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

Work wips, inspiration lately sinful posts I don't wish to show on my main

[herodia]

The concept of eastermelia escaping together oughhhhhh thats so cute…..

Neither of them would've considered that a happy ending, but I can see them living rest of their lives somehow normal and not giving their child that much trauma (or at least less than they have had as children).

[herodia]

Despite easterman not being good for amelia i cant help but wish for a happy ending for them both ….

Not gonna lie, I was considering having them escape together and move to Yugoslavia. (Yugoslavia here serving as a methaphor for how their relationship would end.)

[herodia]

I love your fic “god loves you, amelia collier” you write amelia so well and i look forward to your future updates ^_^

Thank you! You just made my day with this ask! 🥺

I'm working on it and hopefully, I will have update ready by Sunday!

[herodia]

Amelia getting bred by easterman amelia getting bred by easterman

I feared the day that Easterman finds my blog. Thank you for your input.

[herodia]

I find it very funny that I managed to predict some of the Amelia things correctly in my fic but failed to keep with the canon by making Coyle straight. I'm sorry Coyle I should had let you fuck some male grunts too.

[rosbourg]

Leave it to Easterman to get rage-baited by a comatose girl

[ask-games-from-a-weird-girl]

Fanfic asks - for the askers

Basically, it's a fanfic asks with a twist - because now it's the askers who answer the questions and send them to YOU! Mostly to give you some love about your writing! Giving you some well deserved ego boost! <3

So, askers - pick a number, or several numbers, to answer in ask boxes that you send to your fic author!

My favorite fic of yours

My favorite chapter in my favorite fic of yours

The best character you've written for

The best ship you've written for

A fic I haven't read yet from you, but I want to

Something I remember vividly from reading one of your fics

What made me the most emotional after reading

What I like the most about your writing

A fic i'm excited for you updating/posting

A character/ship I didn't enjoy/think about as much before you wrote about them

Something I wish/hope you write

A fic of yours that i've re-read

If i've ever shared/talked about your fic to someone else

A fic I didn't expect to like so much

A question I have about one of your fics

[pl4stiche4rt]

Love your Messiah

[herodia]

I wrote a silly Scriddler mystery story, if anyone wants to have a laugh. Read on ao3 or under cut.

Scarecrow was returned to their cell with zip-tied hands and a muzzle in his mouth, glaring daggers at Riddler, who gave him an apologetic look, before getting up from his chair and trying to place a kiss on his cheeks. The man, however, wasn't cooperating, he tilted his head up, forcing The Riddler on his tippytoes just to reach his chin.

"Don't sulk, Jonathan." He said. "You're too old to be childish, people will start thinking you have dementia."

Scarecrow flipped him off with his bound hands.

Riddler sighed. "Sit down so I can help you."

Still glaring daggers at his cellmate, Scarecrow did what was asked of him. As he sat on the bed, he was eye to eye with Riddler standing next to him. It never failed to perplex him just how absurdly tall the man was. What were they feeding them in Georgia?

Riddler untied the muzzle keeping Scarecrow’s mouth shut and the man didn't waste a moment to start bitching, not even stopping to wipe the saliva off his lips. "Fucking snitch, just wait until you fall asleep. I will show you fear you have never known before. I’ll peel back what's left of your sanity and let you taste a terror yet untouched by human experience."

"And you’ll savor every delicious second of my descent into sleepless terror, I’m sure." Riddler threw the muzzle in the sink, before using it to wash his hands. He had seen enough from the staff at Arkham to know one should always wash their hands after touching something they did. "I never expected you to thank me, but you could at least cut the complaints. You know I wouldn't 'snitch' as you call it, if you left me better opinion. Did they use the jacket?"

"You could've just let me be." There was an undertone to Scarecrow's voice that made him sound like he was growling. "And yes, they did."

There was no straitjacket long enough to fit the Scarecrow's tall frame, so they opted for a smaller one that twisted his back unnaturally. Riddler frowned. He reached behind the sink, taking out a pair of small scissors, before returning to the bed and cutting the zip-tie binding his cellmate's wrists.

Scarecrow immediately lifted his hands in the air, stretching them and his shoulders, as Riddler returned the contraband, His back cracking loudly.

"Fuck. You owe me a massage."

"I shall indulge you, but only because I still need to do the exposure exercise doctor Quinzel assigned me and you're a much more favorable option than touching anyone else in this filthy facility."

Scarecrow pulled down the top of his uniform, revealing his bandaged forearm. It had dark stains where blood had soaked through, it was clearly more than ready to be changed, however this was Arkham Asylum and every cent was counts. Riddler cringed at the sight.

"You're lucky. They hosed me down to clean off the blood." Scarecrow said, moving to sit sideways on the bed, so the Riddler could better reach his back.

"I genuinely feared you might not return – a rare emotional lapse on my part." Riddler said as he spread his (also contraband) hand cream across Scarecrow back. "While you were gone, more staff went on a sick leave and Strange toppled into a coma. No one can explain why, in a building full of medical staff. Isn’t that delicious?"

"And you're certainly not having a heyday with the mystery." Scarecrow answered sarcastically, before groaning. "Fuck, for someone who’s afraid to touch people you're good at this."

"Naturally." Riddler smiled, not bothering to clarify which sentence he was answering to (it was both at once). "You're not exactly the hardest subject to massage, I can basically see the muscle through your skin. Did you get that mole I told you about checked?"

"Not yet." Scarecrow rolled his eyes, leaning into Riddler's touch.

"Skin cancer is no joke, Jonathan."

"I'm certain it will be fine." He pulled away. "Let me lie down."

They changed their positions so Scarecrow could spread his too long body on the too short bed. Riddler leaned over him in a rather compromising manner that would be hard to explain while keeping up his lone genius persona. A careful watcher might have noticed that Scarecrow had closed his eyes, before asking;

"So, I imagine you have your theories."

"Oh, yes." There was a hint of excitement to Riddler's voice. "I have mapped out shifts of Arkham personnel and cross-examined them with the sickness cases. I'm certain there's poison at play. There's no simpler explanation and more often than not, Occam's razor is the case when it comes to Arkham – we don't get that many interesting cases around here."

"You think Batman had noticed already?" Scarecrow asked.

"I hope so, and I hope to solve this sooner than he does." Riddler grinned, pressing his thumbs into Scarecrows shoulder blades.

"Why such an interest? Surely, it's not just so you can beat Batman at his game."

"You're very correct to ask, Jonathan." Riddler ran his knuckles across Scarecrow's spine, making the man twitch. "There's a common variable within all the cases; only those who were employed at Arkham twelve to fifteen years ago got sick and the list of those who were employed and aren't sick gets lower every day."

"You think I'm next?" Scarecrow asked, his interest now apparent.

"I told you, I wasn't sure if you would come back."

"Yet, you still snitched on me."

“Between explosive diarrhea and allowing you to mutilate yourself? That was barely snitching.”

"I never went as far as to kill myself." Scarecrow countered. "I might if I get explosive diarrhea, however."

"You don't even eat enough for that to be a problem. In fact, your dietary habits Might be just the thing that saved you from your horrible fate in the bathrooms of the medical wing."

 "You are afraid someone might accidentally poison you, aren't you?" Scarecrow cackled.

"It's always about fear with you. But yes, I will admit it crossed my mind and I don't like it, so I'd like to prevent it the best I can."

"By finding out the source of the illness."

"Indeed. And I’ll be having a word with them about the importance of striking the correct target."

"How do you know they struggle with that?"

"Because there are cases that don't fit the pattern, however, they do always share shifts with a target that does. For example, half the kitchen staff fell ill and I have a feeling that it was either to hide the culprit's footprints or tasting the wrong soup."

"Are you sure you aren't just seeing a pattern where there isn't any?"

"Me? Never."

They were interrupted by a very impolite orderly shouting "LIGHT'S OUT IN FIVE. GET YOUR CRAZY ASSES IN BEDS." across the corridor. Riddler was very fast to jump off his cellmate as to not to be caught in a compromising position. (One might assume the compromising position meant 'caught with another man' but one would be mistaken. Riddler simply refused to be seen while giving rather than receiving.)

He sat on his own bed, taking off his glasses before laying down. "I made a list of possible perpetrators. Some will be easier to corner than others. I could use your interrogation skill when I do that."

Scarecrow chuckled. "You're afraid you'll get your ass whooped."

"That's not true at all, I just happen to think your attendance is vital, considering you’re one of the rapidly shrinking survivors." He said, despite there being no death tied to the outbreak quite yet. Doctor Strange got close however. Probably due to his age."

One of the suspiciously unharmed targets was Harley Quinn herself, Riddler didn't think it was her but he felt a sense of obligation to warn her about the situation. It was also very easy to catch her. He sat opposite to her at breakfast. She was picking on her eggs, positioning them to form a smile face on her plate.

"Eddie!" She yelped when she saw him, lighting up even more than she was before, even if it seemed at first impossible. "Come, sit with us!"

"Good morning to you, Doctor Quinzel. Pamela." Scarecrow just sat down without being invited himself. People should know by now that unless in a period of a breakup. him and Riddler were a one plus one deal in Arkham.

"Are you doing your exposures, Eddie?"

"If you must know, yes, Harleen, I am." He said with an annoyed tone.

"You know Jonny here doesn't count, right?" Harley was as cheerful as ever.

"Yes, he does. You should see the filth he works in."

Poison Ivy clearly dozed off and as Riddler sat next to her, she woke up with a startle, blinking few times staring at Scarecrow, before shaking her head. "Oh, morning."

"Troubles sleeping again?" Scarecrow asked, raising his brows.

"It's the time of the year when Harley sings in her sleep." Ivy said, it was the time of the year when the summer semester ended and finals started for students of Gotham's university... same time of the year when Harley was her maddest. And they say education can't make you crazy.

"I'm so sorry baby, I tried to tape my mouth shut but nothing works!"

"I could provide you with an Arkham issued muzzle if you lend me some Benzos." Scarecrow offered.

"Jonny, no! I don't deal with medication!"

"And yet you're giving cognitive behavior therapy to Edward."

"Well, obviously? I'm still the best qualified person in the building!" She pointed at her name tag, that had an additional 'CBT therapist' handwritten under her name and sentence. "Look, Doctor Arkham even gave me an official title!"

"Jeremiah needs his sick leave." Scarecrow rolled his eyes. "In his case shitting himself was a blessing from God."

"That's what I want to talk with you about, actually." Riddler rejoined the conversation.

"Doctor Arkham's bathroom habits?" Harley asked with immensely serious tone, prompting her tired girlfriend to cackle before giving her a disappointed look.

 "No, I mean the peculiar food poisonings plaguing this place lately. I’ve listed every victim, and they all share a single, glaring link: Arkham employment within the last twelve to fifteen years."

"What about, Zsasz?" Harley pointed out.

"A few cases were accidental, people nibbling food that wasn’t theirs, getting poisoned as a collateral." Riddler rolled his eyes. "And you know Zsasz — if it’s unattended, he’ll inhale it."

"Ha!" Harley yelped. "So not everyone matches your theory!"

"Don't be nitpicking and listen to me, my calculations are done and correct, as always."

"Alway? Like-"

"Please, let him finish, Doctor Quinzel."

"You haven't been touching your food, Jonathan." Ivy pointed her spoon at Scarecrow.

"Yes, for obvious reasons."

"You think Jonny is next on the turd-exploder's list!" Harley gasped theatrically.

"Please use the term poisoner or culprit." Riddler said before she could continue speaking. "And yes, I think Jon and your likeness are the next intended victims."

"Oof, good that I've been taking that charcoal with all my foods so that won't happen then!"

There was a genuine hurt on Riddler's face. "Are you telling me you knew?"

"Well, obviously." Harley said. "When a girl's ex-colleagues all start falling ill, she better make sure she isn't getting poisoned."

"So, this mania of yours is not due to the season but the charcoal deactivating your anti-psychotics."

"Right as always, Jonny!"

"Unfortunately, this solution wouldn't work for me." Scarecrow shook his head. "I need my medication working or he would show up and land me in the hole for next month where I'd most likely get poisoned anyways."

"Do you have any ideas who the culprit could be?" Riddler asked.

Harley giggled. "Don't you, Eddie?"

"Yes, I do actually, but I want to know if our theories match."

"Well, there's the super old nurse Phyllis, she always looks like she has some evil plan going. I'm pretty sure fifteen years ago is when Ben and Bonnie started working here, along with Bolton, but I haven't seen him this week, so he might have shat himself too... and a few of the rogues that used to work here like me, Marionette and Louise... Bethany if she counts, it sounds like something she would do."

"And do you have any idea, who could have a reason to poison everyone but them?"

"Anyone really, you know how it works here; human rights mean nothing and everyone's plotting revenge."

"Thank you, Harley."

Harley for all her manic outbreak, had managed to give quite the correct list of suspiciously healthy subjects to Edward. She also managed to remind him of few names that he surely would've remembered himself in time. One of those being Maria-Annette Kant, a former janitor of Arkham, born a rich girl, who after the untimely death of her parents by the hand of the Falcone family, ended up on the streets. Her family wealth was stolen by the shareholders of her family's company, turning the former nepo baby into a poor orphan. Her coping mechanism was dressing up as a puppet and kidnapping children and/or grandchildren of the said shareholders. She was a favorite rogue of Gotham's left, despite her rich beginnings and absolutely zero real socialist ideals. 

She also did burlesque in the Iceberg Lounge, when she was occasionally out on parole. She was known under her stage name as Marionette. Of course, Harleen Quinzel would remember her, she thought their similar naming convention was hilarious and often ended up attending Marionette's performances and drinking herself (both of them, really) unconscious after.

"I don't remember shit, pretty boy, I was constantly drunk back then."

"Yes, I do remember you throwing empty cans on people who stepped on your wet floors." Riddler deadpanned. "But surely, you must remember something."

She giggled. He could smell alcohol in her breath even now and he had a feeling that it wasn't a leftover from twelve years ago. "Yeah, I did that. I really don't know what was twelve and what was five years ago, but you should try the other staff."

"Like who for example?"

"Harley, of course, Bethany- Oh, Ben Park 'n his gal! And Phyllis definitely, did you try asking Doctor Arkham?" Marionette due to her medication and self-medication on benzos spoke rather slowly – the complete opposite of manic Harley Quinn. And while Riddler had an easy time understanding the first woman, Marionette's slowness annoyed him beyond measure. "There's also the kitchens, but I don't think anyone stayed there for long, except maybe Ratchet. And the Greek girl, if she counts... I don't think she does, does she?"

Marionette was unsurprisingly unhelpful. Riddler used the first opportunity to thank her for her help, took Scarecrow's hand in his and pulled him away from the woman before he scared the location of her stash out of her and proceeded to give himself an alcohol poisoning.

Another easy find was Doctor Bethany Kellich, aka Gotham's own Angel of Death. To make a long story short, she was one of the people who hated working in Arkham so much she started killing people. The long story included an affair with Hugo Strange, a decade long divorcing process during which she was foolish enough to hope that he would marry her as soon as it’s done and a following restraining order. She was about Scarecrow's age, but completely opposite in stature: She was short and round, seemingly the sweetest lady you've ever met, until she put bleach in your IV and watched you die in convulsions, of course. She also liked to flirt with the Scarecrow to make him uncomfortable. A pleasant woman through and through.

"Yes, I've noticed there was something strange with the recent epidemic. I tried to tell Jeremiah, but he pretended he didn’t hear me and called the guards to escort me out!" She gesticulated excessively as she spoke.

"In his defense, Bethany, that tends to happen if you are a known criminal caught trespassing during curfew." Scarecrow pointed out, seemingly not interested in the entire detective episode and wanting to be out of Bethany's presence as soon as possible. He once admitted to Riddler she reminded him of those girls who bullied him in high school.

"Do you recall there being someone else present, who haven't yet fallen ill and is neither Jonathan, Harley nor Marionette?"

She sighed. "I don't know, Mister Nygma, it's been so long... Oh, Phyllis definitely! And did you try the kitchens? Leandra still works here, doesn't she?!"

"What about the list of targets, do you have any idea why someone would poison staff members from that long ago?"

"It must be Hugo's fault, obviously." She sneered.

"Do you recall what his focus was at the time? He did so much medical malpractice during the years even I don't keep track of them."

She made a face that implied the action of thinking that long back was painful to her. "That's after Claudia left him, right? If yes, then he had started multiple projects at the time. Oblivious coping mechanism, if you ask me. He had a joint project with Pyg, I remember because he kept working on this girl that looked a lot like Claudia and it was driving me insane, so I tried to kill her. She's fine, by the way I think she still works here. He was also working with Jonny here on the fear toxin thing and he bought himself a new car and did amateur racing. Anyway, why don't you start in the kitchens?"

"It's about the process of solving the case, doctor, not about the result."

"Anyway, how are you, Jonathan? I heard your psychosis got so bad you ended up in the jacket! You know you can always talk to me, right? We could adjust your medication and set up a therapy-"

"It wasn't a psychosis, Bethany and thank you, but no, I do not need your help with my mental state."

"So," Scarecrow said as they were leaving the canteen. "Is there a reason why we don’t go straight to the kitchen and ask who has been suspiciously tampering with the food?"

Riddler frowned. "You insult me, Jonathan, do you think I would ever take the easy way to solve a mystery?"

"I mean, your modus operandi usually is to solve everything before Batman does, so you can laugh at his slowness or hide the clues from him."

"Surely, you wouldn't be as cruel as to ruin this one form of amusement I have in Arkham. And even if our dear kitchen staff knew who is doing this, why would they tell me? Everyone in Gotham knows that snitches get nothing but stiches."

Scarecrow smirked. "I can't wait for the culprit to find out what you're doing and poison you too.”

"That won't happen, do not even joke about that happening, Jonathan." Riddler said very seriously.

"There it is. The fear of losing your dignity." Scarecrow smirked, but his expression soon turned bitter. "Couldn't be me, not after I learn that Bethany of all people knows I was in the hole. Especially after I kept your mishaps from the public knowledge."

"I didn't rat you out, Jonathan, the whole block saw you being dragged away bleeding." Riddler frowned. "It's your fault, you shouldn't have done that."

"It would suck if they had learned about your own, perfectly symmetrical scars on your thighs, that reopened one too many times to ever fade."

Scarecrow barely finished the sentence, before he was being pinned to a wall by the shorter man with a contraband blade at his neck.

"Shut. Up." Riddler growled.

Alas, Scarecrow was far beyond fearing threats on his life. He leaned into the blade, until the skin broke under it, while staring down into his attacker's eyes. In a second, Riddler pulled the knife away. Scarecrow smiled the entire time. "You wouldn't dare, love."

"Fuck you. You threaten my dignity again and I will."

Scarecrow kept smiling. "You're overreacting, Edward, your mind is feeding you the worst-case scenarios, exposure will help you accept that no one will look for imperfections on your body but yourself."

He was to lay a hand on the side of Riddle's thigh, but his hand was caught and was pulled towards the end of the corridor.

"No, thank you, this is something I refuse to get exposed to." Riddler let go of Scarecrow's hand and they continued their way back to their cell. "This and this damn poison. My dignity doesn't need either of this."

"This is one of the tamest revenge plots that happened in Arkham for decades." Scarecrow rolled his eyes, allowing Riddler to change the subject. "It's just diarrhea, Edward." 

"What if I end up like Strange did? What if this is how I die!" Riddler spiraled, his voice growing more frantic with every word. "What a horrible ending that would be for the Prince of Puzzles! They would rename me to-"

Scarecrow interrupted him. "You wouldn't die. Strange was probably poisoned repeatedly and even he will be fine."

"I'm not ashamed to admit that my ego would not survive it."

Scarecrow cackled. "You're the most dramatic man I know and I know one who dresses as a giant bat. Anyway, how do you know it's not Bethany? Maria had a point, it's her brand of crime and her ex-partner at the risk of an embarrassing death."

"Bethany's work is far cleaner, both literally and not; she would not choose diarrhea and she'd take longer breaks between targets. You know it took her months to move to a new victim after the last one had died. She bids her time."

"And how do you know it's not me?"

"You would poison me first and laugh at my misery." Riddler deadpanned. "But back to the case; do you recall what you were doing at the time? What revenge worthy things were happening?"

Scarecrow shook his head. "Just like the gremlin of a woman said. Strange started multiple projects at the time to cope with his divorce – deserved by the way, I'm still baffled how he ever scored such a woman as Claudia-"

"Jonathan, please focus."

"I was occupied with expanding my formula for recreational use. Oswald was looking for a way to enter Gotham's drug market and commissioned me to create a strain of fear toxin that would bring the same high as watching horror movies does."

"Ah, yes, the 'scare candies," Which were on the street dubbed 'scandies' which pissed Scarecrow off immensely. "That did absolutely nothing for me but tasted like mediocre candy that was not worth its calories."

"You've developed tolerance of my toxin by the time they were out, at least the first batches, the latest ones were strong enough to take down a horse." Scarecrow grinned. "Maybe it's time to bring them back. It was amusing to have people take fear toxin on their own."

"Focus, Jonathan. Let's say you weren't the one who had angered our culprit. Do you recall what else was Strange doing? Bethany was active at the time, but she was not yet poisoned so I would assume it wasn't something she did or helped with."

"As she said, Strange worked on perfecting Pyg's dolls, which she refused to help him with, because he picked this pretty gal to work on. I don't think she looked like his ex-wife though, she just had a name that fit nicely with his project's name; 'Project Pygmalion'. Pretentious ass. He also tried to cure his baldness. He was embarrassed to tell anyone, but we noticed anyway, because suddenly every bald inmate in Arkham was growing their hair back and every man with hair was suddenly balding." Riddler remembered that one, he put a stop to it himself. It took him years to regrow his beautiful hair. "So his usual brand of testing new medications on his patients. That's about all I remember."

"Thank you, Jonathan, very useful."

Louise, another therapist-turned-rogue was brought to the medical bay the very morning, after hiding her condition for three days, while hoping it goes away by itself. So that was one suspect minus, which also ended the easy part of their search: the inmates.

The second easiest subjects to find were the guards; Ben and Bonnie were a duo of orderlies who started working at Arkham at the same time two decades ago and were non-separatable ever since (to the amusement of many inmates, from whom plenty attended their wedding). Ben – Benedict Park – was an ex-convict from Blackgate, who knew plenty of inmates by name due to his history of working as a goon for the rogues. Bonnie Novak-Park – was a failed police school graduate, who started working in Arkham as Thomas Novak and thought it would be very funny to choose her new name to match Ben's (most people around them had agreed with her about that, but most people around them were also mentally challenged). Neither of them was very bright and could not help Riddler with his task of finding the culprit. Oh, and they were both on his paycheck.

"Don't tell Bonnie, but after years of her cooking my intestines can deal with anything!" Ben faux whispered to Edward, spitting on the horrified man in the process and earned himself an elbow from Boonie for it (for the comment on her cooking, not for splitting on the Riddler. That she couldn't care less about), who stood right next to him. 

"I assume asking if you remember who worked there back then and who would want revenge is no use."

"Everybody in this place has a reason for revenge, Eddie, you must know, you fuck the guy who's using the inmates as his test subjects." Bonnie said, while offering them both a cigarette – something that the Riddler had declined and Scarecrow enthusiastically accepted. "So, you think it's someone from inside the Asylum?"

"It's very unlikely that the poisonings would happen outside, however I can't entirely exclude that hypothesis, as my intel from the outside is currently indisposed."

Despite not being the sharpest pencil in the box, Bonnie could take hints. "I don't think I know anyone who doesn't work here with long term food poisoning. But I can tell you that we are friends with the kitchen staff, which might be the reason we weren't poisoned yet."

"Mind reminding me who exactly, you're friends with?"

"Everyone!" Bonnie smiled.

"Bonnie goes there every morning for a coffee!" Ben added. "She says the one in the rec room is bad, but it tastes okay to me."

"You spend an hour there every morning but don't know who the culprit might be?" Riddler raised his brows.

"How could I forget, I saw this strange gal pouring a big bottle titled Salmonella into the food." Bonnie answered sarcastically.

"But you can tell me, who was present when the last poisoning had occurred?"

"When was that?"

"Louise on… let’s say it was Friday."

"Let's see. I think that was Erika, Lea, Galatea, Maddie and Gita, but the last two are on sick leave since Monday."

"Thank you."

"Your intel is indisposed? And here I thought you were truly doing this for me." Scarecrow asked as they were leaving the staff rec room.

"Don't be so self-centric, Jonathan. Do you recall any other orderly from that time who lasted until today?"

"Only Bolton." Lyle Bolton was one of the first to get sick and honestly, even if he wasn't matching target, he would probably get poisoned anyway for acting like a brute and a bully at any opportunity he got. "Should we see him anyway, just in case?"

Scarecrow blew the smoke of his cigarette towards Riddler, who hated smoking and took care to stand far enough from Scarecrow to avoid the smell, as it did not sit well with his asthma. Of course, Scarecrow still found a way to annoy him with it, as he found Riddler fearing for his life during an asthma attack arousing. He was a horrible man, if you can’t make that out.

"And get targeted as soon as he gets out? No, thank you. Not. My. Kink. Unlike someone." Riddler flipped him off. Sometimes gestures give a thousand words.

"Anyway, next are Phyllis and Ratchet and neither of them is anywhere we are legally allowed to."

"As if that ever stopped you, Edward." Scarecrow smiled. "I think I already know, who our culprit is however, do you?"

"Of course, I have my suspicions, but what fun would it be to stop the investigation now? when we were just getting to the exciting part!"

Phyllis Herman worked in Arkham since Doctor Arkham's late father directed the institution and liked to remind the man that she remembered him wearing diapers. She was a head nurse at the hospital and would likely remain until she finally kicked the bucket. Retirement was clearly not an option for this woman.

"You rascals should not be here." She said with an undertone of amusement in her otherwise serious voice. "Especially you, Nygma, Jon I know is a troublemaker, but you are disappointing me."

"How could I go so long without seeing my favorite head nurse, Mrs. Herman?"

"Cut the sweettalk, what do you need, Nygma? Is this a hostage situation?"

"She's right, Edward, we shouldn't be here." Scarecrow said with performative seriousness. "If she drops dead now, it will be on us."

"Joking with old people about death isn't funny, young man." The way she addressed him shared the same bite as his words did. "Now, tell me what you need."

"There's a pattern to the recent epidemic, that my genius self could not help but notice." Riddler started. "Every victim so far was employed by Arkham twelve to fifteen years ago."

"I don't recall Viktor Zsasz to be ever employed by Arkham." The old woman pointed out.

"Every victim plus exceptions that eat other's food, yes." Riddler rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone insist on nitpicking. Isn't it obvious that I have a reason not to count them when I don't? Agh, people!"

"What does it have to do with me?"

"Well, you haven't been poisoned yet, so one would assume you to know something about this." Riddler raised his brows. "Do you?"

"It's hard to catch salmonella if you don't eat." Phyllis shrugged. "That's all I can tell you, now hop back to your cells before I call Bolton on you two!"

"He's gotten poisoned too."

"He'll be happy to kick your asses when he's better." The old woman threatened.

On their way back (which included climbing through a window from the staff section of the asylum back to the patient one), Scarecrow could not help up ask.

"Did you also hear her say she doesn't eat? The hag is a vampire I tell you."

"I know of your love for horror, Jonathan, but you need to stop projecting that onto real life. Now, a little assistance would be appreciated here."

Riddler's legs were quite a bit shorter than Scarecrow’s, which made jumping between the windowsills more difficult. It also did not help that they were on the sixth floor and that falling would mean certain death.

Scarecrow. who had already passed through, leaned out the window to take a hold of Riddler's hand as he dared to do the jump. As was often the case with the Riddler, luck was against him and his foot slipped. He lost his balance and nearly fell, spared only by Scarecrow’s firm grip dragging him inside.

"Fuuck." He cursed breathlessly. Literally. Breath had caught in his lungs and he could not exhale. "Fuuuck."

Scarecrow, (a known enjoyer of shock therapy) smiled at the sight.

He leaned down, placing a kiss on his frightened cellmate's lips, entirely ignoring his distress. It had worked nicely to make Riddler forget that he could not breathe and start thinking about that he will kill this man one of these days. He kissed him back anyway.

Scarecrow didn’t seem keen on stopping with the kiss, as his hands ran down Riddler's side, slipping under the pants of his inmate uniform and underwear, feeling his buttocks.

"Ehm." Fake cough sounded from the door. "Both of you get your horny asses out of here, this is a restricted area."

Bonnie kicked them out before Riddler could chastise Scarecrow for getting horny from him genuinely fearing for his life.

It did not miss Riddler's attention that most of the unpoisoned people fitting his criteria were women but considering the usual level of hygiene he'd seen from men in Arkham, he didn't pay that much attention to that one correlation. He planned to sneak out to the kitchens after lunch, leaving Scarecrow behind on the group therapy, which he would excuse himself from. The current epidemic came with an ad hoc rule that anyone asking for a bathroom break would be given one no matter the time.

Not that he really needed an excuse to leave. Doctor Arkham had, as he had nearly every session for the last few weeks, only attended to tell Scarecrow to cover for him and leave. The attendance from patients wasn't better either; only five out of fifteen people appeared, not counting Doctor Arkham.

"Considering the number of survivors in attendance, we won't be starting a new chapter of our therapy." Scarecrow said, scribbling into the notes Dr. Arkham gave him. "However we can use this opportunity for individual sessions, and I see Edward already leaving, I didn't want to hear about your problems anyway."

Riddler had to pass Scarecrow when heading to the door, which had earned him a slap on his ass, followed by an encouraging whistle by Killer Croc. Both of the involved men should be grateful that Riddler liked them or they would both suffer a horrible end. Since he liked them, he simply flipped them both off.

The only unpoisoned employee fitting his criteria left was Leandra Lux, a cook with a great rogue-like name that she wasted on a boring day job and bingo tournaments. She only started working there thirteen years ago and was now one of the longest staying staff. The movement of employees was that bad in Arkham. She was also a Master of Social Studies. The job market was this bad in Gotham.

"Hello, Leandra, may I come in?”

"Edward!" She greeted him with unhidden joy. "You seem to have plenty of free time, while half my dishwashers are gone. You can come in if you're willing to help."

Expression of complete dread had appeared on the Riddler's face, only comparable to the one he had when he nearly fell out of a window a few hours ago. If Scarecrow was there, he would probably push him into the nearest broom closet.

"Hahhah, you should see your face, Edward, come in, I'm joking, I wouldn't do that to you." Leandra's laughed, waving him in. Edward added her to his mental list of possible puzzle victims.

"You should've made him work for it." The lovely woman speaking was Erika Ratchet, who despite her name, was not a nurse but another cook. She did have the wicket spirit of her namesake though.

The only other person in the kitchen was the dishwasher; she could've been in her late thirties and had a sickly grayish undertone to her skin with marble-like markings visible across her arms where she had rolled up her sleeves. Riddler would swear he had seen her in the Iceberg Lounge with Marionette before.

"That's Galatea and if you stare at her for too long she will bite you. Don't say I didn't warn you." Leandra said in her always cheerful manner. Riddler was sure she was on drugs and that it was the only reason she lasted in Arkham as long as she did.

"I'm here about the current epidemic." He went straight to the point. "I've made a list of possible suspects and interviewed each of them but you, Leandra. I left you for the last as you're the most likely one to give me a straight answer and make the game awfully easy."

"I do have my suspicion." Leandra giggled. "What's this pattern you've found?"

"The culprit targets those who were employed at Arkham twelve to fifteen years ago only, and before you say it, yes there are exceptions but I'm pretty sure those were not the main targets but mere collateral."

"Shouldn't you be having group therapy?" Galatea looked towards the clock on the wall, (which were to – Riddler's irritation – was set two minutes and half too early.)

"Doctor Arkham had cancelled it."

"Naturally." The woman rolled her eyes and returned to washing the dishes, while side-eyeing Riddler.

"I can't help you, Edward." Leandra said with her ever-present smile. "You know how it goes; Snitches get stiches in Gotham and I'd prefer to spend my days without food poisoning."

 "Don't worry, dear, I won't ask you to snitch. I'd just like to make sure the culprit does not mistakenly poison my food and preferably not Scarecrow's one either, as having a cellmate with diarrhea isn't exactly perfect living arrangements." He paused. "Ironically, he is now scared to eat his food, which is not healthy for him. I do, however, applaud the culprit for scaring the Scarecrow."

"Which one is that again?" Galatea asked, not looking up from her dishes.

"Tall, skinny guy, looks like a scarecrow." Leandra answered before the Riddler could. "Pretty hands, like a pianist. Paints his nails black sometimes."

"Do you check out everyone's manicure?" Ratchet rolled her eyes.

"Only when it comes to men with nice hands." Leandra grinned.

"What's his real name?" Galatea repeated her question.

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

Galatea finally turned away from her dishes, looking at Edward with dark pupilless eyes and a frown. She either had a horrible case of resting bitch face or she hated the Riddler. Both was possible. "The one that made the candy? He can chill out. I'm sure whoever's doing this does not give a shit about him."

"That's great to hear, miss..."

"Zervalli." Galatea introduced herself.

"Thank you, miss Zervalli." 

Galatea Zervalli was a Gothamite woman of Mediterranean descent. Her Greek nose and thick curly hair made her look like ancient statue, which was unfortunate, because she was admitted in Arkham just as Doctor Strange had started his ‘Pygmalion project’ and she was too good of a candidate to overlook.

She was sentenced to spend time in psychiatric hospital after stabbing her wife in a fit of post-partum depression, which she (with full support of the stabbed wife) tried to cure with herbal medication, instead of the prescribed antidepressants.

She was moved from Arkham to an actually good hospital in Metropolis as soon as her wife woke up from the coma. But at that point the harm was already done. Strange had managed to slow down her circulatory system to give her body the pale marble like look she had to this day, along with the blind-like eyes usually reserved for Pyg's dolls.

But none of that was Riddler's problem. He just went to sleep with the satisfying feeling of mystery well solved... Or he tried to.

"You still owe me the massage." Scarecrow wouldn't let him just close his eyes and bask in his victory.

"I owe you nothing, but I will do it out of a misplaced affection for your pathetic self." Riddler got up from his bed and walked to Scarecrow. Despite his harsh words, he placed a kiss on the other man's lips. It was casual. Maybe even too tender for two hardened criminals.

"You look so self-pleased, there's no point in asking whether you solved the case or not." Scarecrow asked when their lips parted.

"Indeed, all pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly." Riddler sat behind his partner, once again spreading the cream over his back.

Scarecrow smirked. "All except Zsasz and the rest."

"I was right!" Riddler dug his nails in Scarecrow's back like an angry cat. "They fit in it as the collateral!"

His tantrum only seemed to amuse Scarecrow. He allowed himself a smile before he turned serious. "So, you did, know if, I'm in the danger of being poisoned before dinner?"

"Naturally." Now it was Riddler's time to smirk.

"And you didn't tell me why?"

"I don't know, maybe because early today you were threatening me with exposing my supposed imperfections to the world?"

"I did no-" Scarecrow shook his head. "Fuck you, Edward."

"You wish."

"Your narcissism makes you infantile. It's like dealing with a child." Scarecrow hid his face in his hands. "So, am I in danger of being poisoned or not?"

"You tell me. I stand in crowds yet walk no ground, I mark the years without a single sound, I tell a story without a tongue, of heroes praised and legends sprung. What am I?" If Scarecrow looked back at the Riddler he would’ve seen his eyes spark as he told his riddle.

"A statue. It was the gal Strange tried to turn into a living statue.” He took a deep breath. “Galatea wasn’t it, like the legend?”

“Indeed. Strange was never the most original man.”

“So, am I in danger?”

“You’re irrelevant to her.”

“That’s a no, then?”

“For someone telling me that ‘It’s just diarrhea, Edward.’ You seem pretty scared of it.”

“I’d like to avoid it given the chance.”

Riddler laughed, continuing his massage the entire banter. “She agreed not to poison you.”

There was real relief on Scarecrow’s face. Finally relaxing, he leaned back into his partner’s touch.

“I told her she should poison few more people at random to set Batman off her trail. As a treat.”

“Of course you did.”

[herodia]

My fav part about writing a fic is where you don't plan on putting a sex scene there, but is just manifests and is too good to remove.

Eastermelia WIP:

Again, he responded with a laugh. "No. We'll wait until you deserve it."

He got up and she found herself spreading her legs, so he could move between them. He pressed his body into hers, his crotch on hers.

"Did you pick your ring yet?" He asked, his hand run behind her not to hug her but to scratch her back.

"No. It's all stupidly expensive." She rolled her eyes. She had so much energy, she needed to get it out. She kicked her legs because she didn’t want to lose the nice feeling of getting held. The motion stimulated the space between her legs. The drug was making her touchy, it made her want to do reckless things, to test his boundaries. “Please, I hate not being able to see.”

He didn’t answer, instead he kissed her cheek. A quick peck on her skin. She'd kissed kittens the same way. Damon had kissed his pet rats this way. She missed Damon and his stupid rats.

“I really just meant to burn the damn tape. I met the Prime Assets on complete accident.”

His free hand moved between her legs, brushing over pants. His words were breathless. “You broke a door to see them.”

“It was a strange accident. Ah.” He found where her clit was and she could not help but moan. “Please, Hendrick.”

“You’re making me irrational.” He kissed her lips slowly, as if he was waiting for her to push him away, but she did not. “You’re a siren planning to drown me with my ship. But I love it when you say my name.”

[herodia]

God loves you, Amelia Collier

Eastermelia set at the edge of season 5/6, with a taste of Lilya Bogomolova (Amelilya?)

Fandom: Outlast (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Amelia Collier/Liliya Bogomolova, Dr. Easterman (Outlast)/Amelia Collier Characters: Amelia Collier, Dr. Easterman (Outlast), Liliya Bogomolova, A. Bradley Avellanos Additional Tags: Period-Typical Racism, Period Typical Bigotry, Murkoff should be its own warning, Catatonic Amelia Collier

Summary: Easterman is caught molesting Amelia’s body.

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.”

She was left alone once again, but the dread? The dread was gone. Amelia must have gone mad because she felt calm. She felt loved, and she felt like revenge was at her fingertips as she slowly regained control of her body.

[herodia]

Chapter two is out

[herodia]

Part three

Plus I'm adding part 2 + 3 under cut:

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.

"I shall question him." She decided. "Until then, gather your strength. She can only open the door, the rest will be on us to do."

[herodia]

Part four this one has a heartbreaking smut. Amelia gets new glasses.

It was two weeks since she had woken up and nothing had changed for Amelia. Most days Easterman would let her sit in his office, locking her in if he had to leave. She had by now found all his secret stashes, drugs and documents alike; no key left behind however. Once he caught her snooping as he returned and proceeded to cuff her to the radiator as a punishment next time he left. Some days he told her he would be leaving the facility and left her in his room for the day – the last two times without cuffing her to the bed. She failed to find what was so interesting in his rooms that needed more protection than his office – not yet at least.

She spent her time exercising her hands and reading books that he had in his room and office. Most of them were for posers. One was a Japanese pornography. She had to bring each book very close to her eyes to read them, so when she opened the latest mentioned, she was startled by the image of genitals in her face and dropped it. The asshole had the guts to laugh at her, entirely unashamed.

He had a couch brought to his office, likely thinking he was doing her a favor by not forcing her to sit at his feet. The worst thing was that she caught herself being relieved, that he had allowed her at least some dignity. It was the same  as with his refusal to force himself on her when she was unwilling – unconscious was fine with him but actively unwilling he drew the line at. Sitting on the floor was too undignified for him but tying her to bed was not.

Right now, he was sitting next to her on the couch with her hand in his lap, rolling a spiked ball over her forearm. "Does it feel nice?"

"No." She lied.

Of course, it did feel nice to feel a gentle human touch after spending weeks alone with only the dead to make her company... and then months in that cursed hospital.

He rolled the ball into her palm. "Here, squeeze it as tight as you can and repeat, like the last time.”

As he got up, he tried to place a kiss on her lips. She pushed him away before he could.

"I will be having visitors today. be a good girl, quiet as a mouse, so you don't disturb us."

"And you will let me out?" She asked sarcastically.

"No." He chuckled, shamelessly.

His smug face nearly made her throw the stupid ball at him, just to show him he had no control over her, but that would mean spending more time with useless hands, getting spoon fed like a damn baby and she didn't want anything less than that. So, she watched him work and exercised. After a while she got bored of squeezing the ball and threw it in the air, catching it with the same hand. At least her reflexes still worked. 

Or so she thought before trying the same thing with her right hand – the one torn by the cuffs and stitched back together two weeks ago – and missed the falling ball. It hit the couch, falling to the ground and rolling away too fast for her eyes to follow. The damn thing was the same shade of grey as the floor was.

"Fuck." She cursed, she would not be caught on her knees in front of him looking for a damn toy. It was bad enough that he was now looking her way.

"Bored already?" She could hear his smirk. "Sorry, but daddy cannot play when he has work."

"Quit that infantilizing bullshit." She rolled her eyes, sinking into the couch. "Or take a pick if you're my daddy or the baby daddy. Both is just sick."

She could see him bend in his chair, likely fetching the ball.

"Catch."

He threw it her way and she did catch it – using her forearms maybe but she did catch it. Instead of thanking him, which he did not deserve, she spoke like she was addressing a dog; "What a nice fetch, a good boy."

"Careful, Amelia." The snarl in his voice made her smirk. "I could have you put back under until it's time to birth my child and then put you back in the trials."

Was that the worst he could think of doing to her after raping a baby into her?

"I would find a way to run away again." She said and she meant it. "And this time I would burn the place down."

She really believed that she would burn the place down the first time – that some of the reagents would get out and spread the word of what was happening here. She did not have the balls to ask Easterman why that didn't happen. Did they catch all of the escapees after all? Did no one believe them when they told a story about sleeper agent torture camp in the desert?

"Sorry, if I have my doubts, crippled and blind as you are." He said.

"I would find a way." She snapped back.

...

She was on the bed, reading a copy of Homer's Odyssey. It was clear that the book was not read before, it was all too crisp and its back made the sound virgin books make, when she first opened it in his office. He probably bought a copy to look smart.

Sound of the door unlocking snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Evening, love."

He came in as he did each day bringing a warm dinner. He set two boxes on the table before disappearing in the bathroom. She had noticed that he never touched anything in his room before he washed his hands and that when he did that, it took him exactly 60 seconds. Every time.

She got up from the bed, leaving the book behind and sat at the table. They had pasta and it was nicer than the one they served in the sleep rooms. She had to wait for him to return and unlock the drawer where he kept the cutlery at and bring her some before she could eat.

She remained silent most of the time, but it didn't seem like he minded, he liked his own voice too much to care what other’s had to say.

"I had a horrible day, thank you for asking." He spoke as he sat at the table, handing her a fork.

"No babies were drowned and no innocents killed?" She did talk sometimes, mostly to talk back.

"And no plagues set over Egypt, yes, truly an unproductive day." He got up again, heading for one of the other locked cabinets. Of course, she had unlocked them all by now, but he had locked them again every time. This one was just full of alcohol. "It's the fucking Kennedy cutting our funds."

He brought a bottle of wine, along with two glasses, pouring one for Amelia without asking her.

He continued complaining about his work, but she didn’t care enough to listen. He never gave her enough details for her to get the full picture. Curious, how careful he was around her while at the same time swearing that she would not escape again.

"You have been good lately." He said after she finished her food. He still had half of it left; he ate slowly like someone who never knew hunger. "I think you deserve a reward. A gift from me to you."

She didn't answer him, standing up to put the dishes in the sink. Someone would come to clean them, but only when she was away and he did not take her to his office for two days in row, so the mess piled up.

"You could wash them, you know." He said, watching her.

She shrugged. He had called her a pet, didn't he? As far as she knew, pets did not clean after their masters or themselves.

"I had an optometrist appointment set up for tomorrow. You are getting new glasses."

That sparked her interest, she was sick of her disability making mundane things difficult.

"That is, only if you do something for me first." Of fucking course. "A man has his needs."

"I can clean the dishes." She said sarcastically.

He had the gut to laugh.

"You know what I mean, love." He said, covering his full mouth with his hand. He swallowed before continuing. "But if you wish it spelled out for you; I want you to lay on the bed for me and let me make you feel good."

"You can't make me feel good, just say how you want to fuck me." She snapped.

"The usual way, obviously." He poured himself another glass of wine.

She found herself standing in middle of the room, unsure what to do. She really wanted to be able to see again and she hated that it depended on his willingness to help her. She fucking hated him.

She walked back to the table, taking her own glass of wine, drinking it at once.

"Careful, love, I don't want you knocked out."

She let out a scoff. "Suddenly. You didn't seem to mind that before."

He was right that she drank the wine too quickly, her head was starting to hurt. She leaned in for the bottle, but he moved it out of her reach.

"Give it a minute." He said, as he stood up. He had finished his dinner apparently. He walked behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders, squeezing softly. "There's no need to be nervous. You're no virgin, are you?"

She nearly choked. "You rape me and then you ask me that."

"Tsk. Not the ugly word again." He squeezed her shoulders harder, pressing his thumbs into her muscles. "I'm sure you know how real rape looks like, with your history."

She twitched, trying to escape his touch. He didn't let her and that was just the start tonight.

"Have you ever fucked for money?" She asked, bending her neck to look at him. "Had transactional intercourse in any way?"

"Not if you don't count licking my wife's genitals so she lets me fuck her properly." He laughed.

"It makes you feel filthy." She said. "It's a filth you cannot clean no matter how long you bath, how hard you shrub."

"Surely, you would not feel filth, if it's between us." He said. "I will take a shower beforehand."

"It's not about-" She caught herself trapped in his game. "You know that's not what I meant.

He continued to massage her shoulders but it didn't feel nice anymore. "It would be more proper if we were married, but you did not mind that with Damon, did you?"

In the back of her mind, she had noted that this was the first time he called Damon by his name instead of ‘her colored boyfriend’. She sighed. "I hate you but I really want to be able to see again."

She poured herself another glass, drinking it all at once again. It was starting to get on her mind, that fog like state that silenced all her thoughts but the loudest ones. She rose up.

“Okay.” She said. “I think I’m ready.”

She did not expect him to kiss her, but she couldn’t really say what she did expect. He pressed his mouth against hers, at first testing her with lips only and only when she reciprocated did he slip his tongue into her mouth.

His arms ran around her waist, up and down and under her shirt. He felt the tender skin, gently squeezing her flesh. As the kiss broke, he lifted her shirt and she obediently put her arms up, to help him undress her. She only wore the shirt and panties, now regretting her shamelessness, as he was fully dressed in front of her when she was wearing just the lower half of her underwear.

He threw her shirt on the nearest chair, eyeing her small breast.

“Beautiful.” He sighed.

She pulled away from him, shaking her head. She made her way to the bed, waiting for him to undress his own shirt and pants. He did so hurriedly, few times missing the same button. She would’ve laughed if she wasn’t feeling so down.

She pulled her panties down, discarding them on the ground, before climbing on the bed.

When he was finally bare, cock already half hard, he climbed on the bed between her legs – she forced herself to spread them for him and he wasted no time pressing his head into her crotch.

That took her by surprise; she had assumed that he would just put it in and fuck himself into orgasm. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or horrified, when his tongue licked between her folds and up to her clit. He rolled his tongue over it and it brought the sweet warmth to her stomach that made her legs tremble.

“Ah.” She moaned unconsciously. She was not touched like that for a very long time; not since Damon had disappeared. She was not really in a mood to touch herself since then, let alone allow anyone else to do it for her.

She could feel his teeth brushing the tender skin of her clit and she squeezed his head between her trembling thighs. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see that the pleasure she felt came from his bald head.

Fingers teased her entrance and she spread her legs again; she did not want to be penetrated but she also wanted this to be done as soon as possible, so she let him press a finger into her and then another one.

“You’re so tight.” He said in the most theatrical bedroom voice she had ever heard.

She didn’t answer, just spread her legs further, giving him a silent permission.

He worked his fingers in and out, before putting his head back down and locking his lips over her clit. He sucked on it and God, it felt nice, but she also wished it was not him giving her that feeling.

Another finger pressed in and it was too much, prompting her to yelp. “Wait!”

“You need to relax.” He purred, removing his fingers.

“I don’t want this.” She snapped. A moment passed as she looked at him, expecting him to force her anyway. When that didn’t come, she prompted him to do it. “Just get over with it.”

He climbed over her and she was both horrified and relieved that he had listened to her. However, his actions didn’t follow her expectations. Instead of forcing himself inside her, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her to his chest.

“Just tell me how you like it, love.”

She shook her head. There was no way she would enjoy sex with him, ever. She closed her eyes, wishing that she was somewhere else. That it was someone else’s hand that crept back between her legs and rubbed in circles over her clit. She thought of the men from the posters selling perfume and promoting fancy suits. Men with perfect faces that were far from her league.

She did not think of Damon, that would feel like killing him again, this time torturing him to death herself.

The motion on her clit was losing its charm, so she moved her hips, prompting him to slip his fingers further down between her folds.

“That’s it, you’re so good, my love”

Her lips were kissed and it tasted like cigarettes. She kissed him back, imagining a different man: younger, prettier one that wouldn’t hurt her because he was not real. His fingers slipped into her, curling inside, making her feel pleasure that still was not enough to make her forget her situation.

She could feel his leaking hardness pressed into her stomach and in attempt to get over with it, she reached for it. Spreading his pre-cum over his length and stroking him.

“Ah.” He moaned into her mouth, his hand inside her slowing down.

He pulled back and she dared to look down at him, to prove herself that he looked like any other man and not the pale monstrosity that haunted her dreams. His cock was in fact completely normal, red circumcised head at the end of one of the shorter lengths she saw. No tentacle like appendages to be seen.

She avoided looking at his face, but she could feel he was following her eyes and smiling at her. Finally, he had moved between her legs, positioning himself over her cunt.

“Allow me, my love.” He sounded desperate and she hated that he found the strength to wait for her answer, making her accomplice in what was happening.

“Do it.” She breathed out.

He squeezed her waist with one hand, holding his weight on the other and he pressed inside of her torturingly slowly. If he had hurt her now, she would’ve felt better about herself.

When he started moving it was just a pleasureless intrusion for her. She laid down waiting for him to tire himself down. He did not bother trying to please her anymore and she was fine with it.

“Love.” More of his mocking bedroom voice as he moaned through hard breaths. “Amelia.”

She tried to go back to the fantasy of a safe handsome man, but his voice did not really allow her to. She covered her eyes with her forearm to prevent herself from looking at him.

It felt like an eternity before his chest fell on hers and she could feel his cock spilling inside her.

She wanted to push him away, but he did the opposite, wrapping his hands around her.

“I love you.” He said. “I wish you would try to enjoy it.”

That was the last straw for her. She pushed him away, proclaiming that she needed a “Bath.”

He let go of her and she nearly ran to the bathroom, counting each second before she could put closed doors between him and herself.

She climbed into the bath a started the shower, not waiting for it to heat up, before she placed it between her legs. She didn't see the color the water turned but she imagined it was red.

She took a soap scrubbing it into her skin until it hurt. She felt filth everywhere he had touched her and no matter how hard she tried it didn't go away. Exactly as she knew it would.

After a while of hard scrubbing she gave up; she wrapped herself in a towel and sat down in the bathtub, wrapping her hands around her knees, using the towel to sink her tears. She hated him and he hated herself, because what he did to her didn’t even feel that bad and she hated that he made her consent to it. 

She didn't know how long she sat there, but after what felt both too long and too little time, the door of the bathroom opened and he came in, already dressed for bed. He sat at the edge of the bath, wrapping his arms around her. "Come here, baby girl."

And she fucking did; she allowed him to pick her up and lead her to the bedroom, where he helped her put on the damn nightgown, before laying her to bed.

"Do you want something to help you sleep?" He asked and she found herself nodding.

…

Next morning he brought her to optometrist. She knew the facility was huge, she crawled through the tunnels under it, but it didn't really click just how huge it really was. They had taken a car between the buildings, driving for at least ten minutes and they were not slow. 

For the first time in her life, Amelia had her sight professionally measured and was surprised that it worked the same way as she always solved it herself – by trying on a different glasses until one of them matched. Amelia didn't know why they charged so much money for it then. She apparently had two very different measurements on each eye – something she had figured by herself a long time ago.

The optometrist was a short tan man who could be in his early 30s at most, with head full of thick curls that Easterman probably envied him. Upon examining her left eye, he even dared to reprimand Easterman.

"The lens is scarred. What happened?" He frowned.

"It might've been caused by a cigarette." To her pleasure, Easterman sounded almost embarrassed.

The optometrist positively cringed. "Please don't do that."

She wondered if the man knew what was happening in the facility he worked in, because there were things far worse than that going on here.

He let go of her eyelid, standing up. "I can't fix the damaged lens, so the left eye won't ever see perfectly again, but together both eyes should provide a sufficient enough sight. You can pick the frames now."

He provided her with four frames to pick from and a mirror, which she once again, had to hold very close to her face to see how she looked like. She tried all of them, one was too big, three fit well enough. Each of them looked very similar; thick oval frames in a dark color. 

"The last one." She said despite not really caring. She expected Easterman would have an opinion about her pick, just so he could control another aspect of her life, but he didn't.

"Alright." The optometrist took the said frames, putting them to the side. "I will have the lenses changed by closing time. When can you come pick them up?"

...

Easterman left her alone with her dinner in the evening and she didn't mind at all. She could hold a fork well enough by now, but each time she did he watched her for any hint of weakness that he could exploit to force her to be fed by him again.

But she couldn't lie, for the first time ever she was thrilled when he finally walked to the room.

"Good evening, love."

"Evening." She held herself back from acting like an excited child, knowing it would receive a gift. She didn't know if he didn't plan to exploit her more before he finally gave her the glasses.

"I see you are excited."

Apparently, she did a bad job hiding that.

"Do you have them?"

"Of course." He put a box in front of her, leaning down to kiss the top of her head and she didn't even twitch, opening the box and finally, trying the glasses on.

She blinked and looked around the room, seeing it clearly for the first time. Most things were as she thought they would, some details were off and she certainly did not see the spiders in a corner of the ceiling before. She looked at the table in front of her, finally able to see the food she ate.

He petted her hair. She caught his hand and pulled it off her.

"Ehm." He coughed performatively. "Manners, miss?"

 "I'm not thanking you." She frowned. "I paid for it."

"If that's how you feel then you must admit I came out underpaid. It costed far more than one night of sex."

"You got what you charged." She snapped.

"I guess I did." He was still uncomfortably close to her. She noticed he had something else in hands just as he moved to put it in front of her. "And I'm willing to pay more, here."

It was a catalogue, not like the custom-made ones they had in the sleep rooms, this one was clearly from the outside world. The contents made her breath stop. It was full of jewelry, specifically, it was a catalogue of wedding rings and matching accessories. She was stunned. Once at the implication, twice because the prices were far from her league.

"I thought we could make it official, before the baby is born." Easterman said. "It would be impolite of me to wait any longer."

"It's so much money..." She skimmed through the pages. "One of these rings could've bought me and Damon both the flight to Paris."

She swore that Easterman growled.

"I can take you there, if you wish." He said through clenched teeth. "Once the baby is big enough to take the flight, we can all go for a late honeymoon."

I don't want to go to a fucking Paris with you. She thought.  Not you.

She got up. "I'll take a bath."

She wanted to be alone.

[herodia]

Part five where Amelia and Liliya meet again

One thing was for sure, life was certainly easier when she saw clearly. When he took her to his office next day, she did not hide snooping around. Skimming through everything she missed in the past two weeks. It was better than giving in and reading the damn wedding catalogue.

“If you have to be nosy, make yourself useful and clean around.” Easterman sounded annoyed but was yet to threaten her with blinding her or inflicting any other kind of abuse, so she chose to ignore him. “Come here, the escape trial is starting.”

She looked his way, seeing a group of reagents on the screen. They had just arrived at a location with twoa tied up victims, each with a bag marked with ‘A’ over her head. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching, but at the same time a morbid curiosity did not allow her to tear her eyes away.

“Who are they?" She asked. "The victims. Are they just poor souls picked at random or do you handpick the ones you think would resist your re-programing?"

"Your sympathizers." Easterman answered. "Yes, I do handpick them from the crowd. Those who whisper your name like you're Jesus and they Christians in old Rome."

"Rome fell." She said, eyes locked on the screen.

The view switched between two groups of reagents, solving their respective puzzle. One group had it easier than the other – blowing up lamps instead of people. The victims struggled in their bindings, cursing the reagents, pleading them to stop.

"You are so incredibly sick."

"I do what I have to for my country." He said like he believed it.

"Please, if the Soviets offered you money big enough you would be singing Kalinka for them." She countered.

"You insult me, thinking so little of me." He frowned, then rose from his chair. "Sit down and watch."

She did. The chair was warm. She looked at the microphone in front of her, thinking what would happen if she disturbed the trial. Would he take her glasses away? Or her tongue? She did not believe he would kill her, not until he realized the parasite inside her wasn't his.

"Go on, try changing their mind if you wish." He must have noticed her gaze. "I trust that my children are over your temptation."

"Really?" She didn't believe him.

"Yes, try it."

She was always easy to dare. She pressed the button on the microphone, leaning in to make sure her voice was heard.

"You don't have to do this." She said, eyes locked on the screen. "Give up the trial. Easterman cannot kill you all if you all refuse to play his game."

The reagents didn't respond to her voice. They continued their gruesome task of cremating their comrades alive. She watched, breathless, as both groups finished their task.

"They didn't hear me." She said. "They did not react at all."

"Oh, they heard you, child, they are just conditioned to bypass external influence by now." He smirked, his hand caressing her shoulder. "The only voice they follow is mine."

"You lie." She shook her head. "And don't call me a child after you fuck me."

The trial continued, this time a fake Amelia was executed in the most gruesome way available. She looked away, getting up, but Easterman stopped her, pushing her back into the chair.

"Stay, the best is yet to come." He said.

She thought of closing her eyes just to spite him, but curiosity overtook her. What else could he do that is worse than watching ‘herself’ burn? She watched the reagents kill ‘Amelia’, hearing an automated response from Easterman. It was unnerving, hearing his voice in front of her, when he was quite literally breathing down her neck.

The reagents ran through a series of tunnels, she recognized the place; it was nowhere near  the exit of the facility and yet, as camera followed the reagents she saw a light from the outside, proving her mistaken until... it was no exit, only a part of the mockery. A fake desert with a fake sky, painted over a wall. She didn't need his explanation, he provided it anyway.

“I rewrote their collective unconscious, turning your escape into just another trial and your image will soon be wiped from their memories by Liliya’s presence.”

"This is a mockery." She stood up, walking to the couch. She felt heavy out of sudden. She sat down, putting her head in her arms. "You're mocking me and you're killing people doing it."

"I'm wiping out the parasites." He said. He did not sit back down; he just leaned forward turning off the computer. "I have some work to do outside, I'm sure you have enough to think about to entertain yourself."

"Fuck you."

"Tsk." He was fucking smirking. "Language, you don't want our baby's first words to be curses."

If she had something to throw at him she would. The sound of locking doors followed his departure and she could not help but get up and kick his desk, before she pushed its contents to the floor. He was lucky, she wasn't strong enough to throw down the computers, only the files and pencils. She opened the nearest drawer, spilling its contents on the ground, then another and another, until his desk was empty.

She looked at the mess of files, pictures and cassettes. She had been snooping through the place before, she saw them all, but did not bother to pick up and examine each item. Looking through them now was significantly easier. One tape in particular caught her eye: ‘Damon Greene – interrogation’.

She felt like she was thrown into cold water. Her hand trembled as she reached for the tape. She pressed it to her chest, suddenly afraid she’s going to drop it, even if she hasn’t dropped anything for days.

She looked up at Easterman’s desk, holding her breath.  The recorder was unharmed by her tantrum. Slowly she opened it, removing whatever tape was there to replace it with hers. When she sank to his chair and listened.

“So.” Said who she assumed was the Clyde Perry. “Amelia Collier.”

“What?!” She heard Damon speak for the first time since the day she told him she wants nothing to do with his drunk ass anymore. How she regretted those words now. “Amelia?!”

Distress was apparent in Damon’s voice, as he spoke her name. But once Perry started interrogating him about her, his words turned cold. She knew that tone, it was one he would use when speaking to cops. One or two times he used it on her during an argument and it pissed her off more than if he just hit her.

“Keep smiling, see how long that lasts, ‘cause I’ll tell you this much for nothing.”

Of course, Damon would say that.

“If you did to her half of what you’ve done to me, I expect she’s got her mind set on tearing this place to the ground.”

She pressed the pause button. She needed to take a moment to process what she just heard and prepare herself for what was to come next. She found herself wrapping her own arms around her chest for comfort. She pressed the button.

“Well, God damn. She sounds like a hell of a woman.” She wished she could kill Perry again. It brought her at least some comfort to know that she was the one to end him and that it wasn’t quick. “Maybe we see if we can flush her out.”

What continued was a lot of screaming.

She sunk into the chair, lifting her knees to her chest she could hug them, listening to the last minutes of Damon's life. She would have loved him even if he had spilled all her secrets to the devil of a man, but nowhere between his screams did he give up a single information about her. Somehow, it felt even worse that he didn't, she didn't deserve such devotion, not after he got in this mess because of her in the first place.

…

Easterman did not disappoint, when he had found her in post crying melancholy, sitting in the middle of the mess she had made of his office. He raged. She didn't have it in herself to care, she was actually relieved that he finally showed his true self, as he pulled her face from her arms by hair and slapped her cheek.

"You say you don't want to be treated like a child, then why do you have to act like one!" He cursed, took a deep breath and slapped her again.

She didn't have the strength to answer.

"You will clean this!" As she had expected (feared) he pulled her glasses from her head. "You don't deserve this! It is a privilege, bad girls don't get!"

His words did not have meaning for her, she let him throw her off the chair, into the mess of the floor. She put head between her arms again, as new tears poured from her eyes.

He sat at his desk, opening the file he brought with himself. If she had the energy to be disappointed, she would be, she was looking forward seeing him on his knees, searching the mess she had made.

She didn't know how long it took, until she heard him rewinding the tape recorder. She didn't know if he did it because he didn't bother to check what's inside or to torture her further, but if it was the later... she was torn between giving up and killing herself –God new he had enough coke here for her to overdose with – and giving in and cleaning his stupid floor just to make it stop.

Click.

“So, Amelia Collier.”

Again, she heard Damon's startled voice: “What?!”

"Oh." With another click the recording stopped. "Is that why you're throwing a tantrum?"

He got up and he was back to his fatherly charade, kneeling on her side, wrapping his arms around her. "Come here, stupid girl, don't you know that curiosity killed the cat?"

She still didn't have the strength to answer, but she allowed the hug because despite everything, it felt nice to be held. Easterman would probably explain to her how it was a part of the basic pack dynamics that prehistoric people formed to survive long before civilization was invented. She had the displeasure of drinking with a psychologist before.

He helped her stand, walking to the couch and sitting down alongside her. She could feel tears falling down her cheeks and fought the craving to bury her face in Easterman's chest, because she knew what he was doing, trying to manipulate her to see him as safe, father and husband, her protector. She focused on the pain lingering in her cheeks. This man was a monster, nothing about him was safe.

And now she had given him another method to torture her with. She had no doubt she would be hearing the tape again.

He got up, walking to his desk, bending down to pick something before he came back with a pack of paper napkins in his hand and her glasses in another. He offered her both. "I'm sorry, my love, you could not help yourself, could you?"

He pressed the items into her hands, leaning down to kiss her head. "I still want you to clean this, but you can take your time. Process it all."

With that he returned to his desk. It took her some time to dry her eyes enough to be able to put her glasses back on, seeing that he had already picked up some of the documents he needed and was back to doing his paperwork. As if he felt her watching, he looked her way, giving her a small smile. "Just say if you need something else, love."

She nearly told him 'no thank you' on instinct and it horrified her. She ended up cleaning his fucking floor.

...

Franco was a sight to behold. Grown man with a pacifier around his neck and abnormally large head, that even managed to let out the sickly smell of milk that children had. Amelia felt the need to wash her hands just by being in his proximity.

"Clever bitch she was. Came to me with a box of warm pasta, telling me she had a business proposal for little old me!" He spat as he spoke. "You see, we have a code in our trade. We value family time with a good meal."

She didn't have to wait for Prime Time to talk to Franco after all. Easterman had them both posed for the Escape trial. She did not even need to squeeze the information out of Franco. He saw Amelia's image on the screen and spit, cursing in Italian.

"I helped her get out of the Ex-pop zone in the back of the Docks. The hole was too high and too thin for me to get away, but her ass promised me she would let me out! A filthy lie that was! Instead, I hear she let dozens of the prey out! Anyone but fucking me!"

"Believe in her and this time, it's the killers that get set free, the God will see to it."

"Yeah, missy, sure. When we get out let me take you to Sicily, you will love that, lotta religious folk to preach to there and all will be piss scared of you!"

She did not honor him with an answer. The reagents could not come fast enough and free her from her reeking company.

"Want a quick fuck before we're let in?" He asked with a disgusting amount of hope in his voice.

"No." She hissed like a cat, pointing her blade in his direction."

"Okay." He took a step back rising his hands up – Lupara included. "Just firing my shot."

…

She brought the tape with her to his suit. He said he was going out for a drink that night, pleading with her to join him. She had refused. She had other plans.

It wasn't hard to unlock the doors, she was picking locks since nine years old. The only issue was that her hands still lacked the fine motor skills they once had, but even with that handicap she managed after a few attempts anyway.

Now, she walked across the deserted rooms in his suit pants and shirt, pretending she belonged here. (Because of course he only gave her clothes that would mark her as an escaped reagent for this very reason.) Her goal was the incinerator. She wanted to burn the damn tape before it occurred to Easterman he could use it to torture her.

She also wanted to say her goodbye to Damon. She couldn't bury his body properly, when she found it, so she would at least burn his last words. She had risked her life if she got caught, but that didn't bother her. She had died when she found his body and since then her life ran on nothing but spite.

She only knew the way from Easterman's suite to his office. But she knew the basics; the ground level was where the sleep rooms and trials were, up were the offices and housing for the so-called scientists. Underground were all the ugly things like the boiler room, the trash disposals, the endless tunnels filled with gore and an occasional pathway for the scientists who wished to oversee the trials. So, for an incinerator she had to go down.

She did not expect the layout to change much from when she was there last. Alas, she soon found her path blocked by a trial environment that was not supposed to be so close to the housing. She tried a door leading to one of the observation rooms, curious what trial environment this was, but she found them locked. That was a security upgrade, one she had to herself to thank for, she assumed.

"You're not my type anyway, no offense, but the Russian girls are best when ripe, after they squeezed a few kiddos out. More places to grab like that. Aagh!"

She stopped. Was that Franco?

"You crazy bitch!"

She followed the voice across a corner to another observation room. The doors were locked, just like the last ones. She looked around before bashing the door once, twice, three times before the lock gave up. They revealed a small room with a table and a big glass window. On the other end was Franco and a moving mannequin.

"Speak of the devil! Marone! Came to pay your debts, bitch?" Franco hit the glass with his fat little fist.

"Amelia!" Amelia didn't recognize the mask the woman wore, but she did recognize that hoarse voice: Liliya. "Is it time for us to be free?"

Amelia winked a few times to grasp the other woman's meaning, then shook her head. "I have to disappoint. Whatever you think I'm here for, it's not true."

"You were chosen by God to bring down Easterman." It was hard to tell emotions from Liliya's voice (or the masked face), but to Amelia she sounded hopeful. "And after him all the rich men running this defiled land!"

"It's pronounced God, sweetness." Franco jumped in with a completely irrelevant take.

"Actually, it's God." Amelia corrected him. He said it alright, but she felt like being a bitch to him in particular, before turning to Liliya. "And how do you think I could do that? I tried once, I succeeded once! But it changed nothing."

"You let out the rats." Liliya shook her head. "Now you free the wolves!"

Ah. It wasn't like it didn't occur to Amelia before, she did make a false promise to Franco in order to get out of the trial after all. But she wanted neither of the Prime Assets anywhere near the real world.

"I can't let you out. If there's a key from your cells, Easterman doesn't have it." Anymore, she didn't add. He had it before the escape. She assumed Avellanos confiscated it. "But you-"

"He comes to my room." Liliya answered her question before it was spoken. "He has the key."

Amelia was hit by a wave of emotions; a relief that she was not the only woman he abused, a pity for Liliya suffering under his hand and a hint of jealousy she didn't want to examine. "Then why don't you do it? I saw you wandering the halls before."

"You cannot sacrifice with defiled hand." Liliya countered like it was the most obvious explanation. "It has to be you!"

Amelia was slowly coming to the realization that Liliya was as mad as the rest of the Prime Assets. "Trust me, sister, I'm as defiled as they come."

"Does he fuck you?" Franco once again proved to have his priorities in all the wrong places. "How? Gimme the details!"

Amelia frowned, then her lips curled slightly upwards. "Missionary with lights out. He even offered me a ring."

"No, shit!" Franco laughed.

"And it's small too."

"Hey!" Franco changed the tune, sliding back to his explosive anger. "Is no man's fault what he has between his legs, only how he uses it!"

Liliya pressed her hand to the glass, spreading her fingers. When she spoke she sounded broken, maybe even afraid. "You have to kill him before the marriage!"

"It's not like he could call a priest to this place to marry us for real." Amelia rolled her eyes to mask the startle she got from Liliya's sudden change of attitude. It was easier to deal with Franco, she learned very early how to deal with scummy pimps. She had no idea how to deal with religious freaks. She knew, however, how to deal with women who hit on her. She placed her hand over Liliya's. "I want out of this place just as you do, okay?"

Like Hell she was going to birth her child here, she thought but kept to herself, she didn't really want to share that news with two crazy murderers. She thought of the trial he made her watch. How he made her think he’d let her talk to them again. Of him being too much of a coward to actually let her.

"If you want to help me free you, you have to help me first. Spread my message to the reagents. Mark the trials with my name. Remind them of me. Direct them to fight Murkoff and not each other."

Liliya cocked her head with a loud crack. "You need their worship."

"Something like that. Tell them Easterman cannot kill them all if they all refuse to play his game! Hell, tell the Primes to fight Murkoff not us! We’re all their prisoners!"

The sound of something heavy being moved disturbed their conversation. Franco and Amelia looked to the wall the sound was coming from, Liliya remained still.

"Guards." Franco said. "Get your flat ass outta here if you don’t want it fried."

Amelia did just that, the turned around and ran out, just as the gate behind the Prime Assets was opening. She closed the door behind her, taking a moment to breathe. The tape of Damon's last words felt heavy in her pocket.

 She thought of continuing her path towards the incinerator, considering whether or not she really wanted to destroy it. She did not have anything else left of him. She'd pre-paid their rooms for three months time, couldn't afford more than that. She didn't know how long she was in this place, but it certainly felt like more than three months. Their belongings would be sold by the time she found her way back. But she knew the tape would haunt her until she destroyed it and there was enough suffering in her life already.

Finding the damn incinerator took her longer than she would prefer, but she was beyond caring at this point. She imagined Easterman searching the halls for her and it made her smirk. Maybe she shouldn't go back. Maybe she should find a place to hide and then leave this place all together. But they had found at least some of the reagents who had escaped and without the hoard of desperate souls to distract them from her, she would be an easy target.

So, she said her last goodbye to the fire.

"I will bring this place down for you, I promise."

And made her way back to Easterman's room.

...

She entered the room quietly, opening the door as gently as she could. Then she froze; Easterman laid sprawled on the bed boots and all. She thought of her options.

He might wake up remembering nothing or he might be enraged and put her back in the coma. There would be no revenge for her or Damon and likely a horrifying life for her little parasite if it even lived.

She might climb on the bed next to him or hide under it. Or do both. Have him think she got scared and hid, because he reminded her of her ‘father’ so much. He would like that the sick freak.

Quietly she took down her (his) clothes, putting them back into the closet and throwing on her usual nightdress. Everything went fine until that.

"Amelia?" Easterman murmured. When she turned he was looking at her with sleepy eyes.

"Shh..” She hushed, coming closer, not hiding her fear. “Go back to sleep.”

"Where were you?"

She leaned over him, tugging at his dress shoe. It came down easily, so she repeated it with the other. "I was scared, afraid you would be drunk and beat me like my father."

"Never." He sounded genuinely offended, but he also sounded like he was going to throw up soon. "'m not that kind of man."

She pulled off his already loosened tie. “Fuck, I hate that you actually make me believe that.”

“Bring me water since you’re up?” He asked sounding entirely pathetic.

She was about to answer, but her words got forgotten when she noticed blood soaking through the arm of his shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

“Is nothing, bring me the water.”

“What happened?” She pulled at his stained sleeve, rolling it up to see his forearm littered with cuts. “Did you do it?!”

He pushed her away. “Get me the fucking water!”

The loudness of his voice startled her, reminding her who she was fussing about. She raised her hands in defeat and hurried to the sink, pouring him a glass. Drinking water was one of the luxuries reserved for Murkoff employees.

She could hear him moving on the bed and hoped it was not to charge at her. She dared to look back and saw him moving towards the bathroom. Holding the glass, she didn’t know what to do. If she should dare to come near him.

She chose to put the glass on his nightstand and sit at the table, listening to the sound of the shower, waiting for him to return. It could’ve taken ten minutes before he did, dressed in the pants he slept in and nothing more.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you.” He said as he was nearing her. “It was uncalled for, you only wanted to help.”

He sat next to her, offering her a bandage. “Please, assist me.”

He held his cut arm up for her and she wrapped it in the bandages. She remained silent. She wanted to ask what had happened, but she did not want to anger him again. When she was finished, he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you.” He said. “Let’s go to bed.”

She wasn’t stupid, she knew he did that to himself. But why?

[herodia]

Chapter six, Easterman is even bigger asshole than before

[herodia]

The coylemolova hate makes me want to make them kiss just to piss off the haters, because I know it's the same people hating on eastermelia despite there being like three people actively shipping it and content easy to avoid (except maybe the canon)

[pl4stiche4rt]

Quick doodles 👅👅👅🥀

[herodia]

God loves you, Amelia Collier

Eastermelia set at the edge of season 5/6, with a taste of Lilya Bogomolova (Amelilya?)

Fandom: Outlast (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Amelia Collier/Liliya Bogomolova, Dr. Easterman (Outlast)/Amelia Collier Characters: Amelia Collier, Dr. Easterman (Outlast), Liliya Bogomolova, A. Bradley Avellanos Additional Tags: Period-Typical Racism, Period Typical Bigotry, Murkoff should be its own warning, Catatonic Amelia Collier

Summary: Easterman is caught molesting Amelia’s body.

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.”

She was left alone once again, but the dread? The dread was gone. Amelia must have gone mad because she felt calm. She felt loved, and she felt like revenge was at her fingertips as she slowly regained control of her body.

[herodia]

Chapter two is out

[herodia]

Part three

Plus I'm adding part 2 + 3 under cut:

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.

"I shall question him." She decided. "Until then, gather your strength. She can only open the door, the rest will be on us to do."

[herodia]

Part four this one has a heartbreaking smut. Amelia gets new glasses.

It was two weeks since she had woken up and nothing had changed for Amelia. Most days Easterman would let her sit in his office, locking her in if he had to leave. She had by now found all his secret stashes, drugs and documents alike; no key left behind however. Once he caught her snooping as he returned and proceeded to cuff her to the radiator as a punishment next time he left. Some days he told her he would be leaving the facility and left her in his room for the day – the last two times without cuffing her to the bed. She failed to find what was so interesting in his rooms that needed more protection than his office – not yet at least.

She spent her time exercising her hands and reading books that he had in his room and office. Most of them were for posers. One was a Japanese pornography. She had to bring each book very close to her eyes to read them, so when she opened the latest mentioned, she was startled by the image of genitals in her face and dropped it. The asshole had the guts to laugh at her, entirely unashamed.

He had a couch brought to his office, likely thinking he was doing her a favor by not forcing her to sit at his feet. The worst thing was that she caught herself being relieved, that he had allowed her at least some dignity. It was the same  as with his refusal to force himself on her when she was unwilling – unconscious was fine with him but actively unwilling he drew the line at. Sitting on the floor was too undignified for him but tying her to bed was not.

Right now, he was sitting next to her on the couch with her hand in his lap, rolling a spiked ball over her forearm. "Does it feel nice?"

"No." She lied.

Of course, it did feel nice to feel a gentle human touch after spending weeks alone with only the dead to make her company... and then months in that cursed hospital.

He rolled the ball into her palm. "Here, squeeze it as tight as you can and repeat, like the last time.”

As he got up, he tried to place a kiss on her lips. She pushed him away before he could.

"I will be having visitors today. be a good girl, quiet as a mouse, so you don't disturb us."

"And you will let me out?" She asked sarcastically.

"No." He chuckled, shamelessly.

His smug face nearly made her throw the stupid ball at him, just to show him he had no control over her, but that would mean spending more time with useless hands, getting spoon fed like a damn baby and she didn't want anything less than that. So, she watched him work and exercised. After a while she got bored of squeezing the ball and threw it in the air, catching it with the same hand. At least her reflexes still worked. 

Or so she thought before trying the same thing with her right hand – the one torn by the cuffs and stitched back together two weeks ago – and missed the falling ball. It hit the couch, falling to the ground and rolling away too fast for her eyes to follow. The damn thing was the same shade of grey as the floor was.

"Fuck." She cursed, she would not be caught on her knees in front of him looking for a damn toy. It was bad enough that he was now looking her way.

"Bored already?" She could hear his smirk. "Sorry, but daddy cannot play when he has work."

"Quit that infantilizing bullshit." She rolled her eyes, sinking into the couch. "Or take a pick if you're my daddy or the baby daddy. Both is just sick."

She could see him bend in his chair, likely fetching the ball.

"Catch."

He threw it her way and she did catch it – using her forearms maybe but she did catch it. Instead of thanking him, which he did not deserve, she spoke like she was addressing a dog; "What a nice fetch, a good boy."

"Careful, Amelia." The snarl in his voice made her smirk. "I could have you put back under until it's time to birth my child and then put you back in the trials."

Was that the worst he could think of doing to her after raping a baby into her?

"I would find a way to run away again." She said and she meant it. "And this time I would burn the place down."

She really believed that she would burn the place down the first time – that some of the reagents would get out and spread the word of what was happening here. She did not have the balls to ask Easterman why that didn't happen. Did they catch all of the escapees after all? Did no one believe them when they told a story about sleeper agent torture camp in the desert?

"Sorry, if I have my doubts, crippled and blind as you are." He said.

"I would find a way." She snapped back.

...

She was on the bed, reading a copy of Homer's Odyssey. It was clear that the book was not read before, it was all too crisp and its back made the sound virgin books make, when she first opened it in his office. He probably bought a copy to look smart.

Sound of the door unlocking snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Evening, love."

He came in as he did each day bringing a warm dinner. He set two boxes on the table before disappearing in the bathroom. She had noticed that he never touched anything in his room before he washed his hands and that when he did that, it took him exactly 60 seconds. Every time.

She got up from the bed, leaving the book behind and sat at the table. They had pasta and it was nicer than the one they served in the sleep rooms. She had to wait for him to return and unlock the drawer where he kept the cutlery at and bring her some before she could eat.

She remained silent most of the time, but it didn't seem like he minded, he liked his own voice too much to care what other’s had to say.

"I had a horrible day, thank you for asking." He spoke as he sat at the table, handing her a fork.

"No babies were drowned and no innocents killed?" She did talk sometimes, mostly to talk back.

"And no plagues set over Egypt, yes, truly an unproductive day." He got up again, heading for one of the other locked cabinets. Of course, she had unlocked them all by now, but he had locked them again every time. This one was just full of alcohol. "It's the fucking Kennedy cutting our funds."

He brought a bottle of wine, along with two glasses, pouring one for Amelia without asking her.

He continued complaining about his work, but she didn’t care enough to listen. He never gave her enough details for her to get the full picture. Curious, how careful he was around her while at the same time swearing that she would not escape again.

"You have been good lately." He said after she finished her food. He still had half of it left; he ate slowly like someone who never knew hunger. "I think you deserve a reward. A gift from me to you."

She didn't answer him, standing up to put the dishes in the sink. Someone would come to clean them, but only when she was away and he did not take her to his office for two days in row, so the mess piled up.

"You could wash them, you know." He said, watching her.

She shrugged. He had called her a pet, didn't he? As far as she knew, pets did not clean after their masters or themselves.

"I had an optometrist appointment set up for tomorrow. You are getting new glasses."

That sparked her interest, she was sick of her disability making mundane things difficult.

"That is, only if you do something for me first." Of fucking course. "A man has his needs."

"I can clean the dishes." She said sarcastically.

He had the gut to laugh.

"You know what I mean, love." He said, covering his full mouth with his hand. He swallowed before continuing. "But if you wish it spelled out for you; I want you to lay on the bed for me and let me make you feel good."

"You can't make me feel good, just say how you want to fuck me." She snapped.

"The usual way, obviously." He poured himself another glass of wine.

She found herself standing in middle of the room, unsure what to do. She really wanted to be able to see again and she hated that it depended on his willingness to help her. She fucking hated him.

She walked back to the table, taking her own glass of wine, drinking it at once.

"Careful, love, I don't want you knocked out."

She let out a scoff. "Suddenly. You didn't seem to mind that before."

He was right that she drank the wine too quickly, her head was starting to hurt. She leaned in for the bottle, but he moved it out of her reach.

"Give it a minute." He said, as he stood up. He had finished his dinner apparently. He walked behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders, squeezing softly. "There's no need to be nervous. You're no virgin, are you?"

She nearly choked. "You rape me and then you ask me that."

"Tsk. Not the ugly word again." He squeezed her shoulders harder, pressing his thumbs into her muscles. "I'm sure you know how real rape looks like, with your history."

She twitched, trying to escape his touch. He didn't let her and that was just the start tonight.

"Have you ever fucked for money?" She asked, bending her neck to look at him. "Had transactional intercourse in any way?"

"Not if you don't count licking my wife's genitals so she lets me fuck her properly." He laughed.

"It makes you feel filthy." She said. "It's a filth you cannot clean no matter how long you bath, how hard you shrub."

"Surely, you would not feel filth, if it's between us." He said. "I will take a shower beforehand."

"It's not about-" She caught herself trapped in his game. "You know that's not what I meant.

He continued to massage her shoulders but it didn't feel nice anymore. "It would be more proper if we were married, but you did not mind that with Damon, did you?"

In the back of her mind, she had noted that this was the first time he called Damon by his name instead of ‘her colored boyfriend’. She sighed. "I hate you but I really want to be able to see again."

She poured herself another glass, drinking it all at once again. It was starting to get on her mind, that fog like state that silenced all her thoughts but the loudest ones. She rose up.

“Okay.” She said. “I think I’m ready.”

She did not expect him to kiss her, but she couldn’t really say what she did expect. He pressed his mouth against hers, at first testing her with lips only and only when she reciprocated did he slip his tongue into her mouth.

His arms ran around her waist, up and down and under her shirt. He felt the tender skin, gently squeezing her flesh. As the kiss broke, he lifted her shirt and she obediently put her arms up, to help him undress her. She only wore the shirt and panties, now regretting her shamelessness, as he was fully dressed in front of her when she was wearing just the lower half of her underwear.

He threw her shirt on the nearest chair, eyeing her small breast.

“Beautiful.” He sighed.

She pulled away from him, shaking her head. She made her way to the bed, waiting for him to undress his own shirt and pants. He did so hurriedly, few times missing the same button. She would’ve laughed if she wasn’t feeling so down.

She pulled her panties down, discarding them on the ground, before climbing on the bed.

When he was finally bare, cock already half hard, he climbed on the bed between her legs – she forced herself to spread them for him and he wasted no time pressing his head into her crotch.

That took her by surprise; she had assumed that he would just put it in and fuck himself into orgasm. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or horrified, when his tongue licked between her folds and up to her clit. He rolled his tongue over it and it brought the sweet warmth to her stomach that made her legs tremble.

“Ah.” She moaned unconsciously. She was not touched like that for a very long time; not since Damon had disappeared. She was not really in a mood to touch herself since then, let alone allow anyone else to do it for her.

She could feel his teeth brushing the tender skin of her clit and she squeezed his head between her trembling thighs. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see that the pleasure she felt came from his bald head.

Fingers teased her entrance and she spread her legs again; she did not want to be penetrated but she also wanted this to be done as soon as possible, so she let him press a finger into her and then another one.

“You’re so tight.” He said in the most theatrical bedroom voice she had ever heard.

She didn’t answer, just spread her legs further, giving him a silent permission.

He worked his fingers in and out, before putting his head back down and locking his lips over her clit. He sucked on it and God, it felt nice, but she also wished it was not him giving her that feeling.

Another finger pressed in and it was too much, prompting her to yelp. “Wait!”

“You need to relax.” He purred, removing his fingers.

“I don’t want this.” She snapped. A moment passed as she looked at him, expecting him to force her anyway. When that didn’t come, she prompted him to do it. “Just get over with it.”

He climbed over her and she was both horrified and relieved that he had listened to her. However, his actions didn’t follow her expectations. Instead of forcing himself inside her, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her to his chest.

“Just tell me how you like it, love.”

She shook her head. There was no way she would enjoy sex with him, ever. She closed her eyes, wishing that she was somewhere else. That it was someone else’s hand that crept back between her legs and rubbed in circles over her clit. She thought of the men from the posters selling perfume and promoting fancy suits. Men with perfect faces that were far from her league.

She did not think of Damon, that would feel like killing him again, this time torturing him to death herself.

The motion on her clit was losing its charm, so she moved her hips, prompting him to slip his fingers further down between her folds.

“That’s it, you’re so good, my love”

Her lips were kissed and it tasted like cigarettes. She kissed him back, imagining a different man: younger, prettier one that wouldn’t hurt her because he was not real. His fingers slipped into her, curling inside, making her feel pleasure that still was not enough to make her forget her situation.

She could feel his leaking hardness pressed into her stomach and in attempt to get over with it, she reached for it. Spreading his pre-cum over his length and stroking him.

“Ah.” He moaned into her mouth, his hand inside her slowing down.

He pulled back and she dared to look down at him, to prove herself that he looked like any other man and not the pale monstrosity that haunted her dreams. His cock was in fact completely normal, red circumcised head at the end of one of the shorter lengths she saw. No tentacle like appendages to be seen.

She avoided looking at his face, but she could feel he was following her eyes and smiling at her. Finally, he had moved between her legs, positioning himself over her cunt.

“Allow me, my love.” He sounded desperate and she hated that he found the strength to wait for her answer, making her accomplice in what was happening.

“Do it.” She breathed out.

He squeezed her waist with one hand, holding his weight on the other and he pressed inside of her torturingly slowly. If he had hurt her now, she would’ve felt better about herself.

When he started moving it was just a pleasureless intrusion for her. She laid down waiting for him to tire himself down. He did not bother trying to please her anymore and she was fine with it.

“Love.” More of his mocking bedroom voice as he moaned through hard breaths. “Amelia.”

She tried to go back to the fantasy of a safe handsome man, but his voice did not really allow her to. She covered her eyes with her forearm to prevent herself from looking at him.

It felt like an eternity before his chest fell on hers and she could feel his cock spilling inside her.

She wanted to push him away, but he did the opposite, wrapping his hands around her.

“I love you.” He said. “I wish you would try to enjoy it.”

That was the last straw for her. She pushed him away, proclaiming that she needed a “Bath.”

He let go of her and she nearly ran to the bathroom, counting each second before she could put closed doors between him and herself.

She climbed into the bath a started the shower, not waiting for it to heat up, before she placed it between her legs. She didn't see the color the water turned but she imagined it was red.

She took a soap scrubbing it into her skin until it hurt. She felt filth everywhere he had touched her and no matter how hard she tried it didn't go away. Exactly as she knew it would.

After a while of hard scrubbing she gave up; she wrapped herself in a towel and sat down in the bathtub, wrapping her hands around her knees, using the towel to sink her tears. She hated him and he hated herself, because what he did to her didn’t even feel that bad and she hated that he made her consent to it. 

She didn't know how long she sat there, but after what felt both too long and too little time, the door of the bathroom opened and he came in, already dressed for bed. He sat at the edge of the bath, wrapping his arms around her. "Come here, baby girl."

And she fucking did; she allowed him to pick her up and lead her to the bedroom, where he helped her put on the damn nightgown, before laying her to bed.

"Do you want something to help you sleep?" He asked and she found herself nodding.

…

Next morning he brought her to optometrist. She knew the facility was huge, she crawled through the tunnels under it, but it didn't really click just how huge it really was. They had taken a car between the buildings, driving for at least ten minutes and they were not slow. 

For the first time in her life, Amelia had her sight professionally measured and was surprised that it worked the same way as she always solved it herself – by trying on a different glasses until one of them matched. Amelia didn't know why they charged so much money for it then. She apparently had two very different measurements on each eye – something she had figured by herself a long time ago.

The optometrist was a short tan man who could be in his early 30s at most, with head full of thick curls that Easterman probably envied him. Upon examining her left eye, he even dared to reprimand Easterman.

"The lens is scarred. What happened?" He frowned.

"It might've been caused by a cigarette." To her pleasure, Easterman sounded almost embarrassed.

The optometrist positively cringed. "Please don't do that."

She wondered if the man knew what was happening in the facility he worked in, because there were things far worse than that going on here.

He let go of her eyelid, standing up. "I can't fix the damaged lens, so the left eye won't ever see perfectly again, but together both eyes should provide a sufficient enough sight. You can pick the frames now."

He provided her with four frames to pick from and a mirror, which she once again, had to hold very close to her face to see how she looked like. She tried all of them, one was too big, three fit well enough. Each of them looked very similar; thick oval frames in a dark color. 

"The last one." She said despite not really caring. She expected Easterman would have an opinion about her pick, just so he could control another aspect of her life, but he didn't.

"Alright." The optometrist took the said frames, putting them to the side. "I will have the lenses changed by closing time. When can you come pick them up?"

...

Easterman left her alone with her dinner in the evening and she didn't mind at all. She could hold a fork well enough by now, but each time she did he watched her for any hint of weakness that he could exploit to force her to be fed by him again.

But she couldn't lie, for the first time ever she was thrilled when he finally walked to the room.

"Good evening, love."

"Evening." She held herself back from acting like an excited child, knowing it would receive a gift. She didn't know if he didn't plan to exploit her more before he finally gave her the glasses.

"I see you are excited."

Apparently, she did a bad job hiding that.

"Do you have them?"

"Of course." He put a box in front of her, leaning down to kiss the top of her head and she didn't even twitch, opening the box and finally, trying the glasses on.

She blinked and looked around the room, seeing it clearly for the first time. Most things were as she thought they would, some details were off and she certainly did not see the spiders in a corner of the ceiling before. She looked at the table in front of her, finally able to see the food she ate.

He petted her hair. She caught his hand and pulled it off her.

"Ehm." He coughed performatively. "Manners, miss?"

 "I'm not thanking you." She frowned. "I paid for it."

"If that's how you feel then you must admit I came out underpaid. It costed far more than one night of sex."

"You got what you charged." She snapped.

"I guess I did." He was still uncomfortably close to her. She noticed he had something else in hands just as he moved to put it in front of her. "And I'm willing to pay more, here."

It was a catalogue, not like the custom-made ones they had in the sleep rooms, this one was clearly from the outside world. The contents made her breath stop. It was full of jewelry, specifically, it was a catalogue of wedding rings and matching accessories. She was stunned. Once at the implication, twice because the prices were far from her league.

"I thought we could make it official, before the baby is born." Easterman said. "It would be impolite of me to wait any longer."

"It's so much money..." She skimmed through the pages. "One of these rings could've bought me and Damon both the flight to Paris."

She swore that Easterman growled.

"I can take you there, if you wish." He said through clenched teeth. "Once the baby is big enough to take the flight, we can all go for a late honeymoon."

I don't want to go to a fucking Paris with you. She thought.  Not you.

She got up. "I'll take a bath."

She wanted to be alone.

[herodia]

Part five where Amelia and Liliya meet again

One thing was for sure, life was certainly easier when she saw clearly. When he took her to his office next day, she did not hide snooping around. Skimming through everything she missed in the past two weeks. It was better than giving in and reading the damn wedding catalogue.

“If you have to be nosy, make yourself useful and clean around.” Easterman sounded annoyed but was yet to threaten her with blinding her or inflicting any other kind of abuse, so she chose to ignore him. “Come here, the escape trial is starting.”

She looked his way, seeing a group of reagents on the screen. They had just arrived at a location with twoa tied up victims, each with a bag marked with ‘A’ over her head. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching, but at the same time a morbid curiosity did not allow her to tear her eyes away.

“Who are they?" She asked. "The victims. Are they just poor souls picked at random or do you handpick the ones you think would resist your re-programing?"

"Your sympathizers." Easterman answered. "Yes, I do handpick them from the crowd. Those who whisper your name like you're Jesus and they Christians in old Rome."

"Rome fell." She said, eyes locked on the screen.

The view switched between two groups of reagents, solving their respective puzzle. One group had it easier than the other – blowing up lamps instead of people. The victims struggled in their bindings, cursing the reagents, pleading them to stop.

"You are so incredibly sick."

"I do what I have to for my country." He said like he believed it.

"Please, if the Soviets offered you money big enough you would be singing Kalinka for them." She countered.

"You insult me, thinking so little of me." He frowned, then rose from his chair. "Sit down and watch."

She did. The chair was warm. She looked at the microphone in front of her, thinking what would happen if she disturbed the trial. Would he take her glasses away? Or her tongue? She did not believe he would kill her, not until he realized the parasite inside her wasn't his.

"Go on, try changing their mind if you wish." He must have noticed her gaze. "I trust that my children are over your temptation."

"Really?" She didn't believe him.

"Yes, try it."

She was always easy to dare. She pressed the button on the microphone, leaning in to make sure her voice was heard.

"You don't have to do this." She said, eyes locked on the screen. "Give up the trial. Easterman cannot kill you all if you all refuse to play his game."

The reagents didn't respond to her voice. They continued their gruesome task of cremating their comrades alive. She watched, breathless, as both groups finished their task.

"They didn't hear me." She said. "They did not react at all."

"Oh, they heard you, child, they are just conditioned to bypass external influence by now." He smirked, his hand caressing her shoulder. "The only voice they follow is mine."

"You lie." She shook her head. "And don't call me a child after you fuck me."

The trial continued, this time a fake Amelia was executed in the most gruesome way available. She looked away, getting up, but Easterman stopped her, pushing her back into the chair.

"Stay, the best is yet to come." He said.

She thought of closing her eyes just to spite him, but curiosity overtook her. What else could he do that is worse than watching ‘herself’ burn? She watched the reagents kill ‘Amelia’, hearing an automated response from Easterman. It was unnerving, hearing his voice in front of her, when he was quite literally breathing down her neck.

The reagents ran through a series of tunnels, she recognized the place; it was nowhere near  the exit of the facility and yet, as camera followed the reagents she saw a light from the outside, proving her mistaken until... it was no exit, only a part of the mockery. A fake desert with a fake sky, painted over a wall. She didn't need his explanation, he provided it anyway.

“I rewrote their collective unconscious, turning your escape into just another trial and your image will soon be wiped from their memories by Liliya’s presence.”

"This is a mockery." She stood up, walking to the couch. She felt heavy out of sudden. She sat down, putting her head in her arms. "You're mocking me and you're killing people doing it."

"I'm wiping out the parasites." He said. He did not sit back down; he just leaned forward turning off the computer. "I have some work to do outside, I'm sure you have enough to think about to entertain yourself."

"Fuck you."

"Tsk." He was fucking smirking. "Language, you don't want our baby's first words to be curses."

If she had something to throw at him she would. The sound of locking doors followed his departure and she could not help but get up and kick his desk, before she pushed its contents to the floor. He was lucky, she wasn't strong enough to throw down the computers, only the files and pencils. She opened the nearest drawer, spilling its contents on the ground, then another and another, until his desk was empty.

She looked at the mess of files, pictures and cassettes. She had been snooping through the place before, she saw them all, but did not bother to pick up and examine each item. Looking through them now was significantly easier. One tape in particular caught her eye: ‘Damon Greene – interrogation’.

She felt like she was thrown into cold water. Her hand trembled as she reached for the tape. She pressed it to her chest, suddenly afraid she’s going to drop it, even if she hasn’t dropped anything for days.

She looked up at Easterman’s desk, holding her breath.  The recorder was unharmed by her tantrum. Slowly she opened it, removing whatever tape was there to replace it with hers. When she sank to his chair and listened.

“So.” Said who she assumed was the Clyde Perry. “Amelia Collier.”

“What?!” She heard Damon speak for the first time since the day she told him she wants nothing to do with his drunk ass anymore. How she regretted those words now. “Amelia?!”

Distress was apparent in Damon’s voice, as he spoke her name. But once Perry started interrogating him about her, his words turned cold. She knew that tone, it was one he would use when speaking to cops. One or two times he used it on her during an argument and it pissed her off more than if he just hit her.

“Keep smiling, see how long that lasts, ‘cause I’ll tell you this much for nothing.”

Of course, Damon would say that.

“If you did to her half of what you’ve done to me, I expect she’s got her mind set on tearing this place to the ground.”

She pressed the pause button. She needed to take a moment to process what she just heard and prepare herself for what was to come next. She found herself wrapping her own arms around her chest for comfort. She pressed the button.

“Well, God damn. She sounds like a hell of a woman.” She wished she could kill Perry again. It brought her at least some comfort to know that she was the one to end him and that it wasn’t quick. “Maybe we see if we can flush her out.”

What continued was a lot of screaming.

She sunk into the chair, lifting her knees to her chest she could hug them, listening to the last minutes of Damon's life. She would have loved him even if he had spilled all her secrets to the devil of a man, but nowhere between his screams did he give up a single information about her. Somehow, it felt even worse that he didn't, she didn't deserve such devotion, not after he got in this mess because of her in the first place.

…

Easterman did not disappoint, when he had found her in post crying melancholy, sitting in the middle of the mess she had made of his office. He raged. She didn't have it in herself to care, she was actually relieved that he finally showed his true self, as he pulled her face from her arms by hair and slapped her cheek.

"You say you don't want to be treated like a child, then why do you have to act like one!" He cursed, took a deep breath and slapped her again.

She didn't have the strength to answer.

"You will clean this!" As she had expected (feared) he pulled her glasses from her head. "You don't deserve this! It is a privilege, bad girls don't get!"

His words did not have meaning for her, she let him throw her off the chair, into the mess of the floor. She put head between her arms again, as new tears poured from her eyes.

He sat at his desk, opening the file he brought with himself. If she had the energy to be disappointed, she would be, she was looking forward seeing him on his knees, searching the mess she had made.

She didn't know how long it took, until she heard him rewinding the tape recorder. She didn't know if he did it because he didn't bother to check what's inside or to torture her further, but if it was the later... she was torn between giving up and killing herself –God new he had enough coke here for her to overdose with – and giving in and cleaning his stupid floor just to make it stop.

Click.

“So, Amelia Collier.”

Again, she heard Damon's startled voice: “What?!”

"Oh." With another click the recording stopped. "Is that why you're throwing a tantrum?"

He got up and he was back to his fatherly charade, kneeling on her side, wrapping his arms around her. "Come here, stupid girl, don't you know that curiosity killed the cat?"

She still didn't have the strength to answer, but she allowed the hug because despite everything, it felt nice to be held. Easterman would probably explain to her how it was a part of the basic pack dynamics that prehistoric people formed to survive long before civilization was invented. She had the displeasure of drinking with a psychologist before.

He helped her stand, walking to the couch and sitting down alongside her. She could feel tears falling down her cheeks and fought the craving to bury her face in Easterman's chest, because she knew what he was doing, trying to manipulate her to see him as safe, father and husband, her protector. She focused on the pain lingering in her cheeks. This man was a monster, nothing about him was safe.

And now she had given him another method to torture her with. She had no doubt she would be hearing the tape again.

He got up, walking to his desk, bending down to pick something before he came back with a pack of paper napkins in his hand and her glasses in another. He offered her both. "I'm sorry, my love, you could not help yourself, could you?"

He pressed the items into her hands, leaning down to kiss her head. "I still want you to clean this, but you can take your time. Process it all."

With that he returned to his desk. It took her some time to dry her eyes enough to be able to put her glasses back on, seeing that he had already picked up some of the documents he needed and was back to doing his paperwork. As if he felt her watching, he looked her way, giving her a small smile. "Just say if you need something else, love."

She nearly told him 'no thank you' on instinct and it horrified her. She ended up cleaning his fucking floor.

...

Franco was a sight to behold. Grown man with a pacifier around his neck and abnormally large head, that even managed to let out the sickly smell of milk that children had. Amelia felt the need to wash her hands just by being in his proximity.

"Clever bitch she was. Came to me with a box of warm pasta, telling me she had a business proposal for little old me!" He spat as he spoke. "You see, we have a code in our trade. We value family time with a good meal."

She didn't have to wait for Prime Time to talk to Franco after all. Easterman had them both posed for the Escape trial. She did not even need to squeeze the information out of Franco. He saw Amelia's image on the screen and spit, cursing in Italian.

"I helped her get out of the Ex-pop zone in the back of the Docks. The hole was too high and too thin for me to get away, but her ass promised me she would let me out! A filthy lie that was! Instead, I hear she let dozens of the prey out! Anyone but fucking me!"

"Believe in her and this time, it's the killers that get set free, the God will see to it."

"Yeah, missy, sure. When we get out let me take you to Sicily, you will love that, lotta religious folk to preach to there and all will be piss scared of you!"

She did not honor him with an answer. The reagents could not come fast enough and free her from her reeking company.

"Want a quick fuck before we're let in?" He asked with a disgusting amount of hope in his voice.

"No." She hissed like a cat, pointing her blade in his direction."

"Okay." He took a step back rising his hands up – Lupara included. "Just firing my shot."

…

She brought the tape with her to his suit. He said he was going out for a drink that night, pleading with her to join him. She had refused. She had other plans.

It wasn't hard to unlock the doors, she was picking locks since nine years old. The only issue was that her hands still lacked the fine motor skills they once had, but even with that handicap she managed after a few attempts anyway.

Now, she walked across the deserted rooms in his suit pants and shirt, pretending she belonged here. (Because of course he only gave her clothes that would mark her as an escaped reagent for this very reason.) Her goal was the incinerator. She wanted to burn the damn tape before it occurred to Easterman he could use it to torture her.

She also wanted to say her goodbye to Damon. She couldn't bury his body properly, when she found it, so she would at least burn his last words. She had risked her life if she got caught, but that didn't bother her. She had died when she found his body and since then her life ran on nothing but spite.

She only knew the way from Easterman's suite to his office. But she knew the basics; the ground level was where the sleep rooms and trials were, up were the offices and housing for the so-called scientists. Underground were all the ugly things like the boiler room, the trash disposals, the endless tunnels filled with gore and an occasional pathway for the scientists who wished to oversee the trials. So, for an incinerator she had to go down.

She did not expect the layout to change much from when she was there last. Alas, she soon found her path blocked by a trial environment that was not supposed to be so close to the housing. She tried a door leading to one of the observation rooms, curious what trial environment this was, but she found them locked. That was a security upgrade, one she had to herself to thank for, she assumed.

"You're not my type anyway, no offense, but the Russian girls are best when ripe, after they squeezed a few kiddos out. More places to grab like that. Aagh!"

She stopped. Was that Franco?

"You crazy bitch!"

She followed the voice across a corner to another observation room. The doors were locked, just like the last ones. She looked around before bashing the door once, twice, three times before the lock gave up. They revealed a small room with a table and a big glass window. On the other end was Franco and a moving mannequin.

"Speak of the devil! Marone! Came to pay your debts, bitch?" Franco hit the glass with his fat little fist.

"Amelia!" Amelia didn't recognize the mask the woman wore, but she did recognize that hoarse voice: Liliya. "Is it time for us to be free?"

Amelia winked a few times to grasp the other woman's meaning, then shook her head. "I have to disappoint. Whatever you think I'm here for, it's not true."

"You were chosen by God to bring down Easterman." It was hard to tell emotions from Liliya's voice (or the masked face), but to Amelia she sounded hopeful. "And after him all the rich men running this defiled land!"

"It's pronounced God, sweetness." Franco jumped in with a completely irrelevant take.

"Actually, it's God." Amelia corrected him. He said it alright, but she felt like being a bitch to him in particular, before turning to Liliya. "And how do you think I could do that? I tried once, I succeeded once! But it changed nothing."

"You let out the rats." Liliya shook her head. "Now you free the wolves!"

Ah. It wasn't like it didn't occur to Amelia before, she did make a false promise to Franco in order to get out of the trial after all. But she wanted neither of the Prime Assets anywhere near the real world.

"I can't let you out. If there's a key from your cells, Easterman doesn't have it." Anymore, she didn't add. He had it before the escape. She assumed Avellanos confiscated it. "But you-"

"He comes to my room." Liliya answered her question before it was spoken. "He has the key."

Amelia was hit by a wave of emotions; a relief that she was not the only woman he abused, a pity for Liliya suffering under his hand and a hint of jealousy she didn't want to examine. "Then why don't you do it? I saw you wandering the halls before."

"You cannot sacrifice with defiled hand." Liliya countered like it was the most obvious explanation. "It has to be you!"

Amelia was slowly coming to the realization that Liliya was as mad as the rest of the Prime Assets. "Trust me, sister, I'm as defiled as they come."

"Does he fuck you?" Franco once again proved to have his priorities in all the wrong places. "How? Gimme the details!"

Amelia frowned, then her lips curled slightly upwards. "Missionary with lights out. He even offered me a ring."

"No, shit!" Franco laughed.

"And it's small too."

"Hey!" Franco changed the tune, sliding back to his explosive anger. "Is no man's fault what he has between his legs, only how he uses it!"

Liliya pressed her hand to the glass, spreading her fingers. When she spoke she sounded broken, maybe even afraid. "You have to kill him before the marriage!"

"It's not like he could call a priest to this place to marry us for real." Amelia rolled her eyes to mask the startle she got from Liliya's sudden change of attitude. It was easier to deal with Franco, she learned very early how to deal with scummy pimps. She had no idea how to deal with religious freaks. She knew, however, how to deal with women who hit on her. She placed her hand over Liliya's. "I want out of this place just as you do, okay?"

Like Hell she was going to birth her child here, she thought but kept to herself, she didn't really want to share that news with two crazy murderers. She thought of the trial he made her watch. How he made her think he’d let her talk to them again. Of him being too much of a coward to actually let her.

"If you want to help me free you, you have to help me first. Spread my message to the reagents. Mark the trials with my name. Remind them of me. Direct them to fight Murkoff and not each other."

Liliya cocked her head with a loud crack. "You need their worship."

"Something like that. Tell them Easterman cannot kill them all if they all refuse to play his game! Hell, tell the Primes to fight Murkoff not us! We’re all their prisoners!"

The sound of something heavy being moved disturbed their conversation. Franco and Amelia looked to the wall the sound was coming from, Liliya remained still.

"Guards." Franco said. "Get your flat ass outta here if you don’t want it fried."

Amelia did just that, the turned around and ran out, just as the gate behind the Prime Assets was opening. She closed the door behind her, taking a moment to breathe. The tape of Damon's last words felt heavy in her pocket.

 She thought of continuing her path towards the incinerator, considering whether or not she really wanted to destroy it. She did not have anything else left of him. She'd pre-paid their rooms for three months time, couldn't afford more than that. She didn't know how long she was in this place, but it certainly felt like more than three months. Their belongings would be sold by the time she found her way back. But she knew the tape would haunt her until she destroyed it and there was enough suffering in her life already.

Finding the damn incinerator took her longer than she would prefer, but she was beyond caring at this point. She imagined Easterman searching the halls for her and it made her smirk. Maybe she shouldn't go back. Maybe she should find a place to hide and then leave this place all together. But they had found at least some of the reagents who had escaped and without the hoard of desperate souls to distract them from her, she would be an easy target.

So, she said her last goodbye to the fire.

"I will bring this place down for you, I promise."

And made her way back to Easterman's room.

...

She entered the room quietly, opening the door as gently as she could. Then she froze; Easterman laid sprawled on the bed boots and all. She thought of her options.

He might wake up remembering nothing or he might be enraged and put her back in the coma. There would be no revenge for her or Damon and likely a horrifying life for her little parasite if it even lived.

She might climb on the bed next to him or hide under it. Or do both. Have him think she got scared and hid, because he reminded her of her ‘father’ so much. He would like that the sick freak.

Quietly she took down her (his) clothes, putting them back into the closet and throwing on her usual nightdress. Everything went fine until that.

"Amelia?" Easterman murmured. When she turned he was looking at her with sleepy eyes.

"Shh..” She hushed, coming closer, not hiding her fear. “Go back to sleep.”

"Where were you?"

She leaned over him, tugging at his dress shoe. It came down easily, so she repeated it with the other. "I was scared, afraid you would be drunk and beat me like my father."

"Never." He sounded genuinely offended, but he also sounded like he was going to throw up soon. "'m not that kind of man."

She pulled off his already loosened tie. “Fuck, I hate that you actually make me believe that.”

“Bring me water since you’re up?” He asked sounding entirely pathetic.

She was about to answer, but her words got forgotten when she noticed blood soaking through the arm of his shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

“Is nothing, bring me the water.”

“What happened?” She pulled at his stained sleeve, rolling it up to see his forearm littered with cuts. “Did you do it?!”

He pushed her away. “Get me the fucking water!”

The loudness of his voice startled her, reminding her who she was fussing about. She raised her hands in defeat and hurried to the sink, pouring him a glass. Drinking water was one of the luxuries reserved for Murkoff employees.

She could hear him moving on the bed and hoped it was not to charge at her. She dared to look back and saw him moving towards the bathroom. Holding the glass, she didn’t know what to do. If she should dare to come near him.

She chose to put the glass on his nightstand and sit at the table, listening to the sound of the shower, waiting for him to return. It could’ve taken ten minutes before he did, dressed in the pants he slept in and nothing more.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you.” He said as he was nearing her. “It was uncalled for, you only wanted to help.”

He sat next to her, offering her a bandage. “Please, assist me.”

He held his cut arm up for her and she wrapped it in the bandages. She remained silent. She wanted to ask what had happened, but she did not want to anger him again. When she was finished, he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you.” He said. “Let’s go to bed.”

She wasn’t stupid, she knew he did that to himself. But why?

[herodia]

Finally getting back to the amelilya part of my fic

"You let out the rats." Liliya shook her head. "Now you free the wolves!"

Ah. It wasn't like it didn't occur Amelia before, she did make a false promise to Franco in order to get out of the trial after all. But she wanted either of the Prime Assets anywhere near the real world.

"I can't let you out. If there's a key from your cells, Easterman doesn't have it." Anymore, she didn't add. He had it before the escape. She assumed Avellanos confiscated it. "But you-"

"He comes to my room." Liliya answered her question before it was spoken. "He has the key."

Amelia was hit by a wave of emotions; a relief that she was not the only woman he abused, a pity for Liliya suffering under his hand and a hint of jealousy she didn't want to examine. "They why don't you do it? I saw you wandering the halls before."

"You cannot sacrifice with defiled hand." Liliya countered like it was the most obvious explanation. "It has to be you!"

Amelia was slowly coming to realization that Liliya was as mad as the rest of the Prime Assets. "Trust me, sister, I'm as defiled as they come."

[herodia]

Having fun introducing Coyle to my fic

Coyle was as disgusting as Franco, but easier on the eyes, even Liliya could see that and she was a holy woman depraved of the need of mortal pleasures.

She found him in one of the rooms of his police station with a groaning grunt under his hands. The woman was bald, blind and her shirt was pulled up, exposing her unsupported breast. She was clawing at him with bare hands, as he buried his fingers between her legs. Liliya would have assume it an assault, if the grunt did not growl at him when he stopped to look back at Liliya.

"Little busy here, at the moment." Coyle said. "You have no manners back in Russia? Unless you want to join that is."

"Fuck off!" The grunt had more limited language but made her message clear, she wasn't one to share even if Liliya was willing.

"You mock me." Liliya said.

[herodia]

Water is wet and Harley is mad.

A Harlivy fic to celebrate Femslash February

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel

Additional Tags: Femslash February 2026, Arkham Asylum (DCU), Self-Harm, Manic Episode, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Lesbian Sex, Just gals being pals 

Summary: After a particularly amusing rampage Harleen was captured and returned to the Arkham Asylum where she can finally be with her lovely wife.

[herodia]

Guess what sentence made me write this, it's one of these?

“No way. I haven’t seen my girl for sooo long, I can’t wait!” She planted kisses across Pamela’s cheeks. “Baby, sugarcane, how long has it been? Must’ve been the worst five years of my life I tell ya!”

It was in fact barely a week since they last saw each other, but saying it like that felt funnier.

“Just wait for later, I’ll eat ya out so hard all the cysts on your ovaries are gonna pop!”

That sentence was what finally prompted Crane to get up with a groan and move away, not even taking whatever he was reading with him.