The online invitation.....
"Kidnap Test Weekend. Test your metal and stamina. Get Kidnapped from Saturday to Sunday. If you complete and escape by 10 pm Sunday you each get $10K"
Chapter 1: The Test Begins
Josh and Ryan walked up to the warehouse address bare-chested, jeans and sneakers their only clothing as per the rules. They'd been joking about the ten grand each they'd earn, flexing and talking about how easy this would be, when black bags dropped over their heads and thick cotton rope began wrapping around their arms.
"Here we go, man," Ryan said, his voice muffled by the fabric but steady.
"You ready for this?" Josh asked as he felt the half-inch clothesline rope binding his wrists.
"Born ready. This is gonna be a joke."
Josh felt the tape press across his eyes through the bag, sealing out the light. More rope cinched around his ankles, the cotton fibers tight against his skin through his socks. Even though they'd signed up for this, even though they'd read the waiver, the reality hit different.
"Still think this is easy money?" Josh whispered as the rope pulled brutally tight.
"Ten grand for a weekend? Hell yeah."
The van ride was exactly what they'd expected and nothing like they'd imagined. Every bump sent Josh rolling into Ryan's shoulder, their bound bodies unable to brace against the metal floor.
"You okay over there?" Ryan asked after a particularly hard turn.
"Yeah, you?"
"This rope's tight as hell."
"Same. But we've handled worse in the gym."
When the doors opened, rough hands dragged them across concrete. Josh's bare chest scraped against the warehouse floor as they were positioned back-to-back, skin against skin.
"I can feel your heart beating, dude," Josh said, trying to keep things light.
"Yours too. You nervous?"
"Nah. Are you?"
"Not even close."
"This is what you paid for, boys. Test your mettle."
The first punch caught Josh in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs.
"Josh! You alright?" Ryan's voice was sharp with sudden concern.
Josh grunted as he caught his breath. "Yeah... yeah, I'm good."
Ryan took a hit to the face next. "Son of a bitch."
"Ryan?"
"I'm fine. Just surprised me."
The beating was methodical—not meant to injure, but to establish that this weekend would push every limit they thought they had.
"This is real now," Josh said quietly.
"We got this, bro. Just like we planned."
Then came more rope—layer after layer of the thick clothesline, each loop pulled mercilessly tight. The cotton fibers dug into his wrists with crushing pressure, and Josh knew that any struggle would leave angry rope burns across his skin.
"Camera time, boys. These photos are yours to keep—proof you had the balls to do this."
The flash went off.
"Smile, Ryan."
"You can't even see me, idiot."
"I can hear you grinning."
They both realized their cocky assumptions about easy money had just become the hardest thing they'd ever attempted.
Chapter 2: The Full Binding
"This is just the beginning, boys. Time for the real restraints."
Josh felt hands grabbing his arms, pulling them behind his back. The initial wrist binding had been nothing compared to what came next.
"What are they doing now?" Ryan asked from somewhere to his left.
"More rope. A lot more rope."
The clothesline started at Josh's wrists, but now it traveled up his forearms in tight spirals. Each loop was pulled taut, pressing his arms together from wrist to elbow. The cotton fibers bit into his skin with every wrap.
"Jesus, they're not messing around," Josh muttered as the rope reached his biceps.
"Mine too. They're wrapping everything."
Josh's arms were pinned completely behind his back now, rope circling his chest in a web of restraint. The binding crossed over his shoulders, under his arms, around his torso in methodical patterns. Each strand was positioned to eliminate any possibility of movement.
"Can you move your arms at all?" Ryan asked.
Josh tested the bonds. "Nothing. You?"
"Not even an inch."
The rope work moved to their legs next. Josh felt his thighs being bound together, then his calves, then his ankles. The same thorough technique—overlapping spirals that left no gap between restraints.
"They're doing the same thing to both of us," Josh said, hearing similar movements near Ryan.
"Yeah, I can hear them working on you too."
More rope wrapped around Josh's torso, creating a harness that connected every binding point. His arms were locked to his body, his legs immobilized, everything integrated into one inescapable restraint system.
"How long do you think this took?" Ryan asked.
"Had to be at least an hour. Maybe more."
"Professional level stuff."
"No kidding. We're not getting out of this easy."
The final step was rope around Josh's neck—not tight enough to restrict breathing, but connected to his arm bindings so that any struggle would create pressure.
"Okay, that's everything," Josh said, testing his bonds one more time. "I literally cannot move anything."
"Same. This is insane."
"You still think we got this?"
"We have to. Ten grand each, remember?"
"Right now I'd pay ten grand to get out of this."
"Don't even joke about that, dude."
Josh felt the rope burns already starting on his wrists. Every tiny movement sent friction through the cotton fibers. They were each trussed up like packages, every limb accounted for, every possible escape route eliminated.
"This is going to be a long weekend," Josh said quietly.
"The longest of our lives."
Chapter 3: The First Night
"Alright boys, time for some quiet. We'll be back to check on you in the morning."
Josh heard footsteps approaching. "Wait, what do you—"
The gag cut off his words. Thick cloth filled his mouth, tied brutally tight behind his head. He could hear Ryan's muffled protests from across the room, then silence.
The footsteps retreated. A door slammed. They were alone.
Josh tested his voice—nothing but muted sounds escaped around the gag. He tried calling Ryan's name, but only managed a frustrated grunt. From somewhere in the darkness, he heard Ryan making similar attempts.
The first few hours were the worst. Josh tried everything—rolling, twisting, using his core strength to sit up. The rope harness held him completely. Every movement just created friction burns where the clothesline pressed against his skin.
He could hear Ryan struggling too, the sound of his bound body moving against the concrete floor. Neither of them was making any progress.
It was after midnight when Josh finally managed to roll himself across the floor toward where he thought Ryan was. He pushed with his legs, inch by inch, the rope cutting into his ankles with each movement.
His shoulder bumped into something—Ryan's back.
Ryan made a questioning sound through his gag. Josh pressed closer, then carefully extended his bound hands until his fingers found Ryan's palm.
He traced a single letter: H.
Ryan went still. Josh traced it again: H-I.
After a moment, he felt Ryan's fingers against his own palm, shaking but deliberate: J-O-S-H?
Josh traced back: Y-E-S.
The tickling sensation of Ryan's finger on his palm was oddly calming after hours of isolation. They were connected again.
O-K? Ryan traced.
H-U-R-T-S, Josh replied.
S-A-M-E.
They lay there in the dark, occasionally tracing simple words. T-I-R-E-D. R-O-P-E B-U-R-N-S. L-O-N-G N-I-G-H-T.
But mostly they just maintained contact—palm to palm in the darkness, the gentle touch reassuring them both that they weren't alone in this.
T-E-N G-R-A-N-D, Ryan traced eventually.
Josh almost smiled around his gag. W-O-R-T-H I-T?
There was a long pause. Then: A-S-K M-E T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W.
Chapter 4: Finding Comfort
As the hours passed, the palm writing became more than communication—it became their lifeline. The gentle tickling sensation of fingers tracing letters was the only softness in their brutal world of rope burns and concrete.
T-I-R-E-D, Ryan traced, his finger moving slowly across Josh's palm.
Josh found himself focusing on the feeling rather than just the words. The light touch was soothing, almost hypnotic. He traced back: M-E T-O-O.
Sometimes they would trace the same word over and over, not because they hadn't understood, but because the contact felt good. O-K became a ritual—a way of checking in that required the gentle brush of fingertips.
S-L-E-E-P? Ryan asked.
C-A-N-T.
But they stayed connected, palm to palm. When Josh's hand cramped from the rope position, Ryan would carefully move his own bound hands to maintain contact. The tickling touch of his friend's fingers tracing random patterns—not even letters, just gentle movement—helped Josh relax despite the pain.
F-E-E-L-S G-O-O-D, Josh traced honestly.
Ryan paused, then traced back slowly: Y-E-S.
Neither of them had experienced anything like this—the way such a simple touch could provide comfort in the midst of their ordeal. The gentle tickling became their anchor, proof that they weren't alone, that someone cared enough to maintain that fragile connection.
D-O-N-T S-T-O-P, Ryan traced when Josh's finger stilled.
W-O-N-T, Josh promised, continuing the soft patterns on Ryan's palm.
They discovered they could communicate entire feelings through touch—quick, nervous taps when scared, slow circles when trying to calm each other, steady pressure when offering reassurance.
As dawn approached, they were still connected, still tracing gentle words and patterns, the tickling sensation of fingertips the only thing keeping them sane.
Chapter 5: Working Together
Morning brought no relief, but Josh and Ryan were still connected, palm to palm from their long night of gentle communication. The gags remained firmly in place, but they had their secret language now.
W-O-R-K T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R, Ryan traced slowly on Josh's palm.
Josh understood immediately. G-A-G-S F-I-R-S-T.
They'd been lying side by side since finding each other in the darkness, and now Ryan began the careful process of working his bound hands toward Josh's head. Josh did the same, both of them stretching rope-burned fingers toward each other's gag knots.
The process was agonizing. Every movement pulled against their restraints, but they kept working, using the same patience they'd developed through hours of palm writing. Josh felt Ryan's fingers finally reach the knot behind his head.
G-O-T I-T, Ryan traced with his free hand, then began working the fabric loose.
Josh felt his gag loosen first. The cloth fell away, and he gasped, working his jaw.
"Hold still," Josh whispered, his voice raw. "Almost got yours."
When Ryan's gag finally came free, they both lay there breathing heavily.
"We did it," Ryan whispered. "We actually worked together."
"The palm writing... it taught us how to coordinate."
"Yeah. All those hours of just... touching. Learning each other's movements."
They pressed their palms together again, but now the gentle tickling had a new purpose. It wasn't just comfort anymore—it was their secret communication system.
"When they come back, we pretend the gags are still on," Josh whispered. "Keep using the palm writing to plan."
"Like our workout sessions," Ryan agreed. "One calls the movement, the other follows."
"Exactly. We've been training for this without knowing it."
The hours of gentle palm contact had become more than comfort—it had become their path to freedom.
Chapter 6: The Breaking Point
With their voices restored, Josh and Ryan began working systematically on their rope bonds. But every attempt ended in failure and fresh rope burns.
"Try pulling when I push," Josh whispered, straining against the chest harness.
"I am. Nothing's giving."
They tried for hours—coordinating their movements, using techniques from their gym sessions, applying everything they'd learned about working as partners. But the professional rope work held firm.
"My wrists are bleeding," Ryan said quietly.
"Mine too. Maybe we should rest."
But rest brought its own torture. Lying bound on concrete, rope burns throbbing, the reality of their situation began to sink in.
"Josh," Ryan whispered eventually.
"Yeah?"
"What if we can't do this?"
Josh felt panic rising in his chest. "Don't say that."
"I'm serious. What if we're not strong enough?"
They fell silent, both breathing hard. Then Ryan's fingers found Josh's palm, tracing slowly: S-C-A-R-E-D.
Josh wanted to deny it, to maintain their tough-guy facade. But lying there, rope-burned and exhausted, he traced back honestly: M-E T-O-O.
S-T-U-P-I-D I-D-E-A, Ryan traced.
Y-E-S.
W-A-N-T H-O-M-E.
M-E T-O-O.
The palm writing had become their confession booth—sharing fears they could never speak aloud, even to each other. The gentle tickling of fingertips spelling out their deepest worries.
*W-H-Y D-I-D W-E D
"Why did we do this?" Ryan whispered, his voice breaking with exhaustion and fear.
"The money," Josh replied, but his voice cracked. "God, Ryan, the stupid money."
"It's not worth it. Nothing's worth this."
"No. It's not." Josh's throat tightened. "I'm so sorry, man. This was my idea. I talked you into this."
"Don't. We both wanted it."
They lay there in silence, fingers still intertwined. The gentle contact that had sustained them through their darkest hours felt more precious than ever.
"Josh?" Ryan's voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared." The admission came out broken, vulnerable. "But I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared of losing you."
Josh felt tears he couldn't wipe away. "Ryan..."
"I never had a brother," Ryan continued, his voice thick with emotion. "My whole life, I was alone. My parents... they tried, but they were always working. And then I met you, and for the first time I knew what it felt like to have someone who really cared."
"You do have a brother," Josh whispered fiercely. "You have me."
"Do I? Really?"
"Always. Forever. This... what we've shared here, what we've been through... Ryan, you're not my friend anymore. You're my brother. The brother I never had."
Ryan's voice broke completely. "I love you, Josh. Not like... I mean, like a brother. Like family."
"I love you too," Josh said, the words coming easier than he'd ever imagined. "You're my family. The only family that matters."
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If we get out of here... when we get out of here... we don't go back to how things were. We don't pretend this didn't happen."
"Never. We're brothers now. That doesn't change."
"Brothers."
"Brothers."
When they began working on their bonds again, it wasn't just about escape anymore. It was about protecting each other, about ensuring their newfound brotherhood would survive to see the light of day.
Chapter 7: The Final Push
"Okay, brother," Josh whispered, the word carrying new weight between them. "Let's do this right. Like our old training sessions."
"Like partners," Ryan agreed. "What's the plan?"
"Start with my wrists. You create resistance, I work the angle. Then we switch."
They positioned themselves carefully, Josh's bound hands pressed against Ryan's back for leverage. The rope burns from their previous attempts screamed as Josh tested his grip.
"Ready?" Josh asked.
"Ready. On three. One... two... three."
Josh pulled while Ryan pushed back, creating the counter-pressure they needed. For twenty minutes, they maintained this position, sweat dripping, muscles aching.
"Anything?" Ryan panted.
"Maybe... wait. Try shifting left."
Ryan adjusted his position. Josh felt the rope give slightly.
"There! Keep that angle!"
But after another ten minutes, Josh's strength gave out. The rope hadn't budged enough to matter.
"Damn it," Josh gasped, slumping forward. "This is impossible."
"No, it's not. Remember when we couldn't break your bench press record? We tried forty times."
"And on the forty-first..."
"I got it. Because you didn't let me give up."
Ryan twisted around to face Josh. "My turn. But this time, let's try something different."
"What do you mean?"
"Hook your fingers under my rope, like we're doing bicep curls. When I pull, you curl up."
Josh maneuvered his bound hands to grip Ryan's wrist bindings. The position was awkward, painful, but it felt different.
"This might actually work," Josh said, hope creeping into his voice.
"Okay, pulling... now!"
Ryan strained against his bonds while Josh pulled upward. Immediately, they felt something different—actual movement in the rope.
"Holy shit!" Ryan laughed. "It's working!"
"Don't stop! Keep going!"
They worked for another hour, taking breaks when their muscles cramped, laughing when the pain got ridiculous, encouraging each other when frustration set in.
"You know what's funny?" Ryan said during one rest break. "This is harder than any workout we've ever done."
"Yeah, but look at us. We're not quitting."
"Never quit on each other."
"Never."
Back to work. Josh's grip was slipping from sweat, his forearms burning from the unusual angle. But Ryan's rope was definitely loosening.
"I can feel it giving way," Ryan said, his voice tight with concentration. "Just a little more..."
"Come on, come on..." Josh muttered, his fingers cramping around the rope.
"There!" Ryan shouted. "Josh, my hand's coming free!"
With a final grunt of effort, Ryan slipped his left hand out of the binding. He immediately flexed his fingers, working circulation back into them.
"Yes! Oh my God, yes!" Ryan was laughing and crying at the same time. "I'm free! Josh, I'm actually free!"
"Don't celebrate yet. Get my hands."
Ryan's freed hand immediately went to work on Josh's bindings. His fingers were stiff and awkward at first, but he attacked the knots with desperate efficiency.
"These are so tight," Ryan muttered. "How did they even tie these?"
"Just keep working. You've got this."
Ryan's hands kept slipping on the sweaty rope. He'd make progress on a knot, then lose his grip and have to start over.
"I can't get it!" Ryan said, frustrated. "My hands are shaking too much."
"Take a breath. Like when you're going for a PR. Calm, steady, focused."
Ryan took a deep breath, steadied his hands, and went back to work. This time, his movements were more controlled, more deliberate.
"Got one loop... got another..."
Josh felt the rope loosening around his wrists. The relief was incredible.
"Almost there... almost... there!"
Josh's hands came free. He immediately shook them out, wincing at the rope burns but grinning with triumph.
"My turn to help you," Josh said, already working on Ryan's remaining bonds.
"The chest harness first. I can barely breathe."
Josh found the key knots in Ryan's chest bindings. Working together, with Josh's hands free to manipulate the rope properly, they made quick progress.
"This one's the main support... got it!"
The chest harness fell away. Ryan took his first full breath in hours.
"Oh God, that feels amazing."
"Legs next. Then we're home free."
The ankle bindings were the hardest because their feet were swollen and numb from hours of restriction. Josh had to work by feel, his fingers probing for knots he couldn't see clearly.
"Left ankle first... this knot is a bastard..."
"Take your time. We've got all night."
"No, we don't. We've got our whole lives ahead of us."
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes, all the ropes lay scattered around them on the concrete floor.
They sat there, both of them trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline, staring at each other in disbelief.
"We actually did it!" Ryan shouted, his voice echoing off the warehouse walls.
Chapter 8: Brothers Forever
Josh looked into Ryan's eyes—really looked at him for the first time since this ordeal began. They were both exhausted, rope-burned, covered in sweat, but there was something different there now. Something deeper than friendship.
"We actually did it," Josh said, wonder in his voice.
Ryan started laughing—not the nervous laughter from before, but pure joy. "I can't believe we're free. I can't believe we made it."
Josh joined in the laughter, and suddenly they were both howling with relief and triumph. They reached for each other, pulling into the tightest embrace of their lives. Josh felt Ryan's arms around him, solid and real and safe, and for the first time in days, he truly relaxed.
"God, I thought we were going to die in here," Ryan whispered against Josh's shoulder.
"Me too. But we didn't. We made it because we had each other."
They held each other for a long moment, both of them crying now—tears of relief, exhaustion, and something deeper.
"Jesus, look at your wrists," Josh said, pulling back to examine Ryan's arms. The rope burns were angry red welts circling both wrists, raw from hours of struggle.
"Yours are just as bad," Ryan replied, gently taking Josh's hands and turning them over. "Look at this. We're both marked up."
"Battle scars, man."
"Yeah. Proof we went through hell together."
Josh traced a finger near one of Ryan's rope burns, careful not to touch the raw skin. "Every time I see these, I'm going to remember what we did. How we never gave up on each other."
"Same here. These marks... they're like a bond between us. Nobody else will ever understand what we went through."
"Nobody else needs to. It's ours."
"Damn right it's ours." Ryan flexed his hands, wincing slightly. "You know what's crazy? I'm proud of these. Proud we earned them together."
"We're warriors, man. Brothers who fought side by side."
"The money," Ryan said eventually, pulling back to look at the envelopes lying on the floor.
"Twenty thousand dollars," Josh said, but his voice was flat. "You know what's funny?"
"What?"
"I don't even care about it anymore. What we went through... what we found... it's worth more than any amount of money."
Ryan nodded, wiping his eyes. "I know exactly what you mean. Three days ago, ten grand seemed like everything. Now it just seems like... paper."
"Because we found something real."
"We found each other. Really found each other."
Josh picked up both envelopes, holding them out to Ryan. "Partners?"
"Brothers," Ryan corrected, taking one envelope. "What are we going to do with it?"
"First? Get an apartment together. A real place. No more living alone."
"Yes. God, yes. I never want to be alone again."
"And then?" Josh asked.
"Then we figure out how to be brothers for real. How to build a life together. How to never lose this."
Josh stood up, extending his hand to help Ryan to his feet. "Ryan?"
"Yeah?"
"You're my brother, man. More than anyone's ever been. You're my family now."
Ryan took his hand, standing up and pulling Josh into another embrace. "Same here, brother. Forever. No matter what happens, we're brothers now."
"Brothers forever."
"Brothers forever."
They walked toward the warehouse door together, two young men who had entered as friends and emerged as family. The money in their pockets was just the beginning. Their real treasure was the unbreakable bond they'd forged in darkness, pain, and ultimate trust.
Behind them, the ropes lay scattered on the concrete floor—symbols of what they'd overcome together. Ahead of them lay a future neither of them would face alone ever again.
