"I've watched her for months. Every scene. Every negotiation where she topped from the bottom and convinced everyone it was real surrender." He's talking faster now, words tumbling. "She doesn't know what it feels like when someone won't stop just because she wants them to. When someone finally makes her feel what she's been chasing all along."
He pulls out a syringe. Pre-loaded. Clear liquid that catches the fluorescent light.
Cold dread floods through me. Not the taser. Not the restraints. Something worse.
I try to turn my head. Try to pull away. But my neck refuses.
"This keeps you compliant. Conscious but paralyzed. I need you aware for what comes next. Need you to see what happens when someone finally refuses to play along with her performance."
The needle stabs into my neck. I feel the puncture, the burn spreading from the injection site.
Then it hits.
Not gradual. Not slow. It slams through my system like a freight train.
Heat races from my neck, down my spine, into my limbs. My muscles go liquid. Heavy. Every connection between brain and body severing one synapse at a time.
I try to fight it. Try to lock down, maintain control. But there's nothing to control. My body isn't mine anymore.
Julien's face blurs. Everything slides sideways. I'm aware of movement—being lifted, carried—but it's distant. Happening to someone else.
"Perfect dose." His voice warps, stretches. "You'll feel everything. Hear everything. Just can't do anything about it."
The world narrows. Sensations without context.
A vehicle engine. A vibration through my skull where it's pressed against something hard.
I'm being dragged again. My heels scraping over gravel, then onto concrete.
Julien's voice, still talking. I can't hold onto the words long enough to process them.
"...show her...finally understand...when you're helpless she'll see..."
My thoughts scatter. The drug pulls at consciousness, dragging me under in waves.
Then—a different voice. Unfamiliar. Julien responding.
"...paid in full...don't need you anymore...get out..."
Footsteps. A door closing. Engine starting. Tires on gravel, fading.
Silence. Just Julien's breathing. And mine.
How long? Can't tell. Time slides. The drug pulls harder.
Then—crack.
Gunshot. Close. The sound cuts through the chemical haze.
Julien's voice stops.
Silence.
Footsteps. Multiple. Heavy boots. Movement I recognize even through the fog.
"Clear." Different voice. A military cadence.
Hands are on me. Checking my pulse. Cutting the zip ties.
