FCT All-StarsA mysterious force has brought together people from across multiple universes. What is the strange facility they've been brought to? What will happen to them? And more importantly, will there be cake?book, novel, story, fiction, collaboration, sci-fi, many-worlds, hijinks

Arrival: Mickey

                Mickey lay in the bed as the sound of a ceiling fan whirred overhead. He ached all over. His arms were spread apart, tied to the bedposts by stockings the color of candy-canes. His muscular, bronzed body was entirely naked except for a strategically placed Santa hat. He blinked his eyes, trying to remember the clearly sublime events that had led to his imprisonment.

                He must have doubled down on the Holiday cheer, because he couldn’t recall a damn thing. The lack of memories was disappointing, but not unprecedented. Whatever had happened, he had no doubt proven that it wasn’t just the stockings that were hung on Christmas Eve. And at the end of the day, that was what mattered.

                The soreness, however, was troubling.

                “Babe, I’m losing circulation over here. C’mon back and help me get my blood pumping again,” Mickey said, with a smirk on his lips. He lifted his head and noticed that the Beach House bedroom was emptier than he had remembered. “Uh, did you do some redecorating last night?” There was pain of the distinctly non-sensual variety, and his mind felt sluggish.

                Fuck. Drugged.

                Mickey sighed and looked up towards where the Jersey Shore cameras were usually stationed. Nothing. That meant whoever he had played with last night hadn’t signed a release form. Not good.

                “Babe?” He struggled against the stockings. His mind was clearing now, and he could see that this was definitely not the beach house.  He had to get free and figure out what the hell was going on.

                Mickey continued to struggle against his festive bonds. The stockings dug into his wrists, causing him to grimace. “Aw, now that is not a safe and sane knot!” Mikey protested in case a rogue dominatrix was anywhere in earshot. “And I don’t remember my damn safe-word.” Adrenaline coursed through his body. He pulled once more until the stocking binding is right hand tore free. “Yeah, that’s what’s up!” Mickey nodded. A well-trained by a Gym-Tan-Laundry lifestyle could overcome any obstacle.

                He wiggled his wrist and then untied his left hand. Looking around the room, he could now see that he was in a run-down motel room. A real dive that hadn’t gotten must remediation post-Sandy. The air was thick with salt and musk and mildew. On the floor were his blue-jeans. His wallet was gone. He slid his hands against his sides. No cuts, no scars.

                Mickey felt relief. Money could be replaced but a man only had so many kidneys to go around.

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