It takes you a few minutes to realize the hypnotic pattern stopped. The world is dark; a chill surrounds you. It feels like your socks and gloves were removed, and even... you grab at your crotch experimentally. The chastity cage is gone! Your groin is still sore, but your back hurts quite a bit more. The slick, hard "bed" underneath you feels more like a stone slab than anything else.
A sharp POP, and your mask is ripped away! The sudden return of vision sears your eyes as you gasp for air. The thin beam of a flashlight scans across your eyes, but you hardly care.
"There you are, Mr. Veradux. This one is properly whammied, just as you requested. They barely know I'm here." The brown and beige blur in front of you speaks! Whoever it is, their voice has a rough texture like uncooked oatmeal. A callused pair of hands grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position. You leave your legs dangling- you're higher up than you expected! "Chances are they won't even respond to anyone except you."
"Splendid. You are dismissed, Fredrick. I would like to handle my first drone on my own." The blur recedes through a doorway with the sound of floorboards creaking under heavy boots. Veradux leans closer, giving your bleary vision a chance to see him properly. He appears no more sinister than the average millionaire, with the exact fair complexion and calm, heavy-lidded expression you'd expect from a filthy rich man. He even wears an ascot- they still make those?
Your wandering eyes stop when Veradux places a finger under your chin. "Look me in the eye," he says, "Houston Apogee Iowa. Emmanuel Veradux Junior. Your ID is Gray Zero."
He stares back at you. A few seconds pass with only the sound of a ceiling fan spinning. Wait, shit, he's expecting you to have post-hypnotic programming! Hopefully he doesn't read instruction manuals, because you're about to make something up.
"Confirmed. This one is Gray Zero. This one's purpose is to serve you, sir. Emmanuel Veradux Junior." You adopt an unfocused expression and look right through him, exactly how he probably imagines a brainwashed drone would. Hands on your lap, legs unmoving, exactly like you were copying on the long ride over to... wherever you are now. Oh lord, oh lord, how are you ever going to get home now? If you manage to get away from this guy- and you WILL, you know you will- your best case scenario is wandering through miles of wilderness AGAIN-
"'Mr. Veradux' will suffice, Gray One. You don't need to reassure me, I know I own you already. Your first day here will have a long orientation schedule, but before we do anything else I suppose you would want a uniform to wear."
"Yes, Mr. Veradux." You speak slowly, trying your hardest not to slip up. "Any uniform will be acceptable." That isn't even a lie! After weeks of wearing donkey costumes and pretty dresses and the prostitute outfit from Hell, your standards are low enough that anything which stops you from getting frost nipped while laying on a green marble slab is welcome.
Your owner- it feels so wrong, but that's what he is- motions for you to stand up, and you do so. His breath smells like steak and red wine. "Gray One, please allow me to dress you for your orientation. I've had something tailored just for you..."