The Capture of two soldiers - 05

Keith crouched beside Grayson again, rubbing his gloved hands together like a craftsman admiring a blank canvas.

“Alright, let’s see how tight we can make you, soldier boy,” he sneered, voice dripping with malicious glee. “You like recon? Good. You’re about to get real familiar with the ground.”

Grayson instinctively tried to shift — just an inch — but Keith planted a knee between his shoulder blades, slamming him flat into the dirt.

“Oh, don’t start squirming yet,” Keith laughed. “We’re just getting started.”

He pulled a thick coil of coarse, brutal hemp rope from his bag. The rope looked like it could tear through flesh with enough pressure — and that’s exactly how Keith planned to use it.

“Let’s lock down those arms first, tough guy. We don’t want our hero flailing around like a fish, do we?”

Keith grabbed Grayson’s already-bound wrists and yanked them together, forcing the elbows nearly to touch. Grayson let out a strained grunt as Keith began wrapping — tight, fast, efficient. Around the wrists. Over the forearms. Over and under, figure-eight knots that dug in with every pass.

He didn’t stop at the wrists. Rope coiled up his arms, cinching tight around biceps, triceps, and shoulders, pinning his arms flush to his sides. Then Keith crossed rope over Grayson’s chest and back, anchoring everything together like a package ready for shipping.

“There we go. Arms locked. You’re starting to look less like a soldier and more like a sack of potatoes in uniform.”

Grayson groaned, face turning red as he struggled. His arms were absolutely useless now. Not even a twitch of freedom.

Keith wasn’t even halfway done.

He grabbed Grayson’s boots and dragged his legs together with a smirk. “Let’s move down the assembly line, shall we?”

He bound Grayson’s ankles together — loop after loop, each one tighter than the last — until the boots were crushed together, no space between them.

“That’s the foundation,” Keith said. “Now let’s reinforce.”

He moved up to Grayson’s calves, binding them tightly just below the knees. Then he bent Grayson’s legs and began lashing his shins to his thighs, folding the legs like hinges and locking them in place.

Grayson tried to resist, grunting through clenched teeth. The ropes only bit deeper.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” Keith said mockingly. “Not used to being packaged for delivery?”

“Don’t worry. I save the best for last.”

He took a thinner rope and bound Grayson’s feet together, wrapping over the soles, under the heels, around the arches — locking the boots together completely.

“No foot-wiggling. No kicking. We’re shutting you down, piece by piece.”

Finally, Keith grabbed the longest rope yet and bent Grayson’s legs backward, forcing them toward his bound arms. With one harsh yank, he threaded the rope between Grayson’s boots and chest bindings — and hogtied him.

And not a loose hogtie. A tight, punishing, back-arching hogtie that locked his body into a strained curl. Shoulders pulled. Spine curved. Legs bent. Muscles burning.

Grayson let out a muffled grunt of protest, his entire body trembling from the position.

Keith knelt beside him and flicked his cheek with a gloved finger.

“Now that’s a soldier on standby,” he sneered. “I’d say ‘at ease,’ but you don’t look very relaxed.”

Grayson strained again, just trying to shift — but there was nothing. Every joint was locked. Every rope burned. He couldn’t even roll.

Then Keith grinned wider.

“Oh, and now we get to the fun part,” he said, pulling out a greasy, blackened rag from his vest. “Time to shut that mouth for good.”

Grayson turned his head. “Look—wait! You don’t need to gag me, alright? I’m tied down like a goddamn mummy! I won’t scream, I swear, I won’t—”

Keith stuffed the rag into his mouth mid-sentence with sadistic delight.

“NNNGHK—GGFFMM!”

Grayson choked and gagged as the cloth was shoved deep — past his tongue, down toward his throat. The taste of grease, oil, and sweat was instant and revolting.

“Ahh, that’s better,” Keith purred. “Didn’t need to hear your voice anyway.”

Grayson thrashed, face burning. He tried to spit it out, but the stuffing was thick and firm.

Keith grabbed a roll of industrial-grade duct tape — the same shiny gray kind he’d used minutes ago on Bryce.

“You know, this tape worked beautifully on your friend,” Keith said with a smirk. “Sealed him right up. Let’s see if you’re any quieter.”

He pressed the end to Grayson’s cheek and began wrapping. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. The tape wound tightly around his head, compressing the gag, pressing his lips shut, crushing his jaw.

By the time the final strip was slapped down, Grayson’s mouth was gone. Just a muffled, bulging mass under layers of sticky tape.

“MMMPHH—HHHNNFFGGK!” he protested.

“Ohhh, music to my ears,” Keith said, cupping his ear mockingly. “What was that? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of your total fucking helplessness.”

Grayson groaned through his nose, twisting futilely in the ropes.

I’m done. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t even breathe right.

I’ve never been this powerless in my life.

“Aw, don’t look so defeated,” Keith cooed. “You still get to ride first class. Face-down. Gagged. Hogtied. The works.”

He patted the side of Grayson’s gagged face with a few casual slaps.

“You’re not a prisoner, buddy. You’re not even a person right now.”

He stood up slowly and stared down at his tightly packaged captive.

“You’re cargo.”

Grayson tried to scream, to move — but nothing budged.

Just gag talk and breathing.

“Mmmnnfff—GRHHMPH!”

Keith chuckled. “What’s that? Didn’t catch it.”

Keith radioed in:

“Package secured. Hogtied, gagged, completely immobilized. Ready for transport.”

The radio crackled again.

“Copy that, Keith! transport team’s 10 minutes out. You ready?”

The radio had gone silent after the call. Ten minutes to transport.

To Grayson, it already felt like ten hours.

He was hogtied, gagged, and completely immobilized on the forest floor, back arched from the tension in the ropes, face pressed to the dirt, muscles burning with strain. The duct tape over his mouth pulled at his skin every time he breathed.

Keith, however, was having the time of his life.

“Well, we’ve got a few minutes to kill,” he said casually, crouching down beside Grayson and rolling him roughly onto his side. The ropes creaked but held — impossibly tight, impossibly secure.

Grayson grunted through his gag, his chest heaving, eyes full of hatred.

Keith tilted his head, smiling like he was inspecting a prize-winning trophy.

“Damn, look at you. All that bulk, that muscle, that training... and it doesn’t mean a damn thing right now, does it?”

He slapped Grayson’s chest lightly through the shirt. Then again, a little harder.

“You’re built like a tank. But guess what? Tanks don’t move when they’re chained down.”

Grayson tried to flex — a futile reflex — as Keith ran a gloved hand over his shoulder and down the length of his bicep.

“Solid,” Keith muttered. “You hit the gym hard, huh? I bet you pride yourself on this frame. But right now?”

He leaned close, voice low and mocking.

“You’re just a tied-up meat sack. Doesn’t matter how strong you are. You're just cargo.”

Grayson pulled hard on the ropes — once, twice — his shoulders jerking against the hogtie. The strain shot fire through his joints, but the ropes didn’t budge. His breath caught in his throat, fury churning in his gut.

I’m supposed to be the one watching their backs, he thought. I’m the sniper. I’m the overwatch. I’m supposed to be the one who stops this from happening.

Keith must have sensed the thought. He leaned even closer.

“You’re a sniper, huh? The guardian angel. The guy on the hill with all the answers. Where’s your overwatch now?”

Grayson screamed into the gag, eyes blazing. All that came out was:

“MMMPHHHH! NNNNGGH!!”

Keith grinned and leaned back, slapping his thigh.

“Oh, man. If only your squad could see you now. Hogtied, gagged, squirming like a rookie caught in his first ambush.”

As Keith continued his verbal takedown, two other guards moved toward Bryce, who was still lashed to the trees, arms and legs stretched wide, his mouth sealed tight in a wrap of duct tape. Sweat clung to his undershirt, and he was breathing hard through his nose.

“Look at this one,” one guard muttered, pressing a hand to Bryce’s flexed shoulder. “Guy’s built like a boulder.”

“Not going anywhere, though,” the second added with a laugh, casually tugging on the rope cinching Bryce’s right arm to the trunk. “Might as well be part of the forest.”

Bryce grunted, muscles straining again, ropes creaking slightly. But it was the same as before — no give, no escape. Just raw, helpless tension.

The guards took turns lightly patting his arms, his chest, making comments like they were checking the specs of a vehicle they’d just disabled.

“Real solid. Bet these guys thought they were untouchable.”

“Yeah, well… not so much now.”

A matte-black military transport rolled up, its engine a low, ominous hum. Dust curled around its tires as it came to a slow, deliberate stop. Two masked men stepped out — fully kitted, cold eyes behind tinted goggles.

They took one look at the hogtied, gagged figure lying arched in the dirt and let out low whistles.

“Holy shit,” one of them muttered. “You really gift-wrapped this one.”

Keith beamed, arms crossed proudly. “Yeah, well... when I tie someone up, I make sure they stay tied.”

One of the newcomers crouched beside Grayson and gave a short, impressed laugh.

“Damn. Look at this guy. Big muscles, whole tactical loadout — and now he’s just a helpless little bundle.”

He flicked a knuckle against the duct tape covering Grayson’s mouth. “You get him this quiet too?”

Keith nodded. “Same rag, same tape as his friend over there. Worked like a charm. You should’ve heard the whining before I shut him up.”

Grayson let out a muffled growl — furious, humiliated — but all it did was earn another round of laughs.

“Still got some fight in him,” one of the guards chuckled. “Cute.”

“Not enough to matter,” Keith said smugly. “Trust me, those ropes aren’t going anywhere. Not with all that muscle just sitting there, wasting away.”

Grayson was burning — not just with rage, but shame. Every word hit harder than the ropes. His body was throbbing with tension, but not one part of him could fight back. The hogtie dug into every joint. His back arched. His limbs folded. His mouth stuffed and sealed tight. And now, the enemy was circling like wolves.

“Let’s load him up,” one of the transport guards said. “Boss wants him in one piece.”

The two men crouched beside him, and without even a word of warning, lifted him off the ground like cargo — one grabbing under his armpits, the other at his bound legs.

Grayson groaned through the gag, the ropes biting deeper as gravity shifted. His body stayed in a rigid curl — hogtied so tightly that even being lifted was excruciating.

“Damn,” one grunted. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

“Yeah, well, all those muscles don’t help when you’re tied up like a duffel bag.”

They carried him sideways, completely helpless, limbs fused together, the dirt of the forest still clinging to his face and uniform. As they reached the open back of the vehicle, Keith followed behind, smirking.

“Make sure he gets the VIP treatment. Front-row seat to regret.”

The men tossed him unceremoniously into the back — not enough to break anything, but enough to knock the wind from his lungs and drive home the message: You’re not a soldier. You’re not in control. You’re nothing.

Grayson grunted, the gag muffling his pain, his chest rising and falling against the unforgiving metal floor. A heavy strap was drawn over his back, pulled tight, locking him down even further — as if the hogtie hadn’t already neutralized every part of him.

Then came the final insult — a black hood, yanked down over his head. Instantly, the world disappeared. No more light. No more shapes. Just heat, darkness, and the sound of his own helpless breathing.

Mmmpphh…

How did it get to this?

He could still hear faint noises outside — bootsteps on leaves, Bryce’s distant, muffled struggling. That sound cut deepest. He couldn’t help Bryce. Couldn’t even speak to him. Just lie there. Trapped. Hooded. Humiliated.

A gloved hand thumped twice on the vehicle’s wall.

“Let’s move.”

The engine rumbled to life.

Grayson’s body jolted as the transport rolled forward, his tightly bound form strapped in place, silenced, and fully under enemy control.

And with every turn of the wheels, the forest — and the last sliver of freedom — disappeared behind him.

Darkness.

Silence.

Helplessness.

And then the vehicle drove off, leaving only the rustle of leaves... and the muffled, angry grunts of Bryce still fighting the ropes he would never escape alone.