Kriss was limping along the street, accompanied by the regular ringing of the bells. She knew she would soon hate them more than anything else. Not only were they getting her mad and announcing her presence to everybody, but they were also preventing her from listening correctly. Even if she stopped moving, their ringing seemed to be echoing in her ears for some time before her hearing re-accustomed itself to silence.<br/><br/>It was even more frustrating as her sight was almost totally impaired by the bag and the surrounding darkness. She was progressing with almost total absence of indication about her surrounding. Even her sense of smell was saturated by the foul stench reigning inside the bag. The only sensations that made it to her brains were the chill of the air and the roughness of the ground.<br/><br/>Since New-York had fallen into chaos, the sky-scrapers that had been its pride had quickly fallen into a state of complete dereliction. A few years ago, who could have imagined how fast the steel would rust, once it was no longer regularly coated with anti-corrosion treatment? How quickly the concrete would have begun to crackle and crumble under the assault of rain and winter ice? How frail the giant panels of glass actually were? Most building were still erect but their facades were no longer the glorious sight they had been. As a result, the street were strewn with debris of all sizes, mostly crumbles of concrete and macadam and broken glass.<br/><br/>Kriss had grown accustomed to walking on this kind of substrate to the point of no longer bothering, but now that one of her feet was naked it was an entirely different matter. As she limped forward, she had to touch the ground in front of her for a place safe enough to rest her naked toes. Her heel was already wounded badly enough and she did not want the other half of her foot to join its misery. At some points, she had to clear some safe spot with her booted right foot before stepping on it.<br/><br/>And all the time, the yoke was grinding against her neck and shoulders while chaffing her wrists. Its weight was taking its toll too, not that it was particularly heavy to the athletic girl, but because it kept swinging in all directions, forcing Kriss to compensate and straighten it, using muscles that she had not trained to that effect.<br/><br/>Evaluating time and distance was not easy, but she was sure she had not walked for more than one block when she heard foot-steps and then a male voice. She froze and turned towards the sound, trying to peer through the bag, although to no avail.<br/><br/>The man was approaching faster. He proposed to help her. Without the use of her eyes, it was difficult for her to determine whether he was being ironic or whether he was really willing to help.<br/><br/><strong>"Yes, please. That would be very..."</strong>she began to say.<br/><br/>Suddenly she felt the yoke being twisted sidewards, while a hand brutally yanked her head backward, pulling on the bag and her hair at the same time. She let out a coarse, hissing protest and contracted all the muscles in her body as she tried to prevent the weight yoke from throwing her to the ground. In her desperate attempt to recover her balance, she rested her wounded left foot on the ground and gasped from the pain that shot up her leg. Half a second later, a powerful kick in her right knee brought another jolt of pain and unsettled her last support. With a yelp and a curse, she fell on the ground. The yoke fell its left end first and sent a powerful jolt into her neck and skull as it crashed on the macadam, the bell ringing madly. It stayed in that oblique position for about one second as the moaning Kriss was desperately trying to lift it again, and then its weight pulled her down, on her back. It bounced heavily on the floor and settled down.<br/><br/>Kriss was dazzled. The series of yoke jolts had wrenched it around her neck and reverberated into her skull. The fact she was blinded by the bag was making the experience even more unsettling. She was laying on her back, panting heavily, her firm breasts heaving up and down. Quickly, still in the haze of the fall, she curled her legs back and tried to lift the heavy piece of wood and sit up. Her abs were clenched tight under her flat belly, changing it into a pipe of steel. All her muscles joined them in the effort.<br/><br/>Unknown to her, Q-Ball had put his foot on the yoke, between her head and her right hand. Her efforts were hopeless, even comical from the man's point of view. Then he grabbed the piece of timber and, lifting it from the ground, began to carry it off the street, dragging the helpless girl behind him. In her awkward position, arched backwards, facing the unseen sky, she had trouble recovering her footing and had to follow him, half shuffling her feet backward, half dragged by her neck and wrists.<br/><br/><strong>"You bastard!"</strong>she croaked.<strong>Leave me alone, or release me and fight like a man, not like a coward!</strong>