Lawrence lay hog-tied with cord on the floor of a cold dark room. A faint glow of light came from beneath what must have been the door. He trembled as he rocked back and forth, back and forth trying to make sense of all that had happened during the last 24 hours. He whimpered (he had been gagged to stop the screaming), small tears evaporating on his hot cheeks.

He had been cold-cocked, beaten (judging by the ache of his bruised body) then thrown down the garbage chute to be incinerated. He had barely escaped using quick thinking and a primitive tool. That much seemed to make sense. He had been sold out.

He remembered charging into the labs brandishing his knife only be astonished that no one was there. Before he knew it, he was tackled by eight commandos and kicked until he stopped moving. Now he was in some sort of detention area. Judging by the soft mood lighting (each sector of the VirCorp HQ had its own motif), he was somewhere on the other side of the compound.

How was he going to get out of this? All logic and sense told him there was no way. The compound was the size of a city and he had nowhere to escape to. Still his survival instinct told him otherwise. Fight or flight? At heart, Lawrence was more of a lover than a fighter, but due to the lack of attractive and sympathetic young females around him he felt he would have to make his stand at the next available opportunity. They had taken his pocketknife, so all he was left with were his wits. Thank you, God, he thought. He closed his eyes and contemplated the situation further.

By UN statutes adopted into the corporate law, prisoners had to be fed. This saved a lot of wrongful death lawsuits coming from families and the few remaining fringe element lobbyists. At some point they would have to feed him. If he could just get free of his bonds he could make a break for it. He ran through various scenarios in his mind, most of them ending up with his Swiss cheese-resembling bullet-riddled body hitting the pavement with a gooey wet noise.

But provided it could work, what would he do then? He thought it over as he continued to rock back and forth, struggling against the restraints. Anger and frustration bubbled within. He wanted revenge. His life had been forfeit thanks to two sniveling doctors. If he were able, he would use their own instruments to make sauerbraten out of their miserable corpses. But what could he do? There was no way past security. Then it hit him; he might have an inside connection.

He could find the security guard, the one he had captured. He might still have access or barring that would know certain loopholes around the system that could get him in. He would need this man’s help.

Shaking ruefully and rocking violently against the floor, a wave of guilt swept over him. What if the guard was dead by now? As easily as they tried to dispose of Lawrence, the people in charge probably would do the same to anyone. Surely he would have to find out, find him! A pang of moral obligation rose from the cockles of his heart (or perhaps it was just bile and self-loathing at what he had done); he now felt responsible for the man’s life.

Lawrence had been raised right by his working class parents. If you saved a man’s life then you became responsible for it (responsibility being one of the key reasons people from all walks had become so indifferent when it came to actually helping each other out). The current trend of ethical indifference offended his upbringing. Lawrence had put a man’s life in jeopardy and now felt doubly responsible for it. Either way, he would need to pass unnoticed through the business district to get back to Sector C. He would do this, he promised. But he reminded himself, only if he could escape from this situation with as little new orifices made in his body as possible. For the meantime, that would be hard enough.

He squirmed in his comfortless position, trying to find a way out of the bindings. Each twist of his body seemed to tighten their tenacity. Maybe by applying pressure on his body, he could loosen it just enough to get a hand free. Even a few fingers could add leverage. He closed his eyes and visualized a butterfly breaking free of its cocoon. He shifted his weight to the left and wriggled with movements as subtle as a pickpocket’s. When he opened his eyes, he saw his bleeding right was free. Now with four fingers and an opposable digit on his side he would be out in no time! He chanted traditional quiet words of encouragement to himself (Go Simon, it’s your birthday, go Simon, it’s your birthday!) and rocked into a better position to remove his fetters.

His left hand was free! He stretched out his arms and felt the blood flow back into them with musical, painful delight. His breath quickened, his heart leaped in his chest. He bit down on the gag to calm himself. He thrust his hands towards the cord binding his legs when, suddenly, he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. One of the captors!

He quickly tried to re-hog-tie himself and failed. He knew he’d be shot if they caught him trying to escape. Diligently, he brought his knees to his chest and grabbed his ankles hoping the guard would be fooled. The door hissed open and a surly oaf with the face of a parked-car chasing dog emerged carrying a tray of gruel. He wheezed as he spoke.

“Oi, Lawrence! Boss says you gotta’ eat.” He held out the tray as an offering, not looking at his prisoner, completely oblivious to Lawrence’s incapacity to eat through a gag.

Lawrence grunted through the gag and gestured with his head at the guard. Simon studied the man’s wide stance and considered the angle.

“Oi! I ain’t spoon-feeding you! Lemme’ remove that and you can eat from the trough like the animal you are.” He set the tray down before leaning over and removing the gag. As the officer rose to turn away, Lawrence mumbled something.

“What’d you say?” The churlish guard took a step closer and cocked an ear at his prisoner.

“I said thank you, asshole!” Lawrence unclasped his legs, wheeled around on his bottom and dealt the man a Herculean kick to the genitals. The bewildered guard’s eyes rolled up into his head and he staggered back through the doorway, squealing in agony. Others down the corridor must have heard this as Lawrence could feel the rush of feet through the floor.

He vaulted to his feet, wobbling like a top and braced himself against the doorway. He peered right around the door and watched in terror as three guards barreled down the corridor, 100 meters away. He glanced left and saw the floor ramped downwards 50 meters to a cage door. Beyond that, just a few more meters, was the fire exit and freedom!

In a split-second, Simon lurched over to the debilitated guard and snatched the ID card from around his neck and hopped towards the exit. The guards were nearly on top of him now. They brandished their batons menacingly and bellowed.

Lawrence hopped like a jackrabbit down the slope but wasn’t fast enough. They were gaining! His only recourse was to let gravity accelerate his decent. Folding his arms over his chest, he twisted in mid-air and fell sideways down the ramp. He was on a roll now. Faster and faster, he was getting ahead of the pack. He gained speed with every turn until he finally met the bars with a clang.

Sputtering, he hoisted himself up to his feet and inserted the key card. The cage door clunked. With a roar, Lawrence head-butted the door and wriggled through the opening, shutting it tight just as the guards began to un-holster their guns. Lawrence sprang forward, making it in five mighty leaps to the exit. He punched the door open and dove through just as the guards began to fire.

The door sprang closed and Lawrence hopped for his very life.