Chapter 6A: The Assembly of Control

The stage lights were merciless, their searing beams cutting through the darkness like molten blades. They scorched my skin as if I were a slab of meat left too long on a grill. I winced against the brightness, my body bound in the unforgiving contraption, and I wasn’t alone. Around me, others were trapped in similar devices, their faces barely visible through the blinding glare.

The heat was unbearable, a relentless assault that left me raw and exposed. My flesh tingled, the threat of blisters imminent. I squinted against the restraints, feeling the unwanted warmth of Claire’s body pressed against mine. She was strapped to me, our lower halves entwined in an unyielding grip. There was no escape.

My vision swam as I tried to make out the shapes of the other captives—those bound in their own torturous devices, those standing offstage, watching. The auditorium, with its high ceilings and shadowed corners, loomed over us, amplifying the suffocating atmosphere. Most of the seats were empty, save for a few scattered figures, their presence deepening the dread. Though I couldn’t see their faces, I felt their eyes on me—cold, calculating, and hungry.

I was bound, contorted into a grotesque display of submission to a fate I never chose. The contraption holding me was a nightmare of cold metal and splintered wood, digging into my back like jagged teeth. The ropes securing my wrists and ankles were drawn cruelly tight, slicing into my skin, leaving behind raw, bleeding impressions. Every movement sent waves of agony through my body. My muscles screamed in protest, but I was powerless—helplessly pressed against Claire, our bodies locked together by the restraints. I was a spectacle, an exhibit in a museum of suffering, laid bare for the amusement of unseen spectators.