The Pledges
The Abduction
The van's rear doors slammed shut, plunging Jake and Ethan into darkness broken only by thin strips of streetlight filtering through tinted windows. Both pledges lay hogtied on the metal floor—wrists bound to ankles behind their backs, bare torsos pressed against the cold surface that vibrated as the engine roared to life. Their muffled protests disappeared beneath the rumble of tires on asphalt.
In the driver's seat, Decker adjusted the rearview mirror. "They secured?" he called back to Mason, who knelt between the two bound pledges.
"Tight as hell," Mason replied, tugging at the rope connecting Jake's wrists to his ankles, causing him to arch involuntarily. "This one's still fighting it."
Jake's muscles screamed in protest at the unnatural position. The gag—a bandana wrapped multiple times between his teeth and knotted painfully tight at the back of his head—had already soaked through with saliva. Beside him, Ethan had stopped struggling, conserving energy as they were jostled with each turn and bump in the road.
"How far?" someone in the passenger seat asked.
"Forty minutes," Decker answered. "My uncle's hunting cabin. No one for miles."
Jake's heart hammered against the floor of the van. This wasn't supposed to happen. Beer bongs and paddling, maybe, but this... this had crossed into something else entirely. Through the sliver of vision his askew blindfold allowed, he watched the city lights grow increasingly sparse through the window.
"Remember last year?" Mason laughed, idly pressing a finger against the center of Jake's back where the rope created a nexus of tension. "Roberts cried like a bitch."
"Roberts still made it in," someone else commented. "That's the point. Breaking them all the way down before bringing them into the brotherhood."
The van hit a pothole, sending Jake's body lifting momentarily before crashing back down. Pain radiated from his shoulders to his ankles. They'd been driving for what felt like hours, but might have only been twenty minutes. Time stretched differently when bound and helpless.
The smooth asphalt eventually gave way to gravel, each impact vibrating through Jake's body. Then the van slowed, turning onto what must have been a dirt path judging from the rhythmic bumping that followed.
"Almost there, pledges," Decker announced from the front. "Hope you're ready for the real initiation."
The van came to a stop. Doors opened, then slammed shut. Nighttime forest sounds filtered in—crickets, distant owls, wind through pine needles. Hands grabbed Jake by the connecting rope between his wrists and ankles, dragging him toward the doors. The rope cut deeper with each movement.
"Welcome to hell night," Decker's voice floated through the darkness as fresh air hit Jake's skin. "The real test is just beginning."
The Trials
The basement of the hunting cabin smelled of mildew and fear. Jake and Ethan knelt side by side on the dirt floor, still blindfolded, their gags momentarily removed. Sweat trickled down Jake's bare chest despite the chill. His arms remained bound behind him, though the hogtie had been released, restoring some circulation to his legs. The relief from that small mercy only heightened his awareness of what might come next.
"First trial," announced Decker from somewhere in the darkness. "Devotion."
Rough hands seized Jake's shoulders, forcing him to bend forward until his forehead touched the ground. The posture strained his bound arms and exposed the length of his back. Something cold and wet splashed between his shoulder blades—beer, he thought, until the acrid smell hit him. Motor oil.
"Brothers before you have endured the same," Mason's voice came from directly above. "Each drop is a pledge from those who came before."
The oil dripped slowly down Jake's spine, pooling at the small of his back. He heard Ethan receiving the same treatment beside him, accompanied by a muffled whimper.
"Don't move for ten minutes," Decker instructed. "Move, and we start over."
What followed was agonizing stillness. Jake's muscles cramped, but each time he shifted even slightly, a hand would smack against his oil-slick back with a sickening slap. "Reset the clock," someone would say, and the torment of immobility would begin again.
After what felt like hours, they were yanked back to kneeling positions. Jake's body trembled from the strain.
"Second trial," Decker announced. "Trust."
The blindfolds were ripped away, but the sudden light from the kerosene lamps was just as blinding. As Jake's vision adjusted, he saw the brothers arranged in a circle around them, faces hidden behind crude burlap masks with misshapen eye holes. The anonymity transformed them from fellow students into faceless judges.
One stepped forward with two cups. "Drink."
The contents looked like muddy water. Jake hesitated until he felt rope being tightened around his neck—not choking, but a clear threat. He drank. The liquid burned going down—some awful concoction of alcohol, hot sauce, and what might have been raw egg. His stomach immediately rebelled, but hands held his head back, forcing him to keep it down.
"Third trial. Endurance."
The blindfolds returned, plunging Jake back into darkness. Something scraped across the floor. Then came the weight—first on his thighs, then more on his shoulders. Rocks, he realized, as they continued piling them onto his body.
"Hold the weight of brotherhood," someone intoned. "This burden you will carry together or fail together."
Beside him, he heard Ethan's labored breathing, then a crash as rocks tumbled to the floor.
"Your brother has failed," Decker said coldly. "His punishment becomes yours."
Ice water drenched Jake from above, shocking his system. The rocks were removed only to be replaced with something heavier—what felt like sand bags draped across his shoulders.
"One hour," Decker announced. "Meditate on the meaning of sacrifice."
As Jake knelt there, shivering, muscles screaming, he realized this was never about becoming worthy. It was about being broken thoroughly enough to never question what they might ask of him later. The true initiation wasn't into brotherhood—it was into blind obedience.
Sweet Agony
"Face the tree," Decker commanded as Jake was positioned against the ancient oak, his bare chest pressed against rough bark.
Two brothers worked with practiced efficiency, first securing his wrists together around the opposite side of the trunk. The rope bit into his skin as they pulled it tight, effectively forcing him into a permanent embrace with the tree. More hemp followed—loops around his chest, his waist, his thighs, and finally his ankles, each pulled taut and knotted securely until Jake was completely immobilized.
Beside him, Ethan received identical treatment on the neighboring oak, his labored breathing audible even through his gag. Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting both bound pledges in an ethereal glow that belied the cruelty of their situation.
"Remove their gags," Decker ordered. "I want to hear everything tonight."
The wadded cloth was pulled from Jake's mouth, leaving his jaw aching and his tongue dry. He worked his mouth, trying to generate saliva, watching as Mason approached carrying what looked like a military backpack.
"Our ancestors understood that true initiation requires more than just physical endurance," Decker announced, circling between the trees where both pledges were bound. "It requires becoming one with nature itself."
From the backpack, Mason produced two large glass jars filled with a thick, amber substance that caught the moonlight.
"Honey," Decker explained, taking one of the jars. "Harvested from our own hives behind the house."
Jake's confusion quickly turned to dread as Decker unscrewed the lid and dipped his fingers into the jar. The sweet scent seemed jarringly out of place in the cold night air.
"The forest has many inhabitants," Decker continued, applying a thick layer of honey to Jake's shoulders and upper back. "Most too small to notice in your daily life. Tonight, you'll become intimately acquainted with them."
The honey was surprisingly cold against Jake's skin, causing involuntary shivers as Decker worked methodically, coating his bound arms, his neck, his chest where it pressed against the tree bark. The substance began to drip slowly downward, creating trails of sticky sweetness that collected in the ropes binding him to the oak.
Across the clearing, two other brothers were administering the same treatment to Ethan, who had begun to realize the implications with growing horror.
"You can't leave us like this," Ethan protested, his first words since the gag had been removed. "There are—there could be bears out here!"
Mason laughed, applying honey to Jake's face last, smearing it across his forehead and cheeks. "Bears are the least of your concerns. It's the smaller creatures that will find you first. Ants. Beetles. Wasps, if you're particularly unlucky."
As if summoned by the words, Jake felt something small land on his honey-coated shoulder, followed by another on his neck. The sensation sent a spike of primal panic through him that he struggled to suppress.
"Every brother standing here has endured the honey oak," Decker said, stepping back to admire their work. "It's been our tradition for generations."
The honey continued to drip slowly down Jake's back, some of it collecting between the tree and his chest, creating an uncomfortably sticky seal that pulled at his skin with each shallow breath. Already he could feel multiple tiny insects exploring the unexpected feast.
"We'll return at sunrise," Decker announced to the group. "What we find then will determine whether you've earned your place among us."
"You can't just leave us here," Jake finally spoke, hating the tremor in his voice. "This is insane."
"Insanity is following society's rules without question," Decker replied, his face impassive. "What we offer is freedom from those constraints. But freedom has a price."
With that, he turned and headed back toward the trail. One by one, the brothers followed, flashlight beams bouncing through the trees until darkness reclaimed the clearing entirely, leaving Jake and Ethan bound to their respective oaks, honey-covered and already becoming focal points for the forest's nocturnal ecosystem.
"Jake?" Ethan's voice carried across the clearing, tight with barely contained panic. "I can feel them crawling everywhere already."
"Don't think about it," Jake replied, fighting to keep his own voice steady despite the tickling sensation of multiple tiny legs moving across his honey-coated skin. "That's exactly what they want."
The night stretched before them like an eternity, each minute marked by new discoveries as insects found every honey-covered inch. What began as discomfort evolved into constant torment as hours passed. By midnight, both men had abandoned dignity, alternating between strained silence and involuntary sounds of distress as particularly sensitive areas were discovered by the forest's smallest inhabitants.
By the time dawn's first light filtered through the trees, Jake and Ethan hung exhausted against their restraints. Their skin was marked with countless small bites and stings, the honey now a crusty, dirt-laden mess embedded with insect parts and forest debris. They had transcended physical discomfort hours ago, entering a state of detached endurance that felt almost spiritual in its intensity.
When footsteps finally announced the brothers' return, Jake barely had the energy to lift his head. Decker approached first, examining both pledges with clinical detachment, nodding in apparent satisfaction at what he found.
"Cut them down," he finally ordered. "They've proven themselves worthy of our brotherhood."
As the ropes fell away and Jake collapsed into waiting arms, a thought surfaced through his exhaustion—he now understood the vacant look he'd seen in the eyes of brothers during his first week at the fraternity. It wasn't arrogance or superiority as he'd initially assumed. It was the gaze of men who had been systematically broken and rebuilt according to the fraternity's design.
And now that same emptiness would reflect in his own eyes.
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