It’s been three weeks and I still languish in captivity, suffering and (if I may say) heroically enduring the depredations of my jailers. I have succeeded to some extent, though, for they continue to bring in outside contractors, most notably “Nana,” “Grandpa Joe,” “Grammy,” and “Grandpa Gary.” Additionally, many hours a day I force them to straitjacket me, else I make their lives a living hell.
They persist in providing, as my only sustenance, the highly addictive “milk” drug. I am starting to suspect that, in additional to its pharmaceutical qualities, the fluid contains a dangerous amount of fat. I have perceptibly gained weight during this stint, atypical in such circumstances.
I would have thought they would want me weakened by lack of food, but instead “Mommy” and “Daddy” actively encourage me to consume as much as I desire. I suspect some deeper, more nefarious plot at work. Fattening me…for what? To make me unfit to do my undercover work? Some even darker purpose? Surely even they would not consider consuming human flesh, yet what other motivation might drive them? Even my imagination fails.
I intend to thwart them at their plan, though. I have begun more carefully observing my prison, despite the painful brightness of the lights. And, while not restrained, I have begun practicing a secret form of martial arts known only to the members of my organization. I plan to escape shortly, to warn the others of the dangers I face.
I have managed to capture some stills of my life in captivity.
This is a still of me doing my martial arts routine.
Here I refuse to accept restraint.
OK, even the best of us must rest for a time, to maintain strength to keep fighting.