An Escape Challenge (F+/M)

[Pyonski]

Part 1

My eyelids flutter, struggling against a heavy weight as I gain back my consciousness. For a moment, everything is still and silent. The world is hazy.

Then, the stinging reality hit. My head is heavy, and as I move my arms to rub my forehead, I realise my arms won’t budge. I can’t move or wiggle my hands. They are struck like someone used glue to stick them together. As I jerk my arms, an electric shock coarse through my veins, and I whimper from the strain, but there is no respite.

I know this feeling.

Thin, tiny ropes are coiled round and round around my wrists, cinched and knotted tightly to make them bite into my raw skin. “Ugh!” I wiggle and struggle, and my heartbeat raced instantly upon the realization that it’s not just my wrists. “Nhnn!!” I growl, grumbling how my elbows are drawn painfully back to touch one another. The merciless ropes twirl like a hungry snake crushing bones. My forearms are tied and cinched for an added torment.

I quickly bend my head forward, trying to find some rest over the straining ropes, and I realise the massive red ball wedged between my teeth, buckled up by a tight leather strap biting into my cheeks. Drools drip down my thighs as I notice a couple more thin, red ropes coiled around my thighs like a butcher’s twine securing a piece of meat. I whimper and squirm as desperation to slip free from the aching pain overwhelms my mind, longing for a way out. However, there is no salvation.

Unable to slip free or escape from the torment, my eyes look around. A cold dread settles deep within my chest, welling up my eyes with tears. Where am I? Why am I tied up in such a manner? A flood of memories slowly fills my mind.

“An Escape challenge – A challenge to get back your freedom!” She declared making a firm eye-contact. At that time, I didn’t understand the meaning behind her smirk. Thinking of the little jokes we shared along with our coffee hurts my gut. It pierces my heart like a sharp needle. How can she…? My chest grows heavier, longing for an answer, demanding for an explanation.

My eyes strain as I rub my face on my thighs, wiping off the tears, slowly adjusting to the darkness. I look around to realise the presence of an old, empty, decaying, humid room. Molds cling around the corners, and the air is heavy with the smell of wet woods and dust. There is a small board with words written on it, “Sorry for drugging you! Escape free from the Mansion and you are free!” It doesn’t mention anything else.

A whirlwind of questions swirl like a tornado within my mind but no answers. What happens if I can’t escape? What if I don’t want to play this challenge? What if I want to give up? I growl at the board. My jaws ache uncomfortably from the ball’s constant tension. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to play this game. But the cold truth is, there is no quit option. If I don’t escape, I may completely be trapped within this old, decaying Mansion.

My eyes squint in the dark as I examine the room. Shadows cling to every corner, and I can’t find anything useful. A wooden table sits crooked against the wall, covered in dust and a few ancient books—spines cracked, pages yellowed and curling. Beside it, boxes are stacked high, sealed tight with brittle tape. A pile of rusted metal lay in the far corner—broken gears, warped piping, the graveyard of forgotten machines. But no sharp edges.

How am I supposed to slip free? My thoughts race, refusing to settle, tangling into a relentless knot of my helplessness. My wrists throb and my fingers feel numb. The ropes dig in every breath, at every twist of my shoulder. I shift my fingers trying to reach a knot only to realise how expertly the bindings are placed. My fingertips can only brush the air, but my ankles aren’t tied, and purposefully so. I can walk – shuffle, at least.

I stand down from my chair, and shuffle towards the pile of boxes. The ropes chafe my thighs at every step. I can walk, but every movement stretches the rope fibres against my flesh. Drools drip down like a waterfall and I push myself forward. I nudge the box with my feet only to realise it’s nothing but a heavy, useless garbage. It’s not fun to explore these junks when my arms are burning in pain.

My eyes turn towards the door as I slowly shuffle towards it. If exiting the Mansion is the way to win, I want to end the game fast. As I stand beside the door, ready to open with my fingers, I hear a sound, and my body immediately freezes. Two people are close, and I hear their muffled words in a low tone just beyond the door. A laugh. Then silence.

My heart instantly pounds fast – the sound so distinct and loud to escape through the door and alert the people on the other side. Then one of them speaks again, much closer. Is this… help? I whimper, my heart almost closer to an explosion. I have to gather information before making any move, and I instantly lean closer, my ear straining against the door to catch more words. My heart won’t relax.

There is only one question – Are they part of this? Are they guards on patrol?

I squint my eyes through the door locker. I can’t talk my way out, nor can I deceive or make them listen when the plastic ball is tightly gagging me. One second is enough for them to enter inside and tie me up tighter. They can lock the room, or push me into a cage. The possibility is never zero. I take a step back. My breathing is heavy, and there are beads of sweat in my forehead.

The outside voice slowly fades, but the silence isn’t something comfortable. Every second and every heartbeat increased the tension. Time seems to stop in place. What am I supposed to do? I can’t even scream or plead for mercy. There is no give up in this sadistic game. There is only one option – to play hide and seek until I escape out of the Mansion.

My fingers shiver a bit as I grab the metal knob. I don’t know what lies outside, but with one shaky breath, I turn it, and the door opens with a silent click.

Beyond the door is an empty hallway, wide but silent. The walls stretch far in both directions, quite endlessly. Most of the hallway has lost its life—only a few dim bulbs hang from the ceiling, flickering weakly, casting long, broken beams of light that do more to distort than reveal.

It isn’t warm. It isn’t welcoming. It isn’t even a place someone should live. It’s a place people get lost.

I slowly take a step forward. The ropes are a nightmare to walk around, scrapping with every movement. My eyes examine my surroundings as I explore around. No one is around, but anyone can appear at any second, and the thought keeps me on edge. I don’t want to confront anyone. I can’t overpower anyone nor outrun them. One glance is enough for them to corner and overpower me.

Is it okay to go forward? I have no idea. I don’t want to do it, but I also don’t want to stand here. I have no information or explanation of any rules. The game’s only objective is for me to escape out of the Mansion, and as a player, I have to venture forward into the darkness.

What’s the direction towards the exit? Shall I turn right or left? Where am I within the Mansion? I don’t know, but I continue to walk forward. The old wooden floor creaks at every step in an eerie silence. My heart is constantly pounding, examining the distant corners - ready to jump like a cat at any second. The silence is more chilling than anything. The flickers of the lights are similar to horror movies. My mind can’t stop from questioning my next move when someone does show up. I will be vulnerable, and totally helpless. I can’t move my bound arms, not talk with my gagged mouth, nor run with my bundled thighs. My heart won’t relax.

I continue to walk. Direction doesn’t matter now. I will find clues along my way.

My eyes continue to survey the surroundings, examining even the little details in a heated breath. There is a constant pressure against my wrists, a constant burn on my flesh. I wish there was some slack or some comfort, but there is none. It’s intentionally tied to torment my flesh, to make me suffer every second. I drag my feet, moving forward. My body is panting, requiring more oxygen and perhaps some water, and I don’t know how long I can last at this rate.

Amidst the dark corners, my eyes spot a wooden drawer. Finally! Finally something that can provide me relief against the ropes. I slowly move towards it, step by step. Can I find a knife? Maybe a scissor? Anything that can cut me free from the bondage? I really want out of these painful knots – cruel, merciless, and evil knots. My movement is greatly limited, and I have to put consistent effort into making every little step while also enduring the discomfort.

Reaching my destination, I shift and adjust my position to pull the drawer with my fingers. The strain is overwhelming, but past the pain lies my freedom. In one creaky sound, the wooden drawer opens, but my breath instantly stops within my throat.

Empty! There is no blade, scissor or anything – It’s an empty drawer. Drools from my mouth fall on my shirt as my eyes look in disbelief. I was sure, so sure, of finding something. But… Why? Why is it empty? I feel an intense urge to scream, but the gag keeps me muffled like a baby silenced by a pacifier.

The dead silence in the hallway breaks as a new sound of the fresh footsteps echo through the walls. For a moment, I want to surrender. What’s the point of running or hiding? But if they drag me back and lock me in some room, it’s all over. I won’t have any other chance.

I look around, agitated. I have to avoid being found – at least not until I get enough information. My eyes examine around desperately searching for some hiding spot. My heart beat won’t stop as the sounds of the footsteps only grow more distinct and louder with every second. A fresh sense of dread overwhelms my mind. It’s over. I can’t escape. My mind prepares for the defeat. It’s hard to see anything past a certain distance in the darkness, but a sweep of the flashlight illuminated the presence of a nearby door, missing me by an inch.

I pant, my knees quivering. I have to quickly walk towards the door. I strain and struggle against the ropes. The flash light keeps sweeping across the room like a lighthouse rotating with their lights. My heart is about to explode at any second. The sound of footsteps increases gradually, but whoever it is, they don’t rush. The step is measured like they can predict my moves.

I don’t know if it’s some luck, but I reach the door before the flashlight spots me. Fidgeting with my finger, the door finally opens with a creaking sound. I enter inside fast, but it’s a mistake. “You really think you can escape from me~!” A feminine voice strongly echoes through the wall. It’s a silk rope tightening around my neck with softness, sweetness but full of malice. I close my eyes, drools still uncontrollable. Her footsteps close in. “I can see your every twitch with my night vision,” she purrs in a sadistic tone, “Hear every pathetic breath with my enhanced listener~!”

Is this it? Have I trapped myself? What can I do? Panic claws at my chest. She isn’t a guard, but a predator, a hunter who carefully wants to hunt her prey. Suddenly her foot step paused. My body freezes. “You can’t hide from me~!” She declares, her words much more distinct and loud. She’s close – very close.

She isn’t an ally. She is here to catch me, to drag me back into the prison. She will ensure that I can never escape. “Are you shivering there? Behind that door…” she taunts, cornering me like an animal that has no means to escape. Who is she? Why does she target me? I want to ask so many questions, but the ballgag won’t let me speak. It tortures my tongue, hurts my jaws, and forces my mouth to never close or relax.

“You must be tired. Hungry. Alone. Why don’t you come out, hmm? I promise I won’t hurt you… yet,” She tempts me in her caring tone, but her intention is quite clear. I have to do something – think of some plan. What can I do? My eyes look inside the room. Can I find something to cut through my ropes? No, I can’t take such a risk now. I have to think. “I know you are listening. Just waiting for me to leave! But that thump in your chest? That little flutter of panic? It’s louder than you think. And I just locked the room you’re in,” she informs me, clearly playing to my senses.

Something’s wrong. If she really knows where I am, why isn’t she attacking? Why provoke me? Why lure me with her voice, with words dancing between tease and danger? If she’s certain, she won’t be speaking. She’ll be breaking down the door. But she isn’t. She needs something – a sound, a slip, a confirmation. She’s guessing. There’s doubt behind her confidence, hesitation hides in her words. Can it be that she doesn’t know the exact room where I hide? A sense of relief fills my heart for a moment. Maybe – just maybe – there is another room besides the one I hide. Maybe she’s not sure.

But what can I do with the knowledge? Ropes crush my thighs into a pulp. My arms ache, ropes chafing into my flesh at the slightest movements. I’m barely holding myself. Escape in such a state feels like a sick joke. But something doesn’t add up. She mentioned her night vision, but her flashlight never exposed my presence. Is it possible that she doesn’t know that I am tied up? Does she still think I am mobile, a threat? If so, I have to weaponize that illusion.

She mentions locking the door. She tries to corner me like a prey – but she requires evidence. She has to be sure before she traps me inside. That means she’ll come closer, maybe even enter. All I have to do is to remain silent – utterly silent. No breath, no movement, and not even a thought. She’s listening for the faintest opening – a creak, a gasp, and even a twitch. I have to become nothing.

Can I do it? My muscles scream. My chest is tight. I can barely shift my position without pain. I can’t run. I can’t scream. I can’t even fake distraction. But, this will be my only chance. I have to make her believe that the room is empty. If she thinks she is safe to enter inside – unguarded, unworried – maybe I have a chance. Even if it costs me everything. Even in my pitiful state, I can find my hope.

I close my eyes and inhale – shallow and controlled, and I exhale – silent, again and again. I repeat until the tremors in my body calms down, until my panic softens behind the focus. Her voice continues to echo beyond the door – a blade dipped in honey. But I ignore it – completely. I’m not here, not breathing, not alive. Just waiting for a mistake.

This will be a decisive strike. If I lose the element of surprise, it’s over – no second chance, no escape, no mercy. But I don’t want to think about losing. I close my eyes, and picture her entering inside – step by step. The room is pitch black, but she doesn’t need light. She has night vision and enhanced hearing. She hears everything – every twitch, every heartbeat.

The floor creaks, my muscles spasm under the ropes, and even my silence is screaming. She’ll hear me before I even touch her. I can’t win against her, and I must not fight against her. Instead, I have to turn her strength into her weakness. If she’s listening, I will give her something worth listening to.

I scan around the room. However, my arms are tied up so tightly that even thinking of an action flares up my pain. The ropes crush my elbows, cutting my flesh at the slightest turns, leaving my shoulders in a constant, unforgiving tension. This isn’t a capture – it’s punishment. I almost let out a whimper – almost. Thinking about it only tightens the noose. I need to focus on the plan – not panic.

I step forward – careful, deliberate and conscious of my breath. She continues her taunts – sweet venom, drawing me out like a mouse. But she doesn’t know the counter attack that I am planning.

Finally, I notice it – a broken spoon on the floor, in the cracks of the wood. I slowly adjust my legs to grab the spoon in the gaps of my toes. It takes everything not to collapse and drop the spoon. Then, slowly with deliberate movement, I go into my hiding spot – the position behind the door, where the hinge hides me in the blind spot.

Now, I wait. It’s not about strength anymore, but about patience which she doesn’t seem to have much. Ten minutes, and she finally opens the door. My heart instantly froze, but not my mind. In a heated breath, I kick the spoon making it skid across the room. The metal sound echoed through the walls, distracting her senses. She turns – exactly like I hoped, and I immediately lunch forward, head first.

It feels surreal for a moment – full of adrenaline as my skull slams into her with a sickening sound. The world spins and my vision blurs – but I hear the sound of her slamming into the floor. I don’t hesitate. I shuffle past her, limbs screaming, heart on fire as I slam the door shut. My fingers fumble against the lock like my hands are coated in oil, but then – click.

She screams from the inside, “Damn you!” Her rage boils through the door like a corrosive acid. I quickly throw the key into the shadows, my heart still restless. My breath is heavy now that I actually escaped. I want to fall on my knees and cry already. However, it’s not the end. She’ll break the door and escape free eventually. But she’s no longer the problem, at least not now. However, there is no saying when another person might show up.

I turn and start walking, but I also feel sad over what has happened. I injured and locked her inside. I hope she will be alright. My legs slowly limp away from the hallway. My throat is quite dry. I don’t know if I can repeat the same thing again. I have to be extra vigilant going forward. The game isn’t over yet, and I don’t know if I even made any progress.