(co-written with DenialLuvr on bdsmlr) Three days passed after Ford had been awoken by the voice, and all he could do was move around the stuffy, worn down room. The voice didn’t speak again, and there was no visible way out. No doors. The windows were fake. The only clue as to the passage of time was a small clock mounted on one wall. When he wasn’t searching for a way out, or focused on how hungry he was, he slept on the thin, uncomfortable cot. When he woke on the fourth day, he was in a different place. This time, he was cuffed to a table in a clean white room. He had been placed in a pair of tight cut off gray shorts and nothing else. That is when he heard the scratchy voice. His head was pounding and he needed to relieve himself. "Where the hell am I?" were the only words he could manage to form. "Are you Lieutenant Darren Ford?" The voice asked simply. Ford looked around only seeing a black speaker box mounted on the wall across from him, and an old

Soldier: 2050 A.D. Lieutenant Ford was in trouble. His transport had gone down on the wrong side of the DMZ. He was the only survivor. His only chance was to get back across the border before dawn, and try to avoid the patrols. The loud click of an automatic rifle was the first sign that he’d failed. Ford woke up on a ratty cot in what looked like a psychopath’s bedroom.   There was writing on the walls and floor, in several languages, and the air smelled of old blood and death. His jumpsuit had been taken, leaving only his thin, white undershirt. A quick glance revealed that that was all he was wearing beneath the soiled blanket that had been draped over him. A set of electronic cuffs connected by a thick cord connected his wrists. “Good morning, Lieutenant.” A scratchy voice called out from nearby. “Do you have any physical conditions I should know about before we begin?” Ford looked up groggily, searching for the source of the voice. “I am dying to know why