If their pension plan is good, I might consider it.
You know how good I am at resisting temptation, right?
If you are referring to that party back in the Dentention Center, I say guilty as charged!
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Assignment: Zilawe
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
If you are referring to that party back in the Dentention Center, I say guilty as charged!
windar
Teller of Tales
You're not going to hold a little friendly after work fun between colleagues against me, are you?
34.
Zilawe Penal System Rehabilitation and Re-education Camp #4. December 27-29, 2017
Meghan moaned as Mama Juba and I carried her limp body into the barrack and onto a bunk. A full day in the hotbox on one of the most scorching days of the year had taken quite a toll on her. She didn’t appear to be coming around at all like I thought she should. Worried, I climbed into the bunk with her and ... cradling her head in my lap ... attempted to dispense water from a tin cup that Mama had given to me through the poor girl’s cracked lips.
Yvette, who had been caring for Zola, who was laid out on a nearby bunk, came over to check on Meghan.
“How’s that one doing?” She said, a frown of concern on her face.
“Not well at the moment,” I said. “But I'm hoping she’ll come around in time.”
Turning her attention to Mama, Yvette whispered, “There’s something strange going on in the camp.”
“What do you mean?” I interjected, my natural journalist's curiosity on high alert.
“I mean, it appears that security is being tightened. The President and his party are still here. I know, because I saw that their vehicles are still parked in the motor pool. And, two trucks have just arrived ... from which crews are busy unloading a bunch of expensive looking communication equipment. Something big is up. That’s pretty obvious!”
At that moment Meghan began to stir and groan.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
“In your bunk. Here. Drink!” I replied soothingly, as I pressed the rim of the water cup to her lips.
She sipped, swallowed and flashed me a wan smile.
A moment later the doors to the barrack suddenly flew open. Tuma and his thugs barged in and headed straight for us.
"We've come for the two American cunts!" growled the security chief, shoving Mama who had stepped into his path roughly to one side. "They're coming with us!"
"Why?" I snapped. "What more could you possibly demand of us tonight? It's been a hard day and Meghan here, as you can plainly see, is in no shape to go anywhere thanks to spending the day sweltering in the hotbox!"
"Shut up!" he snapped as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and flung me from the bunk. "You two are under arrest!"
"For what?" I cried, picking myself up off the floor and confronting him directly and angrily. "Meghan and I have already been tried and sentenced for our alleged crimes against the state ... you can't arrest and try us again. Isn’t that double jeopardy, or some such thing?”
"This is far bigger, my loudmouthed insolent American friend. We've just discovered that you have been colluding with the President ... engaged in crimes of high treason ... not very wise of you ... and now you will pay the ultimate price. You and the President, and your redheaded friend, are about to swing from the camp gallows ... and no one said anything about a trial!”
I was stunned. All around me the place was totally silent. Dozens of inmates' eyes peered out from the relative safety of their bunks, but no one wished to get involved ... not even Mama or Yvette whom I spied backing stealthily away.
"Seize them both!" ordered Tuma.
His men swept forward. One of them snatched Meghan from her bunk and threw her limp form over his brawny shoulder. Another grabbed my arms, spun me around and pinned them behind my back. Moments later we were escorted out into the cool night air and headed across the parade ground for the admin buildings.
They took us into one of the smaller ones, down a narrow corridor and into a small windowless room, where we were both tossed to the floor. Pulling myself up to a sitting position to look around, I gasped at what I saw. It was President Parambe, but not as I had ever seen him before!
The man was stark naked and strapped upright to a chair, and he was in bad shape. His face was all puffy and bloody. A large alligator-teeth clip with wires attached was firmly clamped to his flaccid penis. With head lolled forward, he appeared to be unconscious.
"There, you see how the high and mighty have fallen?" sneered Tuma. "We already have everything we need from him, which is lucky for you two as we won't be needing to interrogate you. We'll just leave you here for now to keep the old man company. But before I go, for your information ... tomorrow at dawn ... I will be addressing the nation to inform our good citizens of the sinsiter high crimes that their President, with your help, has committed. I will take charge in Parambe's place. On my orders the country will be placed under martial law, and as a special treat the entire population will be given a holiday so they can witness a televised feed of your execution!"
With that, he ordered his goons to secure us for the night. They forced Meghan and me to lie face down on the floor, pinning us down while they tied our wrists behind our backs, bound our ankles together and then trussed us up so we could barely move. Our mouths were sealed with strips of duct tape. Then he and his men abruptly left, turning out the lights and locking the door behind them.
We spent that night in silence. As best I could tell in the darkness, Parambe remained unconscious for the rest of the night and Meghan quickly fell asleep. I laid on the hard floor, fully awake, in a state of high agitation. This was no longer a matter of surviving the daily brutalities and depredations of doing hard labor in this godforsaken place for ten long years. If Tuma was to be believed, our lives were over. We were about to be publicly hanged! But when? He didn't say. Would it be days, weeks? Probably sooner than later, I told myself. I could hardly imagine that Tuma had any intention of taking his time in getting rid of us!
I waited for the dawn, although I could hardly tell what time it was in our windowless closed space. Nor ..., being trussed up on the floor the way I was ... could I reach the light switch that I knew must be somewhere near the door. It occurred to me that the walls must be pretty thin. That would explain the duct tape over our mouths ... but I didn't know what good that revelation did for us. I did know, however, that I was very hungry. And I did hear Parambe stir occasionally, which meant he was still with us despite the terrible beating he must have endured under interrogation. And, I also managed to locate where Meghan was by wiggling around on the floor until I bumped into her.
We must have laid there for a very long time before someone finally came and switched on the light. I blinked in the glare, but knew instinctively that the figure looming over me was Tuma. As my vision cleared, I noticed that he was wearing a uniform not unlike the one that Parambe had worn ... festooned with all the insignia and trappings of the President of Zilawe.
"Wake up and listen!" he barked, poking me sharply in the ribs with the toe of his boot. "I just dropped by to let you know that I addressed the nation at noon today. Everything is in place. Your public execution is set for tomorrow morning. As I speak, they are setting up the necessary visitor seating, video and sound equipment to ensure the proper spectacle that everyone is expecting."
I knew it was so. I could hear shouting, and hammering noises through the thin walls. Preparations were well underway.
"Do you know what it is like to be hanged?" he went on, poking me again in the ribs with the toe of his boot.
Wide-eyed, I shook my head indicating I didn't.
"We use the short-drop method here in Zilawe. That means your neck will not be snapped when you drop. You will swing from the gallows and die a slow, excruciating death, during which you will kick and writhe ... perform a nice little naked dance, if you can imagine it ... while you fight off panic and suffer the shame of losing control of your body. It's an amazing dance ... nothing like your little Christmas Eve striptease ... far more erotic, believe me ... a show that I guarantee no one will ever forget! Sometimes the condemned suffer for as much as twenty minutes before its all over. So enjoy the time you have left girls, and you too old man! This will be your last night!"
With that, he switched out the light and left the room.
The hours passed. I lost all track of time. Eventually the hammering and shouting outside ceased, which suggested it was nighttime again. My hunger had become ravenous by then, having not eaten in more than a day. The air in our enclosed space became foul from three naked people confined together over such a long period of time, but I soon became immune to the odor. Throughout the night ... our last night on earth ... Meghan and I tried to communicate by touch, and I could tell at one point that Parambe was trying to move about as his chair made scraping sounds on the floor.
The whole thing was incredibly distressing, and I eventually just wanted it to be over. I thought I would go crazy from waiting endlessly in the dark. So as it was, I was oddly relieved when ... at last ... the door flew open, the light was turned on, and Tuma entered with his men.
"It's time." he said triumphantly.
I groaned. Meghan whimpered. Parambe was silent.
"Get them out of here and clean them up!" Tuma ordered his men.
We were freed of our bonds and the duct tape ripped from our mouths. They half-carried us from our little paradise down the corridor to a shower room, where we were shoved up against a wall and thoroughly hosed down. When it was over, I was handed a comb and shoved in the direction of a wall of a wall to which a large mirror was affixed.
"You won't get away with this, you know!" I proclaimed to no one in particular as I did my best to comb the snarls our of my sodden hair. "My editor can smell a sensational story a mile away. The truth will come out. He will see to it."
"I very much doubt that," replied Tuma, coming up behind me. "You know that we have video of him happily engaging in that little orgy with you and Ms Shanahan back at the detention center. It's a really very graphic video of him all over you and her ... hardly behavior becoming of a great ‘big city’ newspaper editor, you’d have to agree. We can ruin Jerry Goldman, and he knows it. I imagine he is back in New York covering mass murders with automatic weapons and political shenanigans in Washington DC. I'm sure he has written you off by now.”
That shut me up ... a rare occurrence for me, I might add.
Then they cuffed our wrists behind our backs and led us back down the corridor and out onto the parade ground. The scene reminded me of my whipping back at the detention center. The main area was filled with chairs, arranged in neat rows, most of them already filled with security and government men who were presumably loyal to Tuma and in on the coup. Behind the seating area, as well as on two flanking raised platforms, was an array of communications equipment ... cameras, boom microphones, and other kinds of sound equipment, all manned by technicians and linked to parked vans with satellite discs on their roofs aimed at the sky.
On the edge of the parade ground was the camp's gallows ... a slightly raised platform over which extended a heavy beam. From that beam dangled three nooses. A long wooden bench had been placed directly beneath them.
They marched us over to the gallows. One by one we stepped up onto the platform ... first Meghan, then Parambe, and then me ... totally naked and subdued. There was a ripple of applause and much excited whispering among the assembled. I kept my head down, doing my best to avoid looking at anyone as they circled us around behind the bench and helped each of us to mount it. When I resisted and tried to back down, I was promptly shoved back into place from behind.
Despite the suffocating heat, I shivered, as a noose was slipped over my head, adjusted and tightened just behind my left ear. Glancing to my right, I looked past Parambe's barrel chest at poor Meghan. She leaned forward to return my glance. They had noosed her too. The dark-stained rope stood out sharply against her flaming red hair. Her ample breasts wobbled slightly as she twisted herself around to better see me past Parambe's bulk. She was breathing heavily ... undoubtedly as frightened as I was. I tried giving her a reassuring smile ... although I hardly felt at all assured of anything.
This was it. All was ready. I looked beyond the camp perimeter to the hills in the distance, hoping against hope to see some kind of rescue miraculously materializing, but there was nothing out there.
Then I sensed movement nearby. Tuma had stepped onto the platform, wearing the presidential uniform I had seen him wearing earlier. I watched as the camera crews tracked him as he slowly passed back and forth in front of us as though on inspection. He stopped in front of me to teasingly brush my tumescent nipples with the back of his hand. Then, grabbing me roughly by the chin, he raised my head, forcing me to look him directly in the eye. And when I had done so, he grinned wickedly at me.
I thought I might try spitting in his eye, but thought better of it.
Letting go of my chin and stepping to the center, he took a microphone from a guard to address the audience and the cameras. He spoke for several minutes ... reminding the listeners arrayed before him and the viewers across the nation of the televised address he had made just the day before, reiterating again the charges of high treason leveled at Parambe, the charges of collusion in that treason leveled at Meghan and me, of the need for martial law until the rebel threat to the country could be suppressed, and the need for swift justice in the form of the immediate execution of the country's defrocked President and the two Americans standing behind him.
As Tuma backed away and off to one side, I watched in trepidation as the cameras swung away from him to zoom in and focus, one by one, on each of the condemned.
I felt I ought to say something. But nothing came to mind, so I finally just asked, "Don't we get to wear a hood or something?"
Tuma, looked at me as though I was daft, but after a moment's reflection replied, "Is that your last request, Ms. Moore? That would be a shame, as I am sure the audience would like nothing better than to see every minute of your suffering registered on your face. But I am a civilized man. Guards! Bring Ms. Moore and Ms. Shanahan each a blindfold."
Two strips of black cloth were swiftly produced, wrapped around Meghan's and my heads and tied in back. Nothing was done for Parambe. Better this way, I thought to myself.
No longer able to see, I wiggled around ... shifting my weight from one foot to the other ... wondering how much longer I had before it happened. A bead of sweat trickled down my back. Meghan had begun to sob uncontrollably. Parambe muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. I overheard the media director ordering his camera men to zoom out and pan their cameras over the scene. I took a deep breath and tried to stand perfectly still.
The quiet was suddenly shattered by gunshots, followed by screams, and an explosion. I heard Tuma shout over the general commotion and din, “Hang them! NOW!”
Away went the bench from beneath my feet. I felt the noose tighten around my neck as I was suspended in mid-air. It was terrifying! Frantically I began to kick and flail with my feet in a desperate attempt to find footing. Next to me Parambe was bouncing about like a whale, bumping into me ... and beyond his thrashing body I heard Meghan let out a long throaty gurgle.
Zilawe Penal System Rehabilitation and Re-education Camp #4. December 27-29, 2017
Meghan moaned as Mama Juba and I carried her limp body into the barrack and onto a bunk. A full day in the hotbox on one of the most scorching days of the year had taken quite a toll on her. She didn’t appear to be coming around at all like I thought she should. Worried, I climbed into the bunk with her and ... cradling her head in my lap ... attempted to dispense water from a tin cup that Mama had given to me through the poor girl’s cracked lips.
Yvette, who had been caring for Zola, who was laid out on a nearby bunk, came over to check on Meghan.
“How’s that one doing?” She said, a frown of concern on her face.
“Not well at the moment,” I said. “But I'm hoping she’ll come around in time.”
Turning her attention to Mama, Yvette whispered, “There’s something strange going on in the camp.”
“What do you mean?” I interjected, my natural journalist's curiosity on high alert.
“I mean, it appears that security is being tightened. The President and his party are still here. I know, because I saw that their vehicles are still parked in the motor pool. And, two trucks have just arrived ... from which crews are busy unloading a bunch of expensive looking communication equipment. Something big is up. That’s pretty obvious!”
At that moment Meghan began to stir and groan.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
“In your bunk. Here. Drink!” I replied soothingly, as I pressed the rim of the water cup to her lips.
She sipped, swallowed and flashed me a wan smile.
A moment later the doors to the barrack suddenly flew open. Tuma and his thugs barged in and headed straight for us.
"We've come for the two American cunts!" growled the security chief, shoving Mama who had stepped into his path roughly to one side. "They're coming with us!"
"Why?" I snapped. "What more could you possibly demand of us tonight? It's been a hard day and Meghan here, as you can plainly see, is in no shape to go anywhere thanks to spending the day sweltering in the hotbox!"
"Shut up!" he snapped as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and flung me from the bunk. "You two are under arrest!"
"For what?" I cried, picking myself up off the floor and confronting him directly and angrily. "Meghan and I have already been tried and sentenced for our alleged crimes against the state ... you can't arrest and try us again. Isn’t that double jeopardy, or some such thing?”
"This is far bigger, my loudmouthed insolent American friend. We've just discovered that you have been colluding with the President ... engaged in crimes of high treason ... not very wise of you ... and now you will pay the ultimate price. You and the President, and your redheaded friend, are about to swing from the camp gallows ... and no one said anything about a trial!”
I was stunned. All around me the place was totally silent. Dozens of inmates' eyes peered out from the relative safety of their bunks, but no one wished to get involved ... not even Mama or Yvette whom I spied backing stealthily away.
"Seize them both!" ordered Tuma.
His men swept forward. One of them snatched Meghan from her bunk and threw her limp form over his brawny shoulder. Another grabbed my arms, spun me around and pinned them behind my back. Moments later we were escorted out into the cool night air and headed across the parade ground for the admin buildings.
They took us into one of the smaller ones, down a narrow corridor and into a small windowless room, where we were both tossed to the floor. Pulling myself up to a sitting position to look around, I gasped at what I saw. It was President Parambe, but not as I had ever seen him before!
The man was stark naked and strapped upright to a chair, and he was in bad shape. His face was all puffy and bloody. A large alligator-teeth clip with wires attached was firmly clamped to his flaccid penis. With head lolled forward, he appeared to be unconscious.
"There, you see how the high and mighty have fallen?" sneered Tuma. "We already have everything we need from him, which is lucky for you two as we won't be needing to interrogate you. We'll just leave you here for now to keep the old man company. But before I go, for your information ... tomorrow at dawn ... I will be addressing the nation to inform our good citizens of the sinsiter high crimes that their President, with your help, has committed. I will take charge in Parambe's place. On my orders the country will be placed under martial law, and as a special treat the entire population will be given a holiday so they can witness a televised feed of your execution!"
With that, he ordered his goons to secure us for the night. They forced Meghan and me to lie face down on the floor, pinning us down while they tied our wrists behind our backs, bound our ankles together and then trussed us up so we could barely move. Our mouths were sealed with strips of duct tape. Then he and his men abruptly left, turning out the lights and locking the door behind them.
We spent that night in silence. As best I could tell in the darkness, Parambe remained unconscious for the rest of the night and Meghan quickly fell asleep. I laid on the hard floor, fully awake, in a state of high agitation. This was no longer a matter of surviving the daily brutalities and depredations of doing hard labor in this godforsaken place for ten long years. If Tuma was to be believed, our lives were over. We were about to be publicly hanged! But when? He didn't say. Would it be days, weeks? Probably sooner than later, I told myself. I could hardly imagine that Tuma had any intention of taking his time in getting rid of us!
I waited for the dawn, although I could hardly tell what time it was in our windowless closed space. Nor ..., being trussed up on the floor the way I was ... could I reach the light switch that I knew must be somewhere near the door. It occurred to me that the walls must be pretty thin. That would explain the duct tape over our mouths ... but I didn't know what good that revelation did for us. I did know, however, that I was very hungry. And I did hear Parambe stir occasionally, which meant he was still with us despite the terrible beating he must have endured under interrogation. And, I also managed to locate where Meghan was by wiggling around on the floor until I bumped into her.
We must have laid there for a very long time before someone finally came and switched on the light. I blinked in the glare, but knew instinctively that the figure looming over me was Tuma. As my vision cleared, I noticed that he was wearing a uniform not unlike the one that Parambe had worn ... festooned with all the insignia and trappings of the President of Zilawe.
"Wake up and listen!" he barked, poking me sharply in the ribs with the toe of his boot. "I just dropped by to let you know that I addressed the nation at noon today. Everything is in place. Your public execution is set for tomorrow morning. As I speak, they are setting up the necessary visitor seating, video and sound equipment to ensure the proper spectacle that everyone is expecting."
I knew it was so. I could hear shouting, and hammering noises through the thin walls. Preparations were well underway.
"Do you know what it is like to be hanged?" he went on, poking me again in the ribs with the toe of his boot.
Wide-eyed, I shook my head indicating I didn't.
"We use the short-drop method here in Zilawe. That means your neck will not be snapped when you drop. You will swing from the gallows and die a slow, excruciating death, during which you will kick and writhe ... perform a nice little naked dance, if you can imagine it ... while you fight off panic and suffer the shame of losing control of your body. It's an amazing dance ... nothing like your little Christmas Eve striptease ... far more erotic, believe me ... a show that I guarantee no one will ever forget! Sometimes the condemned suffer for as much as twenty minutes before its all over. So enjoy the time you have left girls, and you too old man! This will be your last night!"
With that, he switched out the light and left the room.
The hours passed. I lost all track of time. Eventually the hammering and shouting outside ceased, which suggested it was nighttime again. My hunger had become ravenous by then, having not eaten in more than a day. The air in our enclosed space became foul from three naked people confined together over such a long period of time, but I soon became immune to the odor. Throughout the night ... our last night on earth ... Meghan and I tried to communicate by touch, and I could tell at one point that Parambe was trying to move about as his chair made scraping sounds on the floor.
The whole thing was incredibly distressing, and I eventually just wanted it to be over. I thought I would go crazy from waiting endlessly in the dark. So as it was, I was oddly relieved when ... at last ... the door flew open, the light was turned on, and Tuma entered with his men.
"It's time." he said triumphantly.
I groaned. Meghan whimpered. Parambe was silent.
"Get them out of here and clean them up!" Tuma ordered his men.
We were freed of our bonds and the duct tape ripped from our mouths. They half-carried us from our little paradise down the corridor to a shower room, where we were shoved up against a wall and thoroughly hosed down. When it was over, I was handed a comb and shoved in the direction of a wall of a wall to which a large mirror was affixed.
"You won't get away with this, you know!" I proclaimed to no one in particular as I did my best to comb the snarls our of my sodden hair. "My editor can smell a sensational story a mile away. The truth will come out. He will see to it."
"I very much doubt that," replied Tuma, coming up behind me. "You know that we have video of him happily engaging in that little orgy with you and Ms Shanahan back at the detention center. It's a really very graphic video of him all over you and her ... hardly behavior becoming of a great ‘big city’ newspaper editor, you’d have to agree. We can ruin Jerry Goldman, and he knows it. I imagine he is back in New York covering mass murders with automatic weapons and political shenanigans in Washington DC. I'm sure he has written you off by now.”
That shut me up ... a rare occurrence for me, I might add.
Then they cuffed our wrists behind our backs and led us back down the corridor and out onto the parade ground. The scene reminded me of my whipping back at the detention center. The main area was filled with chairs, arranged in neat rows, most of them already filled with security and government men who were presumably loyal to Tuma and in on the coup. Behind the seating area, as well as on two flanking raised platforms, was an array of communications equipment ... cameras, boom microphones, and other kinds of sound equipment, all manned by technicians and linked to parked vans with satellite discs on their roofs aimed at the sky.
On the edge of the parade ground was the camp's gallows ... a slightly raised platform over which extended a heavy beam. From that beam dangled three nooses. A long wooden bench had been placed directly beneath them.
They marched us over to the gallows. One by one we stepped up onto the platform ... first Meghan, then Parambe, and then me ... totally naked and subdued. There was a ripple of applause and much excited whispering among the assembled. I kept my head down, doing my best to avoid looking at anyone as they circled us around behind the bench and helped each of us to mount it. When I resisted and tried to back down, I was promptly shoved back into place from behind.
Despite the suffocating heat, I shivered, as a noose was slipped over my head, adjusted and tightened just behind my left ear. Glancing to my right, I looked past Parambe's barrel chest at poor Meghan. She leaned forward to return my glance. They had noosed her too. The dark-stained rope stood out sharply against her flaming red hair. Her ample breasts wobbled slightly as she twisted herself around to better see me past Parambe's bulk. She was breathing heavily ... undoubtedly as frightened as I was. I tried giving her a reassuring smile ... although I hardly felt at all assured of anything.
This was it. All was ready. I looked beyond the camp perimeter to the hills in the distance, hoping against hope to see some kind of rescue miraculously materializing, but there was nothing out there.
Then I sensed movement nearby. Tuma had stepped onto the platform, wearing the presidential uniform I had seen him wearing earlier. I watched as the camera crews tracked him as he slowly passed back and forth in front of us as though on inspection. He stopped in front of me to teasingly brush my tumescent nipples with the back of his hand. Then, grabbing me roughly by the chin, he raised my head, forcing me to look him directly in the eye. And when I had done so, he grinned wickedly at me.
I thought I might try spitting in his eye, but thought better of it.
Letting go of my chin and stepping to the center, he took a microphone from a guard to address the audience and the cameras. He spoke for several minutes ... reminding the listeners arrayed before him and the viewers across the nation of the televised address he had made just the day before, reiterating again the charges of high treason leveled at Parambe, the charges of collusion in that treason leveled at Meghan and me, of the need for martial law until the rebel threat to the country could be suppressed, and the need for swift justice in the form of the immediate execution of the country's defrocked President and the two Americans standing behind him.
As Tuma backed away and off to one side, I watched in trepidation as the cameras swung away from him to zoom in and focus, one by one, on each of the condemned.
I felt I ought to say something. But nothing came to mind, so I finally just asked, "Don't we get to wear a hood or something?"
Tuma, looked at me as though I was daft, but after a moment's reflection replied, "Is that your last request, Ms. Moore? That would be a shame, as I am sure the audience would like nothing better than to see every minute of your suffering registered on your face. But I am a civilized man. Guards! Bring Ms. Moore and Ms. Shanahan each a blindfold."
Two strips of black cloth were swiftly produced, wrapped around Meghan's and my heads and tied in back. Nothing was done for Parambe. Better this way, I thought to myself.
No longer able to see, I wiggled around ... shifting my weight from one foot to the other ... wondering how much longer I had before it happened. A bead of sweat trickled down my back. Meghan had begun to sob uncontrollably. Parambe muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. I overheard the media director ordering his camera men to zoom out and pan their cameras over the scene. I took a deep breath and tried to stand perfectly still.
The quiet was suddenly shattered by gunshots, followed by screams, and an explosion. I heard Tuma shout over the general commotion and din, “Hang them! NOW!”
Away went the bench from beneath my feet. I felt the noose tighten around my neck as I was suspended in mid-air. It was terrifying! Frantically I began to kick and flail with my feet in a desperate attempt to find footing. Next to me Parambe was bouncing about like a whale, bumping into me ... and beyond his thrashing body I heard Meghan let out a long throaty gurgle.
Barb is having trouble with hangmen lately... She probably deserves it...
Sleep well, the rest of you...
Tree
This doesn't look good for our heroines (or Parambe, but we're really not looking at him anymore, or at least I'm not). I'm almost sure Jerry is trying to do something, like infiltrate the security HQ and steal that damning video of the orgy, to save his career.
Rather surprised that Tuma didn't just shoot Parambe and then announce that the rebels did it. That would have made him a hero when he sent his troops to crush them. Perhaps he isn't as secure in his position as he thinks?
LOOK, CAN SOMEONE TELL ME HOW MANY PEOPLE I'M HERE FOR TODAY, OR IF I'M JUST HANGING AROUND FOR NO GOOD REASON? IT'S HOT, AND THE REFRESHMENTS IN THIS PLACE ARE TERRIBLE.
I can't see how you're getting out of this one, Ms. Moore (although you dance well). Looking forward to the ending.
You can dance if you want to,
You can leave Goldman behind,
Because Meghan will dance, but Tuma don't dance,
So he's no friend of mine...
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He damn well better be ... I can only dance on the end of a rope for so long before .... .... ....
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Arresting a jailed condemned in prison!
I call that triple jeopardy!
Direct on TV! Zilawe has discovered that good old 'It's a knock out!'!?
"The Americans are loose, Ladies and Gentlemen! The Zilawe team too! They frantically started running! Very difficult with the restraints and the strangling rope around their neck! Who will run the farthestmost before passing out? America or Zilawe? It seems to be a close tie as yet!"
xso
Tribune
Congratulations to a fantastic series of thrilling episodes! Even a 'coup de etat' included!Nonsense. Your Mustang is in the garage where you left it.
Pic shows a woman who seems to have a positive attitiude towards 'the noose'!
xso
Tribune
A fantastic 'swinging' episode with you, Meghan and the former president on full display under the gallows! How will this end? Will the president be saved, so that he can pardon you posthumously?
Pic showing other women in trouble!
One hopes Barb has a strong neck or this could be a short ending with a long throat...
Hey, I didn't use this angle...
Hey, I didn't use this angle...
windar
Teller of Tales
In the spirit of scientific inquiry and deferring to your expertise, how long can Moore hold on with a short drop, like they use in Zilawe? Do I have time to finish my coffee?
windar
Teller of Tales
I better go see my bookie. This little operation has cost me $50k. That's a lot for one night of fun...According to Tuma ... up to 20 minutes. Las Vegas is placing bets ...
You two really don't see eye-to-eye all that often, do you?
windar
Teller of Tales
But you're hanging with your feet off the ground, which probably equalizes the difference. Convenient, isn't it?He's probably taller than me ...
