The reply is almost instantaneous. ’Asset is progressing. Phase one is complete. Awaiting instructions for phase two.’
I close my eye for a moment, picturing her as she screamed, flailed, and tried to fight.
I type again, each tap a deliberate act of will. ’Maintain current protocol. Keep her in phase one. Intensity is authorised. I want her utterly broken and obedient in everything.’
I drop the phone onto the starched white sheets. The brief surge of adrenaline is fading, leaving behind the crushing weight of my body’s betrayal.
“We need to relocate.” I say quietly. This hospital might be secure, but I am still a sitting duck.
“Where?”
I draw in a shaky breath, hating the feeling of fallibility. “Scotland.” I reply. I can retreat, can disappear to our father’s estate there and know that I have enough security to ensure my safety.
And I can recover there, unseen without alerting anyone, while I continue pulling the strings that control the entire fucking world.
Two Months Later
The air in this room is thick, tasting of something metallic, something coppery on my tongue.
I try to swallow but my throat feels tight, like I’ve swallowed a stone and it’s stuck there.
My chest feels heavy too, pressed down by this, this weight of expectation. The man stands before me, his face a mask of stern lines, his eyes boring into me like drills.
He holds the prod in his hand, the thin metal rod gleaming, ready. Ready for me to fail, ready for me to disobey, as if I’d dare.
I want to crouch lower, make myself smaller, but I know I can’t. Not now, not when he’s watching. He wants me to be big, bold, but onlywhenI obey. OnlywhenI do exactly what he says.
“Alright, dog,” his voice is low, rough like sandpaper. It doesn’t sound like a question. It’s a command. “Show me you understand the importance of following instructions precisely.”
My heart becomes more frantic at those words.Don’t fail,a voice screams inside my head, loud and panicked.Don’t make him angry.I take a shaky breath, trying to fill my lungs, but the air feels stolen. My legs tremble slightly, but I clamp them together, forcing stillness.
Stillness is obedience.
Stillness is safety, or at least, the path to it.
He doesn’t wait for me to speak or to figure out what he wants. He just watches, his expression unreadable. Patience is a luxury I can’t afford here. My mind races, trying to anticipate, trying to guess the next command.Jump.Is it that?Crawl.Or maybe… maybe something else? The uncertainty is almost as frightening as the shock itself.
Better to be wrong and quick than to be wrong and…wrong.
“Jump,” he says, the words cutting through the silence like a blade.
My legs buckle slightly under the sudden demand. Jumping feels unnatural. My body jolts as I throw myself up into the air. My breasts bounce unpleasantly, but the thought of disobeying is a cold shock, far worse than whatever he might deliver.
I press my feet together again, focusing on the pressure.
Do it.
The command echoes in my mind, overriding the fear. I crouch low then I push off, leaving the ground. I land softly on my feet, my body tensing, waiting. Waiting for the thump, but it doesn’t come. He doesn’t clap or make any sound. He just stares. His eyes are like icy stones, searching my face, my posture, waiting for me to fuck this up.
I hold still, keeping my eyes on the ground, my muscles trembling with the effort of staying balanced. Time stretches thin. Then, slowly, surely, a flicker of movement crosses his face. It’s not anger, it’s something else. Approval? Or at least, acknowledgement? I can’t tell. My vision is blurry, my ears ringing faintly. I stay frozen to the spot, suspended between obedience and punishment.
“Good,” his voice is rougher now, the sound grating on my nerves. “Very good. Now, crawl.”
My stomach clenches. Crawl. On the floor. Like an insect. The thought makes my hackles rise. Even through the conditioning, it feels degrading but the memory of the shock, even thepotentialshock, is a stronger force.
I lower myself onto my belly, my knees scraping the unforgiving floor. The rough texture grates against my skin. My nose scrapes too, finding purchase on the cool surface. It’s humiliating, but my eyes stay fixed forward on his boots, on his legs, anywhere but… anywhere buthim. I try to ignorethe way my body feels exposed, the way my muscles scream in protest. I just keep moving forward, forward, dragging myself in a way I hope won’t result in a punishment.
He watches me crawl.
