The Harem on the Hill (Part XLV) (Patreon)

You awake in inky blackness.  You initially suspect you're blindfolded, but can dart your eyes back and forth freely.  Wherever you are is just that dark.

Or you've gone blind.

You're bound in a chair, but you're not tied to it--you can extend your legs, which are locked at the ankles, and can similarly move your arms, which are cuffed at the wrist behind the chair's back with what feels like duct tape.  You consider getting up but decide against it.  Hopping blindly around a pitch-black room with your arms and legs bound would likely make a bad situation worse.

"Hello?"  Your stirring prompts a tentative query from the darkness.  It's a voice you recognize.

"Hello, Officer Morgan," you reply.  "How are you feeling?"

"Let me go, asshole."

"I'm afraid I don't have the authority."

“Don't give me that shit, you sick fuck!  If you don't have the authority who does?”

"I do."  Tina's voice booms like God above you.

"Tina," Morgan gasps.  "Please let me go.  This isn't your fault.  Let me go and we can stick it to this asshole."

…"He is an asshole, isn't he?"

“Yes!  Think about what he's done to you.  What he's done to other people.”

“Right now I'm thinking about what he'll do to you.”

There’s a pause as Morgan considers her words carefully.  "That's why you need to let me go.  You're the victim in this.  I can save you."

"Tina's no victim," you scoff.  "And she's not the one that needs saving.  You do."

"You both do," Tina corrects.

"You're not seeing the big picture," you say to the air.

"Neither are you."

Of course, she's right.  Not only are you blind as a bat, but there's a pool party of unanswered questions splashing around your swimming head.  Firstly, how did you get here? Last year, Tina might have dragged your intimidating physique up the hill on sheer tenacity, but now that she was pushing 300 pounds there was no way she was pulling your 200.

"How did you move us?" you ask.

Your answer comes with a thick Russian accent, "Simple.  She had help."

"The plot thickens," Tina says.  "Shall I shed some light on things?"

In an instant, the inky blackness is washed away by brilliant white.  Blinking rapidly, your surroundings are revealed in a series of strobe-like images burned painfully into your retinas.  The stone floor confirms you're in your basement.  A lack of furnishings, apart from the swivelly desk chair you're plopped in, suggests you’re in one of its as yet unassigned residence chambers.

You wonder if it will be yours.

Officer Morgan sits bound before you in a mirror-like manner.  That isn't surprising.  (Though the look on Morgan's face makes it clear she didn't expect to see you in this predicament.)  What is surprising is the chamber's third occupant.  Anastasia sits to your right in the 3 o'clock spot, restrained just like you and Morgan.  Only she's been beaten.  Severely.  Her face is as puffy and swollen as Tina's.

"Anastasia was of great assistance.  She's remarkably strong for a mail-order bride."  The way Tina sneers "mail order bride" it's clear her violent interrogation was at least partially successful.

"How did they get you?" Morgan asks Anastasia.

Anastasia lifts her arms and shakes the silver bangle on her wrist just below her binding.  Then she gives you a darkened, bloodshot, incredibly evil-looking eye.  "Despite assurances to the contrary, this was more than a prop."

Tina's laughter booms like thunder above you.  "Why would you ever trust anything that man says?"

"Why would you trust her?" you shout.  "Did she tell you about double-dealing with my former business partner?  Bilking me for millions?”

“More lies!”  Anastasia screams.

“That's why she's here, Tina.”  You return Anastasia's evil eye.  "If she's going to get fat off me, I might as well enjoy it."

An angry silence engulfs the room. Anastasia looks ready to rip her bindings off with her teeth and then sink them into your neck. Morgan’s fingers twitch as if preparing to draw the sidearm that’s usually strapped to her hip.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Tina finally asks. She sounds sad. You may be getting through to her.

What you say next may decide who leaves the room and who doesn’t.