I WANT THE K LMAO
Mental torture.
She was made of stronger stuff than most women her age, he’d give her that. Smarter too, with far less of a conceited attitude than the other’s he’d met in the past. Often relying on their genetically altered looks to get them by, clinging to whatever dumb bastard they expected to dote on them and pour an endless supply of free drinks down their throats. She was out there firing crossbow bolts into the heads of men trice her size. In another universe he might’ve come to respect her — as laughable as that sounds now — and resisted whatever urge he possessed to have that pride beaten out of her.
Nought but speculation. There was an equally good chance that he’d gladly see her degraded and flayed alive in every possible set-up out there. She certainly had no such luck in escaping a similarly terrible fate in this world. After hearing that the ornery bitch had waltzed her merry way from death’s clutches she had to be put a stop to, permanently this time. What rattled about in that head of hers could bring the revolution crashing down to it’s knees. Then there was the connection to Ryan they had to consider. Apparently wanting nothing to do with him but even so, it still existed and they simply couldn’t ignore the risks that posed to them.
Hence why she was back in the chair, just him and her now, no need for any others to be lining the walls with their threatening faces. This was a personal matter now and she had made it that way; was it so bad that he wanted her all to himself to exact his own specific brand of vengeance upon her?
"M’afraid y’won’t be seein’ yer precious Sally no more," he crooned in a manner that juxtaposed heavily with the ‘apologetic’ nature of his words. Atlas sat not too far from her in an identical chair except his limbs were free to do what they wanted, allowing him to lean back with his legs crossed at the knee. In his hand he held three sheets of stiff paper; photographs, eight inches by ten, each depicting a visibly grotesque scene of horror that made even Atlas shiver. Remembering the putrid stench of the carcass in question made it all the worse.
No, unfortunately it wasn’t the little girl they’d hoped to capture — not the one named Sally at all. Didn’t mean he was going to tell her that. The filthy little thing they’d managed to grab in her place had held a striking resemblance to the real thing — same lank hair the colour of dead straw, same luminous, monstrous eyes staring blankly from sunken sockets. No child of this earth, but a beast. She’d fit the bill perfectly.
