"What do we do?"
"Crank him up!"

Tim woke up with a start, the sweat pouring down his forehead, his tee and shorts clinging to his skin. The words from his nightmare ringing in his ears. He looked over towards his alarm clock, it was 4:30 in the morning.
"Just a bad dream" Tim said to himself, trying to calm himself back to sleep. The last thing he needed before his interview the next day was a bad night's sleep.

Buzz, buzz, buzzz Buzz, buzz, buzzz...

Tim looked bleary eyed over to the alarm. Half asleep he used his hand to try and switch the alarm off. After several tries he realised that the alarm wasn't there.

"Try over here Tim" called out a voice. It was his flatmate Steve. Tim was fond of Steve, but sometimes he was so irritatingly smug. Opening his eyes fully, Tim looked over to where Steve stood, the clock held in his hand, the time reading 10:00. With a start Tim realised that he had overslept, that he had about half an hour until his interview, his face full of horror and panic.

"No worries Tim. All your stuff is ready over on the desk. You grab a quick shower and I'll make you a coffee. And I'll drop you off as well, I need to go over to that part of town anyway. Jess wanted me to pick something up before our date tonight."
"Thanks" Tim just about mumbled. Somehow, he shuffled to the shower, losing his still sweat stained tee in the process. His lats and shoulders defined, visible even in the shadows. Tim grabbed the closest bottle of shower gel, one that looked more like orange goo, and slowly massaged it into his hairy chest and abs, turning it into a nice lather. He repeated the same with some shampoo, when he realised he still had his shorts on. It was going to be one of those days he thought. The steam from the shower had caused them to really cling to his thighs, his cock stirring, enjoying the sensation as the foam slowly glided downwards, really defining the shape of it. Realising he took off the shorts and made sure to give everything a good rub clean. Finishing up, he grabbed the nearest towel and slowly, but surely, dried himself off.

15 mins later Steve pulled up in front of what looked like a warehouse type building.
"Are you sure this is the right place Steve?" Tim asked
"It's where the satnav says it should be. Looks like there is a door over there, on the right."
"That's probably it. Wish me luck."
"You don't need luck."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, 1250% sure"
"Cool"

Tim walked over to the door, nervously trying to smooth the creases out of his suit. He looked back towards the car where Steve was, who gave him a big thumbs up, before reversing the car and going to pick up whatever it was that Jess has asked him to get. Clearing his throat, Tim pushed open the door, revealing a dimly light room. Cautiously Tim walked into the middle of the room, the door slamming shut with an ominous thud behind him. Tim tried not to jump at the sound, but sweat had started to roll down his forehead again, and he began to wonder if it was a good idea to have put on a white shirt in the first place.

Just as his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, a spotlight lit up, bathing Tim in light. Suddenly standing in a circle of white, surrounded by blackness, Tim couldn't make out anything or anyone hiding in the gloomy recesses of the room.

"Welcome Timothy" a voice boomed out of nowhere, but at the same time everywhere. "I see you are here for an interview, though it doesn't say here what you are interviewing for. No worries though, I'm sure we will find something for you here at our business."

Tim tried not to look confused, he could have sworn that he was interviewing for a job as a postmaster.

"How do you feel about custard?" the mysterious interviewer asked Tim.
"Ermm.. It's ok?" There was some confusion in Tim's mind. What did custard have to do with anything. It wasn't something he was especially fond of, though someone had told him to try fishfingers and custard once. It wasn't something he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

Silence.

Feeling that the interviewer wanted something more Tim, scrambled through his mind trying to find another answer. "Pies, custard can go well with pies". There was a murmuring in the room, seemingly of approval. It was clear to Tim that there was more than one person present.

"Nice answer. Oh by the way Timothy, don't look up." Almost instinctively that's what Tim did. Looked up, straight into a gallon of custard descending onto his head. Frozen to the spot, the custard covered his suit, and a burst of laughter came from the corner of the room.

"I told you not to look up Timothy, here have a pie to the face and crotch too."

Tim was in complete shock and fury. His new suit, this interview. He had no idea what was happening.

"Well the good news Timothy is that you have passed the first section. I'm sure there are many questions, and they will all be answered after the next test. But first you probably want a shower and a change of clothes. You just need to go through that door there."

Tim walked to the door, dripping custard on to the shiny floor as he did so. Stunned, shocked, struggling for words he stripped out of his now custard covered suit. Quickly into the shower, he tried to scrub as much of it as he could, using the lemon scented shower gel provided, but he couldn't quite get rid of the smell. What was the pie made of he wondered? Cream? For the second time today he towelled himself down and went to find the promised change of clothes. As he turned the corner he found a box, all wrapped as a present, bow and everything.

Carefully he undid the bow, in case of any more messy surprises, and opened the lid. His heart sank. It was his favourite blue Adidas tracksuit, right down to the slight tear on the right cuff.
"Surely not" he said out loud, but looking around the small changing area he could see no more boxes. It was either his tracksuit or the tiny towel he was holding around his waist.
"Tracksuit it is then." Resigning himself to the worst. "Hmmm no socks or shoes. Maybe they'll be on the other side." There was no way he could put on his original shoes, covered as they were. Thinking of them he turned towards the door where he had left them and his custard covered suit. They were gone.

"Gulp" Tim took a deep breath "let's go face the next part".

Tim entered the next room, a large space, better lit then the previous one. He spotted a seat on what appeared a raised platform. Apart from that one seat he couldn't see anywhere else to sit whilst waiting for the next part. Barefoot, he sat on the seat, feeling a little vulnerable and exposed. The seat was a little higher above the platform then he realised. As he began to relax the flooring beneath the seat began to disappear and some ominous music began to play. As it did so the tension within Tim began to build, and he began to wonder just what he had let himself in for.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the room, he noticed a platform almost opposite. Attached to the platform looked to be a control panel and a big red button. From the shadows opposite emerged a man, a shade over 6ft tall. Dark hair and a fashionable stubble style beard, he exuded confidence. Lean, handsome, and well built, his biceps bulging in his grey t-shirt, stretching the fabric to its max. A smile on his face, Tim thought he wouldn't have looked out of place on the cover of a men's health and fitness magazine.

"Good afternoon Tim, welcome to your destiny. Have you enjoyed the day so far?"
"Wh..What!?! Whats going on? I thought this was an interview? But you're stood there in red shorts and flip flops."
"Well observed young man, and yes this is an interview. Or more a test of your knowledge. Of the two candidates from today.." A second seat, higher than Tim's current one was illuminated for a brief moment. "one will succeed. The other will meet a sticky end."

The mysterious host's smile grew even larger. Instead of reassuring Tim, it had the opposite effect.

"Maestro, reveal the tank"

Slowly the raised platform receded into the wall. Where before there was a large wooden floor, there was now a massive dunk tank full of gunge of lots of different colours.

"Have you seen the show Get Your Own Back?"

Stunned, lost for words, Tim nodded.

"Well we are planning a revival of it, and we need someone to test out various aspects of it. Today you were nominated by your housemate Steve."
"Hi Tim" Steve shouted out cheerily from the gloom
"You bastard Steve. You know this is my favourite tracksuit, and this This gunge" Tim found he couldn't finish his sentence. He began to realise this whole thing was a set up, he felt humiliated.
"Don't worry Tim, we've got plenty of cameras" the host turned round and waved at some "to record every moment. Now on the application form Steve says that you are cheeky, sarcastic, have questionable cooking skills, and you need to pay this months rent. Something he's willing to pay for you this month if you carry on with this game. Actually he'll pay for the whole year."

It was a dilemma. Tim hated been unclean, and this tracksuit was the thing he loved most that he owned. The thought of potentially covering it in that slop was something he couldn't bear. But not paying rent for a year Was it a risk worth taking?

"I'll gulp do it"
"Excellent choice Tim. You know how this works. I'm going to ask you 3 questions. Get them right and you stay where you are. Get them wrong and you get raised up. Get all 3 wrong and it's a long way down. Your opponent got 1 right, 2 wrong."

Tim nodded, the joy on Steve's face clear for all to see.

"Now sadly Tim you have already failed the first question so to speak, you looked up remember. So what do we do to you?"

From speakers hidden in the darkness came a cry of "CRANK HIM UP!". The voice was recognisable somehow, as if it was all of his friends chanting together.

"1 question sort of down, 2 to go. Here we go Tim an easy one for you. In which year was the novel Frankenstein published?"
"Oh. Oh. Oh. I know this one! She had that inspiration with the cyber thing in 1816 so published in 1817."
"Is that your final answer?"
Uncertainty flickered across Tim's face. "Can I phone a friend?"
"Those friends who nominated you for this? No."
"1817 then. Final answer."
"Wrong answer. It was in fact 1st Jan 1818. What do we do?"

The speakers came into life once more "CRANK HIM UP!"

The seat Tim sat on began to move up the ramp behind him once more. He was now level with his silent opponent in the shadows.

"How are you doing up there Tim. It's a bit high isn't it?"
Tim nodded, the colour draining slowly from his face. Heights were not something he was very good with.

"It's very simple from here on in. Get this question right, your opponent loses and they'll go down into the gunk. Get it wrong and you go right to the top. Understand?"
"Yep.."
"Here it is then, your final question. Will you sink or will you be free? How high, in feet, is the Empire State Building?"

Tim was silent. He had no idea, no idea at all. He didn't even know what the building looked like or where it was.
"ermm. 900 and errr 22 feet?"
"I'm sorry to say this Tim"
"No you're not"
"True, that's the wrong answer. Lets CRANK YOU UP to the top."

The mechanical whirring of the ramp began and pulled Tim right to the top. "It's a very long way down isn't it Tim."
"Yep" he replied very quietly.
"The correct answer was 1250 feet. Sometimes it pays to listen."

Steve had a massive smile on his face.

"All I have to do now is press this big red button. And then you'll be heading face first into me slop. Do you have anything to say, remember the cameras are recording." The host winked. "Are you ready?"

Tim started to speak, but even though his mouth was moving there was no sound. Now he looked down the ramp he truly appreciated just how high he was and fast he'd be moving when he hit the gunk. He took a deep calming breath, and was finally able to mutter "you'll pay for this Steve".

"Before we count you down to the final plunge into my gunge, would you like to meet your opponent? The one you could have sent into the gunk below?"
"Errr. Yes?"
"Excellent Maestro the lights on our other contestant."

A white light bathed the other seat, at an angle to Tim's seat. For a moment the glare from the seat was almost blinding, but after a few blinks Tim was able to make out something about his opponent. Something didn't quite look right, the shape was wrong, and they seemed to be copying his actions, but like a mirror image. The penny dropped, he was looking at his reflection.

"That's right, the other contestant was a mirror. You were the only opponent, you were always going in. It was just a question of from which height. Bye!"

And with that the mysterious host pressed the big red button and the seat Tim was in began to move down the ramp, picking up speed as it did so. It felt eerily like a being in a trolley going down a hill, or a sled down a slope but with dramatically less control. Tim dare not move, else fearing he would fall out prematurely. The sense of speed was intense, almost like being on a rollercoaster. Then suddenly the chair tipped forward and Tim was moving freely through the air. The colourful muck was drawing closer and closer, and he was heading head first into it. The fear and dread was real, but he realised there was nothing he could do, so he did all that he could do. Tim scrunched up his face, closed his eyes and made a silent prayer to any deity that was listened. And then he hit the gunk.

Within seconds his entire body was consumed by the colourful mire, and Tim was lost below its surface. For a moment it seemed that he was gone, the surface was perfectly still and calm, as if nothing had just disturbed it. Then a few bubbles began to rise to the surface and suddenly Tim, looking more like a swamp monster than the pristine tracksuited man of just a few seconds ago, broke the surface gasping for air. As he did so more gunge descended from above, a dark inky gloopy mess, landing squarely on top of Tim, adding a dark bluey black tone to the multicoloured mess. The force and unexpectedness of the deluge forced him back under. Upon resurfacing he shook his hair and head like a wet dog, trying to get rid of as much of it as possible. With his mucky hands he wiped his face and then realised that all of his friends were standing round the tank cheering and has massive grins on their faces. Clearly they were enjoying it.

"How is it Tim?" asked the host.
"Ermm cold, slimy a bit weird to be honest."

Another deluge of slime descended from above, just missing Tim, but the splash back caught and hit his freshly deslimed face.

"And its erm found its way everywhere. Its going to take ages to clean erm everything."
The host had a knowing smile. He knew exactly what Tim meant, and how the gunge found its way into every crack and crevice, no matter what you were wearing.
"Well thank you for taking part in our gameshow today. I'm sure everyone would agree that you took the slime like a pro. Lets have a round of applause and a big cheer for Tim."

The noise was deafening, sheepishly Tim put a hand up, acknowledging the crowd and his friends.

"Drinks will be served at the bar next door in a moment, but first lets help our star of the show exit the tank."

The host bent down and gestured Tim toward him. He dropped his mysterious accent, opting for his own natural accent. "Hey mate, before you get out take the tracksuit off. It'll weigh you down and you'll struggle to get out the pool. Trust me on this"
"But" Tim started to protest.
The host realised what Tim was about to say. "Leave the bottoms on if you want but the top definite should come off. Trust me. It'll be worth it."

Tim did, he took the top off and threw it towards Steve, missing him by a few inches. The gunge had matted his chest hair together, his skin different colours, but slowly turning a shade of brown. A set of stairs was placed in the pool and he began to ascend them. As he did his tracksuit began to fall down. Quickly he tried to grab hold of them but it was too late, the gunge weighed them down and they slid to his ankles. As they did so, they revealed a pair of tight pink speedos, clearly full of gunge. Tim lowered his head in shame, and the crowd cheered once more.

"I did warn you" said the host, offering his hand to help Tim out the tank with his last few steps.
"Ha Ha that was brilliant mate! Your face at the top was incredible, I thought you were going to puke or something!" Said Steve, offering a white robe.
"Yeah right, it was really high." Tim replied "Would have loved to have seen you up there mate. Reckon you'd have chickened out."

And together they walked towards the shower, Steve helping guide Tim on the slippy floor. As they walked, chatting away, Tim began to laugh and started to see the funny side of everything that just happened. He was almost tempted to have another go, but only almost. The rest of the crowd began to disperse and made their way to the exits, arguing over who was going to order the first round of drinks.

Once everyone had left the studio the mysterious host removed his grey top, abs rippling in the studio lights, kicked off his flip flops and cannon-balled into the gunk, giving a big whoop in the process. He swam around for a while, ducking his head under occasionally, before climbing out of the tank. Covered in the slimy gunk , the different colours coating his lean chiselled physique, shorts clinging to his body clearly showing the hosts excitement, nothing was left to the imagination. With a shrug of the shoulders and a why not, he carefully took the shorts off too, and dove with a massive grin on his face, head first, naked back into the gunk.