© Copyright 2011 - Jo - Used by permission
Storycodes: FM/f; machine/f; capture; wrap; cocoon; package; crate; foam; shipped; slave; nc; X
The first day ...
"Anne? Have a minute?"
The dark haired woman looked over her the top of her glasses.
"Sure. What's up?"
"Well. I was checking the v4 mods and I found something funny."
"Ever hear of weasel 1?"
"WSL01. Here." Lyssa stepped around the desk and set down a folder.
"It looks like a driver for a subsystem, but it's not in Change Control."
"Well, if it's not there, it's not part of the system."
"But it is. See." She pointed at some highlighted code.
"Well, there's a lot of old code in there. We really need to clean things up."
"Yeah, well, I thought you might know because it has your initials. I mean, I know you use Anne, but your maiden name was Patricia Thompson and the initials PT are all over it."
"How did you know that?"
"When I applied for the internship I did my homework," she shrugged. You know, make a good impression and all that."
"Mm. Well anyway, I wrote a lot of core code, but not that. We had a consultant who developed the main processes. I think his initials were PT, and, of course, other developers copied it, didn't bother to take his name off. If you check, it looks like he wrote the whole damn system."
"Yeah, but -"
"Listen, Lyssa, don't worry about it. If it's not in Change Control, it's not active code. You can ignore it."
The next day ...
"Listen, I know you said not to worry about it, but the code is active. I mean it's all hooked in and has v3 mods."
"And what's really weird is it doesn't use the database. It runs a scan and creates packaging on the fly. And get this, it's written for articulated objects."
You are one word from death, girl.
Anne forced a smile.
"Oh that! When we developed the system we had this grand plan to make it completely custom. Take anything, scan it, package it, that sort of thing. But the reality of the situation is that we ran out of time and money, so we went with a product database. Scan the item, check it against the database, package it." Anne shrugged. "Simple."
"Lyssa as an intern you're here to learn how business really works. Sometimes people come up with brilliant ideas that just aren't practical. Let it go."
"We have a problem."
"Lyssa found the code."
"The human Barbie doll?"
"Mm. What do we do?"
"Are the controls in place?"
"Yes. She has a company phone and PC and the monitors are active."
"Then let her go. Obviously there are chinks in the armor, let her find them for us."
The next day ...
"Anne? I know you said to let it go, but, well, I ran the simulation and the code is active. Not only that but, well, look at this."
She set the folder on Anne's desk, opened it.
"See, here, and here. Remember I said it could handle articulated objects? Well, it looks like it could package a person. There are four sets of main articulators, I figure shoulders, elbows, hips, and knees. There are other functions there, too, but I haven't figured them out yet."
Anne sighed and set the folder aside. "Listen, just leave this with me, I'll look at it."
"I said I'll look at it."
An icon popped up on Anne's computer screen.
She grabbed the gun from her purse and ran down the hall. Through the glass in the door she could see the girl standing on the platform. She burst through the door. The girl, startled, spun around.
"Get down from there! Now!."
The girl blinked at her. Anne raised the gun.
"Now, I said!"
But before the girl could move, two spiders shot out and gripped her wrists.
"Hey! What the -"
They yanked her off her feet. Anne raced for the console.
"Ow! Hey! Stop it! Stop -"
Anne clicked on the abort icon. Nothing happened.
Another spider descended and gripped the girl's head.
Anne clicked abort, clicked it again, then reached for the big, red kill switch. A hand grabbed hers.
"Let it go."
She looked up into his face, then back at the struggling girl.
Two arms descended positioned themselves on either side of Lyssa's face. A third came down and stopped by her mouth. The tips of the two arms touched her cheeks. There was a buzzing sound. Lyssa screamed, tried to talk, but could only make a gurgling sound as her mouth sprang open.
The third arm moved forward, a probe entered her mouth. Instantly Lyssa's screams turned to hushed whispers. The arm was immediately replaced by another spider. It held a bulbous object attached to a black hose.
There was another buzz, another hushed gasp from the helpless girl. The spider fed the hose into her mouth, kept pushing it in until the bulb disappeared, too. There was no sound now, just the whirring of machinery.
The spider spit out a white filament. With dazzling speed, it quickly covered the lower half of Lyssa's face.
Anne blinked up at him. "It won't work. The console is dead."
"No. I disabled the abort function when the alarm came in. Everything else is functional."
She clicked pause and the spider froze.
He stepped over to the hanging girl. She stared at him, eyes wide, pleading.
"I'm Paul Tortelli, they call me Paulie Threads because I'm such a sharp dresser. You found my code."
He pulled out a knife, flicked it open.
"I should kill you," he said waving the blade under her nose. "But I won't for a couple of reasons."
He tugged Lyssa's blouse from her jeans, sliced off the bottom button, then the next.
"You've done me a favor. You've exposed an area of weakness in our system. For that I am in your debt."
He kept slicing off buttons.
"For that I should kill you. But I have another use for you, Barbie."
He reached up, slipped the knife inside the cuff of her sleeve and sliced it open. He did the same on her other arm and the girl's blouse fell to the floor. A couple more quick flicks and her bra followed. He moved around her, tracing a pattern on her skin with the tip of the knife.
"WSL. Did you wonder what that acronym meant? Well, I'll tell you."
He undid her jeans, unzipped them, tugged them down over her hips.
"I was a two bit pimp. I started with my sister when she was 14. I found out she'd been screwing around and I threatened to tell our folks. My father would have killed the prick, probably mess her up pretty bad, too. So she went to work for me. By the time I was 18 I had a nice little stable, making good money, not just with the girls, but wherever and however I could. My motto: Never pass up a chance to make a buck. But I knew enough about crime to know I had to appear legit, so I went to college. The girls paid the way, of course."
He pulled her panties down, bent and removed her shoes and socks. The jeans and panties joined the blouse and bra.
"I started aquiring girls for other guys. Sometimes consentually, sometimes not. Transportation became a problem. But then I hit on an idea." He gestured. "And this is the end result."
He paused for effect.
"WSL - women shipped live."
He smiled at the dumb girl.
"The whole packing process is just a cover for WSL. Oh for sure we make money off of it, but it's the human traffic that brings in the big bucks. And you are going to experience the operation, up close and personal."
"The shock you felt spasmed your jaw muscles, forced your mouth open. The anesthetic numbed your throat for the tube. It's down in your stomach now. It's how you'll be fed. Well, maybe fed isn't the right word. You'll be supplied with enough fluid to keep you alive. Don't worry about peeing, the thread is highly absorbant."
"It's also how you'll breath, the tube I mean, a tube in a tube. After the wrapping is complete, you'll be boxed up and shipped out. The trip will take, oh, maybe a week, maybe two. Your new home is going to be a harem - literally."
"Yes, they're supposed to be illegal. And, yes, against their religion. But some people are above the law, perhaps even above God."
"I'll give you a piece of advice: Keep your new owner happy. The other women will hate you. One, for being an outsider. And, two, for being American. And, three, just because that's how it is. It's a dog eat dog world and each of the girls wants to be the favorite. But as long as you keep him happy, you'll be safe. If you don't ..." He drew the knife across his throat.
He flicked the knife shut, turned, and made a twirling motion with his finger. Anne clicked resume and the machine sprang to life.
The spider released Lyssa's head. The other completed the wrapping, covering her head in a thick layer of sticky filament. Spiders grabbed her ankles, spread her legs. The spiders above spread her arms. Two more spiders appeared and the four went to work on her arms and legs. Once wrapped, they closed and bent her knees. The filament stuck to itself, gluing her legs together and her calves to her thighs.
The spiders worked their way up Lyssa's torso. The anesthetic had started to wear off and muffled squeals could be heard.
When her body was completely wrapped, the spiders bent her legs, pressing her knees to her chest. They followed up with a another wrapping before lowering her to the platform. They pulled her wrists down to her ankles and made several more wraps until Lyssa was little more than a white blob. Only the tip of the black tube protruded.
A wooden crate appeared. An arm came down and squirted pink foam into it. The spiders picked up Lyssa and set her in the box. A lid appeared. Lyssa's breathing/feeding tube was attached to another short tube and the lid was set in place. Another spider secured it. Again the arm came down, inserted itself into a hole in the top of the box. A minute later, pink foam bubbled out of the hole.
"Where's she going?"
"Our friend in Algeria. He'll find a good home for her."
"Thanks, Paulie. I was about to off her."
He shrugged. "You know me, never pass up a chance to make a buck."