Policy of TrustPart 1Shen was used to rejection. As an insur..
🕑 Added 2025-05-26 09:52:45 +0000 UTC
Policy of TrustPart 1Shen was used to rejection. As an insurance agent in Taipei, he had knocked on countless doors, some slammed shut, others politely declined. Lately, he’d taken to canvassing Airbnb listings around Da’an District, where more foreigners had begun to stay. He figured tourists, especially ones traveling in pairs, might be open to short-term health or travel coverage.He adjusted his tie, dabbed sweat from his brow, and knocked on yet another door. This one opened.A couple greeted hi, two men, relaxed and amused by his pitch. One had a towel slung over his neck, the other sipped from a wine glass.“Come in,” one said, smirking. “Let’s hear this… insurance thing.”Inside, the air was scented with something floral and spicy. Shen sat on the edge of a leather couch, launching into his practiced script. But his words faltered when he noticed... things — coils of rope on the table, a blindfold draped over a chair, silver tape catching the light.“Quite the setup you have here,” he said nervously.The men exchanged a look. Then one leaned in. “Tell you what,” he said, voice smooth, “we’ll sign your policy... if you let us tie you up. Just for fun. You in?”Shen blinked. This wasn’t covered in any training manual. But times were tough. He hadn’t made quota in weeks.“…Okay,” he said, standing straighter, trying to project confidence. “If that’s what it takes.”He straightened his tie, even as they wrapped ropes around his chest, tightening over his white shirt. His breath caught as buttons strained. One of them chuckled, gently tapping his cheek before applying the blindfold. Then came the gag, silver tape, cool and firm.“Mmmph!” Shen protested weakly.“Relax,” one whispered. “We’re just stepping out for dinner. You’ll be fine.”And then... silence. The door clicked shut.Shen squirmed, struggling against the ropes, the sound of his own muffled breaths filling the room. His heart pounded. He didn't know how long they’d be gone, or what would happen next. All he could do was wait, hoping, dreading, and wondering if that signature would really be on the dotted line when they returned.
