthur didn’t realize that Sutherland was simply waiting for the right moment, eager to put Arthur’s conditioning to the test and see just how far the word “solace” could push him.
For now, though, Sutherland watched with a measured patience. The game was far from over, and Arthur, though he didn’t know it yet, was merely a pawn, poised on the edge of obedience, ready to be controlled with a single word.
Then the screen flickered on, casting a cold light across the dim room. Sutherland’s calm, calculating gaze held Arthur captive, his voice smooth, almost tender.
“You’ve done well to come this far, Arthur,” he said, his words laced with quiet authority. “Now, let’s find some peace. Let’s bring… solace.”
The word seemed to echo, sinking into Arthur’s mind, and his eyes went blank, his body slackening as if released from a heavy burden.
Sutherland’s lips curled in satisfaction.

"Power doesn’t just bind the body—it binds the will."
— Milan Kundera

[derred6]

Poor Sam having to let himself get chained up as bait, knowing those bindings are tight.... Can't wait to see how this story continues.

[Htdgagfreak85]

Poor Sam having to let himself get chained up as bait, knowing those bindings are tight.... Can't wait to see how this story continues.

Thank you so much @derred6! Sam’s definitely in a difficult position, caught between duty and vulnerability. Those bindings are only the beginning… there’s a lot more tension and suspense ahead. I’m glad you’re enjoying the journey, and I can’t wait to share what’s next!

[Htdgagfreak85]

CHAPTER 18

Shattered Illusions

“He who controls others may be powerful, but he who has mastered himself is mightier still.”
— Lao Tzu

Day 3 – Broken Promises

Time had unraveled around me, stretching and snapping, leaving me stranded in a haze where nothing made sense anymore. The last thing I remembered with any clarity was the cold pinch of a needle breaking my skin. My stomach clenched even now at the thought of it. I’d begged, tried to fight, to thrash my way out of their grip, but it was no use. They held me down, ignoring my pleas, my mind screaming as I felt the sharpness sink in. The drug hit me like ice through my veins, clouding everything, twisting time until minutes felt like hours, hours like days.
When I’d asked Sam to make this fantasy real, I had never pictured… this. The leather straps bit into my wrists and ankles, holding me tight against the cold, unyielding chair. My muscles ached, screaming for release, and yet I couldn’t move, couldn’t shift, couldn’t even beg. The gag pressed cruelly into my mouth, silencing every attempt to speak, to plead. The humiliation of it all—the chair, the thick leather gag, the bucket beneath me, making sure I was trapped even by my own body’s needs—was too much to bear. Every time I thought of the bucket, I felt shame churn through me, knowing there was no escape, no dignity left. And across from me, there was Seb, bound and broken in his own chair, his eyes vacant, filled with a quiet horror that mirrored my own. I couldn’t look at him for long without feeling the weight of his story pressing down on me. I hadn’t known the full truth when we’d started all this, hadn’t understood the hell he’d been through with Sutherland’s nephew. Seeing him now, like this… it made my skin crawl, made me hate myself for every thought I’d ever had that led us here.
How had it come to this?
I’d imagined something thrilling, dangerous but safe—a controlled fantasy where Sam could be rough, push my limits, give me that rush I craved. But this? This wasn’t the rush of excitement. This was terror, plain and sharp, tearing through every illusion I’d clung to. I had dreamed of being kidnapped, yes, but never like this. This was a nightmare, an ugly, twisted parody of what I’d wanted. There was no safe word, no way out. Just the stale, suffocating air of this room, the stench of our piss and shit piling up in the buckets beneath us an unbearable reminder of how low we’d been brought, and the reality that I was more helpless than I’d ever imagined.
I didn’t even know how long we’d been here. The drug had turned everything into a thick, swirling fog. Hours passed, maybe even days, slipping away while I remained trapped, numb, humiliated. The pain was constant—a dull, relentless ache in every joint, every muscle. The worst part was that I couldn’t even cry out. Every thought, every fragment of hope, was swallowed by this horrible silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle of footsteps outside the door. Each time, I tensed, hoping, dreading, wishing someone would come, but each time, no one did.
I thought I was strong. I thought I could handle anything. But the weight of it all—the restraints, the gag, the endless silence, and the shame—it had broken me in ways I never thought possible. I felt hollow, drained, just waiting for something, anything, to finally end this nightmare.
And then, the footsteps again. This time, they were heavier, deliberate. My heart lurched, my body bracing, a flicker of hope sparking within the haze of terror.
The door opened, and I barely dared to breathe. There, standing in the frame, was a familiar face—Arthur.
Arthur. For one precious second, relief flooded through me. He was here. He was here to save us. This nightmare would end. But as he stepped into the room, I felt that hope falter, slipping through my fingers like sand. Arthur’s face was twisted in sorrow as he looked at Seb, his mouth tightening as if he couldn’t bear what he was seeing. For that one moment, I thought he was here for us, that he felt our pain.
He took a step closer to Seb, his voice a broken whisper. “Seb, what have they done to you?” His gaze lingered on Seb’s bruised wrists, the hollow look in his eyes. “Oh, Seb…”
Hearing his voice, so full of pain, made something tighten in my chest. I wanted to shout to him, to tell him we were here, waiting to be saved, but the gag stifled every sound, reducing my voice to nothing but a muted groan. I twisted in the straps, trying to catch his attention, trying to make him see me.
Arthur looked at me then, and for one fleeting moment, our eyes met. I saw the anguish there, the sorrow, the same desperation I felt. He was here for us. He had to be.
But then the screen on the far wall flickered to life, casting a cold glow over the room. Sutherland’s face appeared, watching us all with a look of chilling satisfaction. His voice, soft and commanding, cut through the silence.
“Arthur,” Sutherland said, his tone almost gentle, like a master calling to an obedient pet. “You’ve done well. Now… feel the solace.”
And just like that, Arthur’s face went blank. The sorrow, the pain—all of it drained away, leaving only a hollow, empty gaze. His shoulders relaxed, his body shifting into a posture that was… wrong. Lifeless. My heart plummeted, horror clawing up my throat. Whatever I’d thought he was here for, whatever hope I’d clung to… it was gone. Arthur was gone, just as much a prisoner as we were.
And there was nothing left to save us.


Day 3 – The Road to submission

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Anton was driving Sam to the outskirts of Sutherland’s villa. The plan was simple but dangerous: Anton would present Sam as a captured prize, trussed up like a helpless animal, and gain entry to the labyrinthine core of Dedalus. It was their only chance to infiltrate the villa, but it left Sam more vulnerable than ever.
His mind was racing as he lay helpless on the floor of the van, his body aching from the relentless pressure of the chains binding him. The gag stifled his breath, the muzzle keeping his mouth sealed tightly shut, preventing him from speaking—just like before.
He couldn’t help but feel the familiar fear creeping back, the dread of being restrained, gagged, and utterly powerless in front of his enemy. Memories of his previous captivity flooded his mind—the torturous hours spent in the same hogtie, waiting for any kind of release that never came.
But this time, there was a difference. This time, Sam knew there was a plan, however fragile. He had to believe in it. He had to trust Anton, despite everything. Yet, deep down, the uncertainty gnawed at him—what if Anton didn’t follow through? What if this was all a trap?
As he lay there, his wrists and ankles burning under the pressure of the cuffs, his mind drifted to the endless possibilities of what Sutherland might do. He had to steel himself, knowing full well that he was once again a pawn in a much larger game.

After a while, the van slowed to a stop on an isolated stretch of road. Sam’s heart raced, sensing something shifting in Anton’s demeanor. The sound of Anton’s door opening and closing echoed through the quiet as he made his way to the back, opening the van’s rear doors with deliberate slowness.
Sam lay hogtied, the police-grade cuffs and chains biting into his skin. The uncomfortable restraint reminded him too much of what Sutherland had done to him before, but there was something more unsettling in Anton’s gaze now—something more personal.
Anton leaned against the van’s side, his eyes locking onto Sam’s bound form. “It’s my turn now, Sam,” he said, his voice low and dark, full of pent-up desire. “You had me in chains, remember? And now… now it’s time I return the favor.”
Sam’s breath hitched, but he couldn’t do much more than stare up at Anton, his body trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. His mind swirled with conflicted thoughts—he could sense what was coming, and though every fiber of his being should have wanted to stop it, something inside him didn’t.
The way Anton approached, running his hands over Sam’s restrained form, was slow, almost methodical, as if savoring every moment. Sam remained motionless, his muscles tense under the harsh grip of the chains, unable to fight back—not that he would have. He felt a strange sense of inevitability, his mind wandering to the next steps of the plan, but his body responding differently to Anton’s touch.
Just as Anton’s breath came closer, the moment stretching out, a voice crackled through the van’s radio, interrupting the intensity. One of Leon’s men, stationed nearby, was checking in. Anton hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he stepped back and cursed under his breath.
“We’ll finish this later,” Anton muttered, his voice tinged with frustration as he closed the doors behind him.
Sam’s pulse slowed as the van roared back to life, the mission once again taking precedence over the fleeting moment of vulnerability. As they drove on toward Sutherland’s lair, Sam’s mind returned to the task at hand, but the memory of what had just transpired lingered in the back of his thoughts, adding a new layer of tension to what lay ahead.


Day 3 – The Captor’s Trophy

The van slowed to a halt, the engine idling as Anton stepped out. Sam’s heart beat faster as he heard voices outside—a short, tense exchange between Anton and what sounded like one of Sutherland’s guards. He felt the weight of his situation pressing down on him now; the plan hinged entirely on Anton’s ability to gain the guards’ trust and bring him, bound and vulnerable, directly to Sutherland.
The van doors swung open, and two guards reached inside, each grabbing one end of Sam’s tightly hogtied form. Without any attempt at gentleness, they yanked him out, his body scraping against the floor of the van before hitting the ground with a thud. His shoulders strained under the sudden drop, and a muffled groan escaped him, quickly swallowed by the gag.
The guards lifted him again, carrying him roughly like a captured animal, his body bouncing between them with each step. Sam could feel every jolt as they made their way to the gates, the cold night air biting into his skin. His vision was limited by his restrained position, but he caught glimpses of the towering gate ahead, flanked by more of Sutherland’s men.
“Looks like you really got him good, Anton,” one of the guards remarked, his voice laced with grudging admiration.
Anton chuckled, his tone casual, almost smug. “Took a bit of work, but he’s all yours now. Sutherland will be pleased.”
Sam’s stomach twisted. The confidence in Anton’s voice seemed so genuine, and he couldn’t shake the creeping doubt that this might indeed be a trap. His trust in Anton was strained, hanging by a thread that could snap at any moment.
“Alright, bring him in,” the guard said. Another guard stepped forward to help, grabbing Sam’s legs as they carried him inside Dedalus without ceremony or care. His body swayed with their rough movements, every jarring step a reminder of his vulnerability and helplessness.
Inside, the air grew colder, the silence more oppressive. Each footstep echoed as they moved deeper into Dedalus, the villa’s hallways dark and winding. Sam’s view was limited, and his body remained taut and defenseless, completely at their mercy.
Sam was dragged deeper into the core of Dedalus, Anton and the guards roughly hauling his tightly hogtied form through the maze of dimly lit hallways. With each jolt, his body reminded him of his helplessness, his wrists and ankles burning from the unyielding pressure of the cuffs. He caught glimpses of flickering surveillance cameras and cold, expressionless guards stationed along the corridors, all watching him as if he were nothing more than a captured animal.
They finally reached a set of heavy double doors, guarded by two men in dark uniforms. Without ceremony, Anton signaled for the doors to be opened, and the guards complied. As they entered the room, Sam’s pulse quickened, his stomach twisting as he took in the ominous setup. This wasn’t just a room—it was a space designed to break even the strongest of wills.
At the center of the room, a pulley system hung from the ceiling, its heavy chains clinking softly as it swayed slightly, almost as if waiting for its next victim. Sam’s heart pounded as he realized what was in store for him.
And then he saw Arthur.
Arthur was standing near the pulley, his expression unreadable. For a brief, hopeful moment, Sam’s heart surged. But as Arthur stepped closer, Sam noticed a strange blankness in his eyes, a calm detachment that set off alarms in his mind. Gone was the ally he thought he might find; Arthur looked at him with the same indifference as the guards.
“Arthur…” Sam wanted to say, but the gag stifled his words, reducing them to muffled grunts. "Mmmpphhh!"
Anton paused, his gaze darting between Arthur and the pulley system, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He hadn’t expected this, Sam could tell. But quickly, Anton regained his composure, reaching into his pocket to produce a small key, which he handed to Arthur.
“Thought you might need this,” Anton said, forcing a casual tone. “He’s all yours.”
Arthur took the key without a word, moving with a mechanical precision as he knelt beside Sam, unlocking the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Sam tried to catch Arthur’s gaze, searching for any sign of recognition, any flicker of the man he’d once known. But Arthur’s expression remained cold and focused, his eyes never meeting Sam’s.
Once Sam’s wrists were freed from the cuffs, Arthur motioned to the guards. Together, they hauled Sam to his feet, his body sagging from the strain of confinement. He tried to resist, his muscles protesting, but the guards’ iron grips left him no choice. They maneuvered him beneath the pulley, forcing his arms upward until his wrists were shackled to the chain.
Arthur worked methodically, securing each cuff with a detachment that made Sam’s skin crawl. The chains creaked as the pulley was activated, drawing Sam’s arms higher until he was stretched taut, his feet barely touching the ground. He strained to maintain his balance, feeling the vulnerability of his position, every inch of his body exposed and defenseless.
“Mmmpphh…” Sam groaned through the gag as the strain in his shoulders intensified, his muscles screaming under the tension. His muffled sounds of discomfort went ignored, and the guards simply tightened their grip as they finalized his restraints.
Once he was fully restrained, Anton stepped back, his eyes lingering on Sam’s stretched form. There was a tension in Anton’s gaze, a silent war playing out behind his eyes, as though he were torn between his role in the plan and his distaste for what was unfolding before him. But he kept his expression neutral, knowing that any sign of doubt would draw suspicion.
And then, the screen on the far wall flickered to life. Sutherland’s face appeared, watching them all with a look of chilling satisfaction.
“Well, well,” Sutherland murmured, his voice smooth and mocking. His gaze swept over Sam, taking in every detail of his exposed, helpless form. “What a sight. You’ve done well, Arthur. He’s exactly where I wanted him.”
Sam’s breathing quickened, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his composure. He tried to meet Sutherland’s gaze with defiance, but the sense of exposure, of being utterly at his mercy, made it nearly impossible.
Sutherland’s eyes shifted to the screens flanking the room. With a flick of his fingers, images of Seb and Luke appeared, each bound to their own bondage chairs, their faces pale and exhausted, their bodies slumped in resignation. The sight of their suffering twisted something deep inside Sam, filling him with a mixture of rage and guilt.
“See them?” Sutherland’s voice was taunting, laced with sadistic pleasure. “They’ve been waiting for you, Sam. Enduring so much… for you.”
“Mmmpphhh…” Sam strained against his chains, his muffled protest lost in the air. The images on the screen were too vivid, too real—Seb’s vacant gaze, Luke’s defeated posture. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, the weight of their suffering pressing down on him like a physical force.
As if sensing Sam’s turmoil, Sutherland chuckled. “Oh, and don’t worry—they’re perfectly safe. For now. Their… discomfort is simply a reminder of what’s in store for you if you choose to resist.”
Sam’s gaze shifted, finding Arthur again, but Arthur’s eyes remained hollow, unseeing. Sutherland’s presence had left its mark on him, stripping away any trace of rebellion, leaving only obedience in its place.
“Arthur,” Sutherland continued, his tone softening as if speaking to a loyal pet, “you’ve been remarkable. Your loyalty is… impressive. Why don’t you make sure Sam feels just as comfortable as our other guests?”
Arthur gave a small nod, moving to adjust Sam’s position, his hands tightening the chains until Sam’s feet left the floor completely, leaving him dangling, his weight fully supported by his wrists. Pain shot through his arms and shoulders, and he bit back any sound, but as the strain worsened, a tortured “Mmmpphh…” escaped his gag.
Sutherland’s voice grew colder, dripping with disdain. “Yes… just like that. Keep him exactly where he belongs.”
Anton stood off to the side, his posture tense, his jaw clenched. For a brief moment, he locked eyes with Sam, a silent understanding passing between them. But he made no move to interfere, knowing that to do so would be to risk everything.
Sutherland’s face on the screen twisted into a smile, one that held no warmth, only malice. “I look forward to seeing how long you last, Sam. But don’t worry… Arthur here will take good care of you.”
The screen went dark, leaving Sam suspended in silence, his body aching, his mind racing. Arthur turned away, his expression unreadable as he moved to stand beside Anton, the two of them framed against the cold, clinical backdrop of Dedalus’s core.
Sam closed his eyes, forcing himself to steady his breath, to push away the pain and focus on the one truth he still clung to: he couldn’t break. Not yet. Not here. Even as he dangled helplessly, he refused to let Sutherland see him falter.

Day 3 – Master of the game

Leon leaned back in his leather chair, eyes fixed on a wall of grainy CCTV monitors. The images, black-and-white with faint static lines, displayed Dedalus’s security feeds: guards stationed at key corridors, locked doors, and, most importantly, Sam, trussed up and helpless, being hauled down a dim hallway. Leon’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the console before him, issuing quiet signals to his mole. His mind worked tirelessly, staying three steps ahead of Sutherland’s every move, anticipating how each moment could be used to their advantage.
It wasn’t emotional investment that drove Leon; it was the professional principle of loyalty. Sam had paid for that loyalty—fierce, unflinching, uncompromising. But there was a fine line, Leon thought, between honoring a contract and seizing an opportunity. After all, Dedalus held more than just Sam’s chains; it held secrets, networks, and the power Leon had always craved. And while he’d ensure Sam’s freedom, Leon knew he could elevate this into a true opportunity. This wasn’t simply about freeing a captive; it was about dismantling an empire from within.
Leon’s gaze drifted to another monitor feed, one that wasn’t part of Dedalus. It displayed a small, dimly lit room where Anton’s younger brother was held captive, tightly bound to a simple wooden chair. Thick ropes looped around his torso, arms, and legs, holding him rigid against the hard seat, while his wrists were tied firmly behind the chair back. A thick cloth gag, pulled tightly around his mouth, stifled his cries, but his muffled sounds were anything but soft. They were desperate, raw with panic, each one a pleading “MMMPPPHH!” as he tried to make sense of his predicament. The boy’s chest heaved, eyes wide with fear as he pulled against the bindings, only to feel them unyielding, holding him in place with brutal efficiency.
The audio feed of his frantic, gag-muffled sounds echoed faintly in Leon’s control room, each “MMMPPPHH! MMMPPPHH!” adding a rhythmic undertone to Leon’s machinations. Leon observed him, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth. The boy had no way of understanding the intricate trap he’d been caught in or how valuable he was as leverage.
“How valuable you are, indeed,” Leon murmured, more to himself than to the restrained figure on the screen. “A perfect collateral piece… and a constant reminder to Anton of what’s at stake.”
He keyed in a coded signal on the radio transmitter beside him—a small, cryptic burst that would reach his mole. A pager on the mole’s end would vibrate in response, prompting them to check for the next instructions.
“Initiate subtle disruptions. We want Sutherland questioning his own men, not hunting for moles. A flickering camera here, a guard’s earpiece malfunctioning there. Small tremors that’ll loosen the foundation.”
He sent the message, a faint smile playing at his lips. By tomorrow, Sutherland would be questioning Dedalus’s integrity, and with every little error, his empire would feel a little less secure. Sam’s escape, though necessary, would be only the beginning.
Leon’s eyes shifted to another monitor, where he saw Sutherland pacing in his private chambers, an untamed glint in his eye as he planned his next torment for Sam. Leon took a long breath, reminding himself of the delicate balancing act he had to maintain. He couldn’t risk tipping his hand too soon, but he also needed to ensure Sam had the slightest advantage.
“We’ll honor the contract, Sam,” Leon murmured to himself, as if speaking directly to the screen. “But we’ll do it on my terms. By the time you’re free, Dedalus will be a cage Sutherland himself won’t escape.”
His eyes drifted to another monitor, where Seb and Luke were bound and slumped in their chairs. Their defeated expressions would strike most as tragic, but Leon observed them with unfeeling pragmatism. Each of them was a piece in the puzzle he was constructing. Their suffering was unfortunate, but it was necessary. Sutherland needed his victims, just as Leon needed Sutherland’s vulnerabilities.
Flipping through a dossier on his desk, Leon noted specific sequences of guard rotations, potential power dependencies, and mapped weaknesses within Dedalus. Every detail provided by his mole was like a loose thread, something he could pull to unravel Sutherland’s empire.
“Tonight,” he whispered, “we introduce a small malfunction in the main corridor. A guard’s absence here, a brief lapse in a camera feed there.”
He picked up his radio transmitter, a specialized device designed for covert communication, and keyed in another coded command. The mole would know to trigger this disruption, a calculated maneuver that would give Sam a potential opening in the hours to come.
Leon leaned back, savoring the moment. Sutherland’s empire was indeed like a maze, but Leon didn’t simply intend to navigate it; he intended to own it. Sam’s freedom would fulfill the contract, but Leon’s agenda would thrive long after Sam was gone.
His gaze shifted back to the screen where Anton’s brother sat bound to the chair, his shoulders straining against the ropes, his eyes squeezed shut as another muffled “MMMPPPHH!” escaped his gag in frantic desperation. The boy was a pawn—valuable, yet expendable. And, more than anything, he was a reminder to Anton of the thin line Leon walked between ally and adversary.
“Tonight,” he murmured, glancing at the monitors as the screen flickered between Sam’s struggle and Sutherland’s calculated cruelty, “is only the beginning.”
And with a final glance at the dimly glowing monitors, Leon turned off his radio transmitter, knowing the wheels had been set in motion. His work was far from over, but he had already won the first round.

“Power resides where men believe it resides. It’s a trick, a shadow on the wall.”
— George R.R. Martin

[Htdgagfreak85]

CHAPTER 19

SHATTERED TRUTHS

"The past is not dead. It’s not even past."
— William Faulkner

Day 3, Morning – The Needle’s Edge

Seb shivered as the cold air of the room bit into his bare skin. His body ached from the tight straps holding him to the steel chair, the leather biting into his wrists, ankles, and torso. The gag stretched cruelly across his mouth, silencing his protests into muffled groans. Across from him, Luke was slumped in his chair, his head tilted forward, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed, and Seb’s gaze snapped to the door. Two guards entered, their faces impassive as they flanked a paramedic in white scrubs. Behind them came a man Seb recognized immediately—Dr. Calder.
Seb’s stomach twisted. The sight of Calder sent a wave of dread through him, a visceral reaction to a face he had seen before in the fragmented recesses of his memory. Calder’s calm, clinical demeanor only made his presence more terrifying. He carried a clipboard, glancing at it as he spoke in an even tone.
“Administer the first dose to Subject B,” Calder instructed, motioning toward Luke. “Ten milligrams of Ketazoladine, intravenous. Expected effect: sedation and partial amnesia.”
Seb’s eyes widened as he watched the paramedic approach Luke, setting a small tray on the floor beside him. The paramedic pulled on gloves with a practiced snap, reaching for a pre-filled syringe.
Luke stirred weakly, his head lifting just enough for his glassy eyes to meet Seb’s. There was fear there, raw and unspoken, before the guards moved in to hold him still.
“This will be over quickly,” the paramedic said, almost absentmindedly, as he found the vein in Luke’s arm. The needle slid in with precision, and Luke flinched, a soft groan escaping him before his body tensed.
Seb could only watch, helpless, as the drug took hold. Luke’s breathing slowed, his body sagging against the restraints. His eyelids fluttered, and then he was still, his head lolling to the side as unconsciousness claimed him.
“Vitals stable,” the paramedic noted, removing the needle and stepping back.
“Proceed with Subject A,” Calder said, his gaze shifting to Seb.
Seb’s chest heaved, his muffled protests turning frantic as the paramedic turned to him, preparing a second syringe.
“Five milligrams of Dexazolamene and one milligram of Neurothryne,” Calder said, not even glancing up from his clipboard. “IV, with a saline flush. This combination will induce cognitive decoupling and time distortion, along with mild dissociation. Ensure complete delivery.”
The paramedic crouched beside Seb, his expression neutral as he reached for Seb’s arm. The guards stepped in, gripping Seb’s shoulders to keep him steady.
Seb thrashed against the straps, his body jerking as much as the restraints would allow.
“Hold him still,” Calder ordered, his tone sharp but calm.
The paramedic found the vein with mechanical efficiency, sliding the needle in despite Seb’s muffled cries.
“This one might feel a bit cold,” the paramedic said, pushing the plunger. The icy sensation spread through Seb’s veins, radiating outward like frostbite. His body tensed involuntarily, every muscle locking up before the drug began to take effect.
The room started to blur, the edges of his vision warping as the effects took hold.
“Monitor his response,” Calder said, stepping closer. “The dissociative properties should begin within seconds. If there’s resistance, increase the dosage by half a milligram.”
Seb’s head lolled forward, his thoughts slipping away as the drug twisted his perception. The world around him felt distant, unreal. He was vaguely aware of the paramedic removing the needle and stepping back, his voice blending with Calder’s in a disjointed hum of medical jargon.
“The sedation for Subject B is complete,” Calder said. “Subject A is responding as expected. Prepare for the next phase of administration once stabilization is confirmed.”
Seb’s eyes fluttered, his gaze drifting toward Luke. The boy’s body was still, his face slack as if he were peacefully asleep. Seb wanted to call out to him, to ask if he was okay, but the gag stole his voice.
A faint groan caught Seb’s attention, and he realized Luke’s head was stirring. His eyelids twitched, then slowly opened, his eyes unfocused as he returned to consciousness.
“Luke,” Seb thought desperately, tears pooling in his eyes. “Wake up. Please.”
But his own body betrayed him, the drug dragging him deeper into its haze. The room spun around him, and Seb’s mind fractured into shards of memory and confusion, the present slipping away into the abyss.

Day 3, Early Afternoon – Fractured Realities

The air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of sweat, urine, and despair.
Seb couldn’t tell where he ended and the chair began. The straps were unrelenting, holding him so tightly that every twitch of his body sent fresh waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. The leather gag pressed into his cheeks, muffling his breathing, his cries, and every thought that threatened to break free.
Across from him, Luke was a blur, a figure he couldn’t quite pin down in the swirling fog of his mind.
The drug was back. He felt it creeping through his veins, an unwelcome guest twisting his thoughts, bending his memories. He tried to focus on Luke, on the faint rise and fall of his chest, the glint of sweat on his forehead. But every time he locked onto reality, it slipped away, replaced by the woods.
The woods. They were always there, waiting for him.
Seb closed his eyes, trying to shut it out, but the memory dragged him back.
Daniel was there, his face illuminated by streaks of sunlight cutting through the trees. He was laughing, teasing Seb about something silly—something Seb couldn’t quite recall.
And then the laughter stopped.
Seb’s breathing quickened as he saw it unfold, just as it had so many times in his nightmares. Daniel was on the ground, his body contorted unnaturally, the ropes digging into his wrists and ankles. His arms were pulled back in a brutal hogtie, his torso pressed flat against the dirt. The cords circled his chest, squeezing tightly, and a thick gag muffled his cries.
“Seb!” Daniel’s muffled voice echoed in Seb’s mind, his desperate “MMMPPPHH!” sounds searing into his memory. “Seb, help me!”
But Seb couldn’t move. He was frozen, bound himself, his own wrists lashed tightly behind his back, his ankles tied together. He struggled against the ropes, his body writhing as he tried to inch closer to Daniel, but the bonds wouldn’t give.
The pain of that day was sharp and unrelenting. Seb had watched, helpless… Then he saw Sutherland standing over Daniel, his expression calm, almost detached.
“This is what happens when you disobey me,” Sutherland had said, his voice cold, cutting through the stillness of the woods.
Seb couldn’t remember what had led to that moment—why Daniel was being punished, why he was there, bound and powerless. The memory fragmented, pieces falling away like shattered glass.
Was it real?
Seb’s mind twisted, searching for answers, but all he found were more questions. He remembered Daniel smiling at him, their secret glances, the warmth of their friendship. Daniel had been his anchor, the one person who made him feel seen, understood.
And yet, that same Daniel had been left hogtied in the woods, tears streaming down his face as he begged for mercy.
Seb shook his head, trying to push the memory away, but it clung to him, wrapping around his mind like the ropes that had bound him.
As his mind spiraled deeper into the chaos, another memory flashed before Seb’s eyes: he was in a sterile white room, the smell of antiseptic stinging his nostrils. Dr. Calder stood over him, his voice calm, soothing.
“Just relax, Seb. Let the memories come. Let them shape you.”
Seb’s heart raced as the rhythmic beat of the metronome filled his ears, its steady cadence lulling him into compliance. The straps on the chair dug into his skin, holding him immobile as Dr. Calder’s words washed over him.
“Do you see it now?” Calder’s voice whispered. “The truth? Or is it just an illusion?”
Then the woods returned. Daniel’s muffled cries. Seb’s own helplessness.
The woods were darker now, the sunlight gone. Seb’s wrists burned, his body remembering what his mind hadn’t yet revealed. He saw Daniel once more, lying face-down in the dirt, his arms and legs still pulled back in that brutal hogtie. The ropes were so tight they bit into Daniel’s skin, leaving angry red welts. His chest heaved as he tried to breathe, the thick gag in his mouth silencing his pleas.
“Seb,” Daniel’s voice was muffled by the gag, but his desperate moaning said it all. “Help me…”
Seb struggled against his own unseen restraints in the memory, but his body wouldn’t move. He couldn’t reach Daniel, couldn’t free him. The pain in his chest was unbearable, not just from the ropes but from the guilt that crushed him.
The memory shifted suddenly, violently, as if someone had yanked it away from him.
Seb saw Sutherland again now, standing over Daniel with an expression he couldn’t decipher. There was no anger, no gloating—just cold possession.
“You’re mine,” Sutherland said, his voice low and deliberate. He crouched down, his hand brushing over Daniel’s sweat-soaked hair. “You’ll always be mine.”
Seb gasped against the gag, his body jolting as the memory faded. His breathing came in ragged bursts as his mind struggled to process what he had seen. Then again, was it real? Had Sutherland really said those words to Daniel? Or was it another trick of the drug, another fragment of a memory twisted beyond recognition?
He tried to focus on Daniel’s face, to hold onto it, but the image dissolved into something else. He was in the white room again. Dr. Calder’s voice filled the air, calm and rhythmic, lulling him into a false sense of safety.
“You’re safe here, Seb,” Calder said, his words wrapping around Seb’s thoughts like chains. “Let the memories guide you. Let them shape you.”
The metronome clicked steadily in the background, its rhythm sinking into Seb’s bones.
“You’ve always known the truth,” Calder continued. “You just need to accept it.”
Seb whimpered, shaking his head against the phantom straps that still seemed to hold him. His memories twisted again, dragging him back to the woods.
Daniel’s cries echoed in his ears.
“Seb!” Daniel’s voice was raw, filled with pain and desperation. “Don’t leave me!”
But Seb hadn’t left him. Had he? The edges of the memory blurred, and Seb’s head throbbed with the effort of trying to make sense of it.
The woods vanished, replaced by the stark interior of the room he was trapped in now. Luke’s figure swam into focus again, his head slumped forward, his breathing shallow. Seb wanted to call out to him, to beg him for help, but the gag silenced him.
“Luke,” Seb thought desperately, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please. Help me. Please…”
But his mind betrayed him, pulling him back into the haze. Luke’s face shifted, becoming Daniel’s. The same sweat-drenched hair, the same hollow eyes filled with terror.
Seb’s body trembled as he tried to fight the memory, but the drug kept dragging him deeper. He saw flashes now—Daniel and Sutherland, the white room, the woods, the ropes, the gag. Each image stabbed into his mind like a knife, leaving him gasping for air.
Sutherland’s voice echoed through it all.
“You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”
The words repeated over and over, a mantra that burrowed into Seb’s brain, making him question everything he thought he knew.
Was Daniel ever free? Was Seb ever free?
The lines between memory and reality blurred until Seb couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. His eyes locked onto Luke again, but he no longer knew if he was looking at his friend or another ghost of his broken mind.
Seb’s tears dripped onto the leather gag as his body sagged against the chair. The drug was winning, twisting his thoughts, bending his memories. And somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he heard Dr. Calder’s voice again.
“Just let go, Seb. Let the truth guide you.”
But what was the truth?
Seb didn’t know anymore.

"The chains of the mind are stronger than those of the body."
— Jean-Jacques Rousseau

[Htdgagfreak85]

CHAPTER 20

COMMAND AND REBELLION

"Discipline is the soul of an army. It makes small numbers formidable; procures success to the weak, and esteem to all."
— George Washington

Five Years Earlier – The Heir Bound

The Sutherland Manor’s private study was a shrine to Maxwell’s past. Military awards lined the walls, each framed in polished mahogany. A ceremonial saber rested above the grand fireplace, a testament to his service as a decorated officer in an elite paramilitary unit. The air smelled faintly of leather, old paper, and the lingering aroma of cigar smoke—a scent as commanding as the man who often filled the room.
Maxwell stood behind his massive oak desk, a freshly lit cigar in hand. The cherry-red tip glowed as he drew in a slow breath, letting the smoke curl from his lips. His sharp eyes were fixed on Daniel, who stood defiantly in front of him, barefoot and dripping from the pool. The red speedo clung to his toned frame, highlighting his athletic build—a physicality inherited from his father, though his spirit was far more rebellious.
“I told you,” Daniel spat, his voice sharp and cutting. “I’m done living under your rules. I’m eighteen. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”
Maxwell took another deliberate puff of his cigar, his gaze never wavering. “Eighteen doesn’t make you free,” he said, his voice calm yet laced with authority. “It makes you reckless. Last night, you drank, did drugs, and wasted your time with people who don’t care about you. Is that freedom?”
Daniel crossed his arms over his chest, a scoff escaping his lips. “Maybe I don’t want your empire. Maybe I don’t want to be like you.”
Maxwell tapped the cigar against a nearby ashtray, the smoldering tip shedding a thin trail of ash. His patience snapped. “You don’t have a choice.”
He gestured sharply, and two guards stepped forward from the shadows. Daniel’s confident smirk faltered as the men moved closer, their expressions unreadable.
“What the hell is this?” Daniel demanded, stepping back instinctively. “You can’t be serious.”
Maxwell’s voice was cold and unwavering. “You’ve left me no other option.”
The guards seized Daniel by the arms, their grip firm and unrelenting. He twisted violently, his muscles straining as he tried to break free. “Let go of me!” he shouted, his voice rising with panic. “You can’t do this! I’m not a kid!”
“You’re acting like one,” Maxwell replied, taking a long drag from his cigar. “And you’ll be treated like one.”
Daniel fought harder as the guards forced him to his knees. “Stop it!” he yelled, his voice cracking as his bare skin scraped against the cold tiles. “You’re insane!”
Ignoring his protests, Maxwell reached into a black duffel bag one of the guards had brought in, pulling out a thick coil of white rope. The act was deliberate, calculated, as though Maxwell was savoring his son’s growing panic.
“You can’t tie me up!” Daniel hissed, his eyes narrowing. “This is insane! I’m your son!”
Maxwell crouched in front of him, cigar still in hand, its smoke drifting lazily between them. “You’ve ignored every warning, every rule,” he said, his tone cold as steel. “This is the only way you’ll learn.”
The first loop of rope went around Daniel’s wrists, pulling them sharply behind his back. He flinched, jerking his arms in a desperate attempt to pull free. “No! Stop it!” he shouted, his voice laced with desperation. “You can’t do this to me!”
Maxwell ignored him, threading the rope around his wrists again and cinching it tight. The coarse fibers bit into Daniel’s skin, forcing a sharp gasp from him. He twisted violently, his muscles straining against the bonds, but Maxwell’s precision left no room for escape.
Daniel’s breathing quickened as the guards pushed his legs together. One of them grabbed his ankles, holding them steady as Maxwell began looping the rope around his thighs, knees, and ankles. Each pull of the rope forced Daniel’s legs tighter, immobilizing him completely.
“This is abuse!” Daniel yelled, his voice hoarse as the final knot was secured. “You can’t treat me like this! I won’t let you!”
Maxwell exhaled a cloud of smoke, the tendrils curling between him and his bound son. “You brought this on yourself,” he said simply.
By the time Maxwell moved to Daniel’s ankles, the boy’s defiance had turned to desperation. The final length of rope threaded between Daniel’s wrists and ankles, pulling his body into a taut hogtie.
“Stop! It hurts! Please, stop!” Daniel cried, his voice cracking with pain.
“This is mercy,” Maxwell said, standing to admire his work. “You’re lucky I’m your father.”
As Daniel writhed against the unforgiving bonds, his protests grew weaker. Then, to his horror, Maxwell grabbed a sponge from the desk, holding it up for Daniel to see.
“What—what are you doing?” Daniel stammered, his eyes wide. “Don’t you dare put that in my mouth!”
Maxwell didn’t hesitate. He shoved the sponge into Daniel’s mouth, filling it completely. Daniel gagged, his muffled cries turning frantic.
“MMMPPPHH! MMMPPPHH!” Daniel screamed, his cheeks puffing out as the sponge stretched his lips.
Maxwell grabbed a roll of duct tape, tearing off a strip and pressing it over Daniel’s mouth. He wrapped the tape around his head, sealing the gag in place with brutal efficiency. Daniel’s muffled screams filled the room, a haunting echo against the oppressive silence.

Five Years Earlier – Shadows Beneath the Surface

The descent into the underground section of the Sutherland Manor was like entering another world. Beneath the opulent estate, with its polished marble floors and crystal chandeliers, lay a cold, sterile labyrinth of concrete walls and flickering fluorescent lights. This was the hidden heart of Maxwell Sutherland’s operations—the nerve center for Shadow Command.
Shadow Command wasn’t just any paramilitary organization. It was Maxwell’s brainchild, a covert group operating on the fringes of legality, fulfilling contracts for government agencies, corporate power players, and shadowy figures like Leon. The underground complex held the tools of their trade: reinforced cells, soundproof interrogation rooms, and the chilling hum of technology designed for control and compliance.
Daniel’s muffled groans echoed down the narrow corridor as the guards carried his hogtied body into one of the cells. His struggling form was a stark contrast to the stoic precision of the men hauling him, their boots clicking against the cold cement floor.
“MMMPPPHHH!” Daniel protested furiously through the gag, his bound body writhing against the unrelenting ropes. His red speedo clung to him, highlighting his athletic frame as he struggled in vain.
The guards exchanged brief glances, unimpressed by his muffled defiance. They lowered him unceremoniously onto the thin cot inside the cell. One adjusted the ropes, tugging them tighter to ensure he couldn’t move more than an inch. Daniel winced, his muffled cries sharp with pain.
The cell door clanged shut with a heavy finality, the lock clicking into place. One guard remained by the door while the other turned to Maxwell, who stood just outside, arms crossed and his ever-present cigar smoldering between his fingers.
“You’ll stay here until you understand what’s at stake,” Maxwell said coldly, his eyes hard as they bore into his son. “You’re not just a boy rebelling against his father. You’re the heir to an empire. You’ll learn respect, whether you like it or not.”
Daniel glared up at him, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. “MMMPPPHHH!” he screamed, his muffled protests fierce but powerless against the gag.
Maxwell tapped his cigar against a metal ashtray mounted to the wall, the embers glowing briefly before he turned and walked away, flanked by his guards. His departure left the cell in near silence, broken only by Daniel’s muffled groans and the faint hum of the facility’s ventilation system.

Five Years Earlier - The Shadow of Manipulation

Minutes turned into hours. The chill of the cell seeped into Daniel’s skin, making his bound body ache even more. His wrists and ankles throbbed where the ropes bit into his flesh, and the gag stretched his jaw uncomfortably wide, muffling his furious attempts to scream.
The sound of the lock turning snapped Daniel’s attention to the cell door. His body tensed as it creaked open, revealing a familiar figure: Alexander Sutherland.
Behind Alexander stood one of Maxwell’s guards, a man whose face Daniel recognized from earlier. But the man’s demeanor now was different—subservient, deferential, his gaze flickering nervously between Alexander and the cell.
“Wait outside,” Alexander instructed, his voice smooth yet commanding.
The guard hesitated but nodded, stepping back and pulling the door shut behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the small space, leaving Daniel and his uncle alone.
Alexander’s gaze fell on his bound nephew, and a slow smile spread across his face. He moved closer, his footsteps unhurried, deliberate.
“Look at you,” Alexander said softly, his voice dripping with mockery. “Maxwell always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
Daniel groaned against the gag, his muffled “MMMPPPHHH!” sharp and angry.
Alexander crouched beside him, his sharp blue eyes studying Daniel like a predator assessing its prey. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his tone mockingly sympathetic. “I’m not the one who tied you up and left you here like this. Though I must admit, it’s quite the sight.”
Daniel’s glare burned with defiance, but his muffled cries betrayed the fear simmering beneath the surface.
Alexander reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over the ropes binding Daniel’s thighs. Daniel flinched, jerking away as much as the tight hogtie allowed.
“Don’t touch me!” Daniel tried desperately to say through the gag, but his voice was barely intelligible.
Alexander chuckled, his fingers trailing to the knot securing the hogtie. He tugged it slightly, making Daniel’s body arch painfully.
“Does that hurt?” Alexander asked, his tone feigning concern.
“MMMPPPHHH!” Daniel’s muffled scream was sharp with both pain and fury.
Alexander’s smirk widened. “Good. Pain is a great teacher, Daniel. Your father uses it well. But me? I prefer… other methods.”
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Daniel’s ear. “You’ve always been so fiery,” Alexander whispered. “But fire can be tamed.”
Daniel’s breathing quickened, as Alexander’s fingers brushed over the ropes again, his touch deliberate, almost gentle.
“Look at you,” Alexander said softly, his lips curling into a smirk. “Helpless. Vulnerable. Quite the change from the defiant little rebel who stormed into your father’s study.”
Daniel groaned against the gag, his muffled protests sharp and angry. “MMMPPPHH! MMMPPPHH!” He thrashed against the ropes, his sweat-slicked body trembling with effort.
Alexander crouched beside him, his sharp blue eyes studying Daniel like a specimen under glass. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said, his tone mockingly sympathetic. “I’m not the one who did this to you. Your father has a rather… unique approach to discipline.”
Daniel’s glare burned with defiance, but his muffled cries betrayed the fear simmering beneath the surface. Alexander’s smirk widened, and he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over Daniel’s sweat-dampened hair.
“Shh,” he whispered, his voice soothing but tinged with menace. “Struggling will only tire you out.”
Daniel jerked his head away, his muffled “MMMPPPHH!” sharp with fury. Alexander chuckled, his hand sliding down to the ropes circling Daniel’s chest. He traced the cords with a deliberate slowness, his touch making Daniel flinch.
“You’ve always been so fiery,” Alexander mused, his fingers brushing over Daniel’s ribs. “So eager to fight. But tell me, nephew… has that ever gotten you what you wanted?”
Daniel thrashed harder, his body writhing against the bonds. His muffled groans turned frantic as Alexander’s hand moved lower, ghosting over his bound thighs. “MMMPPPHH! MMMPPPHH!”
“Still so much fight,” Alexander murmured, his smirk never wavering. “But you’re starting to realize, aren’t you? You can’t win this one.”
His gaze drifted to the bulge in Daniel’s speedo, and his smirk deepened. “Ah,” he said softly, his fingers hovering just above it. “Now, this is interesting.”
Daniel froze, his muffled cries turning into panicked whimpers as Alexander’s hand brushed lightly against the fabric. “You didn’t think I’d notice, did you?” Alexander asked, his tone dripping with mockery. “The way your body betrays you, even when your mind is screaming to resist.”
“MMMPPPHH! MMMPPPHH!” Daniel thrashed violently, his cheeks burning with humiliation.
“Relax,” Alexander said, his tone mockingly soothing. “Your little secret is safe with me.”
His hand slid upward, pinching Daniel’s nipple sharply. Daniel jolted, a muffled cry escaping him as his body arched involuntarily. “You’re so reactive,” Alexander whispered, his fingers trailing to Daniel’s exposed torso. “It’s almost… endearing.”
Daniel felt his breath quicken, his mind racing as his uncle’s suffocating words enveloped him. This wasn’t just about control—it was something darker, something far more insidious.
“You have a choice to make, Daniel,” Alexander said, his voice soft but commanding. “You can stay under his thumb, always the obedient little boy trying to earn his approval. Or…” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Daniel’s ear. “You can come with me. I’ll give you freedom. Power. Everything you’ve ever wanted. All you must do… is submit.”
Daniel whimpered, his muffled protests fading as the weight of his uncle’s words settled over him. He wanted to scream, to fight, but his body betrayed him, trembling under Alexander’s touch.
“You’re mine now, nephew,” Alexander said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Daniel’s stomach churned as Alexander’s fingers gave his buttocks a sharp slap. The sound echoed in the cell, followed by Daniel’s muffled yelp. “MMMPPPHH!”
“You’ll learn, Daniel,” Alexander said, standing with a graceful ease. “One way or another.”
He brushed his fingers over Daniel’s hair one last time before turning toward the door. “Think about it,” he said, his voice laced with dark promise. “Sweet dreams, nephew.”
As Daniel writhed against his bonds, his muffled cries filling the cell, Alexander stood and adjusted his suit. He glanced toward the door, where his informant waited.
“You’ve done well,” Alexander said to the guard as he stepped outside. “Make sure Maxwell doesn’t know I was here.”
The guard nodded, his face pale as Alexander disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
Back inside the cell, Daniel’s muffled sobs echoed in the oppressive silence. For the first time, he realized the depths of his uncle’s manipulation—and the impossible choice he would soon have to make.

Five Years Earlier – A Brother’s Bargain

Maxwell’s study in the Sutherland Manor was a stark contrast to the cold underground facility below. The room was adorned with dark wood paneling, shelves lined with leather-bound volumes, and the faint aroma of cigar smoke lingering in the air. Maxwell stood by the large desk, his posture rigid, a freshly lit cigar between his fingers. He stared at the map spread out before him—a blueprint of the Shadow Command’s new headquarters.
The door opened, and Alexander entered with his characteristic elegance, his tailored suit impeccable, his expression calm but calculating. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, his tone polite yet laced with irony.
Maxwell didn’t look up. “What do you want, Alexander?”
Alexander’s lips curled into a smirk as he sauntered into the room. “Just checking on my dear nephew. I saw him downstairs. Quite the creative solution you’ve come up with for discipline. Very… hands-on.”
Maxwell exhaled a stream of smoke, his eyes narrowing. “If you’re here to criticize my methods, save your breath.”
“Criticize?” Alexander chuckled, taking a seat in one of the leather armchairs by the desk. “On the contrary, I find it fascinating. But I couldn’t help noticing that Daniel’s rebellion seems… unbroken. Perhaps tying him up isn’t the solution you think it is.”
Maxwell’s jaw tightened. “He’s reckless, undisciplined. If I don’t rein him in now, he’ll destroy himself.”
“And your empire,” Alexander added smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, I’ve heard the lecture before. But tell me, brother, has brute force ever truly shaped a great leader?”
Maxwell turned to face him, his eyes flashing with irritation. “And what would you suggest? Indulge his every whim? Let him ruin everything I’ve built?”
“Not indulgence,” Alexander said, his tone softening. “Guidance. Influence. You’re too close to him, Maxwell. He doesn’t see a father. He sees a dictator.”
Maxwell’s hand tightened around the cigar, the veins in his forearm bulging. “He needs to learn respect.”
“And you think tying him up and gagging him will teach that?” Alexander countered, his voice sharp but measured. “You’re only teaching him fear, resentment. Is that the legacy you want to leave?”
Maxwell’s silence was telling.
Alexander leaned forward, his tone turning persuasive. “Let me take him under my wing. You’re about to move Shadow Command to some secret fortress, aren’t you? Far away from here. Do you really want to take Daniel into that environment? He’ll rebel even more, and you’ll be too consumed with your operations to handle him.”
Maxwell’s gaze hardened. “And you think you can do better?”
“I know I can,” Alexander said confidently. “You’re a soldier, Maxwell. Your methods are rigid, absolute. But Daniel… he’s different. He needs a softer touch. Someone who can shape him, mold him into the leader he’s meant to be. Leave him with me. I’ll give him what he needs—and what you want.”
Maxwell’s brow furrowed, the tension in the room palpable. “And what’s your angle in all this, Alexander? You’ve never done anything without a motive.”
Alexander’s smirk returned, but it was tempered with sincerity. “My motive is the same as yours—family. If Daniel fails, we all fail. I want to ensure our empire remains strong, untouchable. And that means making Daniel into the man he needs to be.”
Maxwell took a long drag from his cigar, his thoughts visible in the flicker of his eyes. He glanced at the map on the desk, then back at his brother. “And if you fail?”
“I won’t,” Alexander said simply.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Maxwell sighed, the weight of the decision settling on his broad shoulders. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “He’ll stay here. But if I hear one word about him slipping further, I’ll take him back—on my terms.”
“Of course,” Alexander said smoothly, standing and extending a hand. “You have my word.”
Maxwell hesitated, then clasped his brother’s hand briefly, his grip firm. “Don’t make me regret this, Alexander.”
Alexander’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he replied, “You won’t, brother. I promise.”
As Maxwell turned back to his map, Alexander’s gaze lingered, a flicker of triumph crossing his face. He had won—again. And now, with Daniel under his roof and his influence, the real game could begin.

"Control is not control if it breeds rebellion; true control is the ability to bend without breaking."
— Unknown

[TightropesEU]

Wow what a story, love the quotes. Kudos to you for persevering.

[lah93]

This is a wonderful work. I hope we'll have a continuation, or other stories from you
The bondage is very well described, with attention to the details and the feeling of the characters, the "material" is varied... Everything I like!

[Htdgagfreak85]

Wow what a story, love the quotes. Kudos to you for persevering.

Thank you @TightropesEU for your kind words and encouragement! I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story and the quotes—they’re carefully chosen to complement the journey.

Exciting news: Chapter 21, Breaking the Chains, is about to be released! This chapter dives deep into tension, rebellion, and unexpected twists that shift the dynamics in ways you won't see coming. Your support means the world—stay tuned, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this next installment!

[Htdgagfreak85]

This is a wonderful work. I hope we'll have a continuation, or other stories from you
The bondage is very well described, with attention to the details and the feeling of the characters, the "material" is varied... Everything I like!

Thank you @lah93 for your support and thoughtful feedback! I’m thrilled you’re enjoying the story, especially the emotional depth and detailed bondage scenes. The next chapter, "Breaking Chains," will be released soon and is packed with intense revelations and high-stakes moments.
If you’re looking for more, you can find other stories by me on this site—shorter but just as intense.
Your encouragement means the world—stay tuned!

[Htdgagfreak85]

CHAPTER 21

BREAKING CHAINS

"When tyranny takes hold, even the smallest act of defiance can spark a revolution."
– Author Unknown

Day 3 – The Breaking Point

The steel door groaned open, the sound echoing through the claustrophobic chamber. Daniel hesitated on the threshold, his breath hitching as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The room was suffocatingly small, the air thick with the stench of sweat, piss, and despair. The oppressive atmosphere clung to him like a shroud as he stepped inside.
His gaze immediately fell on the two bound figures before him, and his stomach churned. Seb was strapped mercilessly to a steel chair, his body stretched against the unforgiving leather restraints. His arms were pulled back over the chair’s rigid frame, his wrists secured tightly to the armrests, and his legs spread and tied to the chair’s legs. The leather straps dug into Seb’s skin, leaving angry red marks around his wrists that deepened with every faint struggle. The raw abrasions were a painful testament to his hours of captivity, his movements reduced to futile resistance. The cruel design left no room for movement, no space for dignity.
The thick leather ball gag forced Seb’s mouth open, the strap digging into the corners of his lips and making his cheeks puff slightly. The raw, reddened edges of his lips bore silent witness to the brutality of the gag, the leather strap cutting into the corners of his mouth. Drool streamed from his mouth, pooling on his chest and glistening in the dim light. His head lolled forward, strands of damp hair clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead. He looked utterly defeated, yet his eyes burned with a haunting mixture of rage and humiliation.
Daniel’s eyes flicked to the other figure—Luke—who sat slumped in an identical chair, his bare chest heaving in shallow breaths. His face was pale, his eyes glassy, and the gag that stretched his mouth muffled any faint sound he attempted to make. Both men were drenched in sweat, their bodies trembling with the strain of prolonged restraint.
The sight stabbed at Daniel’s chest like a physical blow. He felt his throat tighten, a flood of emotions rushing over him—anger, disgust, confusion. But above all, a gnawing sense of familiarity. He didn’t understand why, but the scene struck a chord buried deep in his mind.
He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked on Seb. The boy’s skin glistened under the harsh fluorescent lights, every detail of his torment laid bare. Daniel’s breath quickened.
Seb’s head jerked up as he sensed the movement. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Daniel, widening slightly before narrowing with distrust. A muffled growl escaped his gag, his body writhing in the unyielding restraints.
Daniel froze, his voice catching in his throat. “Seb…” he whispered. His knees felt weak, as though the floor beneath him were giving way.
Seb’s muffled growl turned into a choked groan. “MMMPPPHH! MMMPPPHH!” The sounds were garbled, desperate, yet full of defiance.
Daniel stepped closer, the tension in his chest tightening like a vice. “What is this? What the hell is this?” His voice trembled, but he wasn’t sure if he was asking Seb or himself.
The sight of Seb’s bound form triggered something deep within him—a flash of memory, vivid yet incomplete. Daniel’s gaze lingered on the deep red indentations around Seb’s wrists and the raw edges of his mouth, guilt clawing at his chest as he imagined the pain inflicted by each cruel restraint. It was as if he’d seen this exact moment before. Ropes, a gag, Seb’s muffled cries. It was all too familiar, yet just out of reach.
“Seb, what happened to you?” Daniel’s voice cracked as he approached the chair, his hands shaking. He reached for the gag’s strap, his fingers trembling.
Seb flinched at the contact, his muffled cries sharp with panic. “MMMPPPHH! MMMPPPHH!”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Daniel whispered, his voice barely audible. He fumbled with the buckle, finally releasing the gag. The ball fell away with a wet pop, leaving Seb gasping for air.
For a moment, Seb only stared at him, his chest heaving. Then his voice came, hoarse and trembling, as he coughed and sputtered, “Why… why are you here?” he rasped.
Daniel swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t… understand any of this.”
Seb’s gaze burned into him, filled with anger and something else—betrayal. “You don’t remember, do you?” His words were sharp, cutting. “What he did to us. What you let him do.”
Daniel flinched as though struck. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice rising. “I didn’t… I don’t…” He trailed off, the fragments of memory swirling in his mind like shards of broken glass.
Seb laughed bitterly, the sound rasping in his throat. “Of course you don’t. He made sure of that. He always makes sure.”
Before Daniel could respond, the door creaked open, and a new presence filled the room. The air seemed to shift, growing heavier. Daniel turned slowly, his blood running cold as Alexander stepped inside.
Alexander’s entrance was quiet but commanding. He moved with his usual grace, his tailored suit immaculate despite the oppressive heat of the room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the scene, lingering on Seb’s trembling form and Luke’s slumped figure.
“Daniel,” Alexander said smoothly, his voice like silk. “I see you’ve decided to visit our guests.”
Daniel’s fists clenched at his sides. “What did you do to them?” he demanded, his voice trembling.
Alexander smiled faintly, his gaze flicking to Seb. “They’ve made poor choices,” he said simply. “And poor choices come with consequences.”
Seb groaned from the chair, his voice raw. “Liar.”
Alexander ignored him, his focus remaining on Daniel. “Why are you so upset, nephew? This isn’t the first time you’ve seen something like this.”
The words hit Daniel like a blow. His breathing quickened, memories flashing behind his eyes—Seb’s face, bound and gagged, but younger, more innocent. The woods. The ropes. The gag. His own helplessness.
“What… what are you talking about?” Daniel stammered.
Alexander’s smile widened, his voice turning soothing yet insidious. “Oh, Daniel. You’ve always been so naïve. But don’t worry. I’ve always been here to guide you.”
Seb’s voice cut through the moment, hoarse and defiant. “He’s lying to you, Daniel. He always lies.”
Alexander’s gaze darkened slightly, though his smile remained. “Seb, my dear boy,” he said, his tone mockingly affectionate. “You really should save your strength.”
Daniel took a step back, his mind reeling. “Tell me the truth,” he demanded, his voice cracking. “What really happened?”
Alexander’s eyes gleamed, his smile turning predatory. “Oh, Daniel,” he murmured. “The truth is far more complicated than you think. But if you’re ready to hear it, I’ll gladly enlighten you.”
Seb groaned again, his voice weak but firm. “Don’t listen to him.”
The tension in the room was unbearable, the lines between memory and reality blurring for Daniel. He didn’t know who to trust—Seb, with his raw pain and anger, or Alexander, whose voice was a siren’s song of manipulation.
As Daniel struggled with the weight of the moment, Alexander stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on Daniel’s shoulder. “The truth, Daniel,” he said softly, “is that you’ve always been mine. And now, it’s time you remembered why.”




Day 3 – The Breaking Point (Continuation)

Seb’s muffled groans reverberated in the silence left by Alexander’s chilling words. Daniel stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest as his uncle’s hand lingered on his shoulder. The weight of Alexander’s gaze was suffocating, but Daniel refused to crumble beneath it.
“You’re lying,” Daniel hissed, shrugging off Alexander’s touch and stepping back. His voice shook, not with fear, but with the tremors of a storm building inside him. “Whatever you did to me, to him,”—he gestured sharply toward Seb—“it ends now.”
Alexander chuckled softly, his smile unwavering. “Oh, Daniel,” he said, his voice laced with condescension. “Still clinging to that defiance. It’s admirable, really. But let me remind you—defiance only works when you have power to back it.”
Seb groaned in his chair, his head lolling forward as he struggled against the straps. “Don’t let him… win,” he rasped, his voice barely audible.
Alexander’s expression hardened, and in a swift motion, he stepped forward and gripped Seb’s jaw, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “Enough,” he said coldly. “I told you, you’ve said more than enough.”
Seb’s eyes burned with defiance, even as Alexander reached for the gag hanging from the side of the chair. Seb twisted weakly, trying to pull his head away, but his neck barely held the strength to resist. The restraints left him with nowhere to go.
“No!” Daniel’s voice rang out, startling even himself. “Don’t gag him. I want to hear what he has to say.”
Alexander turned his head slowly, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, the air crackling with tension.
“You want to hear what he has to say?” Alexander asked, his tone deceptively calm. “Fine. Let’s see how much you enjoy the chaos of half-truths and fractured memories.”
Seb gasped, his chest heaving as Alexander released his grip on him. “Tell him,” Seb croaked, his voice hoarse. “Tell him what you did.”
Daniel’s head spun as the pieces of his past began to surface—jagged and incomplete, but unmistakable. He saw flashes of the woods, the ropes, and Seb’s face—frightened and pleading. He remembered Alexander’s voice, smooth and commanding, weaving lies and promises.
“What are you talking about?” Daniel demanded, his voice rising. He turned to Alexander, his fists clenched. “What did you do?”
Alexander tilted his head, his smile faint but unrelenting. “I gave you clarity, Daniel. I freed you from the burden of indecision.”
“You lied to me,” Daniel snapped, stepping forward. “You made me think—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.
Alexander’s smile faltered, just for a moment. “What I did,” he said, his voice lower now, “was necessary. You were weak, torn between loyalty and rebellion. You didn’t know what you wanted. I gave you purpose.”
Seb’s voice broke through again, trembling with anger. “He twisted you, Daniel. Twisted us.”
Daniel turned to Seb, his heart aching at the raw desperation in his voice. “Us?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
Seb nodded weakly, his gaze locking onto Daniel’s. “He made me betray you,” Seb said, his words choked with emotion. “He made me think… I left you. That I abandoned you in the woods. But it wasn’t real. It was him.”
The words hit Daniel like a physical blow, the fragments of his memory snapping into place with excruciating clarity. He saw himself bound, gagged, left in the cold embrace of the forest. He saw Seb, equally restrained, tears streaming down his face as he struggled against the ropes. He heard Alexander’s voice, smooth and insidious, planting the seeds of betrayal in their minds.
“You… you lied to both of us,” Daniel said, his voice shaking.
Alexander’s expression darkened, his usual composure slipping. “I did what was necessary,” he said sharply. “You were both too naive to understand what was at stake. I needed to break you to rebuild you.”
Daniel’s breathing quickened, his chest tightening with rage. “You tore us apart,” he said, his voice rising. “For what? For control? For power?”
Alexander’s face twisted with frustration. “For the empire,” he snapped. “For your future. Everything I did, I did for you.”
“No,” Daniel said, his voice firm. “You did it for yourself. Because you couldn’t stand losing control.”
Alexander stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Watch yourself, Daniel. You’re treading on thin ice.”
Daniel didn’t back down. “I’m done being your pawn,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear bubbling beneath the surface. “You think you can break me? Go ahead and try. But you’ll never have me again.”
The room was silent, the weight of Daniel’s words hanging in the air. For the first time, Alexander looked uncertain, his carefully constructed mask cracking under the pressure.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Alexander said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m saying,” Daniel replied. “I’m done with you. And when this is over, so are they.” He gestured to Seb and Luke, his voice filled with resolve. “No more games. No more lies. This ends now.”
The air in the room felt as though it had been sucked away, the tension mounting with every passing second. Daniel’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white as he locked eyes with Alexander. Seb whimpered in his chair, his breath ragged, his body trembling under the weight of his restraints and the suffocating presence of Alexander.
“You’ve said enough,” Alexander said coldly, grabbing the ball gag Daniel had earlier removed from Seb. “You’ll remain silent.”
Seb’s eyes widened in panic, and he tried to turn his head away, but the restraints left him with nowhere to go. His muffled protests spilled out as Alexander advanced, the gag poised in his hand.
“No!” Daniel’s voice thundered, stopping Alexander in his tracks.
Alexander turned slowly, his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. “Excuse me?” he asked, his voice icy.
Daniel stepped forward, his gaze burning with defiance. “He’s not a threat to you, Alexander. Let him speak.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened, his calm veneer starting to crack. “This isn’t about threats, Daniel. It’s about control. Something you’ve clearly forgotten the importance of.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Daniel snapped. He gestured toward Seb, who stared at the unfolding scene with wide, fearful eyes. “But this ends here. Whatever game you’re playing with him, as I said, it stops here, now.”
Alexander smirked, though there was no humor in it. “You think you’re in a position to dictate terms to me? How adorable.” He turned back to Seb, his hand gripping the gag tighter.
Daniel surged forward, grabbing Alexander’s arm. “I said no!”
The force of Daniel’s grip made Alexander pause. For a moment, the two locked eyes, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Then Alexander wrenched his arm free with a sharp motion, his calm finally giving way to anger.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Alexander said, his voice low and venomous. “You’re protecting someone who has already betrayed you. Someone who is too weak to stand by your side.”
Daniel ignored him and reached for the strap of Seb’s gag. “I don’t need your approval.”
Seb flinched as Daniel’s hands fumbled with the leather strap, his breath quickening. “Daniel… don’t,” Seb whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling. “He’ll—”
“Enough!” Alexander snarled, grabbing Daniel by the wrist.
The sudden force made Daniel turn sharply, his rage bubbling over. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Why are you so obsessed with him? With me? What are you trying to prove?”
Alexander’s eyes darkened, and he released Daniel with a rough shove. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, his voice cold. “You’ve always been blind to what’s at stake.”
Daniel didn’t back down. “Then make me understand,” he said, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Tell me why you’re doing this. Tell me the truth, for once in your life.”
Alexander didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to Seb, his hands gripping the gag as he tried once again to force it into Seb’s mouth.
Seb whimpered, his head jerking side to side as he tried to evade the gag. “No, please,” he begged, his voice barely audible.
“Stop!” Daniel roared, grabbing the gag from Alexander’s hands and throwing it across the room.
The sound of the gag clattering against the floor echoed through the chamber, the silence that followed thick with tension. Seb gasped, his chest heaving, his face a mixture of relief and terror.
Alexander’s face contorted with fury. “You insolent—” he started, but Daniel cut him off.
“No,” Daniel said, his voice steady and commanding. “I won’t let you do this anymore.”
For the first time, Alexander looked truly shaken. His composure cracked, his jaw tightening as he struggled to maintain control. “You think you’ve won something here?” he hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
“This isn’t about winning,” Daniel said firmly. “It’s about doing what’s right.”
Alexander’s gaze flickered to Seb, then back to Daniel. “You think he’s worth it?” he sneered. “You think saving him will make you a hero? He’ll drag you down, Daniel. Just like he always has.”
“Shut up!” Daniel shouted, his voice cracking. “I don’t care what you think. I’m done listening to your lies.”
Seb whimpered again, his voice barely a whisper. “Daniel…”
Alexander’s face twisted with rage, but before he could respond, the door creaked open. A guard stepped inside, his expression wary. “Sir,” he said, addressing Alexander, “there’s a situation.”
Alexander turned sharply, his frustration palpable. “What situation?”
The guard hesitated, glancing at Daniel before lowering his voice. “It’s… Leon.”
Daniel’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name.
Alexander’s eyes narrowed, his fury shifting into cold calculation. “Handle it,” he said curtly.
The guard nodded, retreating quickly.
Alexander turned back to Daniel, his voice low and venomous. “This isn’t over,” he said. “Not by a long shot.”
Daniel held his ground, his gaze unwavering. “No, it’s not. But it’s over for you.”
As Alexander stormed out of the room, Daniel turned back to Seb, his heart pounding. “We’re getting out of here,” he said firmly.
Seb’s muffled groan was filled with a mixture of hope and disbelief.
The battle wasn’t over yet, but for the first time, Daniel felt like he was fighting back—and winning.


Day 3 – A desperate attempt


The air hung thick in the suffocating room, even after Alexander’s departure. Daniel crouched beside Seb, his hands fumbling with the straps that restrained him, his heart pounding in his chest. The raw defiance that had fueled his confrontation with his uncle still burned, but now it was joined by the weight of his choices—and the fear of what came next.
Seb was trembling, his skin clammy under Daniel’s touch. “Just hold on,” Daniel whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of urgency and desperation. “I’ll get you out of this.”
Seb groaned softly, his head rolling forward. “You don’t understand,” he rasped. “You’re only making it worse…”
Before Daniel could reply, a faint, muffled noise broke through the tense silence. His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Luke, who was still strapped mercilessly to the chair. The leather ball gag stretched Luke’s mouth open, saliva pooling and dripping down his chin, while his pale, sweat-drenched body sagged against the restraints.
Luke’s eyes fluttered weakly, his breathing shallow and uneven. The faint sound came again—a desperate, muffled “MMMPPPHH!” that sent a chill down Daniel’s spine.
“Luke,” Daniel murmured, his voice breaking as he pushed himself to his feet. He moved toward the chair, his hands trembling as he reached for the buckle of Luke’s gag.
Seb’s voice, hoarse and barely audible, stopped him. “Don’t… do it,” he whispered. “If Alexander comes back and sees—”
“I don’t care,” Daniel snapped, his jaw tightening. “He’s suffering. I’m not going to just stand here and let this happen.”
Seb didn’t respond, his head lolling weakly to the side as his body sagged against the chair. Daniel turned his attention back to Luke, working quickly to unbuckle the gag. The leather ball fell away with a wet pop, and Luke gasped sharply, his chest heaving as he struggled to suck in air.
“Daniel…” Luke croaked, his voice raw and barely audible. His glassy eyes locked onto Daniel’s, a flicker of gratitude breaking through the haze of exhaustion and pain.
“It’s okay,” Daniel said softly, his hands moving to the straps that restrained Luke’s arms. “I’ve got you. Just hang on.”
Luke groaned weakly, his head sagging forward as Daniel worked to loosen the restraints. “They… won’t let us go,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”
Daniel’s throat tightened, but he didn’t stop. “We’ll find a way,” he said, though the words felt hollow even to him.
Just as he freed one of Luke’s wrists, the steel door groaned open again, and a familiar voice cut through the oppressive air.
“Well, well. Isn’t this touching?”
Daniel froze, his heart plummeting as Alexander stepped back into the room, flanked by two guards. The smug, predatory smile on his face sent a shiver down Daniel’s spine.
“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” Alexander said, his sharp blue eyes glinting with amusement. “But persistence without intelligence is just… pathetic.”
The guards moved swiftly, grabbing Daniel by the arms and yanking him away from Luke. Daniel struggled violently, his muscles straining as he fought to break free. “Let go of me!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fury.
Seb whimpered from his chair, his wide eyes flicking between Daniel and Alexander. Luke, still slumped against his restraints, could only manage a faint groan of protest.
Alexander moved closer, his expression calm but cold. “You’ve disappointed me, Daniel,” he said softly, his voice dripping with mockery. “I thought you understood the importance of discipline. Clearly, I was mistaken.”
Daniel glared at him, his chest heaving with anger. “You don’t know anything about discipline,” he spat. “All you know is control.”
Alexander’s smile widened, but there was no humor in it. “And control,” he said, “is what keeps this empire from crumbling.”
He turned to the guards, his tone sharp and commanding. “Secure him.”
Daniel’s protests turned frantic as the guards forced him to his knees. They worked quickly, binding his wrists tightly behind his back with coarse rope. He winced as the fibers bit into his skin, his defiance never faltering.
“You think this will change anything?” Daniel shouted, his voice filled with rage. “You think tying me up will make me see things your way?”
Alexander crouched beside him, his smile turning predatory. “Oh, Daniel,” he murmured, his voice low and insidious. “This isn’t about changing your mind. It’s about reminding you of your place.”
He stood and gestured toward Seb, who was trembling visibly in his chair. “And speaking of places…”
Alexander retrieved the ball gag from where Daniel had discarded it, his expression darkening. “Sebastian’s is in silence.”
“No!” Daniel roared, surging against the guards’ grip. “Don’t you dare touch him!”
Alexander ignored him, advancing on Seb with deliberate slowness. Seb whimpered, his head jerking weakly as Alexander approached.
“Please,” Seb croaked, his voice trembling. “Don’t…”
Daniel’s struggles grew more desperate, his voice cracking with fury. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”
Alexander paused, turning to Daniel with a raised brow. “Still so defiant,” he mused. “It’s almost admirable. Almost.”
With a swift motion, Alexander forced the gag back into Seb’s mouth, ignoring the boy’s muffled cries. He tightened the strap with ruthless efficiency, the leather biting into Seb’s cheeks as his muffled “MMMPPPHH!” sounds filled the room.
The same fate was reserved for Luke, as the gag was shoved back into his mouth.
Daniel’s chest heaved as he watched the scene, a mixture of fury and helplessness washing over him. “You’re a monster,” he growled, his voice trembling.
Alexander smirked, stepping back to admire his work. “And you,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension, “are just a boy who doesn’t understand the rules of the game.”
He gestured to the guards, who yanked Daniel to his feet. “Take him to the holding room,” Alexander ordered. “He needs time to… reflect.”
As Daniel was dragged from the room, his eyes locked onto Seb’s, and the unspoken promise in his gaze was clear: This isn’t over.
Seb whimpered softly, his muffled cries the last thing Daniel heard as the steel door slammed shut behind him.

Day 3 – Bound and broken

The small holding room was cold and dimly lit, the faint hum of fluorescent lights the only sound. Daniel lay naked on the concrete floor, stripped of his dignity and almost every shred of hope. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly behind him with thick rope, the connecting knot pulled taut into a punishing hogtie. A cloth gag, tied cruelly around his head, muffled any attempt to speak or cry out.
Every twist of his body sent sharp pain through his limbs, the ropes biting into his flesh. Sweat dripped from his brow, pooling onto the cold floor as he struggled fruitlessly against the bonds. His mind raced, torn between anger and despair. He had to find a way out—but how? Every motion seemed futile, and Sutherland’s looming presence hung in his thoughts like a specter.
The steel door creaked open suddenly, and Daniel froze, his breathing quick and shallow as footsteps echoed across the room. Alexander’s imposing figure entered first, his sharp suit immaculate, his gaze cold and calculating. Behind him trailed Anton, his movements more subdued, his eyes betraying a flicker of something unreadable.
Alexander’s lips curled into a cruel smile as he approached Daniel. “Still trying to fight, nephew?” he mused, crouching beside him. “It’s almost endearing.”
Daniel groaned through his gag, thrashing against the ropes, but Alexander simply chuckled. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over Daniel’s cheek, an action as condescending as it was unsettling. “You never learn, do you?”
Anton cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. “If I may, Mr. Sutherland,” he began, his tone carefully measured. “Perhaps we should… reinforce his predicament.”
Alexander glanced at him, one brow raised. “Reinforce?”
Anton nodded, stepping closer. “A sensory element. Something that deepens the impact of his… situation. A bag over his head could do the trick—deny him even the comfort of sight.”
Alexander tilted his head, considering the suggestion. “Hmm. Intriguing.” He turned back to Daniel, his smile widening. “Yes, that might be fitting. Let’s see if a little darkness can teach you some humility, dear nephew.”
Daniel thrashed harder, his muffled cries growing frantic as Alexander produced a black canvas bag from a nearby table. He held it up for Daniel to see, the edges fraying slightly, the sight of it sending a jolt of panic through Daniel’s body.
“Relax,” Alexander said mockingly, pulling the bag open. “This won’t hurt. Much.”
The bag slipped over Daniel’s head, plunging him into suffocating darkness. The world outside disappeared, leaving him with only the harsh sound of his own breathing, magnified by the enclosed space. The knot at the neck tightened, sealing him into isolation.
“Much better,” Alexander remarked, standing and brushing off his suit. He turned to Anton, his tone dismissive. “Keep an eye on him. I have other matters to attend to.”
Anton nodded, his jaw tightening as Alexander exited the room. The steel door groaned shut, leaving Anton alone with Daniel, whose muffled cries continued beneath the bag. Anton took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists before relaxing. The weight of Leon’s instructions pressed heavily on him.
“Sorry, brother,” Anton muttered under his breath, his voice laced with guilt.
The door creaked open again, and two guards entered, dragging Anton’s brother into the room. He was still naked, his wrists and ankles bound, his body slick with sweat. The gag pressed firmly into his mouth muffled his panicked protests as the guards manhandled him onto the floor beside Daniel.
Anton gestured sharply. “Tie him the same way.”
The guards hesitated but complied, looping ropes around Anton’s brother’s limbs and pulling him into a tight hogtie that mirrored Daniel’s. His muffled “MMMPPPHHs” filled the room as he writhed helplessly, his body trembling with fear and confusion.
Daniel, blind to the events unfolding, flinched at the sounds, his muffled groans turning frantic as he felt the vibrations of movement beside him.
Anton crouched beside his brother, his voice low and pained. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this. It’ll end soon, I promise.” He pulled the black bag from Daniel’s head, slipping it over his brother’s instead. The guards tightened it, completing the disguise.
“Take him out,” Anton instructed the guards, nodding toward Daniel. “But quietly.”
The guards hesitated, their gazes flicking toward the tied figure with the bag. Anton’s sharp glare left no room for argument, and they moved swiftly, cutting Daniel’s bonds and hoisting his trembling body to his feet. He swayed, his legs weak from hours of restraint, but Anton steadied him.
“Move,” Anton hissed, his tone urgent.
Daniel blinked rapidly, his vision adjusting to the dim light as he stumbled toward the door. Behind him, his brother’s muffled cries grew fainter as the door shut, sealing the room—and the deception—behind them.
Anton led Daniel through the winding corridors of the facility, their steps quick and deliberate. The tension in the air was palpable, every creak of the floorboards and distant murmur of voices setting Daniel’s nerves on edge.
“What… what’s happening?” Daniel rasped, his voice hoarse from hours of screaming into the gag.
“Quiet,” Anton snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Just follow me.”
They moved through the labyrinth of concrete walls, the dim fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. Daniel’s heart raced, his mind spinning with questions and fears, but he bit back his words, focusing instead on the path ahead.
As they rounded a corner, Anton pressed a hand to Daniel’s chest, forcing him to stop. He peered around the corner, his expression tense.
“Wait here,” Anton whispered, his voice low. He moved ahead, disappearing into the shadows.
Daniel leaned against the wall, his breathing ragged. His body ached from the hours of restraint, and his mind reeled with confusion. Why was Anton helping him? What was the endgame?
Anton returned moments later, his expression grim but determined. “The exit’s close. Stay quiet and stay close.”
They moved again, the distant hum of machinery and muffled voices growing louder. Daniel’s stomach churned with a mixture of hope and dread. Freedom was within reach—but at what cost?

Day 3 – A Desperate Gamble

Anton and Daniel stopped in a shadowed alcove, the dim light barely illuminating their faces. Daniel’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as the weight of the situation bore down on him. He was free—for now—but the sight of Seb and Luke bound and broken in their chairs haunted him. He couldn’t leave them behind.
“They’re still in that room,” Daniel rasped, his voice low but insistent. “Seb and Luke. We have to go back.”
Anton’s jaw tightened, his expression a mask of conflict. “You’re insane,” he hissed. “We barely made it this far without raising suspicion. Turning back is suicide.”
Daniel grabbed Anton’s arm, his eyes blazing. “I’m not leaving them behind,” he said, his tone fierce. “You want me to trust you? Then help me save them.”
Anton’s gaze flicked down the hallway, his mind clearly calculating the risks. He sighed heavily, his hand running through his damp hair. “Fine. But this has to be fast. If Sutherland finds us—”
“I know,” Daniel cut him off. “Let’s go.”
The path back to the holding room was a blur of tense silence and sharp turns. Every shadow felt like a threat, every distant sound a harbinger of doom. When they reached the steel door, Daniel pressed his ear against it, listening for any movement inside.
“Clear,” he whispered, glancing back at Anton.
Anton nodded, pulling a stolen keycard from his pocket. The lock beeped faintly as the door clicked open. Daniel slipped inside first, his heart pounding as he took in the familiar, oppressive room.
Seb and Luke were still bound to their chairs, their heads slumped forward, their bodies glistening with sweat under the harsh fluorescent lights. The stench of sweat and despair hung heavy in the air. Seb stirred faintly at the sound of the door, his head jerking up, eyes widening as they locked onto Daniel.
“Daniel?” Seb’s voice was barely audible, muffled by the leather ball gag strapped cruelly across his mouth. His muffled cries became more frantic as he saw Anton follow Daniel into the room.
Luke’s eyes fluttered open, his glassy gaze struggling to focus. His gagged moan was weak, but it carried a note of desperate hope.
“I’m here,” Daniel whispered, rushing to Seb’s side. His fingers fumbled with the buckle of the gag, his hands trembling as he worked to free him.
Seb’s mouth finally fell free, the ball gag dropping to his chest with a wet thud. He gasped for air, his voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t be here,” he croaked, his eyes wide with fear. “He’ll kill you.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Daniel said firmly, moving to the restraints binding Seb’s arms. The leather straps were tight, digging into Seb’s skin, and Daniel’s fingers struggled to undo the buckles.
Anton stood by the door, his hand hovering near the pistol he’d taken from one of the guards. “Hurry up,” he hissed, his eyes darting nervously. “We don’t have time for this.”
Daniel’s hands finally freed Seb’s wrists, and he quickly moved to the straps holding his legs. “Hang on,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. “I’ve got you.”
Seb’s legs fell free, and he slumped forward, his body trembling as he tried to stand. Daniel caught him, holding him upright. “You’re okay,” Daniel whispered. “You’re okay.”
Seb’s gaze flicked to Luke, still bound and gagged in the chair. “Get him,” Seb rasped, his voice full of urgency. “Get Luke.”
Daniel nodded, lowering Seb gently to the floor before moving to Luke’s side. He worked quickly, undoing the gag first. The thick strap came free, and Luke gasped, his voice weak and shaking. “I thought… you’d leave me.”
“Never,” Daniel said firmly, freeing Luke’s wrists and legs. “We’re getting out of here.”
As Daniel helped Luke stand, Anton’s voice cut through the tense silence. “We’ve got company,” he said sharply, drawing his pistol. His gaze was fixed on the hallway outside the door, where the faint sound of approaching footsteps echoed ominously.
“Move,” Anton barked, grabbing Daniel by the arm and pulling him toward the door. Seb and Luke stumbled after them, their legs weak and unsteady.
The group moved quickly, the urgency of their situation driving them forward. The dimly lit corridors stretched endlessly, every turn feeling like a potential trap.
Seb leaned heavily on Daniel, his body still weak from the hours of torment he’d endured. “Why are you doing this?” Seb whispered, his voice barely audible.
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Because I owe you,” he said simply.
Seb’s gaze lingered on him, a mixture of confusion and gratitude flickering in his eyes.
Luke stumbled beside them, his breathing labored but determined. “Where… where are we going?” he panted.
“Out,” Anton said curtly, leading the way. “If we’re lucky.”
The sound of distant voices grew louder, the echo of boots on concrete sending a fresh wave of panic through the group. Anton cursed under his breath, glancing back at Daniel. “We’re running out of time.”
Daniel nodded, his grip tightening on Seb. “Just keep moving.”
They turned a corner and came face-to-face with a group of guards. The men froze for a split second, their eyes widening as they took in the sight of Anton, Daniel, and the two escapees.
“Get back!” Anton barked, raising his pistol. The guards hesitated, their hands hovering near their weapons.
“Run!” Anton shouted, shoving Daniel and the others forward.
The hallway erupted into chaos as the guards drew their guns. Shots rang out, the deafening sound reverberating off the concrete walls. Anton fired back, his movements precise and calculated, but the sheer number of guards was overwhelming.
Daniel, Seb, and Luke sprinted down the hallway, their bare feet slapping against the cold floor. The sound of gunfire and shouting faded behind them as they rounded corner after corner, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
“We’re not going to make it,” Seb rasped, his voice full of despair.
“We will,” Daniel said fiercely, his eyes blazing. “We have to.”
They reached a set of steel doors, their imposing size a stark reminder of the fortress they were trapped in. Anton caught up to them, his face pale and his breathing labored.
“Through there,” Anton said, his voice strained. “It’s the only way out.”
Daniel hesitated, his hand hovering over the control panel beside the door. “What about you?” he asked, his gaze locking with Anton’s.
Anton’s jaw tightened. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Just go.”
Seb’s hand grasped Daniel’s arm, his grip weak but insistent. “Daniel, we have to go.”
Daniel nodded, his heart pounding as he pressed the button on the control panel. The steel doors groaned open, revealing the unknown beyond.

"Freedom is not the absence of struggle but the courage to fight for it."
– John F. Kennedy

[lah93]

Your story is amazing. Hope you're still here despite the forum outtage last december!

[Htdgagfreak85]

Thank you so much @lah93 for your kind words! I’m thrilled you’re enjoying the story—it means a lot to hear that. And yes, I’m still here, fully committed to continuing the journey with all of you, despite any interruptions along the way. Stay tuned for the next chapters—there’s so much more to come!