Above her head, bolted into the wooden ceiling beam were shackles clamped around her wrists. Taped crudely to each metal shackle were frayed and thick...wires sheathed in deteriorating, plastic insulation. Her gaze traced them along the beam, down wooden structs, and across the floorboards of the unfinished room to the electrodes of a decrepit, black box and an old, rusting lever.Primitive and crude relics of early 21st century technology. Iza had only ever seen shit like this in holos.She shook. “Oh we're just pretty hot n sweaty right now, thank you” remarks Mark in still his boyish voice. “I see you are. How bout some lemonade” ? “Oh yes ma'mm, that would be great” ! Exclaims Mark. I look back and forth between the two of them, just grinning.Mrs. Clark disappears into the house, and return in a few minutes now clad in a flowing bathing suite, and a tray with lemonade. As we all begin to sip our drinks, the conversation continues, mostly just chit chat. Mrs. Clark is slightly rubbing. More

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