Shack #3 (DS/Nsync)
by Julad

"Are we there yet?" Chris demanded.

The skinny, freaky guy turned around.  "Shut your fucking trap
or I'll gag it again."

Justin squirmed against his bound arms.  "We've been flying for
Without TV."

"Or cute flight attendants," Joey added.

"I agree," Lance said scornfully.  "Getting kidnapped should be
a lot more exciting than this."

"Are we there yet?" Chris demanded.

Eventually the plane landed, and the door opened to reveal... snow. 
Lots of it.  Mountains of it.

"Are we there yet?"

"Not just yet, no," the Mountie said.

"I think," Lance told him, "that you were acting out of your jurisdiction."

"Nope," the skinny, freaky guy said, waving them along with his gun. 
"Chicago PD.  This is an American diplomatic mission."  
They climbed into a snowmobile.

"Are we there yet?"

"Actually, Ray," the Mountie said to the skinny freaky guy, "my reservations
about this exercise have lessened significantly.

"Told ya," Ray said, grinning madly, chewing on a toothpick.

"Are we there yet?"

They had pulled up at a cabin.  Well, not so much a cabin as a
... shack.  A small shack.  They were frogmarched toward it,
Ray behind them shouting "left-right-left-right!" until the
Mountie reached the front door and asked them to please do come in.

"Now," Ray said.  "Food drops on Saturdays, don't eat all of it
at once.  This is your carrier pigeon, Barney.  You only get
one, so make sure you feed him.  You could try to escape, but you'll
die in the snow.  Any questions?"

"Whatever the ransom is," JC said tiredly, "we'll pay it.  There's
a party in LA tomorrow, and I have to be there."

The Mountie rubbed his eyebrow.  "Bathroom over here, you'll find
sufficient clean towels and linen in this cupboard, and do take care to
mop up water from the floor, or the wood will warp."

"Firewood out the back, first aid kit under the sink, all the water
you need outside, just thaw it on the stove when you need it."

Justin stomped his foot.  "Somebody had better fucking explain
what this is about!"

Ray was shoving logs of wood into the stove.  "I love good music,
that's what this is about."

They froze, suddenly aware that they were dealing with a madman. 
"You want us to write you a song?" JC said carefully.  "Sure, we can
do that, can't we?"

They all nodded sincerely.

Ray looked at him and shook his head sadly.  "You're a bright boy,
you'll figure it out."  The Mountie nodded politely, and he and Ray
left, followed soon after by the sound of the snowmobile roaring off.

"Oh my god," Chris shrieked suddenly.  "Can you see a TV? 
I don't see a TV!"

"There's--what? No!"  A frantic search failed to produce a television. 
Or a laptop.  Or any magazines.  Or a cappucino maker. 
Or even a half-tin of frozen instant coffee.  Lance sat on the floor
and wiped his eyes.

"I still don't get it," JC said, turning away from the bare shelves. 
He held up their three albums, and a book called No Exit.

"Oh, I can explain everything," a voice boomed, and they turned around
to see another Mountie standing by the kitchen table.  "When Buck
Frobisher and I were chasing Monty McGrafton down the Aldernall Pass..."

(550 words)

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