“Now MayDay, this WILL hurt,” the raspy, metallic voice whispered, prying the glowing blue optic from her face. She watched the light inside flicker and dim as the skeletal hand in front of her turned it over between spidery fingers.
MayDay looked up at the towering figure standing over her, focusing with her photographic lens. Her voice came out quietly, in a higher pitch than normal, “I know.”
The spidery fingers caressed her cheek panels, tracing down to her chin, “You’re going to be so pretty when I’m done.” A whisp of steam curled over her lips as she smiled and nodded, “I trust you, sir.”















