Evil in Spirit, Fickle in Habit, The Blemish of all Gods and Men

Amelia wondered if it was intentional to keep her conscious. If they purposefully gave her just enough medication to paralyze her body but not her mind. Everyone treated her like she wasn’t there except for Easterman. Easterman said that he had hoped she could hear him. It was always the biggest bastards that got the luckiest, wasn’t it?

If she counted her time correctly, he came at least once a week to sit at her side and give her some pathetic ramble about how she forced him to hurt his children. Because he never called it what it was: his lab rats, his victims.

Right now, his hand ran across her cheek in a manner that was nearly gentle, as he breathed cigarette smoke into her face. “The newest prime asset proves capable. The way she likes to be worshipped… It should teach the reagents not to succumb to false idols.”

She felt his touch slip down her body, lingering over her breast, feeling her flesh through the fabric, before giving her nipple a hard pinch.

The first time he groped her breast, she felt rage so strong she thought her body might combust. But the first time he spread her legs and humped her like a horny dog? She felt completely numb. Some things you just learn to deal with when your daddy is a pimp.

“She has this power to her, to force others to mutilate their own bodies. I thought of making you an appointment once you are up.” His hands ran across her sides and to her hips, where he took hold of the hem of her hospital gown. “You clearly were immune to my treatment, so maybe you need a firmer hand. Some children are just like that, are they not? Not keen on taking father’s advice until their peers start the bullying.”

He kept threatening her with letting the prime assets have free rein with her. The first time he did so, it made her feel a genuine dread. “It’s a shame that Perry killed your colored boyfriend. I’m sure Coyle would’ve loved to teach you two a thing or two about the dangers of racial integration. Then again, I don’t think he would mind a private lesson with you, if I let him in on your situation.” Back then, she believed that he might actually sit back and watch her get raped by the Klan swine. But not anymore. She had realized by now that Easterman was a coward who loved his own voice too much.

“I was thinking about your radio performance. I must admit it was quite substantial – so persuasive to my children. You could’ve been such a good asset for your country.” He pulled up her gown, revealing her most intimate parts to the cold air. A nurse had trimmed her pubic hair last week, likely on Easterman’s request. “Of course, radio is a dying medium. Nowadays it’s all about the television.”

He ran his fingers between her folds, playing around before he pushed inside. She wondered if it even felt good for him to fuck her with the catheter inside her body. It definitely didn’t give her any pleasure. “If only you were a good girl, we might’ve had you sitting on Otto Kress’ lap while you recorded some propaganda, and who knows, you could’ve been America’s own Eva Perón. Minus the filthy socialism, of course.”

She could feel him spreading his fingers inside of her, stroking them in and out, before they abruptly retreated.

“Eva Perón, really?” A woman’s voice entered the room.

“Avellanos. Why are you here?” Amelia could feel Easterman’s body twitch. She imagined he was red in the face, trembling with humiliation as he wiped his hands onto her bedsheets.

“To see for myself how effectively you spend your allowances.” There were bitterness and disgust in Avellanos’ voice, and as much as she detested the woman, Amelia silently cheered at the idea of Easterman getting into trouble with his superiors.

“What are you implying? I was merely checking on her health-”

The laugh Avellanos let out was filled with mockery. “Shut up, Easterman, I’m not fucking blind. We aren’t wasting any more resources for you to get your cock wet. Dispose of her. Put her back in the sleep rooms or have her killed and burnt. I don’t care, but I want her gone by tomorrow.”

Avellanos’ words were followed by the sound of doors slamming shut, loudly.

“Fuck,” Easterman cursed.

Fuck, Amelia thought, as he pulled the bedsheet back over her body. There was no way she would be rehabilitated as a reagent.

She could hear him pacing around the room, mumbling to himself and at times hitting or kicking the furniture. Throwing tantrum like a little boy. In the end, he pulled the covers off her yet again and spilled himself inside her body before leaving, not bothering to cover her once more.

Amelia was left with nothing to do but think about the worst ways he might have her killed. As far as she knew, the only trial that involved killing women was the Courthouse. She wondered if Easterman would let her go as easily. Would he still fuck her with her limbs and head gone?

…

It took long hours before someone visited her again. It was not the heavy breath and cigarette stench of Easterman but the light steps of a woman. A nurse sent to unplug her from life support?

“Amelia.” The woman sounded like she had been smoking since leaving the womb… or screaming for a very long time. Yet, the way she said her name sounded almost gentle. Her hospital gown was pulled down to her hips, giving her back at least some of her dignity. “The martyr worshipped in this place.”

Just as Amelia thought, the woman had removed the IV from her arm and the oxygen mask from her face. As she leaned over her, Amelia could make out her appearance: she could be in her forties, her face was covered in scars, and her black hair was cut short. She wore a black top that didn’t resemble the uniforms of the medical staff nor the guards. A cross hung from her neck and brushed Amelia’s body as the woman bent down to place a kiss on her lips.

One thing was clear, this was no nurse.

“Very soon, everyone in this facility will be punished. But not you. You are a saint, and by a miracle, you shall survive the carnage.”

This woman was clearly mad, and it didn’t take long for Amelia to connect the pieces. Easterman had told her about the new prime asset; a God-obsessed communist they shipped from the USSR. It was a rather strange combination. Amelia had met communists before, and they weren’t very keen on religion. What they were keen on was selling her Pervitin.

Her hands were moved one by one from her sides to her chest, where the woman had arranged them into a prayer. “He took your tongue, he took your pride, but he cannot take your will.”

Something was placed between her clasped palms, cold and long. A knife?

“I was like you once. I know what you want: revenge.” The word sounded so delightful from the woman’s lips. “You kill the man who hurt you and run away to spread His message.”

The woman stepped back from the bed. “God loves you, Amelia Collier.”

The beautiful little martyr had failed her second escape.

Weakened by the medical coma she crawled through the halls with a stolen blade between her teeth only to find all her pathways and dens sealed away. When her captor found her, she was desperately clawing at the door that lead outside but remained locked ever since she orchestrated the first breach.

“Amelia! How-”

Liliya thought that maybe she was wrong, that this woman was no saint to match her after all. But her initial assumptions had turned right, as Amelia’s blade nearly ran through Easterman’s head, missing his eye by millimeters and leaving a red trail in its wake.

“Drop it!”

Amelia, much like Liliya herself, was a petite girl with arms like sticks that could not protect her from advances of a man, who believed she was his to own. Easterman tore the blade from her broken hand with ease. She couldn’t even hold it properly; they had crippled her just as the SS officer had crippled Liliya so long ago.

“Stop this at once!” He commanded her like she was a dog. He pressed her body to the floor, kneeling on her chest, before he stabbed a needle in her neck, while cursing. “Damn Avellanos, I bet this is your doing.”

He took Amelia’s limb body in his arms with a huff, that spoke of a man who did not work with his hands for a long time. Only then did he turn to see Liliya watching him.

“Miss Bogomolova! My apologies, we don’t usually have our subjects running through the halls, this one, however-” He walked to her side, showing her Amelia in his arms like one would show off a newborn babe. “This one is special little troublemaker. She’s the false messiah to our lambs, you see.”

Liliya stepped closer, close enough to cup the sleeping girl's cheek in her palm. She used to look peaceful in her hospital bed, not anymore, now her face was twisted with fear. She no longer looked like a saint, merely a martyr. Liliya thought of taking her out of her misery.

“I see.” She said. “Beautiful.”

“Beautiful indeed.” Easterman agreed. Liliya looked him in the eyes, they were cold and tired, his eyelids twitching unnaturally, as if they fought his will to remain awake. “A little minx she is, stirring trouble for her betters.”

Easterman reminded her a lot of her SS officer; a crazed man refusing to accept the war was lost, latching on torturing the one enemy he was able to capture, letting his frustrations out on a crippled woman because he was afraid a man would hurt him back.

Liliya thought she was giving the girl her own tongue-regrowing miracle through freeing her, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe Amelia needed to suffer more before reaching martyrdom. Maybe she was meant to be Judith, using man’s lust for her to have him lay down as she chops his head off.

Easterman certainly seemed to lustful, as he held her limb body.

“Will she be the new Lot?” Liliya asked already knowing what the answer would be.

“Oh, no, this one is too special.” Easterman shook his head. Sweat was running down his forehead, clearly, he was struggling with holding her in his arms. “They need to see her changed. We put her in her place in front of them and now, she will have to show them she's accepted it.”

Liliya had spent a month suffering every humiliation known to man, she knew what she was leaving Amelia to, when she turned around and left with no word. If Amelia was to become a saint, she would find her strength in the torture and she would rise, stronger than before. Just as Liliya did.

…

Amelia was no stranger to narcotics, but the cocktail Easterman mixed her would take down a horse. She watched the world from behind a fog of unreality, barely registering her surroundings. She felt less herself than she did in the catatonic ward. Her body was hers again but every step felt like running through water. Every movement of her body cost her energy she didn’t have.

Easterman made her sit by his feet like a dog, as he sat in his chair like a king on a throne and watched the reagents complete their trials.

“Look, Amelia.”

Sometimes he spoke out, commenting on the events of a certain trial. He seemed especially pleased when one reagent hurt another. She didn’t know what was happening on the screens, even if she could focus, all she saw was grey smudges.

“I think he might be my new favorite, a perfect little reagent, doing anything I ask of him, only ever stopping to ask how high never why.”

She was leaning on his thigh, not because of some misplaced affection, but because it was the only way for her to hold her body upwards. She could lie down on the floor, but if she did so, she might fall asleep and she did not dare to lose her consciousness around him, again.

His hand fell from the table to her head, forcing her to look up. 

 “I told you to look. See, how he has her trapped? Unlike the likes of Coyle, he won't waste time playing with her. He will cut her throat and disappear. A perfect candidate for counterintelligence missions.”

She found enough sense in her clouded mind to answer, even though she didn't quite know why she even bothered. “I can't see it. You took my glasses.”

“Oh.” There was hint of amusement in his voice. “Of course, come here.”

To her dread he moved back with his chair and leaned down to wrap his arms around her. Her arms fell heavy – her entire body felt heavy – as she tried to push him off. “Don’t-“

“None of that.” It seemed so easy for him to overpower her. “Be a good girl.”

He pulled her to his lap, as if sitting at his feet wasn’t humiliating enough. He had her sit across his thighs like father would seat a child. It was always parental dynamics with him. He couldn’t just rape her and be over with it, he needed to play his game to get off. 

“Better?” He asked. 

Lacking the energy to fight any more, she looked at the screens, seeing more smudges, now a little better distinguishable from one another. Her sight was always bad and after he burnt her eye it got only worse.

“Not really.” At best he would give up and let her fall down to the floor.

But no best even happened to her, did it? Instead, he ran his hand across her thigh, continuing his sick game. “Hmm.. If you are a very good girl, I will get you new ones. Can you be a good girl for me?”

She didn't answer, merely looked away from him and his screens. He didn't like that, letting her know by pinching where he had previously caressed her skin. She twitched.

“You can still read, can't you? You have myopia, if I recall correctly.” He reached across the table, picking one of the identically looking folders. “I have just something for you to read me aloud.”

She indulged him, skimming over the text.

“Reagent 2427. Name Amelia Collier. Born June 3, 1934. Age 26. Sex: Female. Height: 5'3"."

She assumed it was some kind of a powerplay for him, having her read her own file. Her eyes fell on Damon’s name. It made her feel the hole in her heart again. She turned the paper. She didn’t want to grief in front of Easterman.

Just from a quick glance she saw a pencil written note on top of the page. She didn't have to read him aloud.

Hendrick, she's two weeks pregnant. We can easily terminate it at this stage.

 — Jasper

He takes the paper from her hand, just as her grip on it is failing. There was no way it was from the outside, she was in this place too long. She knew it could not be Easterman’s – she had read his diary, the man was impotent. She expected him to rage and beat his frustrations out on her but he surprised her; He smiled.

He cupped her face in his palms like a lover would… or a father would, comforting a crying child.

“They were right about worshipping you after all, sweet thing, you are a miracle.” He kissed each of her cheeks and her lips. “My beautiful miracle.”

She was stunned. He likely already knew and he wanted her to find out this way.

It was hard to capture the meaning of his words through the fog of her mind. Language suddenly didn’t make sense; all she could say was “What?”.

“They said it's impossible and yet, you have my child.”

She searched for the meaning of his words while he continued kissing her. Then it clicked. Oh. She thought of her time in the catatonic ward. How prideful a man has to be to think he was the only rapist in this place.

She wished it was born colored, as a slap to his face and to make it easier for her to pretend she had something of Damon’s left.

“What of him?” Easterman’s tone changed completely, gone was the affection. It was harsh, angry. She must have spoken Damon’s name aloud. “It's not his, he is long dead! Surely you must remember that!”

There were tears forming in her eyes. Maybe if she pissed him off enough, he would beat the little parasite from her body. “It should’ve been his.”

He scoffed. “And what would you, pray tell, do with a mixed child in Illinois?”

Love it.

 “We wanted to move away.” She didn’t know why she was telling him that or if her words made sense together. She just voiced any thought her mind would gather. “Damon’s brother fought in the war. He told us that in Paris, we wouldn’t have to hide. That there we would be not black and white, but American.”

“Europe is full of socialists.” Easterman said it like it was a curse. “But you would probably like that wouldn’t you. At least you picked Paris and not Moscow. De Gaulle at least has some balls on him.”

“We needed money, but Damon, he kept spending it on alcohol. Whiskey, beer, anything he could get his hands on.” She wiped her tears into her sleeve, her hand felt so heavy. “Then he disappeared.”

“Ah, he volunteered for the therapy, didn’t he?”

She nodded.

“Come here.”  He couldn't just throw her on the floor and kick the parasite out of her. No, he had to take a napkin and wipe her tears, continuing that fatherly charade of his. Not that her daddy ever wiped her tears, he told her to try fighting back harder next time. “Don’t cry. You will be a good mother. The child will be perfect.”

She didn’t tell him how pathetic he was, she didn’t tell him that the child would be mixed either way, because she was, she had no strength for that. Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, like she was no better than a doll for him to play with.

“Rest, you need it.” He petted her hair with one hand, taking a pen in the other, as if he was readying himself to return to his work. “If it’s a boy, I want him named Hendrick. You can choose a girl’s name.”

The first name that came to her mind was Paris, but she didn’t say that, what she said was: “Irene.”

“I see you still have some bite left.” If she was in a mood to laugh, she would, at his defeated tone. “How do you know, dare I ask?”

He had left his diary by his bed for anyone to find and read his whining about how Irene wouldn’t come back no matter how much he begged. She was better off without him. Amelia wanted to tell him so, but when she tried to, she gagged. She felt her throat fill up from the inside. She couldn’t recall eating anything, which checked out as she could feel the burn of stomach acid in her throat.

Even if she had the strength to move, she wouldn’t give a fuck. She threw up on him, specifically the shoulder of his suit jacket.

“Amelia!” He twitched, pushing her away. “Gross!”

She was sure he would let her hit the ground, hoped that maybe she would fall wrong and break her neck. But he surprised her by catching her, despite the puke still coming out her mouth, helping her slowly reach the floor.

He was saying something, but it was hard to make sense of it when she was trying not to gag. She knelt, leaning on her elbows, as more of the acidic substance came out of her throat. Some of it got in her hair, but she didn’t have it in herself to care. Most she could do was lay down on her side to avoid falling into it.

She could not remain on her hands and knees for too long. Not when they’d broken each of her limbs. She fell, barely registering it when he pulled her away from the mess on the floor and wiped her mouth. Then more hands were over her, picking her up as even her eyes gave up.

…

Easterman’s bed was a luxury, with strong wooden frame and firm mattress, nothing like the fragile things they gave to the reagents, that creaked so loud that only thinking about having sex there was heard by the entire sleep room.

Amelia's arm was cuffed to frame, allowing her enough movement to roll around and sit on the bed, but not enough to stand. He didn't rape her since she woke up. She was sure he would last night, when he tied her to the bed, but he let her wait out in panic until he washed and changed. And then he just laid to her side, wrapping his arms around her like she was a lover of his and not a captive awaiting her execution. 

He left her alone in the morning, which wasn’t any less unsettling than being in his proximity. The anticipation of him coming back – or anyone else coming in – was torture itself.

She was considering pissing in his bed just to make him mad, when saw the doorknob move. She could tell right away it wasn't Easterman. She would have heard him come. This person was completely silent.

Her head filled with the worse case scenario; another man coming in to use her body and leave her alive. She thought of the man with mismatched eyes that had laughed in her face as he told her it was him who killed Damon. He might be the only thing worse than Easterman.

The door moved slowly, revealing – to her relieve – a slender woman.

It took her a second to remember, she saw this woman before.

“Amelia.” Her voice made Amelia’s throat ache just hearing it. She knew this voice. It was the same woman who had freed her from the hospital bed.

There was only so much she could do to protect herself if the woman came with the intention to hurt her. Least she could do was sit up on the bed and face her. “Yes, and you are?”

She already knew from the woman’s accent that must have been the Soviet asset Easterman told her of. The one that he thought was so similar to Amelia that she could replace her in the mind of the reagents. Amelia failed to see the similarity. She was clearly older than Amelia and their face looked nothing alike, not to mention the voice.

“Liliya Bogomolova.” Liliya offered her her left hand, catching Amelia unprepared as she could only use her right to accept it.

The handshake was awkward, taking few seconds before they positioned their hands right. Amelia blamed the difficulty on the drugs slowing her down and, on her limbs, that she hadn’t yet fully regained control of, after they were broken and hanged.

“Amelia Collier.” She said, as their touch parted. She didn't know what to expect from the woman and she tried not to show how terrified she was. Choosing to impress her with her very limited knowledge of Russian. “Zdrastvuy.”

“Zdrastvuy.” There was a hint of amusement in the sickly voice, as she repeated the greeting. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“I saw you before.” Amelia looked in Liliya’s eyes, they seemed dark like Amelia’s own, but she couldn’t be sure without her glasses. “In the catatonic ward. You told me that God loved me.”

“He does and He will see you freed.” Liliya bend down, allowing Amelia to see her more clearly. Her face was full of scars and wrinkles. “But you are yet to pass His test.”

“How?” Amelia said hoping that was the right answer, before realizing with a cringe that was Easterman’s teachings speaking through her; Don’t ask why, only how high.

“You will see it all burn.” Liliya reached out to Amelia’s cheek.

Amelia twitched, catching her hand.

“I wish nothing more, but…” It was not entirely true. She wished they had shot her in that tunnel, so she could burn in Hell next to Damon. But she was used to life never going her way. “I did what I could already. I let them out.”

Amelia’s grip was weak, allowing Liliya to slip free and reach for her cheek again, gently caressing her face despite her protests. She felt sick as the woman leaned over her.

“Don’t.” She tried to push her away afraid the woman would want to kiss her or more.

“Don’t be scared.” Liliya’s lips met with the top of her head. It wasn’t as bad as she had expected, but it still felt invasive. “This time, you won’t free just the lambs. You will free us.”

...

He was thinking about her the entire day. It was embarrassing for a man of his age to be this distractible by a pretty face. It reminded him of those early years with Irene, when he would leave her in bed in the morning and return to an empty house, waiting impatiently for an hour before she would come to him. That was when she was still working. Somehow, their relationship was most heated back then, when they barely had time for one another.

He ordered a takeout from the facility canteen for her, reminding himself that despite haunting his thought like a ghost, she was still a living woman, who needed to eat.

"Amelia." He didn't knock as he entered, it was his suit after all. "Good evening- oh."

He found her sleeping, back turned to the door, bound hand awkwardly bent under her head. She could be so sweet when she wasn't the agent of chaos. He nearly didn't want to wake her. But the food was getting cold. He left it on the table, nearing the bed.

"Amelia." He bent down, wanting to wake her with a kiss on her cheek. She smelled so nice, the way young women do when they don’t cover their natural scent with overpriced perfume.

Her body twitched. He barely dodged in time as her hand shot up, where a moment ago his head was.

"Calm down, Amelia." Her sleepy eyes were wide open with fear. Wasn't that just sweet? "It's just me."

She sat on the bed, facing him. Her breath was hard, irregular, as if her body needed time to calm down. When she spoke, there was ugly kind of amusement in her voice. "Just you."

Confident she wouldn't try to attack him again he took a step closer to uncuff her wrist. "I'm sure you understand by now that there are worse things than me here."

He watched her rise on unsteady legs. He offered her his arm, which she stubbornly refused.

"I brought you dinner." He said, nodding towards the table.

She looked at him for a moment, as if his words were difficult to understand. Then moved the opposite way. "Bathroom first."

"Do you need my help?" He watched her walk awkwardly on stiff legs.

"No."

He thought of ordering her to leave the door open to prevent her from having any stupid ideas, but decided to leave her the last bit of her dignity, choosing instead to sit at the table and having his portion of the mediocre dinner. He picked them a pumpkin soup, assuming it would be easiest for her to digest.

She took her time; he was nearly finished when she finally emerged. Her bangs were wet, implying that she at least took time to wash her face. There were only two chairs at the table, leaving her no choice but to sit next to him. She stared at the food, unmoving.

"What is it?" He sighed.

"You eat it first." If she tried to seem dignified, she failed; with her slender form dressed in a nightgown, she looked like a bratty child or an inmate of a madhouse.

He rolled his eyes.

"It's clean." To give her mind a rest, he leaned forward, picking a spoonful of her soup, looking her in the eyes as he ate it. "Satisfied?"

Instead of answering she slowly picked up her spoon. She held it strangely, prompting him to question whether it was the drugs in her system or her muscles did not yet fully recover from her time hanging in the sleep room.

The spoon fell back into the bowl with a loud splashing sound.

"Fuck." She sounded pleasantly defeated.

"Is it your hands?" The idea of her depending on him to eat did not sound entirely unpleasant. "Do you need help?"

"No!" She barked, taking the spoon in her awkward grip again.

He returned to his own food, as he watched her struggle bringing hers to her mouth. She managed to eat a spoonful before it dropped again, this time hitting the ground.

He sighed. "Leave it."

He bent down, picking the spoon from the floor, before throwing it to the sink and picking a clean one. He moved his chair closer to hers before sitting down.

"Give me your hand." He didn't wait for her to comply, reaching for it himself. He placed it on his lap, massaging her palm and fingers. "You had suffered hypoxia to both hands. We took precautions but there is only so long one can be hanged up by their hands."

His touch moved below her wrist, where her forearm was previously broken. "Broken bones didn't help the case either."

"You did this to me." She said, hatred clear in her words.

"You deserved it." He countered, feeling her healing bone under his fingertips. "You should be glad Clyde Perry did not survive. He would've enjoyed making you pay for what you did."

"It's not like this place is short on sadists." She said with a scoff.

"Relax your fingers." He said as he bent them one by one, testing their movement. "He was special, you would know, you met when you killed him."

A second passed.

"The swine that killed Damon." Her voice broke at the name. Easterman imagined how sweet she would sound when she said his name with the same devotion one day.

She was crying again. He wanted to hug her, comfort her, but she pushed him away. "Don't! It was you, all of you!"

"You're not innocent in his death either, love." Maybe he was harsh, but she needed to hear it – tough love and all that. "He was doing good, he would have been reborn by now, had you not run away. He was only targeted because of you."

He caught her hand before she could slap him, it nearly made it though. Her other hand hit his chest, before he could stop it, but there was little force behind it anyway. She was so weak that her effort was nearly adorable. He didn't let go of her hands this time, massaging her palms to calm her down.

She tried to break free of his hold but failed. "I hate you!"

"I know." He said. "Every child does hate their father sometimes."

"You're sick." She said with a lovely tone of defeat in her voice.

"Shh.." He hushed her, letting go of her hands to hand her a napkin. "Here."

He watched her wipe away her tears, paying attention to the way she gripped the napkin a little strangely. She didn’t drop it – it shouldn't take long until she learns to hold a spoon again. In the meantime...

He moved closer, taking a spoonful of the soup for her. "Here."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Tsk. Language." He reprimanded her. "You need to eat. We can start your rehabilitation tomorrow, until then let me help you."

 She looked at him like he was insulting her, but in the end, she did open her mouth and let him feed her. It was sweet, really, the pout on her face and the sneer she did every time she was supposed to swallow. She acted so much like a child. Of course, he would have to fix this in time; there was no way she could behave like this when she raised his children, but there was still plenty of time for her to learn.

When the soup was eaten, he took the dishes away. Again, this was something he would like her to do in the future, but right now, he just left them in a sink for the cleaner to deal with.

"Come to bed." He said. "I will be taking a bath, and you haven't yet earned enough of my trust to be left here alone. I won't be caught searching for you outside in my sleep clothes."

She was still pouting but did as she was instructed, sitting down the bed and allowing him to cuff her hand to the frame.

"That's a good girl." He praised, when he was done.

"Will you rape me tonight?" She blurred out.

"No." He answered maybe too quickly, the question honestly insulted him. "I'm not that kind of a man."

She laughed and it wasn't sweet at all.

"If you didn't, I wouldn't be fucking pre- p-" She stuttered, breaking into sobs.

"Now, now, I didn't hurt you, did I?" He petted her hair to calm her, but she pushed him away. 

"You did!"

He didn't know if he believed her but even if; "Then you deserved it."

He left her sobbing on the bed, while he took his bath. As he brushed his teeth, he considered bringing her in and helping her do the same, but decided to spare her the humiliation for tonight. He was conscious of the weak spot he had developed for her. He must watch it or else she would exploit it.

...

That night he woke up to her slipping from his arms. He let her, giving her the benefit of a doubt – or more precisely, waiting until there was no way for her to lie herself out of her misbehavior.

She had stood quietly in front of the bed for a moment, likely observing him and then just as he thought, she made her way to the door leading outside.

When she found them closed, she moved slowly across the room to his dresser. He watched her, bidding his time. He wanted her to learn this lesson well.

She found his keys in the pocket of his suit jacket. She was clumsy, they rang and she stilled, looking his way. He nearly felt bad for giving her false hope.

There was something adorable about her in her nightgown, tiptoeing across his room. He wouldn't deny that there was a hint of sadistic pleasure in him waiting for her to try the first set of keys in the lock before speaking.

"Amelia."

How beautifully she startled; her entire body freezing before trying frantically to fit the keys into the lock. It didn't work of course. They fell out of her fragile hands, hitting the floor with a loud ring.

He rose up, in no hurry to catch his wanna-be-escapist. He walked calmly to her as she bent for the keys and-

She tried to hit him with them. If nothing else, she was certainly an opportunist. He blocked her swing, catching her arm and bending it behind her back.

"Calm down. You wouldn't want to wake the entire facility, would you?" He held her until she stopped struggling and let him take the keys from her. "Or maybe you would. You have strange ways, don't you, my love?"

He dragged her back to the bed. "I wanted to be nice, to allow your hands to heal, but maybe you aren't prepared for such a privilege yet."

He pushed her on the mattress, forcing her hand to the bed frame. He wouldn't rape her, of course, as he said, he wasn't that kind of man. But she needed to learn her lesson. He cuffed her to the frame by one hand, not really caring if it was her dominant one or not.

He sat on the bed and pulled her in his lap, belly down like a misbehaving child – which she kind of was. She fought him, of course, but it made him smile more than anything else. She clawed at the sheets, trying to climb off him. Her effort was easily countered by his hand on her back, pinning her down.

"Now, now, don't say I didn't warn you." He pulled at the hem of her nightgown, caressing it between his fingers before pulling it up her lower back.

"What- Stop!" The fear in her voice was so sweet to hear. He would miss it, once she accepts her place. "Stop, you fucking creep."

He slapped her bared cheeks, not even full force yet, just as a warning of what was to come. He considered pulling down her panties when he was at it, but decided to leave her some dignity this time. He didn't know if he would bear restraining himself if he had her bare under his hand.

"NO- STOP!" She yelped as he hit her, it was so sweet. This time he was using his full force.

"Quiet, love, I told you, we don't want to wake everyone up."

"LET ME GO!"

Her struggle was beginning to be less sweet than annoying, so he hit her hard again. Her flesh was starting to turn a lovely shade of red. He thought of his colleagues waking up in middle of the night, hearing her and he decided that he didn't fucking care if they'd be mad at him or not. He was the head of this facility, he could choose to discipline his pets when he found fit.

"Hush! You brought this upon yourself!" He accompanied each word with another hit.

It didn't take much longer for her to quit her struggle. She felt lovely limp in his lap, with head buried in the pillow, hiding her sobs. She only moved when he slapped her, her entire body twitching each strike of his hand.

"That's a good girl." He stopped sooner than she deserved. Caressing her heated flesh, playing with the hem of her panties. "Now, say thank you and we can end this."

"Th- Fuck you." She sobbed into the pillow.

He sighed. Striking her again, hard.

"Ah!" It made her yelp in pain.

"Try again." He warned.

When she didn't answer, down came another hit. He waited after each one to see if she'd grown smart. She didn't. The only noises she let out were more yelps and whimpers. She was lucky; he was tired and didn't want to waste the entire night on her discipline. He stopped, warning her; "Next time I take as long as I need until you learn."

He allowed her to crawl off his lap, while lying down on his side of the bed. She moved as close to the opposite edge as possible to lick her wounds and he let her. If she'd preferred to lay alone and bound, instead of free in his arms, she could. In time she would learn to appreciate his discipline.

...

He was carrying two cups of coffee, leaving him no choice but to open the office door with his elbow. He could hear she was already there, speaking to his children.

"You did good, but not great. I know you can do better than that. You don't want to disappoint father, do you?"

She was a beautiful sight, sitting in his chair, their son in her lap. He stopped at the door, watching her for a moment as she took to another review. "Wonderful work, here’s our how high, I knew you could do it. Say it, Hendrick: how high."

She moved the microphone closer to the baby and he wrapped his little hands around it, saying something that was nearly undistinguishable as: "How high."

"Excellent work, pardon me if I cannot clap right now." He said, smiling at his little family. He walked to them, putting the cups down on the table, far from Hendrick Jr.'s reach. "You're such a talented boy, my love."

"He's perfect." Amelia agreed, standing up to give him back his chair.

He had a sofa brought to his office, so she could sit there when he worked. She made her way there, but not before he gave her and their son each a kiss on their cheek. She smelled beautiful as always, the boy however, carried a sickly smell of milk that Easterman hoped would go away as soon as he was weaned.

He watched her sit down and unbutton her blouse to feed their son, shamelessly eyeing her bared breast. They'd grown bigger since Hendrick Jr. was born.

"Nothing report worthy?" He asked as he skimmed through the newest documents.

"No." Amelia said, pulling their eager son to her chest. "We've had a failed rebirth this morning. Poor thing couldn't find anyone to come with her, even those who had already collected their rebirth tokens had refused. I think we're being too nice to them, it seems like they no longer want to leave."

"Hm. Sleep room number 9?" He opened a folder belonging to the said sleep room. The rebirth was failed by Reagent 2026, a lovely doe eyed thing that was scared to put her hand in dead bodies. She wasn't ready for rebirth anyway. "That's not a problem, the fledglings will fly out when they're ready."

He still checked each evaluation she did by herself, just to be sure she did her job right. It seemed like she did; she was a little nicer than he'd be, but not enough to be of concern. He would assign Reagent 2026 a new role once Amelia left. She would be the next judge in Vindicate the Guilty. However, his sweet wife didn't need to know that, she would be emotional about it and he hated to see her sad.

"Hendrick!" He looked up from his work, seeing Amelia pulling Hendrick Jr. away from her chest. "You need to tell mommy when you feel sick!"

Easterman let out a laugh at the sight of her and the off-white vomit that now covered her shirt. It wasn't the cute baby amount it used to be nor with how big Hendrick Jr. had gotten. He couldn't resist but poke the wound. "He takes after you, doesn't he?"

"That was one time!" Amelia whined, as she took off the filthy top. His love marks covered her shoulders and breast. "He does this every other day!"

She wiped their son's mouth with her shirt, as she complained; "It got in my ring!"

He smiled, looking at his own wedding band on his finger. His was plain, for her he had gotten a diamond from South Africa. They had just gone into fashion, claiming that it was the only stone for true love. It was fitting then, that Irene had chosen a sapphire instead. He returned to his work, knowing that life was beautiful.

...

Amelia was back in the tunnels. She wasn't running, she waited for her death.

She had freed those she could and soon they would spread the word of what was going on here to the world and this place would burn. She expected the guards to come and shoot her on sight, after all, they never hesitated to kill anyone before. She did not expect a single man, that looked like the devil himself in his three-piece suit and a single blue eye that was so piercingly cold she would think it belonged to the dead.

“This probably won’t kill you.”

She fell back, screaming in pain as the bullet hit her calf. She needed to lure him closer, if she wanted to live a second longer. It didn’t have to be far just-

“You’re still trying to escape? There’s determined and then there’s stupid-”

She looked back at him, tears pouring down her eyes. “I’m not trying to escape! I decided I was gonna die here when they killed Damon.”

“When they killed Damon?” The man laughed and she could swear his teeth were pointed, sharp, not human-like, more like a shark. “Nah, sister, I did that!”

This man. It was him who killed Damon, who turned him inside out while he was still alive, who send him to her in pieces- She watched him step closer to the mine, just a little closer and-

He stepped over it, laughing. "Aren't you a clever little rat."

She threw the brick at him, but he dodged it easily. There was nothing else she could use to defend herself as he stepped closer. She rose to her feet and- 

Bang! He shot her other leg, straight to the knee, knocking her back to the ground.

"Just kill me!" She shouted.

"Nah," He laughed. "No way I just kill you, after all the trouble you’ve caused. The cat has caught its prey and now is the time to play."

He knelt to her side and she did not hesitate lashing at him. She should have kept the brick. Next to them the cart rode by, making the ground shake as he put his knee on her chest, pinning her to the ground.

"Has been a long time since I had a worthy hunt." The devil laughed.

"Just fucking kill me!" She shouted… Hell, she begged. She wanted to see Damon again, she did not care if it was in Heaven or Hell.

He laughed at her, taking a knife off his belt. He forced it under her shirt, tearing it apart and suddenly she was a child again, with her filthy father's friends standing over her and laughing as she was undressed.

"No." She begged. "Please, anything but this."

"Please, I know your history." He laughed. "Your boyfriend told it all. You should be used to this."

The knife cut her skin, but it didn't hurt as much as the memories did. She continued begging him to stop, to kill her, to wait until she was dead and then do whatever he wanted to her sorry body, but he did not listen. They never listened.

He tore down her pants and she fought and clawed, even kicking him with her broken legs, but it was no good. He rolled her around, slamming her face into the concrete ground.

"You're a fighter, I will give you that." He laughed. "Delicious."

She felt him force himself into her and she screamed.

"Aagh!"

Her own voice woke her.

Amelia’s entire body twitched, still trying to fight off the assailant of her dream. She wanted to run, but she couldn't stand. She pulled at the arm that was keeping her tied to the bed. Screaming as cold metal dug into her skin.

She could still see the man before her. She could still see the men from before she met Damon, clawing at her. She could hear their laugh. She could feel their body on hers. "No, please!"

"Amelia, calm down!" She struggled in his hold, continuing to pull at the binding holding her down. "Amelia, it's okay, you're safe!"

The hands held her gently, but they were not Damon's. She looked up at Easterman's face, her body falling still. She had a hard time breathing and her throat hurt from screaming.

"Calm down, child, it's okay." He petted her back, pushing her to sit on the bed. "Shh.. That's it, breathe deeply and slowly."

She tried, God, she tried. She could not stop thinking about her dream about the men and their hands on her. It was embarrassing but Easterman's touch felt nice. It felt – ironically – safe, even if he was just one of the many men who had abused her body.

At least he wouldn't rape her when she was conscious, that was the low her standards were at, apparently.

He let her lean on him, as he uncuffed her hand. There was a ring of blood around her wrist, she candled it to her chest, fighting back sobs.

"That's it, child." He petted her back and God, it felt nice, even if her butt hurt from his abuse and the memory made her blush. "Nice deep breaths. Do you want to tell me what you dreamed about?"

"No." She shook her head.

"It will feel better if you do." He said softly, too softly, too gently for the monster he was. "I promise, it will make it better."

She did not believe him and yet, she felt the need to share her pain, to let someone know and ease the burden on her soul. Damon knew. She could tell Damon everything, but Damon was dead and it was her fault. "Men hurting me."

"Oh, my dear." He pressed her to his chest, one hand wrapping around her, the other caressing her hair. "Was it of sexual nature?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes, maybe if she closed her eyes she could pretend Damon was still here, except Easterman smelled nothing like him.

"It must have been horrible, child, I'm so sorry." His tone was low like a cat's purr. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you like that, I promise... I won't let anyone hurt you again, ever."

"Except yourself?" Her voice cracked as she said it.

"Only when you make me." He answered and there was a second of silence before he spoke again. "You know what I dreamed about? About you, with my son, you were the perfect mother, taking such good care of him."

His hand slipped to her stomach and she could not bear it any longer, tearing away from him and standing up.

"Go put your hand under cold water." He said casually. "I will fetch a bandage."

...

That morning a special trial was taking place at the request of a group of reagents tempted to try and test their skill. It was happening in the shopping mall with all its usual treats and the presence of another Prime Asset and her traps on top of it.

"She's pretty this one. What do you say, brother?" One half of a person said.

"Pretty she is, but she has nothing on you, my love." The other half answered. "And a communist too. I'm way too old to be falling for a Soviet honey pot."

"There, brother!"

An unlucky reagent was hit by a vial of smelly substance, prompting him to stumble backwards and gag. His back hit a dark mannequin.

"Beloved of God!"

The mannequin moved, slipping her blade under the reagent's neck. With a quick slash, blood poured out of it and he fell to the ground.

"No!" Another reagent screamed, alerting the Prime Assets to her presence. Her teammates stopped her as she tried to run their way, dragging her back towards the backrooms. They still had valves to find before they could end the trial.

Otto Kress relaxed his posture, letting his saw hit the ground.

"Miss Liliya, always a pleasure to see you."

"You lie well, politician." Liliya said in her hoarse voice, making it unclear if her words were meant to be taken seriously or as a mere jest.

"Have you had the pleasure of visiting the new trial, yet? The one where they are tasked with killing the escapist." Otto asked.

"It's a mere mockery of her image." Liliya answered, wiping her bloodied blade into one of the many dresses displayed around the mall. Naturally, she had chosen the white one to stain.

"We did not believe it is her, either. But why? Why would he spare her life for so long after the escape? Is he simply stupid?" Arora asked, adjusting the too loose strap of her top.

Liliya laughed. "He is love struck."

"No-" The twins said at once, disbelief and amusement apparent in both of their lovely voices.

"He is!" Liliya stood by her words. "He defiles her and wraps her in pretty dresses, she sleeps in his room."

"So, Easterman did go mad at last." Otto laughed, Arora covered her mouth to hide her smile. "And what do you say? You still think she has her mind on setting us free?"

"She is a martyr and a saint, in His name, she is a patron of all of us trapped in the trials and may He be gracious, she sets us all free."

"Don’t let your hopes blind you." Arora shrugged. "Speak to Franco about her. You will learn that she promised him the same and never delivered."

Liliya knocked her head to the side, looking up at Arora. "Did she?"

Arora nodded. "He told us, he helped her escape from his trial. That she fooled him and told him she will help him escape. Then when she did, she only took her fellow reagents with her."

There was a moment of silence, as Liliya contemplated her words. Somewhere on the upper floor a reagent screamed.

Amelia wondered if it was intentional to keep her conscious. If they purposefully gave her just enough medication to paralyze her body but not her mind. Everyone treated her like she wasn’t there except for Easterman. Easterman said that he had hoped she could hear him. It was always the biggest bastards that got the luckiest, wasn’t it?

If she counted her time correctly, he came at least once a week to sit at her side and give her some pathetic ramble about how she forced him to hurt his children. Because he never called it what it was: his lab rats, his victims.

Right now, his hand ran across her cheek in a manner that was nearly gentle, as he breathed cigarette smoke into her face. “The newest prime asset proves capable. The way she likes to be worshipped… It should teach the reagents not to succumb to false idols.”

She felt his touch slip down her body, lingering over her breast, feeling her flesh through the fabric, before giving her nipple a hard pinch.

The first time he groped her breast, she felt rage so strong she thought her body might combust. But the first time he spread her legs and humped her like a horny dog? She felt completely numb. Some things you just learn to deal with when your daddy is a pimp.

“She has this power to her, to force others to mutilate their own bodies. I thought of making you an appointment once you are up.” His hands ran across her sides and to her hips, where he took hold of the hem of her hospital gown. “You clearly were immune to my treatment, so maybe you need a firmer hand. Some children are just like that, are they not? Not keen on taking father’s advice until their peers start the bullying.”

He kept threatening her with letting the prime assets have free rein with her. The first time he did so, it made her feel a genuine dread. “It’s a shame that Perry killed your colored boyfriend. I’m sure Coyle would’ve loved to teach you two a thing or two about the dangers of racial integration. Then again, I don’t think he would mind a private lesson with you, if I let him in on your situation.” Back then, she believed that he might actually sit back and watch her get raped by the Klan swine. But not anymore. She had realized by now that Easterman was a coward who loved his own voice too much.

“I was thinking about your radio performance. I must admit it was quite substantial – so persuasive to my children. You could’ve been such a good asset for your country.” He pulled up her gown, revealing her most intimate parts to the cold air. A nurse had trimmed her pubic hair last week, likely on Easterman’s request. “Of course, radio is a dying medium. Nowadays it’s all about the television.”

He ran his fingers between her folds, playing around before he pushed inside. She wondered if it even felt good for him to fuck her with the catheter inside her body. It definitely didn’t give her any pleasure. “If only you were a good girl, we might’ve had you sitting on Otto Kress’ lap while you recorded some propaganda, and who knows, you could’ve been America’s own Eva Perón. Minus the filthy socialism, of course.”

She could feel him spreading his fingers inside of her, stroking them in and out, before they abruptly retreated.

“Eva Perón, really?” A woman’s voice entered the room.

“Avellanos. Why are you here?” Amelia could feel Easterman’s body twitch. She imagined he was red in the face, trembling with humiliation as he wiped his hands onto her bedsheets.

“To see for myself how effectively you spend your allowances.” There were bitterness and disgust in Avellanos’ voice, and as much as she detested the woman, Amelia silently cheered at the idea of Easterman getting into trouble with his superiors.

“What are you implying? I was merely checking on her health-”

The laugh Avellanos let out was filled with mockery. “Shut up, Easterman, I’m not fucking blind. We aren’t wasting any more resources for you to get your cock wet. Dispose of her. Put her back in the sleep rooms or have her killed and burnt. I don’t care, but I want her gone by tomorrow.”

Avellanos’ words were followed by the sound of doors slamming shut, loudly.

“Fuck,” Easterman cursed.

Fuck, Amelia thought, as he pulled the bedsheet back over her body. There was no way she would be rehabilitated as a reagent.

She could hear him pacing around the room, mumbling to himself and at times hitting or kicking the furniture. Throwing tantrum like a little boy. In the end, he pulled the covers off her yet again and spilled himself inside her body before leaving, not bothering to cover her once more.

Amelia was left with nothing to do but think about the worst ways he might have her killed. As far as she knew, the only trial that involved killing women was the Courthouse. She wondered if Easterman would let her go as easily. Would he still fuck her with her limbs and head gone?

…

It took long hours before someone visited her again. It was not the heavy breath and cigarette stench of Easterman but the light steps of a woman. A nurse sent to unplug her from life support?

“Amelia.” The woman sounded like she had been smoking since leaving the womb… or screaming for a very long time. Yet, the way she said her name sounded almost gentle. Her hospital gown was pulled down to her hips, giving her back at least some of her dignity. “The martyr worshipped in this place.”

Just as Amelia thought, the woman had removed the IV from her arm and the oxygen mask from her face. As she leaned over her, Amelia could make out her appearance: she could be in her forties, her face was covered in scars, and her black hair was cut short. She wore a black top that didn’t resemble the uniforms of the medical staff nor the guards. A cross hung from her neck and brushed Amelia’s body as the woman bent down to place a kiss on her lips.

One thing was clear, this was no nurse.

“Very soon, everyone in this facility will be punished. But not you. You are a saint, and by a miracle, you shall survive the carnage.”

This woman was clearly mad, and it didn’t take long for Amelia to connect the pieces. Easterman had told her about the new prime asset; a God-obsessed communist they shipped from the USSR. It was a rather strange combination. Amelia had met communists before, and they weren’t very keen on religion. What they were keen on was selling her Pervitin.

Her hands were moved one by one from her sides to her chest, where the woman had arranged them into a prayer. “He took your tongue, he took your pride, but he cannot take your will.”

Something was placed between her clasped palms, cold and long. A knife?

“I was like you once. I know what you want: revenge.” The word sounded so delightful from the woman’s lips. “You kill the man who hurt you and run away to spread His message.”

The woman stepped back from the bed. “God loves you, Amelia Collier.”

The beautiful little martyr had failed her second escape.

Weakened by the medical coma she crawled through the halls with a stolen blade between her teeth only to find all her pathways and dens sealed away. When her captor found her, she was desperately clawing at the door that lead outside but remained locked ever since she orchestrated the first breach.

“Amelia! How-”

Liliya thought that maybe she was wrong, that this woman was no saint to match her after all. But her initial assumptions had turned right, as Amelia’s blade nearly ran through Easterman’s head, missing his eye by millimeters and leaving a red trail in its wake.

“Drop it!”

Amelia, much like Liliya herself, was a petite girl with arms like sticks that could not protect her from advances of a man, who believed she was his to own. Easterman tore the blade from her broken hand with ease. She couldn’t even hold it properly; they had crippled her just as the SS officer had crippled Liliya so long ago.

“Stop this at once!” He commanded her like she was a dog. He pressed her body to the floor, kneeling on her chest, before he stabbed a needle in her neck, while cursing. “Damn Avellanos, I bet this is your doing.”

He took Amelia’s limb body in his arms with a huff, that spoke of a man who did not work with his hands for a long time. Only then did he turn to see Liliya watching him.

“Miss Bogomolova! My apologies, we don’t usually have our subjects running through the halls, this one, however-” He walked to her side, showing her Amelia in his arms like one would show off a newborn babe. “This one is special little troublemaker. She’s the false messiah to our lambs, you see.”

Liliya stepped closer, close enough to cup the sleeping girl's cheek in her palm. She used to look peaceful in her hospital bed, not anymore, now her face was twisted with fear. She no longer looked like a saint, merely a martyr. Liliya thought of taking her out of her misery.

“I see.” She said. “Beautiful.”

“Beautiful indeed.” Easterman agreed. Liliya looked him in the eyes, they were cold and tired, his eyelids twitching unnaturally, as if they fought his will to remain awake. “A little minx she is, stirring trouble for her betters.”

Easterman reminded her a lot of her SS officer; a crazed man refusing to accept the war was lost, latching on torturing the one enemy he was able to capture, letting his frustrations out on a crippled woman because he was afraid a man would hurt him back.

Liliya thought she was giving the girl her own tongue-regrowing miracle through freeing her, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe Amelia needed to suffer more before reaching martyrdom. Maybe she was meant to be Judith, using man’s lust for her to have him lay down as she chops his head off.

Easterman certainly seemed to lustful, as he held her limb body.

“Will she be the new Lot?” Liliya asked already knowing what the answer would be.

“Oh, no, this one is too special.” Easterman shook his head. Sweat was running down his forehead, clearly, he was struggling with holding her in his arms. “They need to see her changed. We put her in her place in front of them and now, she will have to show them she's accepted it.”

Liliya had spent a month suffering every humiliation known to man, she knew what she was leaving Amelia to, when she turned around and left with no word. If Amelia was to become a saint, she would find her strength in the torture and she would rise, stronger than before. Just as Liliya did.

…

Amelia was no stranger to narcotics, but the cocktail Easterman mixed her would take down a horse. She watched the world from behind a fog of unreality, barely registering her surroundings. She felt less herself than she did in the catatonic ward. Her body was hers again but every step felt like running through water. Every movement of her body cost her energy she didn’t have.

Easterman made her sit by his feet like a dog, as he sat in his chair like a king on a throne and watched the reagents complete their trials.

“Look, Amelia.”

Sometimes he spoke out, commenting on the events of a certain trial. He seemed especially pleased when one reagent hurt another. She didn’t know what was happening on the screens, even if she could focus, all she saw was grey smudges.

“I think he might be my new favorite, a perfect little reagent, doing anything I ask of him, only ever stopping to ask how high never why.”

She was leaning on his thigh, not because of some misplaced affection, but because it was the only way for her to hold her body upwards. She could lie down on the floor, but if she did so, she might fall asleep and she did not dare to lose her consciousness around him, again.

His hand fell from the table to her head, forcing her to look up. 

 “I told you to look. See, how he has her trapped? Unlike the likes of Coyle, he won't waste time playing with her. He will cut her throat and disappear. A perfect candidate for counterintelligence missions.”

She found enough sense in her clouded mind to answer, even though she didn't quite know why she even bothered. “I can't see it. You took my glasses.”

“Oh.” There was hint of amusement in his voice. “Of course, come here.”

To her dread he moved back with his chair and leaned down to wrap his arms around her. Her arms fell heavy – her entire body felt heavy – as she tried to push him off. “Don’t-“

“None of that.” It seemed so easy for him to overpower her. “Be a good girl.”

He pulled her to his lap, as if sitting at his feet wasn’t humiliating enough. He had her sit across his thighs like father would seat a child. It was always parental dynamics with him. He couldn’t just rape her and be over with it, he needed to play his game to get off. 

“Better?” He asked. 

Lacking the energy to fight any more, she looked at the screens, seeing more smudges, now a little better distinguishable from one another. Her sight was always bad and after he burnt her eye it got only worse.

“Not really.” At best he would give up and let her fall down to the floor.

But no best even happened to her, did it? Instead, he ran his hand across her thigh, continuing his sick game. “Hmm.. If you are a very good girl, I will get you new ones. Can you be a good girl for me?”

She didn't answer, merely looked away from him and his screens. He didn't like that, letting her know by pinching where he had previously caressed her skin. She twitched.

“You can still read, can't you? You have myopia, if I recall correctly.” He reached across the table, picking one of the identically looking folders. “I have just something for you to read me aloud.”

She indulged him, skimming over the text.

“Reagent 2427. Name Amelia Collier. Born June 3, 1934. Age 26. Sex: Female. Height: 5'3"."

She assumed it was some kind of a powerplay for him, having her read her own file. Her eyes fell on Damon’s name. It made her feel the hole in her heart again. She turned the paper. She didn’t want to grief in front of Easterman.

Just from a quick glance she saw a pencil written note on top of the page. She didn't have to read him aloud.

Hendrick, she's two weeks pregnant. We can easily terminate it at this stage.

 — Jasper

He takes the paper from her hand, just as her grip on it is failing. There was no way it was from the outside, she was in this place too long. She knew it could not be Easterman’s – she had read his diary, the man was impotent. She expected him to rage and beat his frustrations out on her but he surprised her; He smiled.

He cupped her face in his palms like a lover would… or a father would, comforting a crying child.

“They were right about worshipping you after all, sweet thing, you are a miracle.” He kissed each of her cheeks and her lips. “My beautiful miracle.”

She was stunned. He likely already knew and he wanted her to find out this way.

It was hard to capture the meaning of his words through the fog of her mind. Language suddenly didn’t make sense; all she could say was “What?”.

“They said it's impossible and yet, you have my child.”

She searched for the meaning of his words while he continued kissing her. Then it clicked. Oh. She thought of her time in the catatonic ward. How prideful a man has to be to think he was the only rapist in this place.

She wished it was born colored, as a slap to his face and to make it easier for her to pretend she had something of Damon’s left.

“What of him?” Easterman’s tone changed completely, gone was the affection. It was harsh, angry. She must have spoken Damon’s name aloud. “It's not his, he is long dead! Surely you must remember that!”

There were tears forming in her eyes. Maybe if she pissed him off enough, he would beat the little parasite from her body. “It should’ve been his.”

He scoffed. “And what would you, pray tell, do with a mixed child in Illinois?”

Love it.

 “We wanted to move away.” She didn’t know why she was telling him that or if her words made sense together. She just voiced any thought her mind would gather. “Damon’s brother fought in the war. He told us that in Paris, we wouldn’t have to hide. That there we would be not black and white, but American.”

“Europe is full of socialists.” Easterman said it like it was a curse. “But you would probably like that wouldn’t you. At least you picked Paris and not Moscow. De Gaulle at least has some balls on him.”

“We needed money, but Damon, he kept spending it on alcohol. Whiskey, beer, anything he could get his hands on.” She wiped her tears into her sleeve, her hand felt so heavy. “Then he disappeared.”

“Ah, he volunteered for the therapy, didn’t he?”

She nodded.

“Come here.”  He couldn't just throw her on the floor and kick the parasite out of her. No, he had to take a napkin and wipe her tears, continuing that fatherly charade of his. Not that her daddy ever wiped her tears, he told her to try fighting back harder next time. “Don’t cry. You will be a good mother. The child will be perfect.”

She didn’t tell him how pathetic he was, she didn’t tell him that the child would be mixed either way, because she was, she had no strength for that. Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, like she was no better than a doll for him to play with.

“Rest, you need it.” He petted her hair with one hand, taking a pen in the other, as if he was readying himself to return to his work. “If it’s a boy, I want him named Hendrick. You can choose a girl’s name.”

The first name that came to her mind was Paris, but she didn’t say that, what she said was: “Irene.”

“I see you still have some bite left.” If she was in a mood to laugh, she would, at his defeated tone. “How do you know, dare I ask?”

He had left his diary by his bed for anyone to find and read his whining about how Irene wouldn’t come back no matter how much he begged. She was better off without him. Amelia wanted to tell him so, but when she tried to, she gagged. She felt her throat fill up from the inside. She couldn’t recall eating anything, which checked out as she could feel the burn of stomach acid in her throat.

Even if she had the strength to move, she wouldn’t give a fuck. She threw up on him, specifically the shoulder of his suit jacket.

“Amelia!” He twitched, pushing her away. “Gross!”

She was sure he would let her hit the ground, hoped that maybe she would fall wrong and break her neck. But he surprised her by catching her, despite the puke still coming out her mouth, helping her slowly reach the floor.

He was saying something, but it was hard to make sense of it when she was trying not to gag. She knelt, leaning on her elbows, as more of the acidic substance came out of her throat. Some of it got in her hair, but she didn’t have it in herself to care. Most she could do was lay down on her side to avoid falling into it.

She could not remain on her hands and knees for too long. Not when they’d broken each of her limbs. She fell, barely registering it when he pulled her away from the mess on the floor and wiped her mouth. Then more hands were over her, picking her up as even her eyes gave up.

…

Easterman’s bed was a luxury, with strong wooden frame and firm mattress, nothing like the fragile things they gave to the reagents, that creaked so loud that only thinking about having sex there was heard by the entire sleep room.

Amelia's arm was cuffed to frame, allowing her enough movement to roll around and sit on the bed, but not enough to stand. He didn't rape her since she woke up. She was sure he would last night, when he tied her to the bed, but he let her wait out in panic until he washed and changed. And then he just laid to her side, wrapping his arms around her like she was a lover of his and not a captive awaiting her execution. 

He left her alone in the morning, which wasn’t any less unsettling than being in his proximity. The anticipation of him coming back – or anyone else coming in – was torture itself.

She was considering pissing in his bed just to make him mad, when saw the doorknob move. She could tell right away it wasn't Easterman. She would have heard him come. This person was completely silent.

Her head filled with the worse case scenario; another man coming in to use her body and leave her alive. She thought of the man with mismatched eyes that had laughed in her face as he told her it was him who killed Damon. He might be the only thing worse than Easterman.

The door moved slowly, revealing – to her relieve – a slender woman.

It took her a second to remember, she saw this woman before.

“Amelia.” Her voice made Amelia’s throat ache just hearing it. She knew this voice. It was the same woman who had freed her from the hospital bed.

There was only so much she could do to protect herself if the woman came with the intention to hurt her. Least she could do was sit up on the bed and face her. “Yes, and you are?”

She already knew from the woman’s accent that must have been the Soviet asset Easterman told her of. The one that he thought was so similar to Amelia that she could replace her in the mind of the reagents. Amelia failed to see the similarity. She was clearly older than Amelia and their face looked nothing alike, not to mention the voice.

“Liliya Bogomolova.” Liliya offered her her left hand, catching Amelia unprepared as she could only use her right to accept it.

The handshake was awkward, taking few seconds before they positioned their hands right. Amelia blamed the difficulty on the drugs slowing her down and, on her limbs, that she hadn’t yet fully regained control of, after they were broken and hanged.

“Amelia Collier.” She said, as their touch parted. She didn't know what to expect from the woman and she tried not to show how terrified she was. Choosing to impress her with her very limited knowledge of Russian. “Zdrastvuy.”

“Zdrastvuy.” There was a hint of amusement in the sickly voice, as she repeated the greeting. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“I saw you before.” Amelia looked in Liliya’s eyes, they seemed dark like Amelia’s own, but she couldn’t be sure without her glasses. “In the catatonic ward. You told me that God loved me.”

“He does and He will see you freed.” Liliya bend down, allowing Amelia to see her more clearly. Her face was full of scars and wrinkles. “But you are yet to pass His test.”

“How?” Amelia said hoping that was the right answer, before realizing with a cringe that was Easterman’s teachings speaking through her; Don’t ask why, only how high.

“You will see it all burn.” Liliya reached out to Amelia’s cheek.

Amelia twitched, catching her hand.

“I wish nothing more, but…” It was not entirely true. She wished they had shot her in that tunnel, so she could burn in Hell next to Damon. But she was used to life never going her way. “I did what I could already. I let them out.”

Amelia’s grip was weak, allowing Liliya to slip free and reach for her cheek again, gently caressing her face despite her protests. She felt sick as the woman leaned over her.

“Don’t.” She tried to push her away afraid the woman would want to kiss her or more.

“Don’t be scared.” Liliya’s lips met with the top of her head. It wasn’t as bad as she had expected, but it still felt invasive. “This time, you won’t free just the lambs. You will free us.”

...

He was thinking about her the entire day. It was embarrassing for a man of his age to be this distractible by a pretty face. It reminded him of those early years with Irene, when he would leave her in bed in the morning and return to an empty house, waiting impatiently for an hour before she would come to him. That was when she was still working. Somehow, their relationship was most heated back then, when they barely had time for one another.

He ordered a takeout from the facility canteen for her, reminding himself that despite haunting his thought like a ghost, she was still a living woman, who needed to eat.

"Amelia." He didn't knock as he entered, it was his suit after all. "Good evening- oh."

He found her sleeping, back turned to the door, bound hand awkwardly bent under her head. She could be so sweet when she wasn't the agent of chaos. He nearly didn't want to wake her. But the food was getting cold. He left it on the table, nearing the bed.

"Amelia." He bent down, wanting to wake her with a kiss on her cheek. She smelled so nice, the way young women do when they don’t cover their natural scent with overpriced perfume.

Her body twitched. He barely dodged in time as her hand shot up, where a moment ago his head was.

"Calm down, Amelia." Her sleepy eyes were wide open with fear. Wasn't that just sweet? "It's just me."

She sat on the bed, facing him. Her breath was hard, irregular, as if her body needed time to calm down. When she spoke, there was ugly kind of amusement in her voice. "Just you."

Confident she wouldn't try to attack him again he took a step closer to uncuff her wrist. "I'm sure you understand by now that there are worse things than me here."

He watched her rise on unsteady legs. He offered her his arm, which she stubbornly refused.

"I brought you dinner." He said, nodding towards the table.

She looked at him for a moment, as if his words were difficult to understand. Then moved the opposite way. "Bathroom first."

"Do you need my help?" He watched her walk awkwardly on stiff legs.

"No."

He thought of ordering her to leave the door open to prevent her from having any stupid ideas, but decided to leave her the last bit of her dignity, choosing instead to sit at the table and having his portion of the mediocre dinner. He picked them a pumpkin soup, assuming it would be easiest for her to digest.

She took her time; he was nearly finished when she finally emerged. Her bangs were wet, implying that she at least took time to wash her face. There were only two chairs at the table, leaving her no choice but to sit next to him. She stared at the food, unmoving.

"What is it?" He sighed.

"You eat it first." If she tried to seem dignified, she failed; with her slender form dressed in a nightgown, she looked like a bratty child or an inmate of a madhouse.

He rolled his eyes.

"It's clean." To give her mind a rest, he leaned forward, picking a spoonful of her soup, looking her in the eyes as he ate it. "Satisfied?"

Instead of answering she slowly picked up her spoon. She held it strangely, prompting him to question whether it was the drugs in her system or her muscles did not yet fully recover from her time hanging in the sleep room.

The spoon fell back into the bowl with a loud splashing sound.

"Fuck." She sounded pleasantly defeated.

"Is it your hands?" The idea of her depending on him to eat did not sound entirely unpleasant. "Do you need help?"

"No!" She barked, taking the spoon in her awkward grip again.

He returned to his own food, as he watched her struggle bringing hers to her mouth. She managed to eat a spoonful before it dropped again, this time hitting the ground.

He sighed. "Leave it."

He bent down, picking the spoon from the floor, before throwing it to the sink and picking a clean one. He moved his chair closer to hers before sitting down.

"Give me your hand." He didn't wait for her to comply, reaching for it himself. He placed it on his lap, massaging her palm and fingers. "You had suffered hypoxia to both hands. We took precautions but there is only so long one can be hanged up by their hands."

His touch moved below her wrist, where her forearm was previously broken. "Broken bones didn't help the case either."

"You did this to me." She said, hatred clear in her words.

"You deserved it." He countered, feeling her healing bone under his fingertips. "You should be glad Clyde Perry did not survive. He would've enjoyed making you pay for what you did."

"It's not like this place is short on sadists." She said with a scoff.

"Relax your fingers." He said as he bent them one by one, testing their movement. "He was special, you would know, you met when you killed him."

A second passed.

"The swine that killed Damon." Her voice broke at the name. Easterman imagined how sweet she would sound when she said his name with the same devotion one day.

She was crying again. He wanted to hug her, comfort her, but she pushed him away. "Don't! It was you, all of you!"

"You're not innocent in his death either, love." Maybe he was harsh, but she needed to hear it – tough love and all that. "He was doing good, he would have been reborn by now, had you not run away. He was only targeted because of you."

He caught her hand before she could slap him, it nearly made it though. Her other hand hit his chest, before he could stop it, but there was little force behind it anyway. She was so weak that her effort was nearly adorable. He didn't let go of her hands this time, massaging her palms to calm her down.

She tried to break free of his hold but failed. "I hate you!"

"I know." He said. "Every child does hate their father sometimes."

"You're sick." She said with a lovely tone of defeat in her voice.

"Shh.." He hushed her, letting go of her hands to hand her a napkin. "Here."

He watched her wipe away her tears, paying attention to the way she gripped the napkin a little strangely. She didn’t drop it – it shouldn't take long until she learns to hold a spoon again. In the meantime...

He moved closer, taking a spoonful of the soup for her. "Here."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Tsk. Language." He reprimanded her. "You need to eat. We can start your rehabilitation tomorrow, until then let me help you."

 She looked at him like he was insulting her, but in the end, she did open her mouth and let him feed her. It was sweet, really, the pout on her face and the sneer she did every time she was supposed to swallow. She acted so much like a child. Of course, he would have to fix this in time; there was no way she could behave like this when she raised his children, but there was still plenty of time for her to learn.

When the soup was eaten, he took the dishes away. Again, this was something he would like her to do in the future, but right now, he just left them in a sink for the cleaner to deal with.

"Come to bed." He said. "I will be taking a bath, and you haven't yet earned enough of my trust to be left here alone. I won't be caught searching for you outside in my sleep clothes."

She was still pouting but did as she was instructed, sitting down the bed and allowing him to cuff her hand to the frame.

"That's a good girl." He praised, when he was done.

"Will you rape me tonight?" She blurred out.

"No." He answered maybe too quickly, the question honestly insulted him. "I'm not that kind of a man."

She laughed and it wasn't sweet at all.

"If you didn't, I wouldn't be fucking pre- p-" She stuttered, breaking into sobs.

"Now, now, I didn't hurt you, did I?" He petted her hair to calm her, but she pushed him away. 

"You did!"

He didn't know if he believed her but even if; "Then you deserved it."

He left her sobbing on the bed, while he took his bath. As he brushed his teeth, he considered bringing her in and helping her do the same, but decided to spare her the humiliation for tonight. He was conscious of the weak spot he had developed for her. He must watch it or else she would exploit it.

...

That night he woke up to her slipping from his arms. He let her, giving her the benefit of a doubt – or more precisely, waiting until there was no way for her to lie herself out of her misbehavior.

She had stood quietly in front of the bed for a moment, likely observing him and then just as he thought, she made her way to the door leading outside.

When she found them closed, she moved slowly across the room to his dresser. He watched her, bidding his time. He wanted her to learn this lesson well.

She found his keys in the pocket of his suit jacket. She was clumsy, they rang and she stilled, looking his way. He nearly felt bad for giving her false hope.

There was something adorable about her in her nightgown, tiptoeing across his room. He wouldn't deny that there was a hint of sadistic pleasure in him waiting for her to try the first set of keys in the lock before speaking.

"Amelia."

How beautifully she startled; her entire body freezing before trying frantically to fit the keys into the lock. It didn't work of course. They fell out of her fragile hands, hitting the floor with a loud ring.

He rose up, in no hurry to catch his wanna-be-escapist. He walked calmly to her as she bent for the keys and-

She tried to hit him with them. If nothing else, she was certainly an opportunist. He blocked her swing, catching her arm and bending it behind her back.

"Calm down. You wouldn't want to wake the entire facility, would you?" He held her until she stopped struggling and let him take the keys from her. "Or maybe you would. You have strange ways, don't you, my love?"

He dragged her back to the bed. "I wanted to be nice, to allow your hands to heal, but maybe you aren't prepared for such a privilege yet."

He pushed her on the mattress, forcing her hand to the bed frame. He wouldn't rape her, of course, as he said, he wasn't that kind of man. But she needed to learn her lesson. He cuffed her to the frame by one hand, not really caring if it was her dominant one or not.

He sat on the bed and pulled her in his lap, belly down like a misbehaving child – which she kind of was. She fought him, of course, but it made him smile more than anything else. She clawed at the sheets, trying to climb off him. Her effort was easily countered by his hand on her back, pinning her down.

"Now, now, don't say I didn't warn you." He pulled at the hem of her nightgown, caressing it between his fingers before pulling it up her lower back.

"What- Stop!" The fear in her voice was so sweet to hear. He would miss it, once she accepts her place. "Stop, you fucking creep."

He slapped her bared cheeks, not even full force yet, just as a warning of what was to come. He considered pulling down her panties when he was at it, but decided to leave her some dignity this time. He didn't know if he would bear restraining himself if he had her bare under his hand.

"NO- STOP!" She yelped as he hit her, it was so sweet. This time he was using his full force.

"Quiet, love, I told you, we don't want to wake everyone up."

"LET ME GO!"

Her struggle was beginning to be less sweet than annoying, so he hit her hard again. Her flesh was starting to turn a lovely shade of red. He thought of his colleagues waking up in middle of the night, hearing her and he decided that he didn't fucking care if they'd be mad at him or not. He was the head of this facility, he could choose to discipline his pets when he found fit.

"Hush! You brought this upon yourself!" He accompanied each word with another hit.

It didn't take much longer for her to quit her struggle. She felt lovely limp in his lap, with head buried in the pillow, hiding her sobs. She only moved when he slapped her, her entire body twitching each strike of his hand.

"That's a good girl." He stopped sooner than she deserved. Caressing her heated flesh, playing with the hem of her panties. "Now, say thank you and we can end this."

"Th- Fuck you." She sobbed into the pillow.

He sighed. Striking her again, hard.

"Ah!" It made her yelp in pain.

"Try again." He warned.

When she didn't answer, down came another hit. He waited after each one to see if she'd grown smart. She didn't. The only noises she let out were more yelps and whimpers. She was lucky; he was tired and didn't want to waste the entire night on her discipline. He stopped, warning her; "Next time I take as long as I need until you learn."

He allowed her to crawl off his lap, while lying down on his side of the bed. She moved as close to the opposite edge as possible to lick her wounds and he let her. If she'd preferred to lay alone and bound, instead of free in his arms, she could. In time she would learn to appreciate his discipline.

...

He was carrying two cups of coffee, leaving him no choice but to open the office door with his elbow. He could hear she was already there, speaking to his children.

"You did good, but not great. I know you can do better than that. You don't want to disappoint father, do you?"

She was a beautiful sight, sitting in his chair, their son in her lap. He stopped at the door, watching her for a moment as she took to another review. "Wonderful work, here’s our how high, I knew you could do it. Say it, Hendrick: how high."

She moved the microphone closer to the baby and he wrapped his little hands around it, saying something that was nearly undistinguishable as: "How high."

"Excellent work, pardon me if I cannot clap right now." He said, smiling at his little family. He walked to them, putting the cups down on the table, far from Hendrick Jr.'s reach. "You're such a talented boy, my love."

"He's perfect." Amelia agreed, standing up to give him back his chair.

He had a sofa brought to his office, so she could sit there when he worked. She made her way there, but not before he gave her and their son each a kiss on their cheek. She smelled beautiful as always, the boy however, carried a sickly smell of milk that Easterman hoped would go away as soon as he was weaned.

He watched her sit down and unbutton her blouse to feed their son, shamelessly eyeing her bared breast. They'd grown bigger since Hendrick Jr. was born.

"Nothing report worthy?" He asked as he skimmed through the newest documents.

"No." Amelia said, pulling their eager son to her chest. "We've had a failed rebirth this morning. Poor thing couldn't find anyone to come with her, even those who had already collected their rebirth tokens had refused. I think we're being too nice to them, it seems like they no longer want to leave."

"Hm. Sleep room number 9?" He opened a folder belonging to the said sleep room. The rebirth was failed by Reagent 2026, a lovely doe eyed thing that was scared to put her hand in dead bodies. She wasn't ready for rebirth anyway. "That's not a problem, the fledglings will fly out when they're ready."

He still checked each evaluation she did by herself, just to be sure she did her job right. It seemed like she did; she was a little nicer than he'd be, but not enough to be of concern. He would assign Reagent 2026 a new role once Amelia left. She would be the next judge in Vindicate the Guilty. However, his sweet wife didn't need to know that, she would be emotional about it and he hated to see her sad.

"Hendrick!" He looked up from his work, seeing Amelia pulling Hendrick Jr. away from her chest. "You need to tell mommy when you feel sick!"

Easterman let out a laugh at the sight of her and the off-white vomit that now covered her shirt. It wasn't the cute baby amount it used to be nor with how big Hendrick Jr. had gotten. He couldn't resist but poke the wound. "He takes after you, doesn't he?"

"That was one time!" Amelia whined, as she took off the filthy top. His love marks covered her shoulders and breast. "He does this every other day!"

She wiped their son's mouth with her shirt, as she complained; "It got in my ring!"

He smiled, looking at his own wedding band on his finger. His was plain, for her he had gotten a diamond from South Africa. They had just gone into fashion, claiming that it was the only stone for true love. It was fitting then, that Irene had chosen a sapphire instead. He returned to his work, knowing that life was beautiful.

...

Amelia was back in the tunnels. She wasn't running, she waited for her death.

She had freed those she could and soon they would spread the word of what was going on here to the world and this place would burn. She expected the guards to come and shoot her on sight, after all, they never hesitated to kill anyone before. She did not expect a single man, that looked like the devil himself in his three-piece suit and a single blue eye that was so piercingly cold she would think it belonged to the dead.

“This probably won’t kill you.”

She fell back, screaming in pain as the bullet hit her calf. She needed to lure him closer, if she wanted to live a second longer. It didn’t have to be far just-

“You’re still trying to escape? There’s determined and then there’s stupid-”

She looked back at him, tears pouring down her eyes. “I’m not trying to escape! I decided I was gonna die here when they killed Damon.”

“When they killed Damon?” The man laughed and she could swear his teeth were pointed, sharp, not human-like, more like a shark. “Nah, sister, I did that!”

This man. It was him who killed Damon, who turned him inside out while he was still alive, who send him to her in pieces- She watched him step closer to the mine, just a little closer and-

He stepped over it, laughing. "Aren't you a clever little rat."

She threw the brick at him, but he dodged it easily. There was nothing else she could use to defend herself as he stepped closer. She rose to her feet and- 

Bang! He shot her other leg, straight to the knee, knocking her back to the ground.

"Just kill me!" She shouted.

"Nah," He laughed. "No way I just kill you, after all the trouble you’ve caused. The cat has caught its prey and now is the time to play."

He knelt to her side and she did not hesitate lashing at him. She should have kept the brick. Next to them the cart rode by, making the ground shake as he put his knee on her chest, pinning her to the ground.

"Has been a long time since I had a worthy hunt." The devil laughed.

"Just fucking kill me!" She shouted… Hell, she begged. She wanted to see Damon again, she did not care if it was in Heaven or Hell.

He laughed at her, taking a knife off his belt. He forced it under her shirt, tearing it apart and suddenly she was a child again, with her filthy father's friends standing over her and laughing as she was undressed.

"No." She begged. "Please, anything but this."

"Please, I know your history." He laughed. "Your boyfriend told it all. You should be used to this."

The knife cut her skin, but it didn't hurt as much as the memories did. She continued begging him to stop, to kill her, to wait until she was dead and then do whatever he wanted to her sorry body, but he did not listen. They never listened.

He tore down her pants and she fought and clawed, even kicking him with her broken legs, but it was no good. He rolled her around, slamming her face into the concrete ground.

"You're a fighter, I will give you that." He laughed. "Delicious."

She felt him force himself into her and she screamed.

"Aagh!"

Her own voice woke her.

Amelia’s entire body twitched, still trying to fight off the assailant of her dream. She wanted to run, but she couldn't stand. She pulled at the arm that was keeping her tied to the bed. Screaming as cold metal dug into her skin.

She could still see the man before her. She could still see the men from before she met Damon, clawing at her. She could hear their laugh. She could feel their body on hers. "No, please!"

"Amelia, calm down!" She struggled in his hold, continuing to pull at the binding holding her down. "Amelia, it's okay, you're safe!"

The hands held her gently, but they were not Damon's. She looked up at Easterman's face, her body falling still. She had a hard time breathing and her throat hurt from screaming.

"Calm down, child, it's okay." He petted her back, pushing her to sit on the bed. "Shh.. That's it, breathe deeply and slowly."

She tried, God, she tried. She could not stop thinking about her dream about the men and their hands on her. It was embarrassing but Easterman's touch felt nice. It felt – ironically – safe, even if he was just one of the many men who had abused her body.

At least he wouldn't rape her when she was conscious, that was the low her standards were at, apparently.

He let her lean on him, as he uncuffed her hand. There was a ring of blood around her wrist, she candled it to her chest, fighting back sobs.

"That's it, child." He petted her back and God, it felt nice, even if her butt hurt from his abuse and the memory made her blush. "Nice deep breaths. Do you want to tell me what you dreamed about?"

"No." She shook her head.

"It will feel better if you do." He said softly, too softly, too gently for the monster he was. "I promise, it will make it better."

She did not believe him and yet, she felt the need to share her pain, to let someone know and ease the burden on her soul. Damon knew. She could tell Damon everything, but Damon was dead and it was her fault. "Men hurting me."

"Oh, my dear." He pressed her to his chest, one hand wrapping around her, the other caressing her hair. "Was it of sexual nature?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes, maybe if she closed her eyes she could pretend Damon was still here, except Easterman smelled nothing like him.

"It must have been horrible, child, I'm so sorry." His tone was low like a cat's purr. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you like that, I promise... I won't let anyone hurt you again, ever."

"Except yourself?" Her voice cracked as she said it.

"Only when you make me." He answered and there was a second of silence before he spoke again. "You know what I dreamed about? About you, with my son, you were the perfect mother, taking such good care of him."

His hand slipped to her stomach and she could not bear it any longer, tearing away from him and standing up.

"Go put your hand under cold water." He said casually. "I will fetch a bandage."

...

That morning a special trial was taking place at the request of a group of reagents tempted to try and test their skill. It was happening in the shopping mall with all its usual treats and the presence of another Prime Asset and her traps on top of it.

"She's pretty this one. What do you say, brother?" One half of a person said.

"Pretty she is, but she has nothing on you, my love." The other half answered. "And a communist too. I'm way too old to be falling for a Soviet honey pot."

"There, brother!"

An unlucky reagent was hit by a vial of smelly substance, prompting him to stumble backwards and gag. His back hit a dark mannequin.

"Beloved of God!"

The mannequin moved, slipping her blade under the reagent's neck. With a quick slash, blood poured out of it and he fell to the ground.

"No!" Another reagent screamed, alerting the Prime Assets to her presence. Her teammates stopped her as she tried to run their way, dragging her back towards the backrooms. They still had valves to find before they could end the trial.

Otto Kress relaxed his posture, letting his saw hit the ground.

"Miss Liliya, always a pleasure to see you."

"You lie well, politician." Liliya said in her hoarse voice, making it unclear if her words were meant to be taken seriously or as a mere jest.

"Have you had the pleasure of visiting the new trial, yet? The one where they are tasked with killing the escapist." Otto asked.

"It's a mere mockery of her image." Liliya answered, wiping her bloodied blade into one of the many dresses displayed around the mall. Naturally, she had chosen the white one to stain.

"We did not believe it is her, either. But why? Why would he spare her life for so long after the escape? Is he simply stupid?" Arora asked, adjusting the too loose strap of her top.

Liliya laughed. "He is love struck."

"No-" The twins said at once, disbelief and amusement apparent in both of their lovely voices.

"He is!" Liliya stood by her words. "He defiles her and wraps her in pretty dresses, she sleeps in his room."

"So, Easterman did go mad at last." Otto laughed, Arora covered her mouth to hide her smile. "And what do you say? You still think she has her mind on setting us free?"

"She is a martyr and a saint, in His name, she is a patron of all of us trapped in the trials and may He be gracious, she sets us all free."

"Don’t let your hopes blind you." Arora shrugged. "Speak to Franco about her. You will learn that she promised him the same and never delivered."

Liliya knocked her head to the side, looking up at Arora. "Did she?"

Arora nodded. "He told us, he helped her escape from his trial. That she fooled him and told him she will help him escape. Then when she did, she only took her fellow reagents with her."

There was a moment of silence, as Liliya contemplated her words. Somewhere on the upper floor a reagent screamed.