First "Legal" Beer

 

Chapter 1: The Perfect Selfie

Josh Rigley stood in front of his bedroom mirror, phone held up to capture the full image. Twenty-one years old today, and he looked damn good. The black Colorado-themed birthday shirt his girlfriend picked out fit perfectly across his chest and shoulders. New cowboy belt, genuine leather. Faded blue jeans that hugged his legs just right, breaking perfectly over his new boots. He adjusted his baseball cap backwards, running his fingers through his hair to get it sitting just perfect under the brim.

He stepped back slightly, letting the full-length mirror catch his entire frame. The veins in his forearms popped against the coating of dark hair. The reflection showed it all - the confident smile, the strong jaw, the way his shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders. He flexed just enough to make the shirt pull tight.

Perfect.

Click.

"Looking good, birthday boy," he muttered to himself, already thinking about posting it later. His girlfriend would love it. Hell, everyone would.

He pocketed the phone and headed downstairs, the new boots making satisfying sounds on the hardwood. The house was quiet - his brothers must have gone out to get ready for tonight's party. But there on the kitchen table sat a tall glass of beer, condensation beading on the sides, foam still white and thick on top.

A folded note leaned against the glass: "Know this isn't your first but first legal. Happy 21. Party tonight!"

Josh grinned and pulled out his phone again, snapping a quick photo of the setup. The golden beer, the handwritten note, the afternoon sunlight streaming across the table. Another perfect shot.

He set the phone down and lifted the glass. "Here's to being legal," he said to the empty kitchen, and downed the entire beer in one long drink.

The world tilted sideways before he even set the glass down.

Chapter 2a: First Contact

The darkness came first. Not the gentle darkness of closing your eyes, but the thick, suffocating black of something pressed tight against his face. Josh's consciousness crawled back slowly, his head pounding like a bass drum.

What the hell...

He tried to move his arms. Nothing. They were strapped tight to the sides of what felt like a wooden chair, rope wrapped around his biceps, above and below his elbows, and again at his wrists. His forearms pressed against the chair arms, completely immobilized. He pulled harder, feeling the bite of rope against his skin.

Rope?

Panic shot through him like electricity. He tried to speak, to yell, but something was stuffed in his mouth, held there by what felt like tape wrapped around his head. The taste was cotton, dry and choking.

His ears felt plugged too, cotton or foam shoved deep inside, muffling everything except for the faint, distant sound of music. Led Zeppelin. "Black Dog" maybe, but so quiet it might have been his imagination.

They're playing music while they...

His legs - he could feel his new boots still on his feet, but each leg was bound separately to a chair leg. Rope around his thighs, his calves, his ankles. Tight. Professional. He couldn't even shift his weight.

The only thing he could move was his head, and he shook it frantically, testing the limits. The blindfold stayed put. The gag held firm.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

Josh tested each restraint methodically, his breathing coming in short, panicked bursts through his nose. Someone had taken time with this. Someone knew what they were doing.

Oh God. Oh God, this is real.

Chapter 2b: The Silence

The music stopped.

Josh's head snapped up, straining to hear something, anything through the cotton stuffed in his ears. The sudden absence of sound was somehow worse than the muffled Led Zeppelin had been. At least that had been... normal. Background noise. Now there was nothing but the sound of his own panicked breathing through his nose.

They're here.

He could feel it - a presence in the room. Maybe more than one. The air shifted slightly, like someone moving nearby. Josh's whole body tensed against the ropes, every muscle rigid with anticipation.

What do they want? Money? Why me?

Then he felt it - fingernails, light and scratchy, dragging through the hair on his left forearm. The sensation sent electric jolts up his arm as the nails scraped against his skin, ruffling the dark hair from his wrist toward his elbow. Josh jerked against the restraints, but the rope held firm.

They're mapping me. Oh God, they're mapping me.

Hands pushed up the sleeves of his birthday shirt, exposing more of his arms. The fingernails moved to his right arm, the same methodical scraping and tickling through the hair on his forearms. Then they moved higher, nails scratching lightly at his biceps, his shoulders, trailing up to his neck.

Josh's breathing came in sharp, panicked bursts through his nose. He shook his head violently, trying to escape the tickling sensation, but it only made the nails dig in more as they explored his neck and shoulders.

What are they planning? What do they need to know?

The touching stopped. Josh waited, every nerve ending on fire, anticipating the next contact. The silence stretched on, broken only by his ragged breathing.

Please. Please just tell me what you want.

Chapter 2c: Escalation

Something cold pressed against his chest. Josh's body went rigid as whatever it was - metal, maybe ice - traced a slow line down from his collarbone toward his stomach. The cold burned against his skin through the thin fabric of his birthday shirt.

Ice. They're using ice. Interrogation technique. I've seen this in movies. Oh God, what comes next?

Then he heard it - a ripping sound. His shirt. They were tearing his new birthday shirt open, the fabric giving way with sharp tears that he felt more than heard through his plugged ears. Cool air hit his exposed chest and stomach, raising goosebumps across his skin.

No, no, no. They're stripping me. This is really happening. Why can't I remember anything? Who did I piss off? What do they think I know?

The cold thing - definitely ice now - pressed directly against his bare chest, sliding in lazy circles around his nipples, then down across his stomach. Josh's muscles contracted involuntarily, his abs clenching as the ice left trails of freezing water across his skin and through the light coating of hair on his chest.

They're mapping everything. Every inch. Like they're studying me. Are they going to cut me? Burn me? Please God, just tell me what you want and I'll give it to you.

Without warning, something warm replaced the ice - fingers, maybe a cloth - pressing against the same spots the ice had touched. The temperature contrast was shocking, almost painful. Hot, then cold, then hot again. Josh's breathing became erratic, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his body tried to process the conflicting sensations.

I can't take this. I can't breathe right. My heart's going to explode. They're professionals. They know exactly how to break me down. How long before they start asking questions?

The warm touch moved across his exposed torso, tracing patterns through the hair on his chest, following the lines of his muscles. Then fingernails again, scratching lightly down his ribs, making him jerk against the ropes.

Mom and Dad don't even know I'm missing yet. The party - everyone's going to wonder where I am. Will they pay the ransom? Do we even have that kind of money? What if they just leave me here to die?

Chapter 2d: The Waiting Game

The touching stopped completely. Josh's entire body remained tensed, waiting for the next sensation, the next violation. But nothing came. Just silence and the suffocating darkness of the blindfold.

Are they watching me? Planning something worse?

Minutes crawled by. Or maybe hours - he had no way to tell. His exposed chest felt cold now, the trails of melted ice water making him shiver. The torn fabric of his birthday shirt hung loose around his shoulders.

They're letting me think about what's coming next. Psychological warfare. Break me down mentally before the real torture starts.

Then, without warning, something sharp and thin pressed against his stomach. A pen maybe, or a thin metal rod. It traced deliberate lines across his skin, not cutting but scratching lightly, tickling through the hair on his chest and belly as it drew patterns he couldn't see. Josh's muscles spasmed, his whole torso contracting as he tried to escape the maddening sensation.

They're writing on me. Marking me. What are they drawing?

The sharp point moved to his exposed ribs, tracing along each one, making him jerk and twist against the ropes. His breathing came in sharp gasps through his nose as the scratching continued, methodical and relentless. Sometimes it pressed harder, sometimes barely touched, keeping him guessing, keeping him on edge.

Something snapped inside Josh. He exploded into motion, thrashing wildly against every restraint. His arms yanked against the ropes around his biceps, his forearms straining against the chair arms. He threw his whole body left and right, trying to tip the chair over, trying to break free through sheer force.

The ropes bit deep, burning against his skin as he struggled. The rope around his forearms scraped raw patches where he twisted and pulled. His wrists, bound tight to the ends of the chair arms, felt like they were on fire as the rope cut into them while he fought against the bindings.

I have to get out. I have to get out. I have to get out.

But the chair was solid, the ropes professionally tied. All his thrashing accomplished was burning welts into his arms and exhausting himself. His chest heaved as he finally stopped, sweat mixing with the sticky substance they'd painted on his torso.

I'm going to lose my mind. This is how they break people. Not pain - this. Making you helpless while they...

A new sensation - something wet and sticky being painted across his chest in slow, deliberate strokes. Honey maybe, or syrup. It clung to his chest hair, pulling slightly as whatever was applying it moved in patterns across his skin.

They're marking me. Preparing me for something. Oh God, what are they going to do with that?

The wet substance dripped slowly down his stomach, tickling as it moved. Josh's whole body shuddered, trapped and unable to wipe it away, unable to stop the maddening sensation of liquid trailing down his skin.

How long can I take this? How long before I crack completely?

Chapter 2e: Abandoned

Then, nothing.

The presence in the room vanished. Josh could feel it - the subtle shift in air, the absence of movement nearby. They were gone.

They're leaving me here. Oh God, they're leaving me here to die.

He strained to hear something, anything through the cotton in his ears. Footsteps, voices, doors closing. But there was only silence and his own ragged breathing through his nose.

How long will they leave me? Hours? Days? What if something went wrong with their plan? What if they got caught and no one knows I'm here?

The sticky substance on his chest had begun to dry, making his skin feel tight and uncomfortable. Light marks from the ropes showed on his arms where he'd struggled. His shoulders ached from being held in the same position, his legs cramped from the tight restraints around each chair leg.

My birthday party. Everyone's going to wonder where I am. My girlfriend, my friends - they'll call the police when I don't show up. But will they find me in time?

Time became meaningless. Without sight or sound, Josh had no way to measure how long he'd been alone. Minutes felt like hours. His mind began to play tricks on him - was that a sound? Movement? Or just his imagination?

They could be watching me right now. Cameras. Waiting to see how long before I break completely.

His throat was dry, his tongue sticking to the cotton gag. When was the last time he'd had water? Just that beer - the drugged beer that started this nightmare. How long ago was that? Who had left it there? His brothers said they'd gone out...

Wait. The beer was just sitting there. The note. Could this be... No. That's crazy. This is too real, too professional. My brothers wouldn't... would they? No, I'm just hoping. Wishful thinking. This is real. This is actually happening to me.

The darkness behind the blindfold seemed to press against his eyes. Josh found himself seeing things that weren't there - flashes of light, movement, faces. His mind desperately trying to create something, anything, to fill the void.

Stay calm. Think. There has to be a way out. There has to be someone looking for me by now.

But the ropes held firm, the chair solid beneath him. He was completely, utterly helpless.

How much longer can I take this?

Chapter 3: Surprise!

The sound came first - muffled voices through the cotton in his ears. Josh's head snapped up, every muscle in his body going rigid.

They're back. Oh God, they're back.

Footsteps. Multiple people moving around him. The air shifted as bodies moved through the room. Josh's breathing came in short, panicked bursts through his nose.

This is it. This is when they start asking questions. What do they want to know? What can I tell them?

Hands touched his head, fingers working at the tape around his blindfold. Josh tried to shake them away, but the hands persisted, peeling the tape back carefully.

They want me to see something. Oh God, what are they going to show me?

Light exploded into his eyes as the blindfold came away. Josh blinked frantically, his vision swimming as his eyes tried to adjust. Shapes moved in front of him, blurry and indistinct.

The cotton was pulled from his ears next, and suddenly sound crashed over him like a wave.

"SURPRISE!"

The voices were familiar. Josh's vision cleared, and he saw them standing in front of him - his brothers Mike and Danny, his best friends Tom and Jake, all grinning like idiots. Behind them, a table loaded with wrapped presents, a birthday cake with "21" candles, and cases of beer stacked on the floor.

What... what the hell...

Hands worked at the tape over his mouth, peeling it away gently. The cotton gag came out, and Josh gasped, his jaw working as he tried to form words.

"Happy birthday, little brother!" Mike laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Did we get you good or what?"

Josh stared at them, his mind trying to process what he was seeing. The terror, the absolute certainty that he was going to die, the six hours of psychological torture - it had all been...

"FUCKIN A!" he croaked, his voice hoarse and cracked.

"Oh man, you should have seen your face!" Danny was already working on the ropes around his wrists. "We got it all on video!"

The words hit Josh like a physical blow. Video. They had filmed his terror. His complete breakdown. His desperate struggle against the ropes.

And suddenly, inexplicably, he was laughing.

Chapter 4: The Student Becomes the Teacher

Three hours later

The party had been perfect. His girlfriend loved the story, his friends couldn't stop replaying the video, and the beer had washed away the last of the sticky residue and the memory of cotton in his mouth. But now, alone in his room at 2 AM, Josh sat at his laptop with a very different kind of research in mind.

Rope knots - professional restraint techniques

Best blindfolds for sensory deprivation

Knockout drugs - safe dosages

Sound dampening materials

His fingers moved across the keyboard with purpose. Every technique they'd used on him, every moment of terror he'd experienced - it was all data now. Information to be improved upon.

Mike was the oldest, the leader of today's operation. Mike would be first.

One month later

"Happy promotion, big brother," Josh said, sliding the beer across Mike's kitchen table. "Figured we should celebrate before Sarah gets home."

Mike grinned and lifted the glass. "Thanks, man. Can't believe they finally made me supervisor."

Josh watched his brother drain half the beer in one long pull, just like he had a month ago. The sleeping pills dissolved completely - he'd tested that.

"You know," Josh said casually, "I've been thinking about that birthday prank you guys pulled."

"Still can't believe how freaked out you got," Mike laughed, his words already starting to slur slightly. "The look on your face when we..."

Mike's eyes went wide as the glass slipped from his fingers. He looked at Josh with sudden understanding just before his head hit the table.

Josh checked his watch. Sarah wouldn't be home for four hours.

"Class is in session, big brother," he said, reaching for the ropes he'd hidden under the table.

Twenty minutes later

Josh stepped back to admire his work. Mike was secured to the kitchen chair exactly as he had been - arms tied down the sides at biceps, elbows, and wrists. Each leg bound separately to a chair leg. Blindfolded. Gagged with cotton and tape. Ears stuffed with foam.

And just like Josh had been, Mike could move nothing but his head.

Josh placed a bag of ice cubes on the counter next to a pen, some honey, and a soft brush. Then he sat down across from his unconscious brother and waited.

Thirty minutes later

Mike's head lifted slowly, consciousness returning. Josh watched as his brother went through the same progression he had - confusion, testing the restraints, the growing panic as reality set in.

Mike's muffled attempts to speak were identical to Josh's own desperate sounds a month ago. His head shook frantically, his body tensed against every rope.

Josh leaned forward and spoke clearly, knowing Mike could hear him through the foam.

"Remember my 21st birthday, big brother? Six hours of pure terror? Well, Sarah won't be home for four hours." He picked up the ice cubes. "But don't worry - I learned from the best."

Mike's body went rigid as the first ice cube touched his neck, sliding slowly down inside his shirt. His muffled screams were music to Josh's ears.

"Happy promotion, Mike. Class is now in session."

THE END