The woman has pale skin; not truly white, but pale indeed. Amber eyes flash. Blonde hair that goes to her shoulders is a fabulously outdated hairstyle, but it doesn't make her eyes any less fierce. She's got a smile that bespeaks malovelence.\n\n"Good. We caught another; this is a good haul indeed."\n\nTwo cameras descend from the ceiling. They have more attachments than the one you saw earlier.\n\n"If you do anything fishy, they'll take care of you, slut. You're already about to get turned into a rubber-bound mermaid. Don't make this any harder than it has to be. We're very, very good at making things hard indeed."\n\nThe Doctor's lips pucker as she sizes you up.\n\nThe woman here wears a white lab coat, tight-fitting and showing off every curve and angle. Long, elbow-length rubber black gloves complement the outfit, and a very high, unbuckled collar gives iit a modern bent. Fingers run up and down your bound form, unbuckling each strap and lock and leaving you in the nude. The other hand takes you firmly by the chin, moving your head left and right, examining the goods - you.\n\n[["Let's get you suited up," she says.|Let's get you dressed.]]\n\n

\n\nHe feeds your feet and curvaceous calves through a pair of holes, and you enjoy the indelible sensation of taut material stretching up your thighs. It squeaks, and you chirp. Thick rbber; pungent, unyielding, and in places rigid. It slides against your sex, anatomically allowing with slots and openings to facilitate its wear. Industrial, sublimely skintight, this single piece is tight and compressive.\n\nThe Doctor works it past your thighs and rear; form-fitting and molded, the tight cups for your cheeks allow sitting, standing, or spanking. He runs fingers over your butt and gooses you with a charming grin.\n\n\nHe has tow ork to get the suit up your body. He presses his chest and girth against you as he tugs it past your skin; bit by bit, this taut catsuit becomes one with you. Advanced polymers, adhesive sections and lubricant mean nothing, but he mumbles to himself. This is your uniform, your skin; as it passes your chest, sculpted nipples on the exterior mate with yours. This was custom-made just for you.\n\nFrom the top of your neck to the tips of your stretched toes, you are e nclosed. He moves his fingers, rubbing your nipples with an infuriatingly stimulating rotation of this thumbs.\n\n"You look woderful." Four clicks; locks, locks with no apparen keyholes, are shut. Four metallic bands at the ends of your legs and at your wrists snap in place. \n\nHe sstares at his drone; he grins, but you still have far too much individuality for MirageCorp's tastes. \n\n[[When you see him pull out the hood, you know he intends to fix that.]]

The instinct to hide overtakes you, but you don't find anywhere to hide. The empty room is sterile, bereft of cover, hiding spots, or escape.\n\nYou run about, yelling at the top of your lungs. You're breathless, and among the last to be restrained by these assailants.\n\nThe hood covers your face before tightening. Your hyperventilating brain strains to hear anything at all in this smart-fabric hood. \n\n"You're hired."\n\nShortly after, you feel yourself being grabbed and you feel light-headed.\n\n[[Surrender and squirm|captured]]

...and a new beginning.\n\nThank you for playing.\n\n[[Leave a comment about this story|http://phantomdotexe.deviantart.com/|http://fav.me/d7qp4et]]\n\n[[Talk to the CEO personally|mailto:phantomdotexe@gmail.com?Subject=Interactive%Fiction]]\n\n[[Read more stories like this|http://phantomdotexe.deviantart.com/|http://phantomdotexe.deviantart.com/gallery/]]\n\n[[Try a different option|Female]]\n\n[[Gift the creator with a tip|https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_donations&business=phantomdotexe%40gmail%2ecom&lc=US&item_name=Phantom%27s%20Coffers&currency_code=USD&bn=PP%2dDonationsBF%3abtn_donate_SM%2egif%3aNonHosted]]

This is by far the most innocuous, the most pleasant, and the least intimidating of the rooms you've seen during your recruitment. \n\nWhite walls, windows (though they appear to be frosted, you're at least above ground level), bright lights, dressers... this cozy room is essentially a dressing room, and nothing more. A few electronics line the wall (including a menacing silver disk in the floor, presumably for heavier assignments) but it could be an entirely innocent room otherwise.\n\nThis would be true save for its inhabitants. Aside from you, naked, squirmy, and helpless, there are three maids. All three of them only register in your mind as 'maids' thanks to your undoubted exposure to the classic interpretations of the fetishistic 'french maid.'\n\nTwo are identical, with a third in something different. The two of them are both female; the one holding your arm blonde, the other brunette. Thigh-high black shiny stockings indicate PVC or similar fabric. Elegant but strict stiletto heels, pantyhose beneath the stockings, an egregiously short and obscenely tight skirt, all kept under the restrictive packaging of a corset and white maid's blouse. The only real distinguishing feature is that the one holding you wears a thin red ball-gag between her lips.\n\n"Welcome, applicant," says the ungagged one in front of you. "We pride ourselves on our staff, and we are happy to have you. We recommend that you avoid struggling. Our division prides itself on its liberal treatment of our products and employees alike, but we do not brook disobedience. Correct, Alex?"\n\nIt takes you a moment to realize that the maid on your left is in fact male, snugly bound in frills, PVC, and equally gagged. He looks ashamed, as well he ought be.\n\n"Now. It seems you've been assigned to Ms. Blacke. No struggles. You'll learn to love your outfit, number sixty-nine. [[Now relax, and let us dress you.]]

"Good. Eventually, we'll come for you and promote you. If we can find you, that is." \n\n\nThe transit system whisks you along. You're not sure how many more people this place will be 'processing' but you can't help but feel for them. Your empathy dries up when your own situation burns bright in your mind. \n\nYou twist and turn and wind your way through the facility for a minute or two more. Perhaps you imagine it, but at times you think you hear screams, at other times moans. Strange creatures or equipment seem to line halls that alternate between the industrial, the corporate, and the kinky sex club.\n\nWhen you finally arrive at your destination, you're not sure what to expect. The room has the strained old-world decor of a retro doctor's office - complete with a retro doctor.\n\nThe one man waiting for you smiles. He's wearing a tight-fitting lab coat and has old-fashioned movie star looks. \n\n"Good to have you! Let's get you equipped and working! The sooner the better!"\n\nThe rack release you from most of your restraints, but not your wrists. The doctor cuffs them and attaches them to a hoist in the center of the room. You feel it raise, forcing you to your tip-toes; helplessly hanging by your wrists, any hope of resisting his touches is moot.\n\n[[He starts to equip you.]]\n

The Doctor seems to take great delight in touching you. Even as he seals away your hair in a cap, he's running his thumb over your right nipple. The hood itself has two distinct layers; one to cling to your face, and another bulbous one to give you a facelesss sheen. Like any good drone, you'll be unique in your role and behavior, but equally rubberized. Already you feel rubber molding, melding, sealing itself together in your undersuit.\n\nThe preliminary equipping consists of a ring-gag and plug. The hoods, the Doctor explains, will part when commanded to, allowing others to utilize your mouth if needbe. He caps your teeth with a set of rubber covers before sliding the phallic harness into your mouth, forcing your lips to spread. It's erotic, immense, and dehumanizing.\n\nThe first hood goes over your head. The material around you eyes is thin enough that you can see out as though you wore sunglasses. The rest? It's intense. Your face disappears. \n\nWith the second hood, though, you cease to be. It's got a silky-smooth exterior, lots of curves - almost like a bubble or a mannequin doll. A heavy rubber wig is placed around your ball-hood to complete the ensemble. Your equipment seals itself together, and Drone 69 [[is born]].

"Good! The employees will being seeing quite a bit of you. Oh, and any visitors in the lobby... and, well..." She trails off as you are trailed away. \n\nThe transit system whisks you along. You're not sure how many more people this place will be 'processing' but you can't help but feel for them. Your empathy dries up when your own situation burns bright in your mind. \n\nYou twist and turn and wind your way through the facility for a minute or two more. Perhaps you imagine it, but at times you think you hear screams, at other times moans. Strange creatures or equipment seem to line halls that alternate between the industrial, the corporate, and the kinky sex club.\n\nYour journey ends in a kennel-like room; a bizarre combination of anatomical exam room and doctor's office; the sort that has far too much machinery, latex and rubber equipment lining the walls, and doors that you suspect lead to many more rooms filled to the brim with captives. Empty cages on the walls do not provide much comfort.\n\n"Welcome to the pet shop," an alluring voice intones. \n\nIs the attendant a [[male voice]] or [[female voice]]?

In the course of reviewing old documents stored in\ncorporate nodes, you come across a report showing that\na corporate product is doing significant environmental\ndamage. You know that this particular product has been\nquite profitable. It appears this report was ignored so\nthat production and sales would not be interrupted. Do\nyou tell anyone in the corporation about the report? \n\n[[A. Yes|Question4]]\n[[B. No|Question4]]\n\nYou wonder if these questions will be affecting your chances of getting a job.

This story is of an adult nature, focusing on BDSM and related kinks. This interactive story is all about getting captured and getting into a very, very tight spot. \n\nIf you are still interested, click below. Otherwise, please go elsewhere.\n\n[[Click here to continue.|Female]]\n\n\nIf you want to restart the story, click in the upper-right hand corner. You can rewind to previous story pages by clicking next to the title of each page.

Your dreams are restless. Punches and kicks, being dragged and tossed; locks and keys. Through it all, your dreams take on a tinge of eroticism.\n\nMen and women in equipment and suits, causing and embracing sensations you you resign to a hidden corner of your brain. Your sinful dreams leave you awake, but unrefreshed; aroused but unfulfilled. Your dreams are just that; dreams.\n\nYou stretch and yawn yourself awake before realizing both are utterly impossible. You crane your neck, searching and staring.\n\nYou're in a dark room, and can see nothing, though similarly nothing covers your eyes. You blink just fine; you're forced to feel your situation.\n\nArms and legs alike seem to be spread. You lean on an incline, like the table of Frankenstein's monster, your head above your legs but on a 45-degree angle. Your limbs are spread-eagled into a perfect 'X' shape. Your breasts are bare to the world, and thick leather straps at your biceps, elbows, and wrists shackle you to the bed and reduce your movement to squirms. Thick leather mitts keep your hands hot and balled up.\n\nAnother belt around your stomach and a small one around your waist; further straps immobilize and tantilize from your calves to your toes. \n\nThe only item of 'clothing' seems to be a cruel joke; a plastic plate is locked to your sex. Thick rubber straps and metallic locks conspire to create something halfway between a bikini bottom and a cruel, medieval chastity belt. \n\nIt's only now you realize how thoroughly your dreams are fulfilled. The darkness starts to part. \n\n[[Struggle awake|WatchProcessing]]

The Doctor is a little rough with you; a stern voice, a piercing gaze and some rather intense handling doesn't comfort you. The threat seems real enough, of course. It's hard to argue when you're in such peril.\n\nAfter cleaning your body multiple times, the Doctor sees fit to equip your lower harness; fascinatingly high-tech way to deal with sex toys. Hollow sleeves, a frustrating little nub around your clit... yes, you expected it, but it remains intense and intimate.\n\nThere's something a little disturbing about this intrusion into your sex and rear. However, it is, in its own way, comforting. There's no subtlety about it, but there is that arousal. You know what they want, and now, you can feel it. The company is at least honest; MiRA was quite clear about the position.\n\nThe position wasn't explicilty including the plugs, though. The second they're inserted, they inflate; The Doctor explains that if someone else - not you - wants to, they deflate and remove the plugs, leaving the sleeves, and leaving you ready should the two of you be in any mood for intimacy or further teasing. Any waste will be nonexistent thanks to your new diet.\n\nThis diet is achieved through the Doctor quickly dropping a marble-sized pellet down to your stomach. To be changed monthly, this should provide you with all the sustenance you need to keep you swimming. Your mouth? It gets an inflatable plug-gag, one with a great bit valve on the outside for all to see. \n\nYour arms get stricter treatment than you were expecting. After massaging your wrists, they're cruelly snapped behind your back, tighter and tighter until they form a bizarre bound sleeve; each wrist against the other and your fingers interlaced into a helpless ball. This itself is quickly sealed in a neoprene sheathe.\n\nAh, yes, the swimsuit. It's bulky, skintight, and made of the rubber-like neoprene. Perfect for any diving suit, The Doctor has you step into it but leaves parts of you relatively free; you have your flexibility, and can bend, swim, dive, float... if only you could escape. But judging by the dozens and dozens of internal straps, that won't be an option.\n\nBy the time your neoprene sack is complete, you have the look. Your legs are sealed in a single 'flipper,' your arms turned into a sort of shark-like dorsal fin...all up to your neck.\n\nThe hood goes over, another neoprene invention. It's tight, snug against your skin, with two tiny eyelets for vision, a hole to mate with your inflatable gag's valve, and an internal air supply. The Doctor takes liberal time gluing it in place.\n\n[[To the tank]]\n

You obey the screen. They probably know best.\n\nThe plug inside you shifts slightly as you tense up. You can feel, if not see, additional connections being made around your sex, but the package- that is, you - is elegant and minimalistic.\n\nYou grind your thigs slightly as you feel the wrapping on your thighs. It feels - if not good - it feels right, appropriate. It covers your slit and moves on to your stomach. Your legs are a gossamer, single entity now, a silver worm with no hope of escaping this web.\n\nIt moves past your stomach, up to your arms, and then, as you anticipated, past them and to your neck. Lovely, in a way. Lovely. You only wish you could see yourself; the bulk around your chest must be a strange bulge over your mummified body.\n\n[[You're helpless.]]

"Oh, how lovely. I can assure you that you're going to be an endearing little package. But we make it a habit to ensure our gifts are highly appealing. I make no promises as to when your recipient will want to 'unwrap' you."\n\nThe transit system whisks you along. You're not sure how many more people this place will be 'processing' but you can't help but feel for them. If they're anything like you, though, they're similarly curious as to how true MiRA's story was. \n\nA minute or so of moving through chambers, racks, and being sprayed down with cleaning solvents, you arrive in a dark hallway. Your restraints disengage all at once - all of them - clattering to the floor and letting you off. You fall forward, and realize that your freedom is only a change of prisons. This one is more personal.\n\nFour arms pick you to your feet, and two more are crossed in front of you. You're flanked on three sides by maids.\n\n[["Let's take a look at your assignment..."]]

You flee. But where to? To the door? A strongarm from one of the attackers sends you to the ground, and the gloved fists of two more pin your arms to the ground. You've no recourse but to beg, but they never respond to even the most genuine of cajoling.\n\nIt's almost a relief when they slip the smart-fabric hood on. You feel light-headed.\n\n[[Surrender and squirm|captured]]

You have confronted your supervisors about the hypothetical environmental damage, and you have been escorted into a meeting room. Several employees you do not recognize wearing lustrous jumpsuits and masks enter the room, and ask you to take off your clothes. Do you...\n\n[[A. Submit to the will of your employer and prepare yourself for processing|attack]]\n[[B. Resist the binding will of your employer|attack]]\n\nThese questions have a peculiar wording.

Escape? Are you joking?\n\nYou're helpless. You're nude. You're completely vulnerable. Your hands are mittened and your legs are flailing free.\n\nOh. You notice your right leg is free. Just your right leg, but it's free nonetheless. It's a start; the locks seem to have flown open. So long as you don't put your leg back in place, it's free. Your right leg is free.\n\nThe feeling of air against your sex is slightly disconcerting as you stretch and strain your limb. More worrying is the sight of one of the workers - a lithe figure in an advanced, padded jumpsuit and helmet, clad in black and white. Especially since he's staring at you. \n\n[[Lock your foot in and avoid attention]]\n[[Pretend to still be trapped|Get teased]]\n

Your dreams are restful. Warmth, gentle rubbing; you'd say it went over rubbing. Your dreams give you raunchy imagery of grinding, of a dozen people rubbing and grinding, nude bodies against one another in a sinful-yet-sublime orgiastic coupling.\n\nThe dream leaves you awake, refreshed, and unfulfilled. You posses a thoroughly embarassing arousal as you blink yourself awake. \n\nYou're in a dark room; nothing reaches your eyes as you freely blink them. There is sensation elsewhere; the smell of leather and your musk, the sound of leather stretching, and the sensation of immense restriction. \n\nIn a way, it has an almost positive feeling; your arms are stretched high above your head, and your body, still somewhat limp, sags downward. It's as though you're stretching after a long time sitting at a desk. \n\nGlancing up, you see that indeed your arms are bound. Both of them, from your forearm near the elbow to your hands, are snugly encased; utterly encased in jet-black rubber. It's hot, slightly sweaty, and it keeps your hands in mitten-like formations. You can hardly move your thumb, and can't mov your fingers much at all; any further movement is kept in check by plastic bars; they're thin, like a tent-pole or pipe, but they lock around large shackles at your wrist, and ascend up to dark machinery. It essentially keeps your arms in the air, your stomach, neck, breasts, and bare sex vulnerble, and your legs also immobile; when you look down, you see heavy metallic boots that keep your feet on the floor. (Since they appear to be part of this conveyor system for human cargo, and not detchable footwear, you hesitate to call them 'boots.') \n\n\n[[Get a grasp on your surroundings|WatchProcessing]]

Lips puckered up, clit wet, butt and body enclosed, the tape moves up to your neck.\n\nTwo more arms extend to provide some last-minute additions; the first solidly inserts gel plugs into your ears before quickly covering them in a sticky paste.\n\nThe other unit slides a pair of dark lenses over your eyes, covering them from eyebrow to socket. The world plunges into pitch darkness, matching the eerie quiet coming from your ears.\n\nThen, the long-awaited wrapping of your face. Almost blissful, though you'd neve admit it. Tape goes over your neck, then over your lips, once and twice and more. Your face disapears as your nose goes under the sheets, then even your eyes. Eventually, your hair disappears beneath the silver layer. You disappear.\n\n"STAGE ONE COMPLETE." MiRA's voice intones in your earplugs.\n\nThe world is silent; your world is one of weightlessness. Flits of erotic thrill go through your body, the plug weighing on your mind heavily.\n\nImages flash to your eyes. The lenses function as screens. The devious bastards knew that intimate fantasy - to see your mummiform, to see the helpless cocoon that contains your figure.\n\nAdding on to your security is the tape itself, which proceeds to ensure your compliance with a second layer of tape.\n\nAnd, to completment this (as well as your un-taped feet), a ring begins to extend from the bottom of the tube. Black, sticky, almost liquid-like, this plastic tomb hides the meticulously-appliedl layers of tape beneath a single, solid, and totally and completely inescapable latex unit. It stretches, the hoop going from toes to head before locking in place, applied on like a printer.\n\nThat's it. It's all over. You moan, loudly, your airflow functional but provided by the strange pod. Your lips pout and chew helplessly on tape and latex.\n\n"STAGE TWO COMPLETE," says MiRA.\n\nImmobile, stiff, and utterly bemused by their dedication to restriction, it seems almost perfunctory as the chamber fills with gel; extending from holes in the bottom of the cylinder, the gel is inflexible and thick, and your pathetic wriggles seem to quickly dissipate. Attempts to bang against the side of the tube would be impossible, if you had the energy to do so.\n\nBut you don't. You have only this feeling of weightlessness, this feeling of encasement in your techno-tomb. It's a literal out-of-body experience as you stare at the now-enclosed mummiform wriggling in the tube; one among many dozens of cylinders in this strange vault.\n\nYou surmise the view in your lenses must be MiRA's. The camera zooms out. You blink, and the slightly feminine form that you assumed was yourself seems to blend in with a dozen others. You lose concentration to imagined scents and real stimulations in your armpits , wrists, and other erogenous zones. Your fingers flex. You lose yourself to the tomb.\n\n"STAGE THREE COMPLETE."\n\n\n\n\n[[The End]]

Few fears weigh on the human psyche greater than the fear of the unknown. The unknown values that the employer screens for; the impersonal sterility of the environment; they combine to embroil your fears. Your stomach turns, and your eyes flit towards the door.\n\nThe door opens inward, and no creak or squeak announces it; only the gentle click of a lock. The click sends a shiver down your spine when your eyes manage to percieve this unknown.\n\nFour huge figures enter the room; they wear fatigues of black and white, shining plastic vests, codpieces, and helmets. Piercing, glowing green optics scan the room and the entire crowd mutters.\n\nTheir helmets have no true faces, and these faceless apparitions seem to have no true emotion. They are mechanical, so efficient in their movements that you scarcely question it for several seconds.\n\nThey move two at a time. One grabs one of the other 'applicants,' forcing them to their knees with pressure applied to their back and thighs. As they kneel, the other grabs a scrap of black fabric, and stretches it over his or her head.\n\nThe fabric has a gossamer sheen, not unlike nylon or spandex, and in the harsh flourescents this strange ritual seems almost normal. They stretch it down past their victim's hair, ears, nose, mouth, and down to the neck before releasing. The fabric collapses with a snap before suddenly, viciously tightening. It freezes the applicant's face and stretches so tightly you can make out the poor jobless sod's facial features.\n\nSome smile, most are blank; a few seem to be moaning or gasping, their mouths open and therefore a gap visible. Usually after the hood goes on, they begin to struggle, realizing their situation. Their frozen faces move beneath their snug hood, alive but imprisoned; and it's about this time that the other assailant grabs their arms and shoves it into a stringent-looking single-sleeve.\n\nThis happens to not one but two fellow job-seekers before your realize what's happening.\n\nIt's an eerie sight. Almost as eerie as the piercing gaze of the interlopers when they start to stare you down.\n\n[[Hide from the attackers|Hide]]\n[[Fight them with physical force]]\n[[Run and try to escape]]\n\n

"We could hire maids and service workers. That would be easy, and probably quite inexpensive."\n\nMiRA zooms about the room, scoping in and out to accentuate the expensive machinery that encases the structure.\n\n"How boring. But if we were to customize our employees, all the better... all the more loyal.\n\nLet us bring you in at the bottom. Fully rubberized, coated in flexibile smart-materials. What sort of materials? Oh, you know, that sexy skintight and shiny kind that you fantasize about. The kind that gives you an impermeable catsuit, the kind that lets us see your pretty little face when we want, or cover it up with a gas mask when we don't, or just enclose it in a lovely, shiny, faceless hood when we decide it's time for drone duty. \n\nIt may not be the most exciting post; cleaning and tending to employees like a temp hire. But we know how much you crave servitude; it's in your brain, locked away, just as your identity will be. Present, but sealed up... and if you're good, we'll let you spend your off-hours in passionate embrace fraternizing with the other drones."\n\n[["I want it.|dronconfirm]]\n[["The positiion isn't right for me.|Mira's Menu]]

A blur, a long period of being carried, and a splash. \n\nYou're underwater. Weightless. Helpless. Carried on by an air supply and your wriggles in your weighted suit.\n\nYou can see outside the tank; a lobby, people moving. You're in some bizarre aquarium. A hundred feet from freedom... but only if you could get out of this ridiculous outfit and only if there wasn't a massive pane of glass in the way.\n\nYou swim for a few minutes; there are others here as well. You don't get the chance to be lonely for long. Two frogwmen clad in armor and equipment seem to gently swim, utilizing this tank as their training grounds.\n\nThey're far more agile than you could ever be. Even this freedom, even the chance to swim - bound as a pathetic bondagized mermaid - is denied.\n\nYour last glimpse of freedom ends as they put their arms around you, wrap you in net, and begin to drag you to the surface. Behind their masks you can see their eyes sparkle. They caught a good one.\n\n[[The End]]

In a hypothetical situation, You told your superiors about the report showing environmental damage tied to a particular product. Months passed, and there has been no movement whatsoever. Do you follow up with other corporate officers?\n\n[[A. Yes, I want to prove my dominance|Another Question]]\n[[B. No, I'll quietly submit my claim|Another Question]]\n\nThat's some odd word choice.\n

Your dainty fingers tremble as you place the document and clipboard onto the desk. A thick pane of heavily frosted glass creates a barrier to the innards of the office. A slot opens, and an unseen hand retrieves your survey and application. The impersonality of it all weighs on you mightily. No touch, no passion, not even a word spoken. \n\nThe slot clacks shut. You gently rap your painted fingernails against the glass. All dressed up and nowhere to go; all the time you spent getting ready for an interview, and you haven't seen a single employee.\n\n"Hello?" Your voice raises a few eyebrows. The other applicants stare glassy-eyed.\n\n"Did you receive my documents? Is everything in order?" You say. "I have my other information in my purse, I can provide whatever you..." you let your words trail off as they fall on the unrelenting shield of the frosted glass.\n\nTime passes. \n\n\n\n[[Take a seat and wait|attack2]]\n[[Leave the office|attack2]]

"See you ... eventually." The camera hangs on these words. Had it a face, it must have been a malignant grin.\n\nThe transit system whisks you along. You're not sure how many more people this place will be 'processing' but you can't help but feel for them. If they're anything like you, though, they're similarly curious as to how true MiRA's story was. \n\nA minute or so of moving through chambers, racks, and being sprayed down with cleaning solvents, you arrive in a dark hallway. Your restraints disengage all at once - all of them - clattering to the floor and letting you off. You fall forward, and realize that your freedom is only a change of prisons.\n\nYou're in a tube; a cylinder, maybe two and a half meters tall, and completely clear. A reflexive bang against the glass does nothing.\n\nIt's to your credit that you did this, though. Spending time examining it, exploring the tube, testing at the strange panels and machinery at the bottom; it shows curiosity and drive. You wonder if your captors will reward or punish you.\n\nYour curiosity with your own tube blinds you, and it's only when it's too late that you realize your tube is just one of many. To your left, an empty cylinder; to your right is the feminine figure of just another mummiform, encased and enclosed. You do a double-take, but by the time you start to think about your future it's upon you.\n\nLegs spread by mechanical means, you're delectably vulnerable. Two metal pads covered in adhesive go against your inner thighs create a pleasant sort of sensation; a personal touch. They're thinking of you, even if they're thinking of teasing you.\n\nHolographic messages on the interior of the cylinder flash, instructing you what to do with your body. Clench up, raise your arms, relax your body; it's irrelevant whether or not you comply. \n\nYou loosen physically and relax just as the machine decides to intrude upon your sex. A decisive intruder makes its way into your rear. You don't always think about it, don't always analyze such sensations, but it's only at times like this you realize just how sensitive your parts are. It tickles and stretches, and you bite your lip in an orgiastic blitz. You even laugh a bit as it stretches your rear; some sort of infinitesimally small tube attached to it, or snaking inside you - it's not obvious or clear. \n\nThe feeling is, though; the feeling of riding something hard, the feeling of pressure, and the follow-up feelings that accompany it; a small bead forced down your throat (presumably to provide respiratory services) and that feeling you've been loving and dreading, [[the wrapping.]]\n

They know. He obviously knows. You can harly see his face; his helmet is advanced, but the front is a bubble-like panel through which his facial features are barely visible.\n\nYou're sure that you see a smile, and you're sure that he enjoys himself as you feel nubile, gentle, practiced fingers flit over your exposed nipple. He makes a note on a clipboard. It doesn't sound like a good one.\n\nThe 'click' sound of your leg being locked back in seals your fate. \n\n[[Brace yourself]]\n

It's a terrible thought, but you don't want to see yourself. Encased! Entombed! Enclosed! How awful! \n\nAnd yet, you lie. You crave the option to see yourself. You look down at the tape winding its way up your body.\n\nThe tape comes from two reels, dispensed from two twin racks. It evokes images of a car-wash or industrial wrapping device; slowly rising with mechanical precision.\n\nEach reel spits out thick gouts of silvery-sheen tape. It's egregiously thin, not at all puffy or padded. It's also egregiously tight, and rather stretchy. It winds very, very tightly over your legs starting at the ankles; winding particularly snug such that the silver enclosure stretches.\n\nEach layer and seam is visible, yet elegantly folded. You almost want to touch win when the screen in front flashes.\n\n"ARMS CROSSED AT YOUR CHEST."\n\nYou have another idea. One that involves disobedience, but perhaps just a slight amount of gratification on your part. \n\n[[Position your arms at your chest]]\n[[Position your arms to pleasure yourself]]\n

"Assignment: hot storage." The voice again comes from the camera with the green light. It whisks you on your way without so much as a congratulations or an offer letter. Your new job begins.\n\nYou twist and turn and wind your way through the facility for a minute or two more. Perhaps you imagine it, but at times you think you hear screams, at other times moans. Strange creatures or equipment seem to line halls that alternate between the industrial, the corporate, and the kinky sex club.\n\nThe journey ends in a small room, with a strange object indeed dominating it. It's a white item that looks like a sphere that's been cut in half, right down the middle, positioned at 45 degrees - open side facing upwards.\n\nBut it's not just a bowl. The interior is black, and, as you feel, sticky.\n\nYou get a very first-hand chance to feel it when six mechanical arms remove all remaining restraints and cothing, then extricate you from your bindings and place you in the sticky material.\n\nOne on each arm, two on each leg; the machine poses you like an action figure. In this case, your pose has your arms vulnerably posed as though you're making a large "U" with your limbs. Something similar goes for your legs; bet at the knees but leaving your slit precariously, embarrassingly vulnerable. \n\n[[This isn't as 'hot' as you were expecting.]]\n

Slave To The Machine\n

"Remember what I said about stress in mammals? There are, in fact, four solutions to it. Take it out on others, find a hobby or outlet, be able to predict it, or be able to control it, even if an illusion.\n\nOur control over you is an illusion. You contol your own actions. You can make us lose interest in you; but you won't. Even now, you're sweating in your own juices, stewing with thoughts of plugs and tight enclosure and dominants lording over you in a bizarre, sterile environment. How often did you fantasize about being capture by some spandex-loving villain and used in their harem?\n\nThis is something similar. In this, your skills are tested in an open environment, and you're given the illusion of control. You see, that environment is the massive fish-tank in our lobby... and those skills are swimming.\n\nOh, yes. Given an air and food supply, then properly, painstakingly equipped with practically permanent neoprene, and ceremoniously introduced into 'The Tank.' A living, bondagized mermaid, showing us your skills, flexibility, and competing with others for extraction.\n\nWhat's that? Oh, it's just part of the test."\n\n[["I'm ready.|mermconfirm]]\n[["What else... can...|Mira's Menu]]\n

By the time it's all over, you almost regret ever thinking that this wasn't very "hot."\n\nWith your arms and legs stickily adhered to the cushioned interior of the semisphere, there's not much you can do. Wiggle a bit, flail a bit. You think you could break free if you had an hour or so. It's somewhat comfy, if not practical.\n\nYou don't have an hour. It goes fast; you barely had a minute.\n\nThis time, there were no machines. This time, you faced a real, living person (you assume.) Two women, both clad in the white-and-black catsuits of MirageCorp, enter the room and beging hooking you up.\n\nOne pushes in a tray, and you feel your slit grow wet at the sight. Toys, prods, and other things lay ready for use.\n\nThe two women seem to be identical, down to the dark red hair. One lubricates, warms, and then tests out a dildo with her mouth. She teases you with this knowledge; teases you with the intruder, the assailant that she gently slides inside you.\n\nYour body thrashes as she inserts it, as though you're riding a bucking horse. Hips sway, lips moisten and your mouth goes agape with mewls as she inserts it to its base.\n\nThe other reciprocates with a smaller, plug. The first time is always best, they say, but you're doubtful. \n\nYou loosen physically and relax. You don't always think about it, don't always analyze such sensations, but it's only at times like this you realize just how sensitive your parts are. It tickles and stretches, and you bite your lip in an orgiastic blitz. You even laugh a bit as it stretches your rear. More nubs, more tiny metal stimulation pads on your inner thighs, and they seal it [[with a kiss]].\n

"Information?" The voice has a tone of idignation and surprise.\n\n"What information do you deserve? What should we give you? We captured you because of who you are. Now who you will be is in your hands."\n\nThe camera zooms left and right.\n\n"The vast majority of our poor 'employees' are poor little things at first; quivering, moaning, groaning. Captives that we want to bend to our will, not break; slaves trapped in restrictive rubber, tight tombs, living entities of latex; cpatives and slaves that beg us from the very beginning to experiment and tease them. Almost like pets, in a way; the ones who rise above the froth are special creatures. I think that you might be special...." the voice lowers to a hushed tone.\n\n"So don't prove me wrong. Embrace it. Love it." The tone is assertive.\n\n"MirageCorp is more than an evil megacorporation. We want to change the world; mold it in our image. And today, we mold you."\n\n[[Look at the menu|Mira's Menu]]

You place your foot in its restraints and there's a loud 'snapping' and clacking sound. Your eyes peer down and you see your leg trapped. Again.\n\nThe minion goes about his business, visually inspecting each 'unit'. \n\n[[Turn your eyes forward|Brace yourself]]

They tease, they prod, and they torment. Fingers against your labia and your nub. Their gentle lips on your teats and neck. Life flashes and speeds up. They're working on you in the most literal sense; working you up into a frenzy. The intruders throb deep within you and you move your hips to shift them.\n\nMore metal stimulation dots, more kisses, and another tongue against your hidden erogenous zones.\n\nWhile one keeps you occupied, the other finally grabs the heavist item from the table. It's a mask; that MCI staple. This one in question is white like porcelain. It doesn't appear to have any straps, but the high-tech interior seems to have a large, almost phallic plug for your mouth.\n\nIt's a strange thing, like a masquerade mask. The eyes are closed from the outside, but have lenses on the inside. The exterior is white and plastic, and makes you think of a Greek statue; the perfect marble-white face of a beautiful woman. Two red dots, one on each cheek, remind you of a geisha. \n\nThis is your face now, you muse, as one of the other girls slides it onto your visage. Your face disappears and your mouth parts to accept the phallic plug. You suckle on it greedily as they line it up to your face. \n\nThe world goes dark as the mask adheres, but only momentarily. Images flash to your eyes. The lenses function as screens. The devious bastards knew that intimate fantasy - to see that helplessness and be powerless to do anything of it.\n\nWith the mask locked on, the plugs and stimulation pads ready to go, the girls seem to be quite satisfied and bring their operation to an end. The half-sphere extends a metal ring over your body, and you see yourself disappear.\n\nThe ring is a sheet of latex - or some other high-tech smart material - and it presses against you. It's a terrible thing, seeing it lock on and seal, vacuum-tight while also seeing it happen. You can't squirm enough as it seals shut. You can hear metal locking, latex melting, and while you can't smell through your nose, the oxygen provided through the plug even tastes like latex.\n\nIt's done. You're gone. Now you're a statue in a pod; an object on the edge of climactic orgasm posed like a fool in a latex sheet. And, if you weren't so angry, you'd beg for more stimulation.\n\nThe girls leave. The cameras turn off. The pod slides, revealing a second half. In a moment, it slides over and locks in place. The pod is a perfect sphere, and you're nowhere to be seen.\n\nBut you can be heard. Your voice and moans are transmitted throughout the room. Even as the camera cuts out, you can hear your own moans and mewls; you can hear the vibrators and electro-stim pads hum to life; you can hear what was once 'you' draining away as you stew in your own eroticisim and addiction. Your only hope is that they come perform 'maintenance' soon.\n\nYour moans of ecstasy echo throughout the hall.\n\n[[The End]]

The sensations of your rubber wig flitting across your lovely, faceless, elegantly curved hood create tingles; these transform to butterflies in your stomach, to pinpricks of sensation up and down your back.\n\nIt's good to be a drone, you muse. It's good that they've taken so much time, especially when they sit you down to show you all the outfits you're going to wear as a MirageCorp employee. \n\nFantastical french maid uniforms (for cleaning duty), industrial equipment (for heavy maintenance duty), and more intimate outfits as well - for when you, as a drone, are required by your employers for some personal service. \n\nIt's good when they bring out a long gurney and lay you down on it. It's very good when they strap you down to it, hauling you away to your "training seminar" and your first assignment.\n\nYou're a rubberbound drone. You're a human resource. It's good. \n\n[[The End]]

"When we recruit, we recruit only the best; only those perverted and poor souls like you."\n\nThe camera tilts slightly. It has the body language of someone very proud of an achievement.\n\n"In this case, we have you sealed and stimulated. An advanced undersuit - your nigh-impermeable 'employee uniform', tight restraints, and - here is the difference - stimulation. Sure, you may be trapped in a pod or vacbed or in some terrible prison; but you may not notice. You'll be milked and pumped and brought close and laid low. And, I suspect from your facial expression, you already love it."\n\n[["Confirmed."|hot storage confirmed]]\n[["Something else, perhaps..."|Mira's Menu]]

The man has dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. He's got a smile that goes from ear to ear while still being mischevious. His eyes are large and stare, never breaking contact with you.\n\n"Welcome, welcome. Normally I don't deal with such an exotic specimen."\n\nTwo cameras descend from the ceiling. They have more attachments than the one you saw earlier.\n\n"These two are here to make certain nothing goes wrong. You get out of line, you get tranquilized, shocked... and possibly you end up with something a lot less fun. And you wouldn't want to disappoint MirageCorp. We can make the rest of your life very unpleasant. Very, very frustrating for you."\n\nThe Doctor's lips pucker as he sizxes you up.\n\nThe attendant here wears a white lab coat, tight-fitting and showing off every curve and angle. Long, elbow-length rubber black gloves complement the outfit, and a very high, unbuckled collar gives iit a modern bent. Fingers run up and down your bound form, unbuckling each strap and lock and leaving you in the nude. The other hand takes you firmly by the chin, moving your head left and right, examining the goods - you.\n\n[[Let's get you dressed.]]

"Of course we can, Unit 69."\n\nYour heart soars. Hurrah!\n\n"But we have no intention of doing anything of the sort."\n\nYour heart falls. Harrumph.\n\n"Why would we do that? You want - crave - need this; the restriction, the rubber, the routine. Oh yes. All of that and more."\n\nShe - it - puncuates each word by bobbing slightly. The camera pierces your soul.\n\n"But... your request was not expected. This variable will be noted."\n\nThe camera retracts slightly. \n\n"Shall we hear your career options?"\n\n[[Nod meekly|Mira's Menu]]\n[[Silently glare|Mira's Menu]]\n[["Oh, I'm ready."|Mira's Menu]]

Written & Programmed by Phantom (phantomdotexe)\n[[Follow Phantom on deviantArt|http://phantomdotexe.deviantart.com/]]\n[[Weasyl|https://www.weasyl.com/~mistressphantom]]\n[[E-Mail Phantom|mailto:phantomdotexe@gmail.com?Subject=Interactive%Fiction]]\n\nV2\n

The maids have a duty to perform, and apparently, so do you. In this case, you duty is to look pouty, cute, and be snugly bound.\n\nAll this is explained to you by the stringnet lead maid. As you're equipped with your new 'uniform,' she reiterates each item's purpose.\n\n"The stockings and hose? Our own personal products. They entice and tease, bringing our cliens great joy; but they also serve the earnest purpose of keeping you covered. A body covered is one with mystery; not to mention it'll give Ms. Blacke joy when she decides to remove them."\n\n"Those elbow-length PVC gloves? They're tight, but they're our own products as well. Designed to breathe and designed for your own comfort. Especially those straps at the elbow; we don't want you removing your work-wear. Oh, and the visual aesthetic of matching your gloves and your stockings is simply to die for."\n\n"That corset? Yes, it's tight. Yes, you could argue it's very tight. Yes indeed, you may lose the occasional breath; but think of the upsides. As a gift, your figure is tantamount; imagine the way - no, feel the way it forces you to just out your generous chest, the way it keeps your posture enforced. It's a sight to see, it truly is; and surely you must enjoy the snugness 'round your stomach at some level."\n\n"Oh, and let's not forget that skirt. A friend referred to them as 'butt corsets' for their tightness. Yes indeed, it may only barely touch your thigh, but that should be more than enough. The tactile sensations your captor will recieve from moving her or his fingers over it are absolutely unforgettable. The sounds of squeaking latex you make as you move, the imagery of seeing your rear end so perfectly package? If I wasn't working, I'd steal you myself."\n\n"Oh, and speaking of stealing; we can't let our products negotiate away their release. You escaping would be tantamount to you stealing from the company. So open wide. We're packing in a handkerchief."\n\n"Now, pucker up. Give us a pouty face; the kind of gagged lips that look just barely smoochable. There we go. Oh, and now that we've got that tape over your lips, breathe deep; this over-the-nose gag isn't some base rag, but a carefully-designed cotton sash. Trust me, that white looks so glamorous and graceful. It also does a lovely job of turning any attempts at negotiation into these most adorable mewls. Glorious."\n\n"Now, maid, arms behind your back. We've got the blouse and the rest of it on, but we'll be cursed if we don't make sure you entice. Feel that? That's ribbon; adhesive ribbons of bright blue and pink. Your arms, though you can't see them, are in this elegant box-tie. A strong tug on the ribbon will release you, but that's a privilege reserved for our client."\n\n"Now, legs together. Hmm... don't grind your thighs so much. Try crossing them at the ankle; it'll give you a look of allure and mystery. Femme fatale and all that."\n\n"The wrapping should be nearly done. You look good enough to eat! Now, if you'll [[take a seat, it's time for you to go."]]

A glowing menu appears, illuminated in the air. Holographic light bathes you in a strange bluish tint. It's not the light of a sun or a bulb, though; it has no warmth or heat. The projection flits from the dangling frame you mentally refer to as 'MiRA'. \n\n"What *opportunity* do you want to hear about?" She speaks sardonically.\n\n1. [[Extreme Enclosure Testing|Heavy storage]]\n2. [[Transfer to 'hot storage'|Hot Storage]]\n3. [[Rubberdrone assignement|Dronification]]\n4. [[Agent Testing|mermaid]]\n5. [["Gift protocol"|giftbasket]]

There's now only one more captive in front of you. He, too, is along for the ride. He, however, seems to be spirited. There must be a gag or something between his lips, for no words escape him - not that you can see his face. The grunts and mewls he makes bespeak of pleasure, of purrs of joy; the sound of heavy restraints is as music to his ears.\n\n"Unit 68. Chemical scan complete. Assignement: companion. Transporting to residence for clothing, training, auction."\n\nHe is elevated, still in his restraints, from the belt; his equipment that keeps his arms and legs, like yours, so bound is magnetically snagged and removed. Like a bad apple off of a conveyor belt, he's been whisked away; and like that, he's gone.\n\nYou feel that the belt jolts again. The assembly line whirrs to life. You're next.\n\n"Number 69!" \n\n[["Hello? Can you hear me?"|meeting mira]]\n[["Don't do this!"|meeting mira]]\n[["I don't have much say.... just make it tight."|meeting mira]]\n[[Stay silent.|hot storage confirmed]]

Your eyes adjust to the darkness. While it takes only a few minutes, you almost wish you couldn't see. Normally, just being able to see one's surroundings and predict gives a modicum of reassurance. You almost wish you were blindfolded.\n\nThere's a long, long hallway; dozens of mechanical arms and menacing machines line the walls. Glass observational windows on the side give the impersonal appearance of an assembly line, testing room, or even a car wash. Heavy machinery, the sound of whirring gears, and a total lack of agency hallmark this chamber.\n\nFigures from behind frosted glass pace left and right, no doubt observing you. All of you.\n\nFor in front of you, and presumably behind you, there are more.\n\nMen and women alike, most of them in equipment similar or identical to yours, line the railing. They seem to have woken before you, and either resign to their fate or squirm viciously. \n\nThe conveyor seems to go on forever. Occasionally you can hear yelps - for mercy, or just screams - coming from somewhere in front of you. You can feel a lump in your throat form. \n\nTwo people ahead of you, you hear a voice; it's electronic, but has a human tone and a gentle English accent. It has hints of emotion, for it takes tone and doesn't pronounce words the same when repeated.\n\n"Unit 67; applied for administrative position. Chemical scan complete. Generating assingment...."\n\nThere's a pause. You can hear this 'number 67' woman yelling. \n\n"Public relations duty. Moving to Area 3 for device insertion, calibration, dressing."\n\nThe last thing you hear from the person two in front of you is a tearful yell.\n\nThe conveyor continues to move. You're able to clearly see the woman in front of you. She's lashed just like you are. She seems to be in higher spirits, though.\n\n[[Try to escape]]\n[[Brace yourself]]

"This is not a test of our facilities. We have legions of followers, captives, slaves, and products that are strictly stored. We know what we need. This is a test of you. \n\nDoesn't it sound lovely, in that strange way? Dehumanized to the ultimate extreme; wrapped in tape and plastic and sealed up in your own little techno-tomb; trapped and teased. For us, it's one form of employee onboarding; time spent analyzing your brain, learning about you, showing you these deep recesses where you hide your shames and kinks. \n\nWhen we eventually decide to remove your mummified form from such strict encasement, you'll be a new person by your own doing; alternating periods of sleep, deprivation, and stimulation can make create a very distinct libido."\n\n[["Confirm.|hstorconfirmed]]\n[["What else can you do to me?"|Mira's Menu]]

The voice is feminine, and you can hear it - and see the source- more clearly.\n\nYou're in some sort of scanning area. A large disc lies below you, and white lights shine onto your bound form; it's you in the spotlight. The assembly line branches off here into three directions, and presumably more that go up. This facility seems dedicated solely to the mass processing of living, sentient beings; scanning them, touching them, totally dehumanizing them, reducing them to products. It's a profoundly disturbing thought.\n\nAnd yet, here you are; literally in the spotlight. This area is cleaner, clearer; matte white panels and reflective black gloss line advanced arms and computers. A gentle and curvy camera hangs from above, withe a glowing green photoreceptor, a visible microphone, and speaker.\n\nHere you are, and for once, it's all about you. Letters on the side of the camera label it 'MiRA'.\n\nThe voice again speaks. It has such a soothing, human voice.\n\n"Unit 69." It addresses you as you addressed her. \n\n"Based on your answers, a chemical scan of your body and brain makeup, and predictive technology, we have selected you for a position with MirageCorp International. Your employment is to begin immediately, your contract is indefinite. You are ours. Compliance and resistance make no difference; your loyalty to Phantom and our organization are guaranteed."\n\nThe camera makes whirring sounds as it focuses its lenses. \n\n"We know your desires and tastes. We have seen you and we know you better than you know yourself. You crave restraint, control, intimacy; perhaps you crave to give it, but you must first feel it yourself. You are ours; helpless, stimulated even now by your own desires. You may never admit it in public, but it is undeniable."\n\nThe camera moves closer.\n\n"You are a fascinating creature. There are three ways to reduce stress. The first is to allow the creature in question to take its stress out on others. That will not be happening. Not yet."\n\n"The second is to give the creature an outlet for stress; a hobby, perhaps. That will happen eventually. Your hobbies are our hobbies, and vice versa. You love what you do, and what we do to you, even if you will not admit it."\n\n"The final way is to allow the creature in question some modicum of choice; even if an illusion, even if a fantasy or placebo. You are a fascinating creature, to re-iterate. We will give you this chance to reduce your stress, just once. We will allow you to choose your fate and assignment."\n\nThe camera is just inches from your face.\n\n"Unit 69, are you ready to work?"\n\n[["What are my options?"|Mira's Menu]]\n[["Who are you? What is this?|Info]]\n[["Please... can you release me?]]

You see no harm in exacting a bit more pleasure from the situation.\n\nYou place your hands around your slit. It feels good. You have just barely enough time to grind and tease at your nub for a moment before they're wrapped in place; wrapped in place to grind, tease, or pleasure yourself if needbe. \n\nThe plug inside you shifts slightly as you tense up. You can feel, if not see, additional connections being made around your sex, but the package- that is, you - is elegant and minimalistic.\n\nYou grind your thigs slightly as you feel the wrapping on your thighs. It feels - if not good - it feels right, appropriate. It covers your slit and moves on to your stomach. Your legs are a gossamer, single entity now, a silver worm with no hope of escaping this web.\n\nIt moves past your stomach, up to your arms, and then, as you anticipated, past them and to your neck.\n\n[[You're helpless.]]

It's almost infuriating. You wish you had a mirror; the maids spent so much time agonizing over each frill and the many belts that hold your outfit in place. Not to mention the 'ribbons,' which you suspect is a fancy way of saying that you're a bound and gagged object of titillation.\n\n"Well, dear, it's time for you to go." The maids sit you down in a bizarre, cushioned wicker basket, and it's off. Dragged from the dressing room, through a hallway, and onto a waiting truck, and onward to your destination.\n\nIt's not until a few hours later that you arrive outside the home of your new owner.\n\nThe grinning smile of a woman in leather is the last thing you see before being whisked inside.\n\n[[The End]]

"A gift basket. It sounds innocuous, and in a way, it is. You, my friend, get the gentlest of treatment from us... though we make no claims about your end fate."\n\n"You see, this means you become a gift; a literal gift in a basket. We dress you in something cute and elegant; probably a nice dress, then bind you with some rope or cable, thoroughly gag you, and stick you in the basket with a bottle of wine and some chocolates. Then we enjoy the knowledge that we've made one our VIP customers quite pleased."\n\n"Be forewarned, of course, that MirageCorp's gifts are given freely. Our endorsers and customers can be highly unsavory; fiendish addicts to domination and restriction, scurrilous villains who have no illusions about your status as a *gift* and not a person. Your slavery ends with us, and begins with them. Maybe you'll have bad luck. Or maybe you'll get very lucky indeed."\n\n[[I'll take my chances.|giftbasketconfirmed]]\n[["No thanks.|Mira's Menu]]

"Slave 63!" \n\nYour head perks up. Did they just say 'slave'?\n\n"Seat 63! Is there a seat 63?" \n\nOh. You were almost excited.\n\nThis interview is lasting forever; at least a dozen other applicants are also waiting in line. You have a notion that you're the least qualified person in the room. It's a frustrating notion.\n\nYou're ticket number 69. Guh.\n\nCompounding your frustration at waiting for a job you likely won't get is the room itself. It's a boring, grey-carpeted, beige-walled room in a boring, beige-walled building.\n\nYou squirm again. Your bra is uncomfortable and skirt a little too short; it must have shrunk.\n\nWhat was this job for again? It blends together. You're idle and your phone is dead. Your eyes glaze over the documents in your lap. \n\n[[Fill out the questionnaire while you wait]]

You adopt a fighting stance. These other sheep may willingly go along, but you won't.\n\nYour fight is valiant; the attackers are cautious. Punches and kicks send them reeling, for they clearly never expected such stiff resistance.\n\nAs you deliver a plastic-shattering kick to one of the attacker's vests, you start to feel a bit faint. Maybe it's all this excitement, maybe it's the exhileration of your high heel smacking against the plate of one of these thugs.\n\nThen again, maybe it's the light pink gas emitting from the slot below the frosted window.\n\nBy the time you finally fall, you're the last to be captured. You feel your captors spend their time strapping your arms into the single-sleeve, then buckling your legs, starting at your calves, ankles, and thighs; the stringence of the hood, then another...\n\n[[Fall unconscious|StringentCapture]]

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