I could lie to myself and say it was carnal lust, but that would imply fucking, and that hadn’t happened. She was right there for me to touch, yet I hadn’t dared to move any closer when she told me to stop. Since when do I take orders from the subjects? I could have walked away, but I seem to lose my senses whenever she’s around, like a fucking disease is affecting my brain.
Virus Victoria. A fire with no off switch.
I open her file and go through the notes, pretending that reviewing her information will give me some sort of clue.
“Case file: Victoria Hale. The subject is…”Playing with my brain.“Showing symptoms of behavioral mirroring. Emotional dissociation…”Didn’t look dissociated to me at all“…The next step of the experiment…”Fuck her, bend her, spank her…Stop!I’m officially fucked.
Here’s the truth: she’s chaos, a goddamn weapon with a pulse. There’s rot in me now. It’s not lust—it’s a viral kind of need. She made me want to kneel before her, just to get a taste, even if that would have condemned me to hell. I’m infected, contaminated, and I need to fix it soon.
I walk to the bathroom. I have the forethought to not turn on the light, not really wanting to see in the mirror what I’ve become.
I pin my hands to the edge of the sink, forcing myself to calm down. Looking down, I see my cock betraying me. Justone thought of her naked body is enough to get me hard again. Fucking woman.
That performance wasn’t meant to please me. It was just a test, like the one I performed on her, and I failed just as miserably. She put a leash on me and dared me not to pull, and God knows I didn’t. Because I liked the leash. I liked my collar. All that was missing was her asking me to bark, and I would have done that as well.
I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t help.
I don’t want her, I tell myself, but I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince now. My sanity is slipping away, replaced by thoughts of her.
That’s the problem with subjects that don’t follow the plan—they corrupt the test. She made fun of my experiment by removing her clothes.Just like I did?Perhaps, but it had a different meaning.Did it really?Yes.
And the worst part? She didn’t even try to win. Just sat there—back arched, head thrown, mouth parted—and unraveled me with no effort at all. She’s too sharp, too self-aware of her effect on me. Too… uncontrollable.
If I go to her now, forcing her to lose something again, I’ll break the experiment and myself. I want her too much, her body and her submission, and I’m not sure how I’d react if she doesn’t comply. A gesture that would cost her nothing and could cost me everything.
I can’t let that happen. Next time, I’ll make her suffer in such torturous ways, the devil himself will take notes.
Until then, I need something I can break. Something close enough to scratch the itch. Something I can dissect without losing pieces of myself.
A counterfeit will do.
I can’t hurt Victoria tonight, so I’ll find a knockoff to destroy before I ruin the original.
Azrael: I’ll be there in 15 min. Have a line ready. I need to choose.
Vincent: Ready when you are. Something special?
The last thing I need is for a subject to know how badly I’m craving pain today. This isn’t who I am. Or maybe it is. Maybe this is the only part of me that’s ever been honest and not suppressed by the mask I wear constantly. This version of me doesn’t need a reason to make someone bleed, just an opportunity, and she gave me one.
I drive in silence, my thoughts still too loud to shut them out.
The place isn’t far—just far enough out of the way to go unspoken so random people don’t find it. No address, no cameras, no records.
The Place That Doesn’t Exist.Something between a sex club and an underground torture arena.
This is where you go for the things that are too wrong to name but too real to deny you want them. A place that operates on rules older than legality and where reputation is stronger than morality.
Vincent’s waiting outside, a cigarette between his fingers. His nod is not just a simple greeting, it’s his way of accepting you inside—not that he would ever dare refuse me. I built this place.
He is one of the sixteen fuckers that escaped five years ago. Contrary to the others, he understood the power I gave him, and used it to his advantage. He is also the one that keeps me updated when the other subjects are getting too close.
“It’s been a while, Doctor.” His voice cuts the silence, but I don’t answer. He already knows why I’m here—to free the monster in my head.
We step into the building in silence, me leading the way and Vincent following behind.
The air gets heavier the deeper you go, a warning the place, itself, is giving to you. Too much blood has soaked this floor for anyone to walk it without feeling it. If the truth behind these doors ever gets out, half the government would have to take the fall. But that won’t happen. Outsiders don’t make it this far. The people here already know who belongs inside.
The corridor opens into a long room lit with blinding white lights. The ambiance is never a problem, you are not coming here for that type of pleasure, you’re coming for… products. A row of girls, each curated to satisfy the most sadistic fantasies. Scrubbed clean of identity or any emotion, just a shell of what they used to be.