The ties that bind

"Tell me, Alan," said the man who seemed to be living up to the name I'd given him, "what do you notice about the bonds tying you to the chair?" He sounded faintly amused, in a way that was entirely irritating.

Looking down, I did a double-take that must have looked pretty funny, I had to admit. Mr Twat - sir - obliged me with a braying laugh.

My wrists weren't tied to the chair at all.

Instead, my arms lay limply on my legs. And yet, even while I could clearly see this was the case, my mind insisted that my arms were tied to the chair. Again, I tried to move them. Again, nothing. What I felt was my wrist straining against the rope; what I saw were my arms lying as if paralysed.

I looked up.

"Bloody clever bloke, your mate Smith," he said. "Bloody clever."

"How...?" I asked, not really knowing what to ask.

"He worked it out, you see. Can't risk giving you people" - he said the word with disgust - "drugs. No knowing what they'll do, with your messed-up body chemistry. And someone with your talent - well, the talent we knew about - physically restraining you is pretty pointless.

"It was Smith that worked out the only safe and effective way to have any control over you freaks was though your minds.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of the hypnotised. Paul McKenna's got nothing on Mr Smith."



Story begins here.