Be Good

The first thing I noticed when I, I guess, woke up, was that my head hurt. Once my eyes focused, I felt that primal cold sweat drip off my head, and I realized that I was in a hobble which was chained to the wall and anchored in with a substantial piece of hardware that wasn't likely to budge.

My arms were chained up as well, but I had enough slack to more or less move them freely, and I was on a red tatami mat. I saw an orange Home Depot bucket with a toilet seat attached, and a roll of toilet paper. Beside it was a small washbasin of water.

I was in a basement from the looks of the support pillars out that I guessed were out of reach, as well as the elliptical trainer and flatscreen TV mounted on the far wall angled towards it.

Looking up at the right-hand pillar, I could see the orb of a security camera mounted to the ceiling, so it was pretty obvious whoever hit me in the head and, I think, stole my blood, knows I'm up and about.

I was able to take about a step and a half forward before tripping over the bar between my legs holding me kind of half spread open, sending me to my knees, sending another bolt of agony through my body and into my brain's pain center, which was already feeling more on fire by the second.

Before I could get fully oriented again, I heard the squeak of a piezo speaker go off as the door that as now in my field of view opened, showing me the guy who took my truck. And my blood.

"What kind of sick fuck takes someone's blood?"

"What?"

"What kind of sick fuck knocks someone out with a blow to the head and takes the opportunity to steal a pint my fucking blood?" I became more incensed, I could hear it.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I couldn't really process clearly. This guy was denying taking my blood but I didn't see a bandage or any real evidence that it happened. I remembered it though. Or at least I thought I did.

"Listen," he said, "I've got to say this thing."

He pulled a paper from his pocket and began to read, blurting out without any punctuation:

"You are hereby taken as captive in the ongoing conflict in the local area and under accordance with gee neck pee signed at troy reevers and Wilmington you are entitled to food and medical until such time as you are transferred to a recognized main signatory of gee-nap do you accept?"

"What... the..."

He sighs, and repeats slower:

"You are hereby taken. As captive."

"Yeah."

"In the ongoing conflict in the local area and under accordance with gee neck pee signed at troy reevers--"

"Yeah that part. What?"

"Gee neck pee signed at troy reevers."

"GNACPP."

"That's what I said."

"Whatever. It's Trois-Rivières."

"Twoah Rchivieres. Do you accept? The sooner you do the sooner I can eat and you can have something for your head which looks like I really got you good."

My eyes were still having a hard time focusing. "GNACPP that's...like the prisoner thing? You don't sound American."

He bristled.

"Come on. You have to say yes."

"Yes, I accept."

He almost immediately slides me a gallon jug of water and a foil travel packet of Tylenol. I can barely get the packet open fast enough as I throw the tablets into my mouth and tear open the jug, sucking back as much as I can while trying to avoid spilling most of it on myself.

"If you're vegetarian you're shit out of luck. I have to give you 1500 calories a day to keep you fed, and I'm down to freeze dried steaks."

I was tied up and being offered a steak dinner. Normally it's the other way around.

"I'm gonna throw on the classic movie channel down here to give you something to do while I fuck off for a while. It's a lot of work setting this up, especially because you're here overnight."

"The fuck I am. I'm going to--"

"What? Buddy, I've been doing this a while. You're fine. You'll get a decent meal, watch a few movies, and have a sleep or two. I'm not a raider, and I'm not gonna try fuck you or anything. I know when you are sleeping, I know when you're awake. I know if you've been bad or good, you know?" He cracks a wry smile. "Be good."

"I'll keep you fed and relatively entertained until the Yanks get here to pick you up and take you off my hands."

"What?"

"Man's gotta eat Matthew," he says my name with a patronizing tone that makes me want to punch his face in. "This is how you earn a buck out here in the country. Everything is a commodity to be traded out here."

Even people.

"It's not even a big deal unless you're some kind of government agent, which, looking at your wallet, you aren't. You'll be part of another one of the regular swaps, and be back home in a few days. Drink your water, and here, eat this," he said rolling me an orange.

"You expect me to just sit here and watch movies until I get abducted by some ten gallon hat named Tex or something?"

"Something like that. Shit, I wish it was a good ol' boy, that'd be hilarious," he says, chuckling. "I'll call him that when I call him. See if I can make that work for you."

This is getting weird.

He walked over to the TV on the wall and grabbed it with both arms, twisting it toward me. It was then that I heard the mechanical action of his right arm as it moved. I took a closer look and saw it was a really convincing replicant. I guess this does pay well if he's got that kind of hardware.

Pushing the lowest button on the set and then one of the middle ones, a commercial for Real Estate in somewhere called Sky Haven was for sale, showing its smiling patrol guards with white AR-style rifles tucked neatly in their arms, with white double breasted overcoats almost hiding most of the bulk plasteel plate carriers.

A convertible drives by on screen with a smiling teenage girl, who waves at the guard who laughs and waves back with a chuckle. The camera pans up to a large glass structure in the center of the screen.

...and shopping the latest trend at the historically accurate 20th century shopping center! Sky Haven offers the best in security and convenience, with 24/7 on-call patrol and regular monitoring of all perimeters. Supported by the very best in modern security hardware at each gate, you'll sleep soundly with an investment in Sky Haven, another community by Weston, a family Company.

The movie returned from commercial, and a severe looking thin woman was staring at sheet music while classical music blared in the background.

"See, it's not so bad. This is a pretty good one. I'll be down with dinner in a few hours."