The following FICTIOUS account is written by Faibhar and intended solely for the readership of LEGALLY ADULT readers where such material additionally meets with local standards. DO NOT READ further if neither of the above conditions apply to you. 

Do not continue if extreme themes offend.

Please do not use this original work for any purpose other than your appropriate enjoyment. Should you be bothered by themes of torture and mayhem, please do not continue.
Your constructive comments are welcome.
Thank you.



                                                                           Caliente Alto, Tres.

	Dawn unfolded like a dirty blanket over the flat terrain and already there were signs of life around hanger #2. Rustling noises scraped the weathered wooden walls of the shed where the would-be cast and crew spent the night. Two of Lord's gang stirred embers of the dying campfire set alongside one of the towering metal walls.
	Lord rolled over in his deluxe sleeping bag and called to Clem, who already had risen with the others. "May as well check on those two. That cage they got locked up in probably wasn't much to their liking."
	Clem straightened his denims as he heard his leader's voice and turning to him said in his rural attempt at levity, "Boss I reckon that the cage they were locked up in was the least of their worries."
	"Suppose you do have a point there. Get them up anyway, and get the others, too. No point in any of them eating. Just get them up now." Lord felt the hour too early for any of Clem's home-spun humor.
	Weak rays of sun appeared over the horizon. Already the heat of the newborn day was making itself known. The earth, itself, seemed to radiate warmth. From behind the hanger, shouts were heard and then the rustling of the beleaguered members many of whom still wore their costume regalia from the previous day's planned shoot.
	"Here come what remains of the Roman army."
	Small cries were heard from just inside the hanger itself and soon appeared two naked women. They hobbled on bruised ankles and their bodies bore clear signs of abuse from the previous day. The tall one, the one called Candi, lurched forward and stumbled. Her once perfect skin now marked by the many stings and hurts inflicted. She stumbled forward favoring her right side. Dense dark discolorization, her swollen right breast with the fragment of tin foil tape encrusted to her skin and her hanging right arm all offered testimony that she did not enjoy the most pleasant of nights. The midnight purple cropped hair of her shorter friend, Susan, bobbed alongside as both were shoved toward the dying campfire. 
	Lord arose to his feet as he saw the mock soldiers and the battered women approach. His eyes narrowed in the growing light and focused on the one male of their group that was not wearing a costume.
	"Hey, Director! You in the snazzy polo shirt. Come here, we need to talk."
	
Allan Smithey heard the call and shuffled over to where Lord stood tall, before him.
	"What's your name, boy?"
	"Allan Smithey, sir."
	"Good. Well, Allan I know you had your heart set on making a movie out here and just looking at the gear you brought, Lord is here to tell you that today, my young friend, you will not be disappointed!"
	Smithey didn't bother looking up, but merely hung his bare head and said, "Thank you sir."
	Master Briefs had been eavesdropping on the conversation. Having partially recovered from his earlier groin injury, the lawyer marshaled his remaining vitality. Though he too had spent the night in lock-up with the others, he knew that being a master of one's domain also carried with it certain responsibilities. With this in mind, he decided to once more speak up and boldly said, "Don't listen to him Smithey." Looking at Lord directly, he mustered more strength and said, "Look. Obviously, you lead this band of renegades. Surely, we can work something out. I mean, you've had your fun, now let us all go."
	Lord slowly turned his gaze from the cowering Smithey to the brazen attorney. Casually, he looked up at the clearing sky that was steadily getting brighter, then looked back at the Roman-attired attorney hostage negotiator wannabe. Silently, he narrowly stared at the costume dress.
	Master Breifs blinked, faltered, then said, "Okay...Okay. Look: keep the girls, but let the rest of us go. Agreed?" 
	Lord looked down at his boot toe and lightly kicked a dirt clod away, as if seriously considering the attorney's demands. He then stretched his arms up high, arched his back and took a deep swallow before saying, "Friend, what handle do you go by?"
	Bemused, the lawyer hesitated and then said, "Master Briefs. Because I'm a lawyer, you see."
	Lord casually spit down to the hard-packed ground before him. "Oh. That's cute."
	Clem called out from hanger #1 to Lord and the other bunch. "Hey! They's got an airplane in here!"
	Lord looked at the anxious members, turned to the silver-haired one and said, "Are you the owner?"
	"Yes. I mean, yes Sir!"
	"Does it fly?"
	"It got us here, didn't it?"
	"That's not what I asked. Tell you what, Smithey?"
	Smithey looked up on hearing his name called and tried to smile, eager to appease his captor.
	"Get your cameras out here. Set them up in a circle like before. You're going to run the custom-made switcher of yours. And that VTR unit? Does it need protection from the sun?"
	"Yyyyes...Sir!"
	"Then we'll get it some shade. In the meantime, get that plane out of there." Lord walked over and laid a strong grip on the silver-haired plane owner's shoulder and said, "Today's a good day for flying, right?" Lord's smile didn't leave room for any other answer. "That thing have parachutes in it?"
	The plane's owner and pilot nodded indicating with his fingers that it had four.
	"Great! Smithey, we are going to add some sports-'chuting to your little movie. I need three volunteers...You, you and you."
	"Hey, what about me?" Master Briefs said in protest.
	Lord looked at him and his thin lips cruelly twisted and said, "Oh, we need you here with us on the ground, counselor."
	Randy, a member of Airborne in Viet-nam volunteered from Lord's ranks to be jump-master. Lord gave final directions to those he selected to be jumping and said , "Keep your cute little costumes on, but Randy make sure after they get their harnesses on that they have removed their underwear and sandals."
	The selected three, plus Randy joined the pilot. The others watched as the old Lockheed taxied out and took off. Already, the morning sun had burned away any morning clouds. Most could feel the perspiration building. 
Those already in parachute harnesses sweated for reasons other than the morning air. All knew that coming down they would be dreadfully exposed with just the short skirts. Without any boots on there was little chance surviving even the best of landings intact on the hard terrain. Heat and fear combined to produce more cold sweat.
	Once the plane was airborne, Lord looked back at Master Briefs and said, "While Smithey is setting up his cameras out here, I want you to start digging two deep holes, then get that old lumber from where you slept last night." He strode away, leaving the once proud officer of the court to contemplate this latest twist of fate.





                                                                         To Be Continued