Casey Butler and The Pit http://literfull12.deviantart.com/art/Casey-Butler-and-The-Pit-424114612 I remember running. Through the cold, dark, Canadian woods. I wasn't sure where to go, I just knew I had to go. Days held captive, and this was my only chance. They had locked me in a trunk, and tied me down with tape. Took some doing, but I broke free. And when they popped the trunk, I leapt out, striking one, and pushing the other to the ground. I was lucky. It didn't last. I ran for what felt like miles. Branches snapped under my feet. The cold stung my skin. I make out a figure ahead of me, and I screamed for help. As I got closer, I saw something in the figure's hands, and I heard a clicking, and a bang. I was launched back onto the ground. I was shot. I twisted and gasped for air on the ground. It was a shotgun that hit me. You'd think I'd be dead. The figure steps closer to me, the gun placed behind her back. "Don't worry, it was bean bag round. Not like a bitch like you deserves a kindness like that," the figure says, having a distinctly Australian accent. "You don't have the right to fight. Or run. You barely have the right to breath." I couldn't see her. I couldn't make out her face. I just knew though. I knew she was involved. "Who...are.." And before I could finish my question, I felt a boot slam into my gut, sucking the wind out of me, once more. "Oi. You most certainly don't have the right to speak," she instructed me. "I'm Lauren the Strange, just so you know. I do so hope you enjoy The Pit." She brings the butt of the gun up, and slams it down, knocking me unconscious. My name is Casey Butler. I haven't lived enough life in a lot of ways, but I know one thing for sure: Things are never easy for me. Ever. And for a few days now, I've been take prisoner by some crazy dominatrix. Now it's some crazy dominatrix and friends, but the point remains that they're crazy. And have the means to transport a woman, across the border without anyone noticing. I have shag cut blonde hair, pale skin, stand at Five-foot-nine, and weigh about One hundred and five pounds. Used to be an amateur MMA fighter on the cusp of going pro, and still work out enough to stay pretty fit. Not like it's worth a damn, though. "You're as dumb as mud, you know that right?" The woman with the pink Mohawk, pale skin, yellow sports bra, black leather short shorts, and long black leather coat asks me. "I mean, you knocked them to the ground. They had the car running. Take the car. You should've taken the car." Her name is Rachel, and I already hate her. "GMMN TT HLM," I tell her through the ball gag in my mouth. It's attached to a harness, straps encircling my head, all stemming from a collar around my neck, making sure I can't shake it loose. Not like I could before, but they're the sick experts that I'll beat the Hell out of the first chance I get, so what do I know? "I don't know why Mistress Claw didn't take your undergarments. You're not a person, just an object. You're not allowed the luxury of the living. But she insists you're allowed just that, despite instruction from myself and Madame Jezebel. And you broke the Madame's nose, so I'm surprised she went along with it," she contemplates, referring to my black bra and underwear, and my actions prior to my recapture. "I see Lauren gave you quite the bruise though, what with shooting you and all. Can't believe she didn't crack a rib. She said she was so close." She places her hand on my stomach, and squeezes the deep, dark, blue bruise on it. I'd fight her, or turn away, but my hands are bound above my head with rope linked to a suspension point above me, and my ankles have bondage cuffs, that are connect to chains. One set keeps my legs in places, while the others are at the back of my heel, at an incline, pulling my feet back slightly and keeping me on the soles of my feet, the heels not touching the ground. "AMMPH!" I bawled. But she doesn't let go. It hurts and she doesn't care. "Let me explain how this works," Rachel sneers. "Once a year, Mistress Claw, the woman who captured you, she goes out into the world, and finds someone like you. She takes a week, post-capture, to ensure that she covers her tracks, and that she starts breaking you down. With you, she didn't need to cover her tracks. No one seemed to care that you went missing. She was going to keep you for herself, until the Feds started poking around dinner her records." She eases her hand off me, and scoffs at my pain. "Thought you fighters could handle a little pain," she insults me. "We only allow one occupant a year. Never more. This facility, it goes for a mile underground. You were unconscious when brought in so you should know, your on the bottom floor. If you manage to free yourself, somehow, I regret to inform you, the one elevator that goes to every floor is keyed into me, Madame Jezebel, Mistress Claw, and Lauren the Strange. Only we can use it. This room you're in right now, well, let's just say, this is about as pleasant as it gets. Trust me. In a few minutes Lauren The Strange will come in, and tell you how this all goes down. Your first stop will be The Box, which is your punishment your earlier act of defiance and cowardice. Good luck to you." "Plmnnnnn," I object through my gag. "Sorry darling, didn't catch a word of that," Rachel laughs. "Alright, Lauren, she's ready for you." Another woman walks in, through a sliding metal door, sort of like an elevator door. And when she does, I feel rage. So much of it, I started pulling against my bonds, and screaming. I then take a hard slap from the horribly familiar woman. Once upon a time, there was a woman named Eva. Attractive, olive skin, blue hair. Picked me up at a bar, and drugged me. Had me tied up in my apartment for a couple of days, so I could miss my chance at making a name for myself and becomming a professional MMA fighter. So when she walks into a situation where I've been held captive for days, I can't help but feel like something's up. Maybe she's behind this? Or maybe she heard about my predicament, she got her ass over here. But calling herself "Lauren the Strange"? Something isn't adding up here. "I get that you might be a little confused. Mad even. I had nothing to do with this, trust me," Eva says unfastening my gag. "I'm going to untie you, so we can have a proper chat. Okay? Okay." The gag falls to the floor, I'm ready to curse her out. Say every awful thing that's festered in my head. But I'm just too damn tired. Eve is wearing a white tank top, and dark blue jeans. With flip-flops, because I don't know. Her pixie cut, blue hair, and chili lipstick-- It's like she was pulled out of my memory. She frees my hands, and feet. I drop to the floor, holding my gut. "They took an X-ray of you, a rib is most certainly cracked. Rachel is a psychopath, a liar, too," she informs me. "There's a camera in here, but I managed to tinker with it a bit. It has the first few seconds of us on a loop, the second Rachel stepped out. We've got some time." "You shot me. Knocked me out," I mumble. "Can't trust you. Can't trust anyone." I look up at her, trying to scowl, but it's like I just don't have it in me. I see her face, and I'm surprised. Eva looks sad. Like she's responsible for this. Like how I feel she is. Especially after knocking me out. "You didn't know it was me when you shot me, huh?" I ask. "How could I have?" She says. "I came here to steal from them. I was lucky, this Lauren, they've never seen her face. It was easy to find the real one, and give her the same treatment, she and her friends have given to others. By the way, these people are nuts." "You're a liar. It's what you do. I don't even know you're name. It isn't Eva, you told me that," I choke out. "You say I'm a liar. That's what I do. Well, the best lie is sometimes the truth," Eva states. "Know I'm here to help." I don't have much of a choice. I'm screwed if I don't take her help. And I'm screwed if she Dicks me over. No good options, here. "What's the box?" I inquire. "Some sort of Clockwork Orange, brainwash thing. After a few treatments, you'd think you really do deserve this sort of treatment," she answers. Yeah, I need to get out of here. "I have a plan though. I can get you out of here. I feel partly responsible for your downward spiral, and feel entirely so for shooting you. I brought you some gifts, too." There was a bag in the corner, one I failed to notice, I guess? I mean, I'm kind of a wreck right now? So go easy on me? "I got food, clothes, a blanket, some bandages, an adrenaline shot,which is part of my plan, and a pair of running shoes," she explains. "Let's fix up your rib, shall we?" She bandaged up my ribs before she explained the plan. We leave in the morning. After she steals all their money. From here. Somehow. Why they keep money here, I have no clue. "I'm fantastic at what I do," she told me. "Rescue missions, unfortunately, are not what I do. So you're going to need to contribute." Eva gave me clothes. A gray hoodie, and sweat pants, socks and white running shoes. Food wise, an Apple, and packaged Turkey sandwich. And orange juice. I'm probably saying this because I haven't eaten like a person in days, but the food is fantastic. And doesn't have that rubber taste, which is something normal people would not think about. There's the adrenaline shot, too. She thinks because I'm so weak, tired, broken, to fight my way out I'll need the pick-me-up. I agree, since it only took one of them to kick my ass. Unfortunately, I don't feel comfortable jamming something into my chest, and I'm not even sure if I could do this right. "I'm also not a medical professional, so please don't ask me how to do that," Eva told me. "I just know it works." Someone is going to get me in the morning. That's when I have to move. But now, Eva says I have at least six hours of sleep. Six. Unrestrained or suspended hours. And soon I might be free. All I have to do is kick the crap out of the first person who comes through that door. Yay me. I feel bad now. The Madame Jezebel lady, she was the one who opened the door. She got a taste of my adrenaline fueled rage. I grabbed her face and smashed it into the wall. She croaked out apologies and threats and begged me not to hurt her. Little bipolar this one, but I did just break her face. "Wow," Eva says, peaking her head in. "You've got some issues." "No thanks to you," I retort. "You got what you were looking for?" "Oh, yes. Yes indeed," she exclaims. She's practically glowing. Making our way to the elevator was simple enough. The place is only staffed by three women. They should've invested in some guards. Or background checks. Or therapy. "Alright the elevator should be here in a second," Eva starts. "Where do you little bitches think you're going," her voice booms. Mistress Claw. The woman who kidnapped me. Yay. She Walks towards us, still sporting her stupid red dominatrix outfit, and stupid domino mask. I hate her. Her punk, Mohawk sporting, psychopath friend, Rachel, with her. "Shoot them!" I order Eva. "I, uh, don't have my gun," she whispers. "Why not?!" "I told you I'm not great with the rescuing thing. Maybe don't get kidnapped by weirdos," she yells. "Too Hell with this," I mutter. Still running on the adrenaline shot, I charge at them. Mistress Claw kicked my ass on her own easily. Two on one doesn't help with that. I throw a kick, slamming into Rachel's gut. I bring my elbow across Claw's psycho face. I can't slow down. They seem a bit suprised by my agression, I press this advantage... my only advantage. But something gives. Footing gets softer. The pain, the numbness I felt, replaced with the ache from before. Rachel and Claw don't slow down a bit. I already knew Claw was a superb fighter but Rachel is skilled as well, attacking me like a trained boxer. Rachel strikes my head, and cracked rib. Within five seconds the two females have forced me to the floor and continue to brutally punch and kick me. I notice a cruel smile on Rachel her face as she sadistically punches my cracked rib. Rolling up in a fetal position I cover up as best I could as I get beat up by these two sadists. I think I might black out, when I hear a noise. A bang. She lied. Eva has a gun. "Alright, I do have a gun. Please step away from the dumb blonde," she orders them. "Casey, if you can walk or limp, I'd advise you to do so. Now." The elevator dings, and slides open. "Ride's here." I limp over, smiling with a bloody lip, and probably a concussion. "Casey, this isn't done. It might take a decade but I'll find you and I'll find her. You'll wish you stayed, I promise that you will become my slave again" Claw warns me. Eva and me walk into the elevator. "Who says you even get to leave?" I snap. I can barely stand. I probably need to get to a hospital. I see them as the door closes, and know that they'll get theirs. Most certainly. "I locked the Elevator here. They won't be leaving. They have access to the other floors through the ventilation shafts, but that's it, they will not be able to ever leave the pitt with the elevator blocked. They have enough supplies to last a year. They'll probably die, eventually as their food runs out" Eva informs me. "Good, this is over. How much did you get from them?" "A few million, actually," she gloats. "Huh. Can I get a ride to a hospital?" I ask, still holding my ribs. "Yes. And I do have an offer to make to you after you get yourself checked out," she states. "I'll consider it. Once you cover all my pain and suffering. A million would do it," I choke out. Hurts to speak. "That's actually part of it. You might actually like this. I promise." Yeah. Screw it. What's the worst that could happen?