King Diocletian
Magistrate
It was over. She couldn’t quite believe it was over, but they were unfastening her wrists and her ankles. She felt nauseous and weak, her muscles still twitched and her heart was thumping but it was over. After they’d soaked her again and the electrodes had been reapplied they’d given her five more level one shots before the terror of the bit and a shot on level two. Level one hurt, but level two felt like it was tearing her apart.
Everything felt hazy. Their hands were at her belly, removing the strap around her waist, then they were shouting at her to get up. She tried, but fell, weak and dizzy, landing hard on her side and collapsing to lie face down on the concrete. Her wrists were yanked back and cuffed behind her and a blindfold fastened over her. They were shouting at her but she could barely understand them as they pulled her to her feet. “We’ll carry on tomorrow,” said the younger one.
She knew she had to think, but she couldn’t. She was too tired, too weak. They dragged her out of the room, her feet trailing on the floor and the next she knew she was being dropped into the box. She could have wept. She needed sleep. They held a bottle to her lips and let her drink and then the lid came down and the noise of the engines began.
She must have dozed off or lost consciousness because the next she knew it was bitterly cold and the noise was of a drill. Her teeth chattered. Think. She had to think. What could she say to them? She couldn’t take another night of shocks. But when she tried to think all that came into her head was the thought that Rebecca had betrayed her. She knew it was ridiculous to hate her - you couldn’t blame anybody for what they said under torture – but it was Rebecca’s fault she was here.
Should she lie about Bobby? But all that would do would be to ensure Bobby was tortured and when their stories didn’t match she’d be punished. Her head throbbed, her mouth was dry. She felt hungry. She was cold. She pulled her thighs as tight to her chest as she could. Her cunt was in agony. Her ear hurt. She felt desperately fragile. Could she seduce them?
The drill stopped and more terrible local pop began. Were they watching her? The tinny thumping cut through her. She thought of her gold dress. The temperature began to rise. She touched her head back against the Perspex behind her. She had to end this. She couldn’t take another shock. And if level two was that bad, what was three, four or five going to be like? She’d heard stories that shocks could harm your reproductive system. Could it be that she was sterile already? But it was the pain, more than anything else, the pain that she dreaded. It was so hot she could barely breathe. She had begun to sweat. She pushed her feet against the other end of the box. Her buttocks felt clammy against the base. The bass of the music hammered her aching head.
Everything felt hazy. Their hands were at her belly, removing the strap around her waist, then they were shouting at her to get up. She tried, but fell, weak and dizzy, landing hard on her side and collapsing to lie face down on the concrete. Her wrists were yanked back and cuffed behind her and a blindfold fastened over her. They were shouting at her but she could barely understand them as they pulled her to her feet. “We’ll carry on tomorrow,” said the younger one.
She knew she had to think, but she couldn’t. She was too tired, too weak. They dragged her out of the room, her feet trailing on the floor and the next she knew she was being dropped into the box. She could have wept. She needed sleep. They held a bottle to her lips and let her drink and then the lid came down and the noise of the engines began.
She must have dozed off or lost consciousness because the next she knew it was bitterly cold and the noise was of a drill. Her teeth chattered. Think. She had to think. What could she say to them? She couldn’t take another night of shocks. But when she tried to think all that came into her head was the thought that Rebecca had betrayed her. She knew it was ridiculous to hate her - you couldn’t blame anybody for what they said under torture – but it was Rebecca’s fault she was here.
Should she lie about Bobby? But all that would do would be to ensure Bobby was tortured and when their stories didn’t match she’d be punished. Her head throbbed, her mouth was dry. She felt hungry. She was cold. She pulled her thighs as tight to her chest as she could. Her cunt was in agony. Her ear hurt. She felt desperately fragile. Could she seduce them?
The drill stopped and more terrible local pop began. Were they watching her? The tinny thumping cut through her. She thought of her gold dress. The temperature began to rise. She touched her head back against the Perspex behind her. She had to end this. She couldn’t take another shock. And if level two was that bad, what was three, four or five going to be like? She’d heard stories that shocks could harm your reproductive system. Could it be that she was sterile already? But it was the pain, more than anything else, the pain that she dreaded. It was so hot she could barely breathe. She had begun to sweat. She pushed her feet against the other end of the box. Her buttocks felt clammy against the base. The bass of the music hammered her aching head.