Chapter 4: Your Body Will, Anyway

Officer Claire picked up the chain-link handcuffs from the table, the metal glinting softly under the overhead light. She turned to Isla with a calm, instructive expression.

“Go ahead and hold out your wrists,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind.

Isla complied without hesitation, extending her arms forward, wrists close together, palms facing inward. Her breathing was steady, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

The officer stepped in and gently closed one cuff around Isla’s left wrist, then the other around the right. There was a dull clicking sound as each one ratcheted shut, the steel circling snugly. She adjusted them until only a single ratchet tooth was visible between the locking arms and the housing.

“Listen for that snap,” Officer Claire said as the final click locked them into place. “You want them secure but not cutting off circulation.”

She held up a small, barrel-shaped key from a set on the table, turning it between her fingers so it caught the light.

“This is the double-lock feature,” she explained, sliding the key into the side port of each cuff and twisting it until she felt the mechanism engage with a soft tick. “It prevents the cuffs from tightening further once they’re on. Safety first.”

She stepped back to examine Isla’s restrained wrists.

“These fit well,” she said, nodding in approval. “They closed completely with just a single ratchet showing, as I had hoped. That keeps them snug—firm contact, but no pinch points.”

Isla flexed her fingers and shifted her stance slightly, hands now resting in front of her. The short chain between the cuffs clinked softly.

“How do they feel?” the officer asked, her tone neutral—genuinely curious, not just going through a checklist.

Isla shrugged, lifting her hands a little and turning them side to side as if testing their range. “They’re fine,” she said after a pause. “They’re handcuffs. You definitely know they’re there—but they don’t hurt or anything.”

She rotated her wrists inward and outward, testing the movement. “I think I’d still be able to do things—it’d just be slower. Like I’d have to think before I moved.”

Officer Claire gave her an approving nod. “That’s exactly what you should notice. Limited mobility but no discomfort. Controlled, not cruel.”

She next retrieved the small key again, turning it smoothly in each cuff to disengage the double lock. There was a soft mechanical click sound from each one before she gently slipped the chain cuffs off Isla’s wrists. Isla flexed her hands briefly as if testing her freedom while the officer set the cuffs neatly back on the table.

“Alright,” Officer Claire said, turning toward the next item. She pulled out the set from the other lockbox—the heavier, more compact pair with solid hinges between the cuffs instead of a chain.

“These are hinged handcuffs,” she explained, holding them up so we could see the difference. “They allow much less movement than the chain ones. Good for more control—less wiggle room.”

She stepped forward and gestured again. “Wrists,” she told Isla.

Isla offered up her wrists just as she had before, now more accustomed to the routine. Officer Claire positioned the hinged cuffs with care, aligning them so Isla’s hands remained level and close together. She clicked the first cuff shut, then the second. The fit was firm, just like the other pair, and the ratcheting sound was just as dull. But even at a glance, it was clear these were harder to wear than the others.

“Now these,” the officer said as she double-locked the handcuffs, just like the others, “are more rigid. There’s less room to move. See how they keep your wrists almost parallel?”

Isla glanced down. The short, solid, and fixed connection between the cuffs meant her wrists were held directly in line, offering no slack, no pivot. Her fingers twitched slightly as she tested the feel.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, turning her bound hands inward, then outward as far as her arms would allow. “This definitely feels stricter. Like my hands are locked into one position.”

Officer Claire nodded. “You can fold your hands a little in and out, but that’s about it. They’re designed to keep you locked in place.”

Once the cuffs were double-locked, she picked up the lockbox and slid it over them. The casing was angled slightly, so Isla had to tilt her hands forward, bending at the wrists to let the box fit snugly over the hinges.

She glanced down. The cuffs alone were already rigid, holding her wrists close, firm—but she’d still had that sliver of freedom, the ability to flex. Now, with the lockbox in place, even that was gone. Her hands were locked in position, the pressure constant, unyielding. The change was sharp, undeniable.

“Yeah ... this is way more restrictive,” Isla said quietly. “Can’t even move my hands back and forth. The box keeps the hinges from working.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to do,” Officer Claire replied. “You won’t get any movement in these. Like you said, the box holds the hinge rigid. But it doesn’t matter—when you’re in one of these...” she gestured to the box, “it usually means your hands are getting chained to your waist.”

She smiled slightly as she reached for the next item—a coiled waist chain with a hollowed-out rectangular plate at one end.

“Okay,” she said, holding it up, “now I’ll show you how this part works.”

Isla stood calmly, her cuffed hands resting in front of her.

“Hold your hands up,” Officer Claire told her.

She lifted her arms, wrists bound together. With practiced ease, the officer stepped in and looped the chain around Isla’s waist, threading the metal plate through one of the front links. She chose a link that made the chain snug but not tight.