Concept art for a story I am currently writing about a vanquished country whose inhabitants are subjected to severe controls of their personal freedoms by an authoritarian control. Excerpt: A disembodied voice, calm and soothing, emanated from hidden speakers, invited me into the driverless truck and bade me to sit. I climbed up the little folding staircase and hopped into the chair. The voice instructed me to place my arms on the boxy armrests and sit back and hold my head up. As I did, clamps popped out of the arms of the chair gripping my arms and another reached out for my waist. The doors at the back slowly closed and a hiss followed, then the small space was flooded with a white fog. A whirring like gears turning started to lower the hanging orb from the ceiling. As I glanced up to see that the orb had opened at the bottom like a large stubby metal hand as it closed the distance. Fear welled in me then as I sat there clamped in place.