Thursday evening. Around midday. Indeterminate location.

A large, relatively empty room. Looks as though it might have been an office space or presentation room at some point, but was later cleared out. Smooth, light brown floor. White walls, white ceiling with rectangular lamps built in. All very standard.

People are present. A couple dozen, maybe more. No rhyme or reason to them, all just normal, everyday, random people. The youngest is a teenager while the oldest might be in their fifties or sixties. The majority of them are standing, talking to each other quietly. Apart from them, however, is one man seated in a metal folding chair. Caucasian, dark brown hair cut short. Brown eyes. Clean shaven, save a little stubble. No majorly notable facial features. Grey collared shirt and blue jeans, pair of white sneakers.

He sits there, silently, with a completely empty expression on his face. Hands are folded with interlocked fingers.

Along the back of the room lie a set of collapsable tables placed against the wall. Resting on them are a vast assortment of random objects and tools. Cloth rags, duct tape, an electric razor, markers, makeup, an assortment of random headwear, necklaces made of plastic beads, bottles of water, and much more.

Moments more of the gathering murmuring to each other, and the door in the corner of the room swings open. In steps a bald Caucasian man wearing a white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black slacks and leather shoes.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says to the gathering as he steps through them, towards the seated man. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late, we’ll get started right away.”

He takes a stand next to the seated man and faces the crowd. “So, uh,” he begins, “some of you already know the deal here but, just as a refresher course, I’m your host, and this...”

He steps behind the seated man and places his hands on his shoulders.

“Is our volunteer. He is a one-hundred percent consenting individual. For the duration of this session, you are all allowed to do whatever you want to him, barring a few guidelines. One, you can’t kill him. Two, you can’t inflict permanent bodily harm to him, like mutilating him or ripping out his teeth. Three, you can take off everything but his underwear. Four, nothing overly sexual. Kissing’s fine. Five, no pictures or recordings of any sort. Six, you’re allowed to use anything you see on the tables, within the rules. If anyone wants to play music, there’s a stereo system over in the corner. Seven, please be courteous to each other and take turns, don’t drag things on for too long. And lastly, you’re allowed to remain completely anonymous if you so choose. Everything that happens in this room stays here.”

The host gives the volunteer a light smack on the right side of his face as he walks past him, with no reaction from him. “I’ll be outside,” he says, “If anyone needs anything, ask the doorman.” With that, he exits the room, and leaves the group to their devices.

They begin communing again, murmuring their thoughts and intentions to each other. After a moment, a young brunette woman steps towards the volunteer and stands before him for a moment. She then kneels down and wraps her arms around his neck, embracing him in a seemingly sincere hug. She kisses his cheek, and ruffles her fingers through his hair a bit. He gives no reaction at all.

The young woman detaches herself from the volunteer and, without warning, slaps him across the cheek. The volunteer recoils from the slap, but doesn’t verbally express any pain at all. He slowly returns to his original position as the young woman returns to the crowd.

The murmuring continues. The volunteer sits quietly.

The next turn is open.