Harvey Levin could barely feel his hands, both of which had long since gone numb from the tightly wrapped duct tape that secured him to the wooden chair. He could weakly move his fingers, but it seemed like they belonged to someone else (which, in fact, was kind of true). He was new to being kidnapped and was surprised at how much it totally sucked. He had always run through scenarios in his mind where he would be abducted by Maoist rebels or some Islamist splinter group and would eventually outfox his captors and free his fellow hostages. From his place at the head of the elegantly set dining table he viewed his eight hosts and realized that he would pay big money to have the good fortune of being in a Gaza Strip basement or a Peruvian jungle camp.
Britney was the first of the hosts to bite into him, choosing his forearm. Harvey was amazed that he was able to feel that much pain. He had always figured that the brain would mercifully shut down those receptors in the rare event of being mauled by a wild animal. He was wrong. The others set upon him and were careful not to let him lose consciousness throughout their feast. Corey focused on the calves and feet, while Charles and Michael seemed overly focused on Mr. Levin's scalp and face. Conrad and Lindsay turned Harvey Levin's back into some sort of "bite-mark mandala" contest.
Call up a friend you're no longer close to. You'll remember why pretty quickly.
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