It was an old industrial area. Brick houses, the rather large and metal-fenced variety, loomed on either side of the road like oversized cats ready to spring. Lights illuminated them only at irregular intervals casting wide zones of shadows between them whence the night invaded in all its glory. Sometimes a light was mounted over an emergency exit, creating a zone of light that should either provide security, like the bare metal doors they illumined, or some spot to find keys that had, judging by the rust on said doors, not found their locks for some time. The barrenness of the surroundings made every sound echo far and even the stars in the sky were barely tinged by New Yorks constant gloom that usually oppressed them. Echos and silence though were oppressive. From somewhere in the shadows around Andrew metal sounded on metal something hitting something. Clang. Only that. Then: Silence. No birds fluttered. Only cockroaches, and only few of them, vied for something out of sight.

Far over the entrance the name of Hemmingtons Butchery had been set in stone in far better times than these. A single errant spotlight illuminated these remnants of civilization, drawing a horde of little bugs, flitting in and out of the warm glow. A metal fence surrounded the building, like the adjacent ones, though here, too, rust had bitten into metal links that had once been bare steel. There were no doors to the building in immediate sight. Not that that had to mean much by weight of the shadows. The busy roads were far behind. Silence.

Martins voice echoed through it, braking, shattering what peace there was. “Good evening Andrew.” He was nowhere in sight. Deliberately so. “Something I forgot to tell you earlier today: I want you to start training those things you call muscles. In fact I want you to become one of those people whose shoulders are hard to tell apart from their necks. You will be as hard on yourself as you can.” His voice was sounding not like a goodwife talking about tea. It was an emotionless void, like the shadows, that sucked at life and happiness itself, eating away at them only to go searching for more. “But enough of that for now.” His voice, his voice... from nowhere. “Come... come inside.” And with that the voice left. And left Andrew stranded in a shadowy place.

He was greeted by orders from the darkness. It seemed appropriate that they come from there. Drew was to train as hard as he could to develop his muscles. This in and of itself was no distasteful thing. He was already working hard to improve himself. Applying a little extra effort to building his muscles was nothing abhorrent. Once the orders were given he was told to enter the building and then was left alone again in the darkness of the streets. Try as he might to be unsettled by this all he could feel was a vague excitement at getting to see Martin again. At getting a chance to make up for his idiocy this morning.

Drew stepped carefully into the shadows. Martin could be anywhere within them. His arms were laden with the items he'd been told to purchase. After taking several steps into the dark abandoned building he set the items down and withdrew the credit card from his pocket. This he set on top of them as though he were leaving an offering for some pagan god.

"I got everything you asked for. Rope, at least five meters, hemp. A blow torch. And three different sets of pliers." Drew then paused, "I wasn't quite sure what to do about the something nice for myself though."

This final admission was made in a tone that was apologetic. He sounded like he thought he'd failed Martin because of that. Within his mind he was shouting at himself for such behavior. Drew was screaming within the confines of his head that Martin didn't deserve such obsequious loyalty. An equally loud voice was contradicting it though and this made it much easier to simply follow orders in the interest of attempting to avoid more pain. The mere thought brought an image of a pair of hands to his mind's eye that ceased the struggles in favor of a flinch.

It was an old butchery. There were metal hooks hanging over their heads, slightly rusty. There were columns of white-tiled concrete. There was a concrete floor with draining holes in them tiles. Little black flecks, entrances to nowhere (where life had gone before them.) Swallow me? There were metal tables used for you-know-what that peeled out of the darkness one after another. There were shadows and light falling in through a big glass window in the ceiling. Moonlight. It was patchy, because the glass was dirtied by the long abstinence of tensides from its surface.

And there was a voice. From the darkness. “Strip.” Simply as that. “Because we...” Martin appeared soundlessly. He was just there one instant, stepping out of the shadows. Unpeeling himself from some kind of skin. Second skin. He was wearing a tank-top tonight, showing his much too pale skin liberally. It was black. Combined it was with army boots and urban cameo pants that hung loosely on his wire-thin frame. And there was something else there that was black too.

A camera. By the looks of it a very expensive model. Black and sleek and nonetheless weighty and edgy. Somewhat like a Lamborghini. “We are going to have a photo shoot.” Yes. He managed to say that without even smiling at Andrew. Just orders. In military voice. You may now stand at attention, Soldier. This was no time for pretenses and petting heads. This was a time to jump. “Move it.” Martin nearly added soldier at the end. Nearly. “Move.” He roared again. As if Andrew could still be brought to move faster. In the end he would.

They could have been anywhere. Andrew was not paying attention to his surrounding and the no doubt grim work that once took place in this room. They were things he noticed and his mind dismissed as irrelevant as swiftly as they were noticed. His thought and his focus were all bent on attempting to locate Martin amongst the shadows. To find the source of the voice and to put it together with that now familiar face. He hoped for approval just as much as he hoped to be rid of this monster man that had claimed him. It was horrifying to live the nightmare he'd had since his mutation had manifested itself and find it day by day steadily growing to be a more agreeable state. Mutation enforced Stockholm Syndrome at it's finest.

The voice sounded with an order and Andrew's head whipped to the direction it had come from. It was once again the cold demanding tone of a career soldier. This voice cared nothing for him. Andrew found he preferred this voice to the sweet lying tones. He watched the monster man appear from the shadows as though he were removing a well worn coat or perhaps extracting himself from the arms of a lover. The abundance of black in the clothing he wore seemed to make the shadows cling to him in a way that made the second notion more plausible. He was pale, dark, and holding a similarly dark camera.

The orders sank in when he was shouted at again. The monster man would not take no for an answer. The tone meant there was little time for indulging in hesitance. Drew quick discarded his clothes, item by item until he remained only in boxers. It was there he hesitated. Modesty was certainly a part in it but he simply didn't want to expose himself so fully to Martin. Master, monster, man. Whatever he was, Andrew did not wish to be that vulnerable before him. Yet the promises warred with him to see to it that he completed his ordered task. This man was his master. He loved this man. Certainly he could complete this order for one he loved?

Andrews hesitancy at discarding his lest bit of clothing, his last bit of protection were so visible to Martin. That blink. The look around. As if he was searching for something else to look at. The hint of despair creeping into Andrews eyes. He would have none of the hesitancy. Much more of the despair. His steps lost themselves in the darkness of the hall. His voice did not. “Stop.” He shouted at the mans face to resolve Drews predicament. “When I say 'jump' I want you to jump. When I say 'kill' I want you to kill. And I want you to be a good dog and be salivalatingly, tail-wigglingly happy that I give you the opportunity to obey with alacrity. Do. You. Understand?” Strangely, his voice got not louder as might be expected, but it got calmer and more subdued with each word Martin uttered. And while he spoke, he walked on, until he stood right in front of Andrew.

His eyes positively dissected the man. Not with love, but rather with the cold stare one gave his horseflesh before buying. “You really need to get more muscles on yourself.” Martin remarked. And then he shouted again. Positively roared until it rang through the empty halls. Somewhere a bird or bat fluttered, disturbed in its rest. “And I want you to stand at attention when I speak to you like this, do you hear me?” Yes. Stand at attention. Be a good dog. Jump. Home meant head-on-lap and cooing. This meant nothing short of boot-camp. Yes. Boot-camp for Andrew.

Martin stepped off to one side. “The photo shoot is going to be an erotic one. So do try to look attractive.” Martin pointed to what had been hidden by his frame. His voice sounded doubtful about Drew being able to do even this much. Boxes of cardboard were stacked along one of the columns that held the ceiling up high. That held the world from coming down. Cardboard boxes full of things. Like knee-high sock in the most garish shade of purple. Like a tank top that would be difficult not to rip apart while putting it on (it was several sizes too small for Andrew). Note: Martin had not been shopping. He had had someone hop these things. For this occasion. People did things like this for money. Buy the most strange assortment of things for example. Martin held the camera like a foreign object. And then he roared again. “Move your lazy a**!” There was no need to mention that he would not tolerate disappointments.

His eyes never left Andrews frame while he changed. Nor did they hold any appreciation. Only. Horseflesh.

The reprimand was not unexpected. However what gave him pause was not being reprimanded but what was said. Martin meant for him to kill?! Drew tuned out the rest of what was said. He'd killed someone once and had sworn to himself that he would never do so again. Life was too important to take away without a care. The mere mention of being given that order gave him enough clarity of thought that for an altogether too brief moment he felt he could resist any order Martin might give him. It didn't last though and he was plunged back into a haze of forced loyalty. He was being asked if he understood what Martin demanded of him. Utter loyalty without hesitation. Drew understood.

"Yes, sir."

Once again he was told he needed more muscle.

"Yes, sir."

Then he was given instructions on how to behave based on the tone of voice.

"Yes, sir."

It was so much easier to comply and take refuge in the warmth the promises offered. If he gave in then there would be no more struggle. There would be no more fear. It was already difficult to resist and it would only get harder. Was there anyone worth resisting this monster man for? The names came slowly, as though he was no longer sure they were worth it. Sam, Kealey, maybe Tasean. They were what he was trying to retain by resisting. More orders.

"Yes, sir."

The voice roared. Drew snapped into action, digging through the cartons for something, anything that might keep him from suffering the wrath that voice promised for failure.

Finally, Martin sighed mentally. Finally the boy was showing some potential. Finally he was getting less lazy and more active. And if that activity included undressing and redressing and lasciviously leaning against tiled columns this was something Martin noted, but found insignificant. Finally the boy was showing some promise. He did not know though that by doing so he just had signed a warrant for his head. What was to come later was, at least to a good part, influenced by this very performance. And what was to come later was best described in words that were simple: Red, Dark, Hot, Explosion... where are we going? Of course.

But first came a kind of SNAP. Another one. Different from what was before. More painless. With less impact. Possibly. Physically. Innocent? Just a sound driving through silence, near silence, holy halls of flesh. Holy Halls indeed. The sound of the camera taking some rather intriguing pictures. Martin had spent an hour or so thinking about what to do with them actually. What was to become of them. Martin was a novice at this kind of craft, but this could partially be offset by location and equipment. And maybe the model that had no real choice, In life one rarely does have real choices. (When things drift apart, through the cracks comes: Liberation? Out of my mind!)

Passing time. On. Twenty-four pictures in different stances. In different outfits. In a different world. Bend your body here. Break it. Just there. Sinuously winding yourself around the hooks I placed here. Metal. Mind. Sinuously. Conjoining.

Onwards. Come. Silence.

The photo shoot that followed was a strange affair. He snapped to each order and did as told as quickly and as well as possible. A pose here and a gaze there. Deep within his mind he knew that if these photos saw the light of day he'd be mortified. However, more overpowering was the need to see to his master's wishes. It was humiliating and each snap of the camera had him holding back a flinch. The sound was an echo of a familiar noise and it hurt. In the end twenty four pictures were taken that in another frame of mind would have horrified him and had him snatching that camera to throw in the bay. Instead he stood submissively with his subconscious screaming at him to run.

There was no voice yet to tell Drew how to act at this moment. However since he'd previously been instructed to stand at attention to the voice that had been previously used. He stood at attention, awaiting his next order. What it would be Andrew could not fathom. He didn't even think to know Martin's mind. He was an enigma to Andrew. That didn't sit well with Andrew at all. If he knew him better he could better anticipate what Martin would want or need. Also, whispered the quiet voice of Drew's normal reason, the better you know him the more likely it is that you can avoid angering him or maybe even come up with a way to be free of him.

This voice went mostly ignored at the moment as he stood. Silently.

Martin looked at Andrew. Scant clothed Andrew that he was. Which in turn was perfect for something else that was to happen on this night. He was to accelerate the promise-process, as Andrew had so helpfully suggested himself a few hours prior. He was going to make Andrew his once and for all. And that was not meant in the pretty, rose-colored fashion either.

Orders, orders, such a good voice for giving orders. “Come and get the things you bought.” And nothing was betrayed by his voice. Just something was about to happen. Well. Tie yourself, small one. Also: Martin ventured forth into another section of the abandoned building. Here hung great metal hooks from chains that dangled from a ceiling hidden in the dark. Perfect for some horror movie. Also: It had drains in the ground. And was away from most any living person for a mile or so. It was a perfect spot for a little more personal Horror for Andrew. (Note the Capital letter).

Under one of the hooks lay a thick plastic sheet, usually used in construction. Cue: Evil music? Martin ventured past it and outside in the dimness of the night. Evil music? No, none at all. Cue: Generator coughing to life outside? Indeed. Cue: Dim light showing up overhead from a single bulb? Oh so very much. Cue: Something wrapped in white plastic standing on a near table? Yes again.

Martin switched on the sound system. It was a very expensive model. A Bose, black, sleek and probably able to turn the hall into a disco on its own one by one by one foot self, though it was – as previously stated – wrapped in plastic, maybe this bit of white polyethylene had once been a garbage bag. He switched on the system and the music that filled the empty hall echoed back from the walls. Loudly it sounded in their ears, loudly sounding, the wrap was billowing under the pressure. Into your brains, hammering, nearly. Its raining men. He smiled at Andrew. “Tie yourself up with the ripe you bought, will you?” Martin did not phrase his question as a question. More like an exclamation-question. The hook dangled idly.

Orders. That was his world at the moment. Orders to be obeyed. Orders that would mean relative safety if carried out. Orders that meant Martin would not kill him this night should he succeed in carrying them out. The purchased items that he was told to fetch were brought, carried along with him as they entered another portion of the facility. The hook and chain theme continued here but it was clear that Martin had gone to some small trouble to ensure that things were just so. Drew hoped it was only a small trouble for he was worth no great trouble. That Martin spent so much time on him was at once flattering and creepy. He would do better without the man's attention said a vague thought. It was swiftly chased away by assurances that the pain and humiliation would end once master was sure he'd be a good and proper servant.

A single bulb valiantly fought the darkness away in the area that they were to work next. Drew carefully set the acquired items down and set straight to work tying himself up as ordered. Music blared from the radio as he did this. He ignored it as best he could. Though he was following orders what was left of his normal thought processes balked at what the order meant. The last time he'd been tied up in Martin's presence had been painful, torturous even. Now he was walking semi-willingly into the same treatment. He should given in. It would be easier to not fight. His hands twisted some of the rope about his ankles.

"Help."

It was quiet, caught up in the storm of sound from the radio. An exhortation to those few he held onto his disobedience for. He needed them. If only so they could see what was happening. So they would understand. But they wouldn't come. They couldn't save him from this and he didn't really want them to. If this was what Martin meant to happen then so be it. But still, his hands trembled as the rope twisted around one wrist. The other would have to be left for Martin.

Martin 'Tsked' at Andrews' rather pitiful attempt of sabotaging him. Sabotaging them both. That was once the promises had taken firm hold of the teen. 'Tsk' indeed. While Martins hands were busy tying the last knots into the rope that held both Andrews' hands and his feet, his voice replied levelly. “But I am all there is.” In terms of help. In terms of mind. And in terms of the light metal pliers that somehow had found their way into his hands. The music in the background was thumping away merrily. Martin pushed and pulled and did things normal people usually did not. Andrew would scream for a long night. People could do without toenails after all. And with a few burning scars. Amongst other things. Note: Martin did not smile at this. These wre simply things you had to do.

Fade to black.