Solais stood in Jag's dorm room. Part of him had hoped to find her there. She'd proved to be so much fun in their first encounter that still, this much time later, he couldn't help but get a bit of a thrill at the thought of her. He grinned, reminiscing about their encounter...then shook his head. He hadn't come here to find her, so it was probably better that she weren't here. After all, he'd gone to all the trouble to set this up so nicely. Last time, their encounter had been little more than chance. He'd been in the gym, fascinated by the little bags and mats and weight sets that students used to keep themselves in shape, and she'd come storming in like a little redheaded thundercloud. A very buxom, very beautiful thundercloud. Point was, they'd found each other quite by accident. An accident, he was fairly sure, had stayed fresh in her mind.

Which led to the present. Here he was, in her room, with a note in hand, written on paper and with a pen from her desk. He also had the shirt he'd left with her, for some reason, after leaving her in a puddle of their combined fluids on a bench, sleeping off the ravaging he'd given to her. He'd been rather disappointed, but not at all surprised, to find that she hadn't had it in her room, but had left it in her locker. He read over the note once more, checking spelling and seeing if anything else needed adding:

"Jag, darling. How are you? It's been ages now, hasn't it? Anyway, as you can guess, this is something...a little more serious than a simple courtesy call. So, on to the point. I'm absolutely aching for your company. It was so absolutely enchanting last time. You do remember last time, don't you? If you haven't figured out who I am yet, the shirt should give you a clue. Anyway, I've left this as an invitation. Why not come and give me a visit in the basement, room 636? I can give you a reason why you should...you see, I seem to recall that when we met, you were berating yourself over failing to show up on time to a study group, thus dooming a friend of yours to a raping. You seemed to take it really hard. Well, I found out the poor girl's identity. Now, say she were to suffer a similar fate...yet this time at my hands? I'm fairly sure you can remember what fun it was when you met me...think she can hold up to the same measure? If not, then I suggest you come find me. 9:00 tonight. In basement room 636, as I mentioned before. Don't be late. Oh, and just to prove that I'm not lying, you'll find a pic of the young lady beneath this note. See you soon."

He finished reading it over and found it to his satisfaction. He folded the shirt he'd given her and left it on her pillow with the note and the picture of the friend in question pinned to it with a safety pin he'd found. He looked at the shirt, one of several he had, but still special to him, as much as a shirt could be, and wondered if he'd ever get the blasted thing back. He shook his head. "Well, least she didn't burn the damn thing." He turned towards the window, opened it, and leapt out, floating gently down on his great wings to the ground. He strode towards the doors that would lead to the basement, heading for the appointed place within, where he would await his fiery prey. "Heh...can't wait. And I bet, despite what all you'll say and think to yourself...niether can you." He laughed as he entered the doors and descended into the darkness.

Jag walked into the room slowly and flipped on the light, instantly looking up. She had heard something… in her room. She could swear, right as she opened the door… and she hadn’t left her window open had she? Hrm… maybe she had… she did like it cool in her room and the bloody air conditioner wasn’t worth the rusting metal (or plastic, neither would surprise her) that it was made out of.

It had already been a fun night, and she was going back for more just as soon as she got her camera from her room. The girls had invited her to a new student welcoming party… the unofficial, underground type that Jag would actually go to… and even though she wasn’t new, she felt like it. The redhead had been to the school nurse several times but she didn’t know anything new. No head trauma, no injuries of any kind. She just couldn’t remember how it was that she had gotten on this island, in this school. None the less she was making the best of it, and had dressed in the outfit that reminded her most of home… jeans embroidered with brown leather stitches and designs all the way down until they flared out into leather bellbottom cuffs, and a matching tan leather halter that did nothing to hide her well toned, smooth back, as well as giving a nice view of her shapely tummy. Shorter boots were concealed under the hem of her jeans, but their weight was evident as she walked around, the chopped cowboy boots clonking on the ground with every step.

There was a note on her dresser, and as she read it, she began to wonder if perhaps this was from one of the school admins, or a close friend. She didn’t recognize the shirt but maybe it was a friend that could help her remember…

…she stopped and had to re-read the second half of the letter, glancing at the photo quickly and then back at the paper. Was this some kind of sick joke? What was she involved in? She couldn’t even remember this girl… hadn’t seen her around…

Even so, no less than five minutes later Jag was running down the darkly lit paths of the campus towards the basement entrance. Some girls had taken her there earlier and dared her to go in; before she could however a campus coordinator happened upon them and warned them it was only for campus officials. ‘To hell with that’ she thought to herself as she threw open the heavy metal door to the basement.

The place was like a medieval dungeon crossed with a labyrinth, but finally she found the door she was looking for, the one on the note…

“636…” she whispered to herself before quietly opening the door.

Feeling more than hearing or seeing the door open, Solais turned from where he was admiring one of the various pieces of equipment in the room, something that vaguely resembles a saw-horse...save for the fact that it was hanging from the ceiling, and that instead of a flat surface, it came to an edge on top, similar to the roof of a house. A pair of rings on either side of the contraption made it clear how one was supposed to keep the occupant upon the thing. He grinned when he saw Jag standing framed in the doorway. "You made it. Wonderful. Course, I knew you'd show up." The four tendrils dancing between his shoulders moved like lightning, two of them seizing Jag by the wrists and dragging her fully into the room, the other two slamming and barring the door. "There. Now we won't be interrupted."

He wasn't sure, but it seemed there was something wrong with the situation here. Her facial expression, her stance, the simple feel that she gave out...it was all wrong for some reason. It hardly mattered though. Probably just my own crazy imagination, he thought to himself. "So nice to see you again, Jag. My apologies for the impromptu invitation, but I simply couldn't wait to see you again." He chuckled, somehow managing to make it sound sinister, "Ater all, the last time was so much fun."

He spread his arms wide, looking around and turning slightly. "And what do you think of my new little haven? Fairly nice, don't you think?" It was a medium-sized room (lit with torches, of all things) that looked like something sraight from the spanish inquisition. Aside from the sawhorse hanging in the middle, there were several different varieties of racks. There was the classic one, the table apparatus with the wheel and straps, used for stretching out one's victims...another that resembled the frame of a steel box, it was little more than steel beams criscrossing each other with rings for shackles to hold one's victims in a variety of positions. A third was seen on the floor between these two. It was a squat affair, another frame-style rack with curved bars. It was fairly obvious that this one was used to bend its inhabitant in one direction or another, then chain them there, leaving them strapped down and spread out at about waist height. Across the room from these was another table, this one a simple strap-down affair...with an ominous-looking machine next to it. The machine itself had several electrodes resting atop it, clearly for taping to someone's sensitive points and administering shocks. A delightfully vicious thing, that. The ceiling was fitted with a ring, used for suspending an individual by their wrists...or ankles...by a pair of manacles fastened around them.

Even the walls held items for disciplinary purposes. One wall held a rack with several whips, paddles, different lengths of rope and chain for restraining purposes, shackles, and a few switch-rods. Another rack on another wall held things like candles, complete with matches, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and even a few needles for piercings. The third wall held yet another rack of such interesting items as clips with various weights, their purposes obvious, gags of just about every type imaginable, scarves and blindfolds. He gave it all a look, eyes sweeping the room before they came to land on Jag once again. "I have yet to try any of these things...but then again, that's why I invited you in the first place. This should be fun, don't you think?" He laughed wickedly.

Jag was instantly greeted with something racing towards her, too quick to see, let alone dodge. As tendrils wrapped around her wrists, she let out a surprised scream, which was likely cut off to the world that she knew as the door was slammed behind her. The tendrils drug her roughly, closing the distance between her and a tall figure in the dimly lit room.

As her eyes adjusted however, her attention was drawn from the figured to the little shop of horrors that she had been lured into. It was a veritable torture chamber, straight out of the tower of London. Her eyes went wide, synapses and reactions firing in her head that she didn’t understand, more so at the sound of this thing’s… man’s… voice.

“Who… who the hell are you? And what is this, some kinda of twisted joke? It’s not funny! Let me go!” she yelled, yanking on the tentacles. The torchlight played over her skin, her chest heaving with adrenaline laden breaths.

She looked around again… not so sure this wasn’t a nightmare. Racks… electrodes… whips… what had she wondered into? A deathtrap?