A door opened overhead. Case hugged his legs closer to his body as the creak of something heavy swinging on metal hinges disturbed the silence. Sweat prickled across his skin as the door closed. Footsteps, heavy and slow – thud-thump thud-thump – like a giant heart excised from a monster and thrown into the basement still beating.

This is it, the voice in his head warned. He's coming to kill you.

Case withdrew further into the corner and shadows under the stairs as the man took the last few steps. The man didn't see him at first; he cocked his head to the side, comically puzzled, before looking over his shoulder. They made eye-contact. Case's insides shriveled with dread while the man simpered.

The man fully turned to face him, resting a sturdy arm on one of the steps as he leaned closer. Case pressed his back against the concrete wall, unable to escape the looming shadow. Defiant, he refused to break eye-contact. If he's going to die, then he's going to go out with some dignity. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, forcing his expression to remain neutral. Not that it mattered. He didn't need a mirror to know his eyes were bright with fear.

For a moment, the man said nothing. He just stared at Case with an odd look of affection or admiration. Eventually, he let out a contented sigh.

"Now, are you going to get up on your own, or am I going to have to come and get you?"

To hell with dignity – he wasn't ready yet. It didn't matter how mentally prepared he thought he was. Just the suggestion of the man touching him had Case scrambling to his feet. He'd sat on the ground for what felt like hours, and now his entire lower half was stiff and numb. He hissed as the ache in his hips and tailbone thrummed up his spine. But he was up – unsteady, albeit – but he was up, standing on pins-and-needles.

The man chuckled through his wolf-grin causing shameful, vulnerable butterflies to flutter in Case's stomach. He lowered his head, unable to look at the man any longer.

Maybe he won't do it, Case thought hopefully. Hope – more like naïve, in denial.

"Ah," the man hushed. He leaned closer, a breath away from Case's face.

Close enough for Case to smell his natural scent – wood smoke masked under heady cologne. The scent invaded his nostrils, filling his head until he was woozy and sick. Case held his breath and flattened himself against the wall, his eyes squeezed closed. Block it out. Block it out.

"Am I a little too close for comfort?" the man whispered.

Case's bottom lip quivered. He sucked it into his mouth – the dry, cracked skin tasted like blood – and bit down.

"Perhaps you'd prefer if I sat over here?" The man pushed away from the stairs and crossed the basement. It only took him four leisurely steps. The man sat on the end of the bed, a smile and gesture as if to say See, I'm not so bad.

Case exhaled, his breathing shaky and loud. Okay . . . what does this guy want? Ransom? Leverage? It wasn't like Case's family was made of money or he was anyone special. But this basement, this set-up, Case was starting to think this was all too elaborate to just end in murder.

Case swallowed back his nerves and braved taking a few steps away from the wall. "Where are my clothes?"

"Oh, you don't remember?" the man replied, the southern pleasantry creeping back into his voice. "Your little willful act of defiance in the car?"

The memory was foggy, even if it was recent. Case vaguely recalled being in the car, his vomit bucket spilling over in his scramble for escape.

"You were filthy. On that note, cleanliness will be a necessity while you're here."

"How-how long am I going to be here?"

There was no change in the man's expression, but there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere. As if the invisible, sinister presence Case had sensed in the car had returned. A ghost or demon, making the air heavy and dark.

"Until I get sick of you." The man stared, unblinking. Big, scary grown-up man voice. "And I'll get sick of you a lot sooner if you pull any more stunts like that. Do you understand?"

Case nodded, anxious bunny-rabbit bobs. When the man raised an eyebrow, he added, "Yes."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"That's what you'll call me," the man said, dark aura receding. "Sir. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Case replied, quickly catching and fixing his mistake, "Yes, Sir."

Sir seemed happy with his response, leaning forward, elbows propped against his knees. For a moment, he simply studied Case, hand covering the lower half of his face. His index finger running across the bottom of his villainous-thin lips.

"So," Sir declared, breaking from his reverie. He clapped his hands against his knees and rose to his feet.

Case had to stop himself from flinching. He was determined to stand his ground, even if Sir's sheer height put him on edge.

"This is the shower," Sir explained, walking over to the cubicle of corrugated iron. He slapped one of the framework beams, a handyman proud of his work. "Water sealed, no curtain, no glass. The shampoo and soap are non-toxic so, please, don't try and ingest anything."

Sir walked towards Case. Instinctively, Case stepped away, making sure to not have his back turned. For a moment, they were circling each other in a dance of predator and prey. But Sir wasn't coming for him – he kept going, aiming for something behind him instead. A three-drawer dresser that Case hadn't registered until it was pointed out to him.

"This is where you'll keep your clothes. New, that I've provided. Dirty laundry goes in the hamper, which I will collect and wash once a week." Sir tapped his shoe against a plastic tub, the sudden sound making Case jump. "These are your preliminary supplies."

Curiosity overriding his trepidation, Case stretched his neck so he could get a better look inside from his distance. Extra bottles of body wash. A few rolls of toilet paper. No food.

"You'll be given more at the end of each month."

Month. The word stuck out, hammering into Case that his time here was indefinite. But he couldn't afford to spend a month trapped in here. School would be starting again by then, and he still had college applications to work on, a job to find and money to save. His parents would worry if he was gone too long . . . he had a life to get back to.

"This room is completely suicide proof."

A small huh slipped from his lips. Sir wanted him alive.

"Believe me, it's been tested." Sir approached Case, gaze locked on his target.

But if he isn't going to kill me – Case thought, his confusion oddly giving strength to reason – then what does he want?

Sir was getting close. Too close.

Oh. An idea occurred to him. Too surreal, too daunting. He blocked it out, not letting it manifest into conscious thought. Case stepped backward.

Sir continued towards him, easing steps as if his feet were dragging through molasses. "Through many instances of trial-and-error."

Case's legs bumped into the bed. He fell back, forced to sit. Trapped.

No. No, that doesn't happen. Not to guys.

"Do you understand?"

Every muscle in Case's body constricted. His fingers tightened into the bare mattress.

That can't happen to me. I'm not even gay.

Sir's knees almost pressed against his, the only thing keeping him from trembling. If he lifted his head, he was eye level with Sir's belt buckle. Silver and gold filigree. Black leather strap.  Metal zip, teeth not fully closed . . . monster mouth, snarling and waiting to bite.

Hot flush. Cold sweat.

Fearing the answer – even if in his gut he already knew – Case asked, "What do you want from me?"

Sir crouched, bringing himself down to eye level; Case locked onto Sir's eyebrows – thick and black, turning sparse and gray at the arch. He smirked. The tip of wet, pink tongue toying with the point of his canine tooth. "Right now, I just want you to behave and do as you're told."

"Why?" he asked, voice cracking. Eyes burning, but he refused to let himself cry. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Is that going to make you feel better – thinking there is a rhyme or reason to all this? And what if this was all just a random tragedy?" Sir asked, a teasing smile underlined with malice. "That you were just in the wrong place, wrong time, and sometimes life is cruel without meaning?"

Sir placed his hand on Case's knee, thumb dancing dangerously between kneecap and thigh.

"That sometimes a storm sweeps in, devastating everything in its path, uncaring if it hits someone good and pure. Yes, I am that storm."

Case's eyes darted between Sir's face and hand. Every muscle in his body tensed. This was it – sick with expectation, he waited for Sir's hand to inch higher, to confirm what he was dreading.

"The unfortunate truth is . . . it didn't have to be you. Of all the people on that forum, you were the only one foolish and reckless enough to think stranger-danger wouldn't apply to you. And I thought well . . . he's young and nice to look at. He'll do."

Sir's thumb stopped moving. His fingers tightened, digging into Case's thigh. A glint in his eyes, like lightning behind a storm cloud.

"Then you showed up, with this cocky-little-shit attitude, and I thought No, not him. He's too much trouble. Your friend though . . . now, for a moment there, he seemed like he'd be the one sitting here."

Evan. Oh, god – it hits him. The trailer, the weird questions. That's what that'd been about. Sir had been tossing up his options: Case or Evan. And why not – on a passing glance, they were just two average teenage dirtbags, interchangeable to a stranger. Evan could have been here instead of him, a prisoner about to be violated. And Case could have been . . . dead.

"But you know what changed my mind?"

Did he want to know? Did it matter? Knowing why doesn't change your fate.

"Survival instincts," said Sir, a low hum in his throat. "Fight. Flight. Freeze. They're a funny thing – primal, out of our control. And yours, unfortunately, Case, yours are the reason this is happening to you."

Case blinked. My Fault? He stared up at Sir, his fear-addled brain still buffering the implication. Was this his fault? It's not like he hadn't known buying drugs was dangerous; he'd just thought the risk was a first-time offense, a fine and a slap on the wrist. All Case had wanted was a few tabs of LSD, a stupid party drug to share with his friends. He thought of all the other people his age buying drugs and drinking underage. Why was he the one being punished?

The injustice sank in, penetrating his dumbstruck mind. And with it came anger. Senseless, white-hot anger that made him want to lash out.

Case swung his fist.

Sir caught his wrist, vice grip.

"Fuck you!" Case snarled. He swung again, a left hook.

Sir blocked his punch. Grabbed the crook of his elbow. Forced him onto his back. Pushed in between his legs. Body pinning him down.

Case wrestled against the weight. Squirming side-to-side. His lower-half went dead. He didn't dare buck his hips. "Get the fuck off me!"

Sir leaned in, hot breath against Case's face. "Slap yourself."

Case went still. "Wh . . . what?"

"Slap yourself." Sir released his hold, pulling away. Standing to his full height.

Hesitantly, Case sat up. "Why?"

"Because I told you to," Sir replied evenly. "And, something I hadn't mentioned yet, if you don't do what I say then you will starve."

Food. Not that Case was hungry. At least, not now.

You will be, eventually.

God, when was the last time he ate anyway? The car ride – drive-thru, some fast food joint that sold greasy burgers and soggy fries. Did it matter? He'd thrown up so much all that was left in his stomach now was bile and acid.

"Food is earned, Case," Sir continued, staring expectantly. Waiting.

Case stared back. What do I do? Well, would he rather a quick, bloody death or slowly starving, alone in the dark? He didn't want to die. But his other option . . . Which did he fear more?

Taking the silence as an answer, Sir turned on his heel. Leaving.

You're being stupid, the voice in his head shouted. Pick your fucking battles.

Sir's foot landed on the first step.

"Wait!"

Sir paused. Turned to face him. Triumphant smirk. A go on, I'm waiting raise of the brow.

Case took a bracing breath. It was just a slap. Something to appease this asshole. Nothing bad. No suggestion it would lead to something worse.

He made it quick – closed fingers, once across the cheek. Barely stinging.

Sir clicked his tongue. "Come on, now. That was barely a love tap." He came back over, bringing his ugly smirk. "Do it hard."

Case snickered. Seriously? Sure, Sir was right in front of him, sneering and glaring red. But Case couldn't keep from laughing at the absurdity. Even as he hit himself again, a proper smack, enough for him to feel his cheek turn pink. He chuckled, mirthless. There, is that better now?

Pain exploded across his face. A split second later, he registered Sir raising his hand to strike. Sharp throbbing in his jaw and eardrum. Fuck, it was so bad his vision went white. Not stars – a supernova.

Case fell sideways, clutching his face. Howling.

Hands balled into the front of his shirt. Wrenched him back up. Sir's nose was inches away from his. Round blue eyes now black. Terror choked Case into silence.

"I don't think you quite grasp the severity of your situation," Sir said, low yet conversational. "And that's okay – this must all be a big shock to you. It's a big shock, isn't it?" He nodded empathetically, and Case reflexively mirrored him. "Yes, it is. There's bound to be a period of transition and adjustment."

Sir released his hold of Case's shirt. He raised his hand, two fingers stroking the aching side of Case's face. Case winced at the touch. Already the bruise was forming, his cheekbone and jawline throbbing.

Sir's fingertips continued to run gentle circles over the tender area. "But remember what I told you? A lot of trial-and-error has come before you. The one before you, he was like bamboo. I would bend and bend him, but he didn't break. So I had to cut him down."

Sir stopped caressing him. Held his face within both hands, drawing him close. For a paralyzing moment, Case thought he was about to be kissed.

"Am I going to break you, Case?" Sir whispered. "Or are you bamboo?"

His mind blank from pain and shock, Case replied, not even processing the words as they came out of his mouth: "I'm steel, mother fucker."

If Sir was unhappy with his response, he didn't show it. He remained expressionless, eyes clear and blue like the sky, as he dropped his hands. "Let's see if you still feel that way tomorrow."

On that note – without any further warnings or threats veiled with pleasantry – Sir left.

Case stayed sitting on the bed, listening to the ascending echo of footsteps followed by the open and close of a door overhead. And then silence.

Silence.

Silence that seemed vast in such small confines.

I'm unbreakable, Case told himself, mouthing the words. Mute.

The total absence of sound – the unnaturalness of no background white noise, such as the signs of human life or movement of nature– it kept him on edge. But his voice alone, at its normal level, was too big, too loud.

"Unbreakable," Case ghost-whispered to himself, barely audible. "Not bamboo. I'm steel." He repeated the mantra, over and over, gradually building in volume until he was a brave murmur: "I'm not bamboo. I'm steel. I won't break."