The following can be considered a hatefic for a discord RP prompt, included at the end.
This is not supposed to be part of any continuing story.
It was a cardboard box large enough to fit an appliance. Well, too small for a dishwasher, too large for a mini fridge. The cardboard itself was heavy duty – and warm. Sitting out on a hot sidewalk in the sun for at least an hour.
Definitely more than the average apartment dweller or deliveryman would leave unattended outside. And, as he nudged it, goddamn heavy.
Which was why he had a handcart and ramp on the truck. Past that, all you needed was an air of confidence & the ability to break line of sight to get away with most packages.
Of course he didn’t drive straight home. Police would find it easy to trace your route the cameras. You want to meander just long enough that anybody watching can’t help but look away. Which drive-through chicken was fine for.
An hour later, in a one car garage that was only fifteen minutes away, it was time to inspect the haul. Ideally, the invoice and a quick phone shot of the contents would be enough to find a buyer with cash by the end of the day. This invoice – Uh. This was probably supposed to be English, but it was for sure international. He’d never seen an address in this format.
Could be good, could be bad. He might have to take the package off the truck for the night.
The utility knife went through packing tape easily. And the contents…
Were pointing guns at him.
“Put the knife down, then hands up.” She was a unevenly tanned brunette in most of a Township Police uniform – quite wrinkled. He couldn’t help but glance down – her waist seemed merged with a tangled mess in the box.
He had time to note that, from the same tangled mess, was second person also rose – dark skin and white hair. Nothing else had time to register, because immediately he felt a bolt of electricity telling his muscles to forget whatever they were doing at the moment.
“Shit. That is why we didn’t give you a gun, Bramana.” The cop yanked the spent taser from her hands, flipping her own firearm’s safety back on… before bending over the man now slumped in front of their box. He had a pulse.
“He had a knife.” The woman’s accent was somewhere between British and Indian, and her face seemed of darker shades the latter offered. Her hair was a wispy mess at this point – both of them were – not quite shoulder length.
“And it takes a person a second to process instructions. God.” She tried to stand up out of the box resolving rumpled pants into… rumpled pants. She was searching for the radio.
“And if you can’t pronounce Bhramana, ‘Messenger’ will do.”
“Watchman, this is Plant, do you read?” She ignored the partially crumpled woman at her side.
“Go ahead, Peters. I take it you’re out?”
“We’re out, He’s out too – we seem to be in a garage, sir.”
“We’ve got eyes on the house – the address is still running through the system – It’s not the target, we’ll have to try again another day.”
Peters groaned, “Yes sir. I’ll have the door open in a second.”
The Township police weren’t a huge operation – but the suburban sprawl had enough people to merit more than a sheriff and deputies.
“So, neither of them are actual police – anywhere. That one-” One of the patrol officers was catching another up, pointing at one of the pair of Indians in the conference room during a debrief – “used to be. But there were health issues, I guess. So now she’s some sort of India special agent or something at this point. Anyway, It’s about a human trafficking suspect. Some kid with a clean nose, brass does what it does, and the other one is coordinating on the case with Suzie.”
“Sue Peters?”
“Yeah, apparently they’ve got the same… uh, proclivities.”
“Oh hell.”
“But if it works, the lawyers got some scheme to avoid double jeopardy during deportation, if we can’t manage to put him away. Which makes me think the evidence might not be so great. So.”
“Hmm. Do you ever think, just maybe, that Township having vigilantes would be the easier option?”
“Every time I overhear details of one of Suzie’s cases. Hopefully this is as close as we’ll have to get – but good hunting tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, take it easy.”
All the hotels in township were along the highway that bisected it – and around them, offices, shopping, and restaurants of varying pretension.
“What makes a grill Brazillian?” Bhramana was flipping through a three ring binder left for her on the table of her room. It was mostly taken up with two beds – of course western ones. Any Charpai would be rather far away, at this point.
It also had an open door to the next room, occupied by two more beds and one more person.
“Samvrita? What makes a grill Brazillian?”
“What do you think? Brazillian cooks work there. I’d hope.”
“True, true. It looks like they have kebabs, though.”
“Is it in walking distance? You’re the one who lived with Imperial measurements – and don’t want to touch another car today if I don’t have to.”
“Uh… I think most of this is. At least for me. Though we can always go by that night grocery again if you are too hungry to wait.”
“We can do both, Mina. I wouldn’t want it to be your first time overseas and all you get to eat is potato salad. Especially if you mess up again and leave us with even more depositions to record.”
Bhramana glanced at the open door to the other room, half expecting Kachwaha to be gazing back at her with a grin. She wasn’t, “Eh. I’m finally waking up, so maybe we taste what these Brazilians can do,” She didn’t really like how quiet the chair was, pushing back on the carpet, as she stood up. “Who do you think wold be faster, me carrying you there, or you carrying me?”
There was a puff of wind as Kachwaha practically materialized behind her – while pulling on a light sweater. “I’ll take no such questions until the potato salad is in my hands.”
They left light on in the hotel’s hallway, where someone occasionally thumped by. Icy air was being pumped in to her room. The mattress, Bhramana swore, was trying to consume her.
She had been warned about “Jet Lag”, even offered some medication. If there were nowhere to be tomorrow – she might have risked it.
You don’t eat your fill when you’re on a stakeout. You don’t drink to satisfy your thirst – merely to keep yourself alert. These were but of police wisdom that Kachwaha had recited to Bhramana.
Of course neither would wholeheartedly fulfill these ideals. Kachwaha nibbled constantly from the passenger seat of an unmarked car – her body could easily burn through calories much faster than she could consume them, and collapsing on the job was a distraction she had spent a lot of time avoiding over the past years.
Bhramana had eaten a almost tasteless – really, no spice to it at all – continental breakfast normally. Fifteen minutes before her reboxing, met Peters in front of the bathroom… and five minutes before, was profusely apologizing just outside the bathroom door to the waiting janitor. Peters just shook her head and made her way to the loading dock.
The new box was smaller – and had an internal crate. Whoever had been employed to rebuild it, they had responded to the damage caused carting around the prior version. But both Peters and Bhramana found their niches along with their minimal equipment, as they joked about what would happen if Bhramana’s taser went off inside. To the discomfort of those police that watched the proceedings.
The old box had been hot enough. The wooden crate of this one was built around allowed for a bit more discrete ventilation and the slightest bit of light, if the two inside it could manage to keep the airways open.
The delivery truck’s engine rumbled to life, shaking the two together as it bumped across a decades old patchwork dubbed a road. Bhramana got a face full of her temporary partner as the box was tipped on a corner and placed in nearly the same spot as the prior attempt had been. She seemed to be settling towards the bottom like oil under water, but honestly, she didn’t care. She was tired, and finally reaching a warm place was asserting itself.
“HEY.” it was a forceful whisper. An elbow jabbed something.
“What?”
“You were snoring.” The top mass shuddered in a sigh, “You didn’t sleep?”
“Eh, ‘Jet Lag’, as you say… how long have we been here.”
“How should I know – the sun is still up, at least. Stay awake. We can’t tip off the suspect.”
Mina grumbled, wishing she had her glasses – any of them from her collection, regardless of how little she needed them at the moment. She still hadn’t gotten used to wearing western clothes around. At least she was familiar with a set of frames on her face.
“A Question.”
“Ja?” it was a low whisper, hopefully lost in the breeze.
“And be serious, please. What would the plan have been to apprehend this guy if I wasn’t here?”
“Oh, probably the same, smaller box. Honestly, I’m just glad it didn’t require any breathing equipment like the drug busts.”
“Drug….” Someone walked by. They both quieted down as footsteps never got too close.
“Opioids, mostly. Handoffs move too fast to check every bag, so if I’m not in the one on top, I’m just another sack of profit to stack and take off.” Peters was smiling, or very practiced in making it sound like she was. “”
“Township isn’t that big, though, as I understand it.”
“Oh, big drug busts don’t happen that often – twice a month at most. I usually get dispatched to the Mental Heath calls when nothing big is going down – don’t have to worry about anybody getting hurt.”
“But this is big.”
“Of course. The Township Police get calls about runaways, not international calls on human trafficking.”
“And when all you have is a hammer…”
“Hey, we weren’t the ones to design the honeypot.”
“Well I wasn’t. I don’t think Kachwaha was part of that either.”
There was a long moment of silence. Bhramana tried to adjust; there really wasn’t any spare space available to, at this moment. And things were getting humid. And…
Wow. This package was huge. And it definitely was addressed to him. From… something something India. Name and address… not a misprint. No immediate thought of any recent orders coming from there – but – well, nothing to do but get it inside.
The box quickly proved too heavy to slide across rough concrete – He tipped the box on it’s side – something seemed to thump inside – but there was nothing leaking. End over end, he got the box to the elevator, then to his room.
His shirt was soaked with sweat. He needed a drink.
Of the two shaken, not stirred occupants of the box, the one with police training was fairly sure she was more on bottom than top at the moment. Her gun – somehow that was still secure – and more importantly, the safety was still on. The radio… she couldn’t find. The taser… she couldn’t find. When she poked at skin that wasn’t hers – so it should be Bhramana’s – no response, positive or negative.
Maybe the department did need to start coming up with better plans – but that was a thought for later consideration. Just listen for now.
Toilet flush.
Something fabric rustling.
A seal being broken – fizz. A soft drink, maybe a bottle of beer. Clang of a bottle cap on a hard surface, either way. A big sigh.
“Alright, let’s see what we got…” The voice was fairly young, male. Breathing a little hard – the sort of thing you’d expect from a ‘work harder not smarter’ person.
The sound of ripping tape – no slicing. Somebody was trying to open the packing tape with their bare hands. In which case there was nothing more to do then brace, and-
Why did people have to use that string reinforced tape? Please no more cheese wire cuts. Just wedge in and pull-
The contents literally bust from the box – limbs akimbo. At least two pairs of pants, and three arms – A gun.
“Are you ‘Spinner 3428’?” He couldn’t break out in sweat. Shirtless, he was trying to let the coating of sweat from bringing the box up dry.
“Uh…” His hands were raised, but he was unsure what to to with them. “I’m Spinner on Discord…”
“Did you-” there was a notepad coming out of her pocket, “Sign up for a ‘Clay Girlfriend’ sweepstakes via Hoogle Docs on May 2nd of this year?” The police officer was trying to work her way out of the box.
“May? Uh – yeah, I think I remember something like that.”
“GUH!” The second pair of pants flapped wildly for half a second.
“Sorry-” the policewoman didn’t take her eyes – off him, and the gun was still pointed at his chest, but she tilted her head a bit, “You good? We got him.”
“I’m up, I’m up,” The legs – well he couldn’t quite find the word for what the legs did. Slithered, over the edge of the box, unfolded to a white-haired, dark skined woman in business attire.
“Were you aware that winning the sweepstakes with the stated conditions would require the illegal transport of multiple people across international borders?” The gun in one of the officer’s hands, the notepad in the other.
“Yeah, they said it’d be by mail. You mean it wasn’t a scam?”
“You’ve had further contact with those responsible for running the sweepstakes? Did they contact you for payment or reimbursement of any sort?”
Had there been an email? “Maybe.”
“Turn around. Hands on the wall,”
He hesitated.
The policewoman dropped the notebook, and before it had hit the ground he was slammed against the apartment wall. Her arm had stretched, hadn’t it? “Hands against the wall NOW.”
He complied buy stretching his arms wide – though not wide like she had done it, wide like bones allowed. He felt pitted plastic against a wrist, His arm was guided to his back and the other wrist was bound to it. Wait. Plastic handcuffs- I saw a video on this once…
“Am.. am I being detained?”
“You bet your boots you are. International human trafficking?” She grunted.
“I’m… I’m not saying anything.”
“Suit yourself – the police are already in your apartment, and I’m sure your victim – well.”
The was the zipping of more plastic handcuffs behind his back, out of view. “Mina Messenger: I realize you’re the victim in this, but you are also here without a visa. We are going to have to detain you for further questioning – and eventually deport you.”
“Oh. Oh no. I thought. They were trying to disappear me away. They’ll just do it again.” The other woman behind him, with the foreign accent, sounded quite distraught.
“If you file for asylum, our department would be happy to note your cooperation on the application. But we have to follow procedure for now.”
A light clicked on – over his dinette set. “You. Sit.”
The White-haired woman was sitting slumped in one chair, arms restrained. The laptop sitting on it was already unplugged, resting beside her head. And his phone was stacked on top of the laptop. They… they’d find it in his browser history, wouldn’t they.
He was sat down across from her.
The police woman had a 2-way radio, “I’m calling a car,” she patter her holstered gun with the other hand, “Feel free to run away,” – then she stepped into the hall – leaving the front door wide open.
“‘Mina’, was it?” She didn’t raise her head. Or even try to look at him, “I’d say ‘Nice to meet you’, but. Uh. I think it would have been a lot nicer if you hadn’t gone to the police first… that. That came out wrong. It’s not your fault this happened.”
All he got was a weary sigh.
“Though it’s not my fault either. Please believe me,” the box was still there, pretty much intact. He noticed the wood frame along the edges – it was built for some rough handling.
“You’re- you’re from India?”
“Yes,” the voice was full of snot, “Jharkhand.”
He had no idea what that meant. What should he follow that with. Did she have a big family? No. Who was it that sent her? No. All the way in that box? Well duh, she’d just gotten out of it. Why did they want to disappear you? Oh hell, the less he knew about the details the better, honestly.
“Are- you actually like. Clay?”
The arms cuffed behind her back arched up – elbows straight, over her head, flat on the table, reaching out towards him, offering her hands.
It… was a demonstration of a sort. His shoulders definitely wouldn’t do that without tearing them apart first.
She was looking up. Arms still awkwardly extended, she waved him closer. He leaned in and – she caressed his cheek. They… they were so smooth. Like she was seeping in between his stubble to touch him.
He straightened up, pulled away – yet didn’t. Her hands still embraced his face pulled, across the full width of the table.
“I not sure of the right word – but clay isn’t it.”
“Mud?”
She was testing him. “Lava. Threatening to consume me.”
She gave a bit of a chuckle, withdrew her touch to lean on her elbows – and it took him a moment to realize her shoulder weren’t warped in the slightest while doing it, as if they had simply been reset to a normal position.
“And can you stretch to the horizon?”
“Who said I could do that?”
He paused for a moment before answering. He was remembering the sweepstakes form a bit. There was a lot of flowery language, “Nobody I’d want to talk about.”
“I see, I see,” She was squinting – it was hardly due the bright light above. But if it was the first light she had seen in weeks – No, wait. obviously the police had gotten into the box somehow.
“Except to think I could have won… well. Could we still win?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Subtle. Be subtle, “Do those handcuffs mean much to you?”
“Honestly? Not a thing.” Mina easily slid both hands out of the plastic loops, without the slightest bit of catch on her skin.
“Then, we go out the window. Jump in my car, dump the electronics in the river – and just keep driving.”
“You have a car?”
“It’s my Dad’s, but yeah, it’ll get us away from here.”
“I think I could stretch a few floors…”
“I was going to say take the fire escape by the bedroom window… but we could go the more adventurous route.” He leaned to check out the door – there were still no police sirens, and the policewoman wasn’t there. Great. Cell service was bad in the building, it’s couldn’t be much better for her old walkie talkie.
He turned in his chair and tried for a moment to climb though his arms – the only technique he’d ever seen for breaking plastic handcuffs was over then knee – but then he felt her touch at his wrist – while only seeing one elbow propping up her head by the cheek on the table.
“Most locks don’t mean a thing to me.” She presented a now completely open pair of plastic handcuffs from under the table.
He took a moment to quietly rub his wrists before slipping his phone into his pocket and taking his laptop under his arm, and quietly led her to the wide sliding door of the balcony.
“To be clear though… I have nothing to pay…”
“I’m sure we can figure something out.”
And that was the line that sealed his fate.
Of course, attempted escape from police detainment and stealing confiscated property was going to be charges on top of human trafficking. But a statement of expectation or repayment? The Indian courts would hate that. Or, the judge presiding over the district the honeypot server had been set up would.
Though incidental, Bhramana had to admit that a stretch of five stories was a delicious way to get the kinks of her earlier containment out. It was easy enough to lock this “Spinner” in her gaze as she started to lower him down. It only broke two stories down, when she realized the method she had hidden away the taser was incompatible with the stretch.
It popped out and fell. His eyes followed. Down to the center of a silent half-circle of police cars where it landed – and the police looking up at them. It hit the ground hard.
As soon as he toughed the ground, “Spinner” was arrested, properly this time. His effects were confiscated – and a few more taken from the vacated apartment. Including one blond officer coiling up the long escape rope that still dangled from the balcony, throwing it in a police car’s trunk before taking off.
Spinner#3428 https://discordapp.com/channels/634855385815318528/826462463120900136/1012959202613932093
Hey yall, I am sorta new to this Elastic-Fandom and was interested in a Lit-Adv M(me)xF lit rp with a funny idea I thought of recently.
Heres my quick idea: My charcater, a few weeks back, entered a sweepstakes jokingly to recieve an (girl)friend that has the ability to stretch a near infinite length and mold into anything like clay. “This will never happen, I bet its just a scam artist looking for some money-” He thought, entering his infomation and hitting send soon after-quickly forgetting about what he signed up for a day later
A few weeks would pass when a knock eminated from hisndoor.. A package? For him? that contains your charcater molded and squished inside it… When He opens said package, thinking it was anyhting other than her, your charcater pops out and the beginning of a fun and wild Slice of Life/Action Adventure story could begin!
All I ask is that my partner be of age (18 and over) and female, further details can be talked about in DMs. Hope to find a partner soon!
Leave a Reply