Total darkness...

This was another step in her plan that might not work.  There could be motion or infrared sensors that determined where she was in the cell, and logic circuits that could have prevented the powder room door from closing.  Even now, sensors could be triggering an alarm.  Again, all she could do was hope for the best.  Of course, she could carry out her intentions with the powder room door open (and it might even be easier, with the help of a little light), but she liked the idea of her handlers arriving in the morning and finding her cell with absolutely nothing amiss... except for the total and complete absence of her no longer incarcerated self, of course.

Amanda stood on the commode, groped until she found the ventilation grill in the ceiling, then located the key face of the lock.  She transferred her improvised picks to her hands, and set to work.

She had no idea of the lock's manufacture and design, but from the feel, as she manipulated the picks... she determined it was a relatively simple cylinder with four pins.  She performed a raking maneuver and trapped two of the pins, immediately.  Dealing with the remaining pair took only a few seconds—then she slowly, carefully, turned the cylinder.  She could feel the bolt pull, then the grill swung down on its hinges.

Amanda reveled in the thrill of triumph.  So far so good.  The opening was square, and only slightly wider than her shoulders.  She groped the area beyond.  The duct seemed to run parallel to the back wall of the alcove, so Amanda had a choice: left or right.  Either direction would require her to execute a demanding, acrobatic maneuver, to wiggle into the confined space.

She arbitrarily chose the left—and after a lift, brace, twist, and lunge—was inside the duct.  It was a tight fit.  Her hips just cleared the smooth metal walls.  She slithered back over the opening, reached down, and pulled up the grill.  She felt the bolt snap shut, and knew herself to be fully committed.  She could have left the hatch open, of course, in case she found no way out of the duct, but an open hatch would instantly reveal where she had gone.  Not that it wouldn't be abundantly obvious.  Her captors' weren't idiots.  In any case, even a few added seconds of confusion could prove valuable—in fact, they could make all the difference.

There was a glimmer of light, just enough for Amanda to confirm her estimate of the size of the duct and to see something of what lay ahead.  The interior was roughly twenty-four inches wide and eighteen in height, and it stretched in a straight line into black infinity.  There was a branch to the right, and it was the source of the dim light.   Amanda wiggled to the junction.  The branch ran a short distance to another grill and a dead end.  White light cast a checkerboard pattern on the roof and the end wall of the duct.

Amanda crawled on, straight ahead.  She could tell from the distance and geometry that the light source was the interior of her own cell.  She continued to crawl, and slowly, her eyes re-adapted to the dark.  There was light reflecting off the steel walls, albeit very little, and it was obvious that no effort had been made to clean the inside of the duct in a very long time, if ever.

Amanda crawled on and on, her body becoming increasingly soiled from the greasy dust.  She could feel the periodic seams joining the lengths of ductwork as she squirmed and lifted and dragged her body, and was pleased they were all smooth and well-rounded.  She may be getting increasingly dirty, but at least she wasn't becoming cut and scratched.

After something like twenty or thirty exhausting yards, Amanda came to a downward slope of about forty-five degrees.  The area beyond was pitch black.  The junction was far enough behind her now that there was insufficient light for even her totally dark-adapted eyes.  She shook her hair from her face, wishing she had something with which to tie it back.  She considered twisting her improvised lock picks into an improvised hair clip, but decided to keep them securely tucked above her ears.  She extended her right hand and groped ahead.  The downward sloping duct continued to the limit of her reach.  Well... in for a penny, she reasoned, and slithered down the slope... and continued slithering... and continued slithering.

Finally, the slope bottomed out, and Amanda noticed a slight ozone taint to the air, and it seemed to be getting increasingly humid.  She could see a dim, red light ahead.  After a few more yards of crawling, she encountered a grill of thick wires in a metal frame.  In a way, this was encouraging.  The grill opening back in her cell had been closely spaced bars, over-engineered and designed to keep a captive confined.  This was a conventional ventilation cover.  She was beyond the confines of La Roque's prison!  ...or, more probably, beyond one layer of the Tower's security measures.

The grill resisted her efforts to force it open for several seconds—then, there was a click—and it pivoted to the side on a set of hinges.  Amanda wiggled forward until her head and shoulders were past the grill.

The space beyond quite a bit larger, and it seemed to be a vertical shaft of smooth concrete.  Far above, perhaps as much as several stories, she could see the blades of a powerful fan, slowly turning.  A dim, reddish light reflected off the blades and down the glistening walls.  It gave enough illumination for her to make out an oval-shaped door at the bottom of the shaft.  The bottom in question was only six or seven feet below, and it raised... janitorial issues.  A glistening carpet of wet dirt and detritus covered the entire floor.

There appeared to be no way up.  Amanda could try and extricate herself from the duct, flip 180-degrees (which would be difficult, with no solid handholds), then try crawling in the opposite direction—or, she could drop down and try the door.  She could see the door had a handle, so it was more than the inside of a bolted hatch, and a door implied that whatever was beyond was a place where humans were meant to be.

Amanda decided she'd had enough of crawling, for a while.  She pulled herself forward, until her hips were near the end of the duct, then bent at the waist, pushed off the wall, executed a graceful half-somersault, and landed on the floor with her feet spread and knees bent, in a shock absorbing pose—or rather she would have landed—if there had actually been a floor!

Amanda plunged, with a churning splash, into a black, oily liquid!  She kicked and struggled to the surface, realizing her mistake.  What she had taken for a solid, albeit wet and filthy floor was actually a layer of scum floating on what was at least several feet of some sort of viscous fluid.

She had managed to keep her mouth closed and hadn't swallowed any of the stuff, whatever it was.  The ozone smell was stronger, but there didn't seem to be any biological component to the aroma, for which she was extremely grateful.  Her hair was a tangled, matted mess.  Treading with her feet, she combed the snarled mass from her face (being careful not to dislodge her improvised picks), then kicked towards the door through the thick, clinging liquid.

There was a shallow threshold around the door, just enough for Amanda to pull herself up, grab the handle, and brace her dripping body against the edge.  The handle refused to turn, but Amanda could feel a key slot.  Thank Houdini!  If it had been a one-sided lock—she'd be as stuck as if she was still in her cell.

It was awkward picking the lock while bracing her body against the threshold, but she managed.  The portal swung inwards, into another black space.  Amanda took a tentative step forward, then another—and the door closed behind her with a slam!  She felt for the inside handle... and there wasn't one!  She could feel the hairline crack that outlined the door, itself, but there was no handle... or any hinges, for that matter.

Very strange, Amanda mused.  Why design such a door?  She had a sinking feeling she had not escaped into one of the Tower's maintenance areas, as she'd hoped, but into... something else.  She straightened the slimy, dripping ropes of her hair, as best she could, holding her picks between her teeth.  She then tucked the wires back into her hair and used her hands to strip as much of the residual fluid from her body as she could.  She imagined she must look like she's taken a dip in a vat of motor oil... dirty, used motor oil, but in the total darkness of this new space, imagination and was all she had at her disposal.

Her eyes might be useless, but she had her other senses.  She considered giving a shout, in the hope the resulting echoes would let her gage the size of the room, but decided discretion was the better course.  She felt along the wall, slowly moving to the right, another arbitrary choice.

The wall was vertical, but with a slight, inward curve.  After several yards of careful groping, Amanda encountered another seam in the concrete and another oval-shaped steel portal.  It was also without a handle, hinges, or any apparent means of causing it to open.  She was sure she hadn't completed a circuit of the room and returned to the original door.  The curve of the wall was too gentle for that.  She continued her slow, careful exploration... and encountered another door... and, eventually, another.

The basic shape of the room was now clear—a circular or nearly circular floor plan, with the walls pierced by at least four doors—and the space was big enough that Amanda still couldn't be sure she'd made a complete circuit.  She continued groping until she encountered a fifth door.  It was the same as all the rest: steel, oval, and featureless, at least on her side.  She settled to the floor in a cross-legged semi-lotus, resting her back against the wall... and sighed.

Okay... a big circular chamber, smooth concrete walls as far as she could reach, total darkness... The air's a little cool for my tastes... could be worse.  There was no way of knowing how much of the night remained, or whether her "escape" had been discovered.  Amanda sighed, yet again, and hauled herself to her feet.  She'd continuing groping the wall for several more feet, until she was convinced she'd passed her original starting point, then she'd start a careful exploration of the room itself—emphasis on careful.  It wouldn't do to blunder into any sharp objects, or to fall into a bottomless pit.

Suddenly, there was a loud, echoing, hissing sound from overhead!  Amanda flattened her back against the wall—and was pelted by a shower of what seemed to be clean, warm water.  The downpour increased in volume... became a heavy rain... and then a veritable monsoon torrent!

Amanda took a couple of steps towards the center of the room, and began using her hands and fingers to wipe the residual dirt, grime, and the slick, greasy whatever that was still clinging to her body.  The water was a colossal help, but she could tell from the oily feel of her skin that it was going to take some serious soap or detergent to get her actually clean.  She combed her fingers through her matted, tangled hair—again, holding her picks in her mouth—and while she succeeded in freeing the worst of the tangles, she could tell it was still a greasy mess.

As quickly as it had started, the shower stopped.  Amanda tucked her picks back in place, and realized she was standing in ankle-deep water... but it was slowly draining away... and she could hear the gurgling sound of a drain, and it seemed to be... That-a-way!

Dripping wet and a little chilled, Amanda carefully moved towards the sound, feeling with her toes as she took slow, careful steps... and she began to see something.  At first she thought it was a trick, one of those false flashes one sometimes "sees" in total darkness... but as she moved forward, it resolved into a dim, slowly flashing green light.  It was a tiny spot, like a single LED.  Shoulder height, it flashed in the darkness.  An indicator light on a control panel?  A button that would open a door?  Amanda couldn't tell what it was.

She came closer... and closer still... and discovered the green light was indeed a single LED, and it seemed to be dangling from a wire, all by itself, in the middle of the room.  Amanda stretched out her right hand.  The light was so dim she still couldn't see anything around her, other than the tiny bulb itself and an inch or two of vertical wire.  She took another step.  All the water seemed to have drained away.  The floor was damp, but there was no standing water.  She could see the tips of her fingers, glowing green in the eerie light—and suddenly a noose of rope tightened around her wrist!

"Dammit!" Amanda shouted.  "Not again!"  There was a whirring noise, the rope snapped taut, and she found herself nearly up on her toes with her right arm fully extended.  "Nooo!"  The green light was gone.  Had she blundered into a trap, or was there someone here, lurking in the dark?  She managed to grab the rope with her left hand, above her captured right wrist, and pulled herself up.  Dangling in midair, she used her lips and tongue to try and release the knot binding her wrist—only there was no knot.  The noose was held tight by some sort of friction clamp, and it had no catch or stud to cause it to release, not one that she could find, anyway.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her lower legs—and something was tightening around her ankles—more rope!  There was someone else in the room!  "Stop it!" Amanda shouted, more in frustration than in the hope her unseen attacker would leave her alone.  She tried kicking and thrashing her legs, but her opponent was strong!  Next, she tried a blind punch to her attacker's upper body, but it landed on what felt like a shoulder pad.  She tried again, and this time landed a solid punch—to the back of her attacker's helmet!  "Ow!"  There was another whirring sound, her captor released her legs, and Amanda found her ankles noosed together and bound to the floor.  She had a couple of inches of slack, but not enough to do more than shuffle her bare feet as she twisted between the ropes.

"Who are you?" Amanda demanded, but her opponent didn't answer.  She surmised it was one of the glamazons.  At least, what she had encountered of her captor's body felt like it was clad in glamazon armor.  Amanda flailed blindly with her left fist, trying to keep her opponent at a distance, but it didn't work.  A second noose captured her left wrist—then her captor pulled her into a tight embrace.  "Arrr!  Let me go!" Amanda demanded.  Rope tightened around her waist, pulling her left hand back and pinning it to the small of her back.  Her attacker stepped back, and the free end of the rope snapped taut, pulling her body to the side.  She was now caught between a triad of ropes, the first pulling her right wrist up towards the ceiling, the second binding her ankles together and to the floor, and the third pulling her waist and left wrist to the side.

"Let me go, dammit!" Amanda shouted, her voice echoing from the concrete walls of her Stygian prison.  "Let me go right now—R'rff!"  A rubber ball was in her mouth, and a strap was tightening at the nape of her neck.  The dry rattle of the mechanism suggested a plastic cable tie, and from the feel of the strap against her skin, it was sheathed in rubber tubing.  Her unseen captor pulled her dripping hair from under the strap and tightened it again, until Amanda's cheeks bulged.  The unseen, gloved fingers plucked her picks from her hair—then were gone.  "M'mm-RRRF!!" Amanda complained, and fought her bonds with all her strength, twisting, writhing, and groping with her fingers.  After several seconds... she surrendered to the inevitable.

It had been quick, a matter of less than a minute, and now she was caught... again.

Several more seconds passed... then there was a scrape of boots on concrete, and new ropes began tightening around Amanda's body.  Her captor used a combination of Western and Japanese techniques, first binding her torso in a tight harness from her shoulders to her upper thighs, then freeing her left wrist and tying it to the harness, behind her back and at the level of her shoulder blades.  Next, the overhead rope slackened, her right wrist was freed, and it was lashed against her left, in a crossed position.

Amanda fought as best she could, but her increasingly more stringent bondage and her captor's skill defeated her efforts.  She confirmed her supposition that she was being bound by one of the glamazons—or, at least, by someone wearing a catsuit with integrated body-armor, elbow and knee pads, knee boots, gloves, and a helmet.  As she was eased to the ground, continuing to buck, twist, and struggle, her opponent's body against her skin confirmed the presence of all the elements of the glamazon uniform.

More rope slithered and tightened around her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides, reinforcing her wrist bonds, and capturing the palms of her hands and her thumbs.  Hitches and loops joined her new bonds to the underlying harness, and as a further refinement, a band tightened around her waist, cleaved her crotch, and was knotted in the front.

Amanda's legs were next.  Her captor straddled her waist and sat, then proceeded to bind her knees tightly together.  The rope anchoring her ankles to the floor was finally untied; but new, multiple bands took its place, and were also used to bind the soles of her feet and her big toes.

Next, additional rope tightened around her legs.  A network of running hitches were applied, from her ankles to her thighs, with the terminal knot tied to the back junction of her crotch rope.

Her catsuited captor stepped away, and Amanda rolled on the hard, wet floor, bucking and twisting, testing her bonds.  It was the depressingly all-to-familiar feel of total helplessness.  No mistakes had been made.  Her fluttering fingers encountered nothing but air or wet concrete.  The ropes tightened and slackened as she struggled, but there was nothing she could exploit.  None of the rope bands or hitches shifted or realigned themselves to present a point of attack.

Amanda stopped struggling and rolled onto her side, her rope-framed breasts heaving, slightly, as she panted through her gag.

Suddenly, there was a quiet click...