Twisted Experiment (three word Wednesday - acrid, bane, tepid)

I went with a continuation of The Cortez Case, characters in this installment were last seen in 3ww stories "Hostage" and "El Moco."





Blinding light protruded around the silhouette of the large man in the doorway. “Get up kid.”

Ryan planted a hand on the floor. His arm wobbled and strained. How long had it been? He had lost weight at an unhealthy rate, feverishly devouring whatever poor excuses for meals that were brought to him. Slices of bread, half eaten sandwiches, tepid leftovers, and an occasional bowl of oatmeal had been the cause of noticeable reduction in his arms and waist. He had not complained, for his adjustment to the high seas had not been a smooth one, and he feared a normal portion of food would not stay down. He knew they would not let him starve to death, as much as he thought that may be favorable. They would not let him, and he would not let himself. He was determined to get out. Alive.

The hair that fell around his face as he lifted his head reminded him that starvation was minor on his priorities. They had been drugging him. Not the good drugs. Not heroin. Ryan would take every one of them to hell for a fix of heroin. He had gone without for far too long. He dreamed of it. He hungered for it… more than a full meal... more than the need to shake the seasickness... more than life itself. He needed a fix. And he needed it now. The drugs he had been receiving failed at giving him a high. The only trippy effect was dizziness and a loss of balance. It was not even a loss, more of a shift. And body changes were a bane to his pride and his manhood. His facial hair had stopped growing. His skin was softer. His chest had become itchy with small pectoral growths. And, most horrific of all, his crotch had painfully shriveled to a fragile feeling of a rotten tomato. He dared not touch for fear of breaking anything. His voice had become less gruff and monotone, more pitchy and melodic. He found himself crying frequently, and mad at himself for not keeping it together. He had not seen himself since these changes began and was sure he didn’t want to.

A size 12 black shoe appeared alongside Ryan.

“I said get up,” a painful tug at Ryan’s hair weave hoisted him to his feet. Ryan stood level to Brick’s chest, which due to his girth was still larger than Ryan’s hormonally altered chest. Ryan thought about kicking his heel straight into Brick’s nuts, but feared a reciprocated strike would destroy him.

“It’s time to go,” Brick patted down Ryan’s faux hair as if patting a dog. Brick revealed a washcloth and commenced toweling the sweat from Ryan’s face. Ryan wished Carlos had come to get him. Carlos would have let him get up on his own, and thrown the washcloth at him. Not Brick. Brick was a creepy man. Ryan’s hormonal alterations were Brick’s fault, Brick’s twisted experiment. Ryan was not sure where they were going, but Brick’s efforts to make him presentable made him want to crawl out of his skin. They departed the cargo room, climbed stairs while the ocean fought his skewed balance, and finally arrived in the sunlight. The acrid odor of low tide rushed in, the sea breeze pushing his long hair across his nose repetitively. The boat was smaller than he anticipated. He envisioned a large cargo rig, but the deck was merely a rundown mid-sized tug boat. The coastline before them was lush and rural. Carlos roped the boat to a dock and faced the coast, little Chloe at his side. The blond kindergartener was preoccupied with a Barbie doll. At least their captors had a heart enough to keep Chloe happy.

Chloe nudged Carlos, “Are we going to see my Daddy now?”

“Not yet. But your friend Ryan is here,” Carlos motioned to Brick and Ryan approaching. Ryan walked up to her, “Hi Chloe, how are you?”

“You’re not Ryan! Ryan’s a boy!”

Her innocent observation rattled Ryan worse than any pain he’d ever endured. Brick smiled to Carlos, “See. Told you. Believable enough.”

“We’ll see. If Moco doesn’t buy it, I swear Brick, I’ll kill you…” Carlos blurted.

The knocking of several footsteps along the wooden dock grew louder. A greasy overweight Brazilian man lumbered amongst three bodyguards. Three onboard nervously watched the approach of Moco and his entourage; the fourth watched her Barbie doll.