This is an expanded version of CELLS. I have called it part 1 as i will post more as it is written. Again it features very dark subject matter. Enjoy!
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PROLOGUE

The body of Andrew Martin had lain undiscovered for 3 days. What made this unusual was that Andrew Martin was one of the biggest film stars of the last 10 years. The combined total box office of his films was 30 billion dollars. He was halfway through a self-imposed year long sabbatical. His housekeeper had come back from her annual two weeks holiday to find him hanging from the stairwell. There had been no signs of a forced entry, or a struggle, and the fact that he had two bottles worth of whisky in his blood stream, led to a verdict of death by misadventure. In other words the wealthy, handsome man with the world at his feet had killed himself.
The papers had made it out to be almost like a plot from one of his films. Nobody had any idea why he would do it. Speculation was rife of course, everything from owing millions to the mob to being secretly gay and afraid to come out of the closet. There was no suicide note or anything, absolutely nothing to suggest why he had done it. The only the clue the police had found was a business card, but it had led nowhere. It was an incredibly simple card, jet-black with one word in bold silver letters 'CELLS'�.




CELLS

It was dark when she woke up. This wasn't unusual as it was always dark here, always dark in her tiny room. It was about the size of a small bathroom. The only furniture was an old, metal sprung bed with a much-stained mattress on it, which took up three quarters of the room. There wasn't even a pillow or sheet, just the mattress. In the corner was a bucket, which she had to use for her ablutions. The only source of light came from under the door, as there were no windows or light fittings. Every now and then a hatch in the door would open, and some thing that passed for food was slid through.
It was the times the door opened that she dreaded the most. They were the times when she had to yield to them. She wasn't sure exactly how many of them there were, but she hated them all. There was one in particular who was rougher than the rest. He was fat, hairy and smelt of old meat. All he ever did was come straight in and violate her, often while she was asleep, so she would wake up to him forcing his way into her, and usually her anus. She always bled afterwards due to the ferocity of it, and spent most of the time whimpering and sobbing, curled up as far into the corner as she could go.
Once in a while they would throw a damp cloth in and tell her to clean herself up for a newcomer. This always made her wonder even more where she was and who these people were. It was what took up most of her time when she was alone. Who were they? Where was she? When would they either kill her or let her go? What had she done to deserve this? She also knew she wasn't alone. She often heard screams coming from somewhere, but she didn't know where.

In the next room he sat cowering in the corner in his own filth. He'd been bad, so they'd taken away his bed and kicked his bucket over. They made him do things he didn't want to do. When he was first brought here they'd made him rape a girl in the next room. He hadn't wanted to do it, but they made it clear that if he didn't they'd kill him. He wished now that he'd let them. He wasn't sure what the girl had looked like, as he'd only seen a brief flash of a very pale and skinny figure before he was pushed in and the door shut behind him.
When he'd finished with her he was dragged out of the room and thrown here, where he was immediately raped by 3 of them. One of them had been a woman, he'd been sure of that due to her scent. She'd probably been the worst as she'd used her fist on him. Several days later (was it days? It might have been hours or even minutes) she'd come back to do it again, but he fought back and kicked her in the face. The next thing he felt was something heavy hit him on the back of the skull. When he'd come round the bed had gone and his bucket was tipped over.

The videotape stopped and started whirring as it rewound. The two controllers sat back and looked at each other. Without a word they turned to a wall of TV monitors and began turning each one off in turn. As each monitor blinked off the grainy night vision pictures of figures sat in small cells faded to black.
'When's the next set of uploads?'� asked the female one, who was dressed in an expensive Gucci business suit.
'I think they're doing a load of them at the weekend,'� replied the male one, who was dressed similarly.
'So in time for the new members then?'�
'Yeah. You know he always like some new material to entice them with. Have you got time for a quick drink?'�
'No, sorry. It's Frankie's birthday tomorrow and I've got to find a clown, like, now. The bastard I'd hired hasn't returned my calls all week. Maybe next shift, eh?'�
'I'll hold you to that. I might pay one of them a visit then. Maybe that new girl in room 36, the drugs should just about be wearing off so she deserves a good welcome.'�
The woman laughed.
'I knew you'd like her. You always go for the ones with big tits. Well have a fun night and I'll see you in a couple of days.'�
'Yeah you too. Night.'�
After she'd left he turned the monitor back on for room 36 and watched the girl for a while. She was lying on the bed naked. He squeezed his crotch for a while then put a videocassette in one of the many machines and pressed record.
'Time to party,'� he said to himself and walked out of the room.

Andrew Martins solicitors had unearthed something interesting as they were trying to sort out his estate, he had a daughter! Not one of them had known this, neither had his agent or manager. Her name was Frankie Bell and she was 16. She'd been born as the result of a brief affair with a make-up artist on one of Andrews first films (a low budget affair that had disappeared once the production company had gone bust before distribution had begun). Her mother had always kept it secret at his request, and he'd always been more than generous in supporting them both.
After several weeks of trying to track her down they'd discovered that Frankie had been missing for 4 months. Her mother had gone into her bedroom one morning to wake her up for school and she wasn't there. None of her things were missing, and there'd been no indication that anything had been wrong either at home or school. It turned out the media had not been involved at Andrews request, and everything had remained quiet. The police investigation had turned up nothing, and Frankie had joined the many other cases on missing children that remain open.

Melissa Hunt woke up in pitch darkness. She had no idea where she was. The last thing she remembered was getting into a taxi after a legendary night out with her friends. It had started at about 3 o'clock with several bottles of Lambrini, before hitting the town. They'd quickly hit the spirits, and by 8 o'clock Jane had already pulled and was in the toilets with her prey. The rest of them had left her to it and gone to a curry house for a meal before hitting the club at 10:30. Susan had brought some coke with her, as she always did, and they had a couple of lines each in the bathroom before hitting the dance floor in style. By 2 o'clock Melissa had said her goodbyes and gone for a taxi. She'd only been waiting 5 minutes when one pulled up and she got in. she mumbled her address, and the next thing she remembered was waking up here. But where was here? There was absolutely no light. She stood up and realised that she was naked. Panic spread through her like a forest fire.
'Hello?'� she screamed.
There was no answer so she screamed again. Still no answer. She blindly felt along the walls and found the door. She banged on the door while screaming 'hello'� to anyone who might hear. There was still no answer. She started feeling her breath coming harder, and realised she was about to have an asthma attack. It quickly got worse as she realised that, being naked, she didn't have her inhaler. She fell backwards onto the bed at the same time as the door burst open. The sudden light blinded her, and before she could open her eyes again the door had shut.
'Oh now, darling, you don't have to start heavy breathing for me. How will I know if you're enjoying it if you're already panting?'�
She felt the mattress go down under his weight as he knelt on the bed. He roughly grabbed her legs and forced them apart. Her arms started flailing about to stop her, she would have screamed but she couldn't. Within a heartbeat she felt him force his way into her, and the pain was unbearable.

Jason Barnes awoke from the usual nightmare. In it he was strapped to a table. He was unable to move or shout due to an incredibly powerful sedative. The room he was in was like a hospital theatre, except it looked like it had never been cleaned. Pools of blood coagulated all over the floor, and the walls were stained brown where old blood had been left to dry. On a trolley by the bed were rusty, dull surgical tools, which were also stained brown. A man would enter the room and look over him, cackling. He'd pick up a bone saw and start sawing through Jasons legs.
It was at this point that he always woke up, screaming and covered in sweat. He knew it was only a nightmare, but also knew how real it could be. Jason was one of the lucky ones. When he'd disappeared he hadn't been put in one of the rooms. They'd made him a worker. His particular job was to strap drugged victims to the table in room 97 of the sub-basement. He then had to administer the sedative that would ensure the victim would feel every single thing that was done to them, but wouldn't be able to move or cry out.
His reward for doing the job was his life. They made it clear that if he ever tried to escape then he would take his turn on the table, but his would be the most drawn out treatment they could give him. He knew this was no idle threat, as his first job had been to strap down his predecessor. That had been 3 months ago, and he was still strapped to a table, and tortured daily. He had no limbs, his tongue had been cut out, and one eye had been removed with toothpicks a bit at a time. His penis had been sliced down the middle with a razor and lemon juice squeezed into it. He hadn't screamed once, but then he hadn't been able to.
Jason knew he was lucky.

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