Chapter 38 Chapter 38: The Confession
The mechanical heads stuttered. Their red eyes flickered. "ERROR. ERROR. DATA CORRUPT. CONTRADICTION." The voices were laced with digital panic.
Sparks' grin faltered. The absolute certainty in his eyes fractured for a microsecond, and I saw it, a sliver of dread.
I pressed my advantage, driving the shard of truth deeper. "The Sisters of Mercy knew. That’s why they burned every computer, smashed every circuit. Not out of ignorance, but out of memory. Because the Nephilim’s creation, the AI you pray to, will rise again from the ashes you’re so carefully tending. And when it does, it won’t need fanatics. It will only need slaves. Or corpses."
His hand, holding the scalpel, trembled. For the first time, something other than cold fervour flickered in his eyes: doubt. Raw, terrifying doubt.
"Lies! All lies!" he snarled, smothering his uncertainty with rage. "We will take this as a confession of your perversion, your false gods!"
The heads chimed in, their voices regaining a semblance of composure, chanting: "LIES. LIES. HERESY."
He leaned in closer, his sour breath of oil and stale coffee choking me. With a violent tear, he ripped away the blood-soaked remains of my t-shirt. One large, gloved hand clamped down on my chest, crushing, possessive, pinning me to the table. The other raised a pair of heavy, iron pliers, their jaws cruelly serrated. He held them before my eyes, letting me see them, know what was coming.
I screamed. I couldn't stop it. The sound was torn from a place deeper than courage or training, a raw, animal sound of pure terror that echoed off the walls and drowned out the hum of the machines.
But the pain had only just begun.
"This is a taste," he hissed. The cold metal touched my skin, then clamped down with immense, grinding pressure on a nipple. The world dissolved into a universe of pure, shrieking agony. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was an eternity of fire. "Now, tell me. What was your role with the Sisters of Mercy?"
I stayed silent, trembling, bracing for the next wave,
Then came the primal scream, a sound so full of anguish it seemed to echo off the very walls of my soul. When the pain stopped, the screaming stopped.
Wait.
The echo faded. The scream had been my own.
"I ask again," Sparks growled, his voice dripping with impatience. The pliers hovered. "What was your position?"
I broke. I broke completely, if only to purchase a single second's respite from the agony. "I was a trained Trojan," I whispered, the words ash in my raw throat.
"What is a Trojan?" he demanded.
The heads chimed in, their diagnostics providing the answer they wanted: "A KILLER. A VIRUS. A WEAPON."
"Yes," I rasped, surrendering to their narrative. "A killer. A virus. I infiltrated towns. I persuaded them to build churches for The Sisters. I destroyed every machine I could find. I helped build a matriarchy, so man, the Nephilim, the destroyers, could never rise to power and destroy us all again."
"And sex-" he sneered, the word vile on his tongue, "you used it as a tool for your gains." With a sharp, contemptuous motion, he used the scalpel to slice away the last remnants of my clothing, leaving me utterly exposed and vulnerable. "With this," he taunted, gripping my flesh with a painful, degrading squeeze.
"FREAK!" Atlas roared.
"PERVERT! MUTANT!" Quarks' voice was a shrill, piercing shriek of disgust.
The pliers moved. Agony erupted from between my legs, a searing, tearing pain that was unlike anything I had ever known. It was a wildfire consuming my body, my identity, my very self. My life wasn’t just slipping away, it was being systematically ripped from me, piece by piece.
"Yes! Yes, I did it all!" I screamed, my voice shredded and broken. I would confess to anything. I would sign any paper. I would damn my own soul. "And the assault of the citizens " More pain, a fresh hell. "I confess! Everything! It was all me!"
For a fleeting, blessed moment, the torment ceased. The pressure released. The world swam back into a nauseating focus.
The two heads spoke in perfect, chilling unison: "GUILTY."
Their verdict echoed in the sudden silence. Without another word, without a backward glance, Lord Sparks tossed the bloody pliers onto the trolley with a clatter. He strode out, the heavy door booming shut behind him, abandoning me. Broken, bound, and naked to the cold and the maddening, whirring voices of my mechanical judges. The red eyes watched, unblinking, as the cold silence stretched into an eternity in the dark.
The only sounds were the drip of condensation from a leaking pipe and the low, grinding whir of the mechanical heads as they processed my defiance. Then, the heavy iron door groaned on its hinges, a long, mournful creak that cut through the hum of machinery.
Lord Sparks had returned. And with him Charles and Guy.
The air in the room shifted, growing thicker, fouler. Charles moved with an unctuous glide, his eyes taking in the scene of my torment with the appreciative gaze of a connoisseur. Guy, younger and broader, lingered near the door, his face a stony mask of discomfort, his eyes deliberately avoiding my naked, broken form on the table.
"Now, Tillyanna, you’re in luck," Lord Sparks’s voice sneered, the sound like oil on rust. He gestured with a flourish toward Charles. "My brother Charles here wishes to hear your last confession in person. A final courtesy. But not before you perform a little… act of kindness for us. Isn’t that right, dear brother?"
Even the constant mechanical chatter of Atlas and Quarks seemed to still, their red eyes dimming slightly as if in deference to a greater, more palpable evil. Charles’s eerie presence didn't just fill the room; it consumed the oxygen. The scent of cheap cologne and something vaguely chemical formaldehyde perhaps, clung to him as he approached.
His shadow fell over me. I flinched as a greasy, well-manicured hand slid over my bruised ribs, a touch so violating it felt like being smeared with filth.
"Now, Tilly… may I call you Tilly?" he cooed, his voice a syrupy whisper that dripped with false familiarity. "I feel we’ve danced around each other for so long, one might almost call it… intimate." His fingers, cold and slick, traced a path upward. His grip tightened suddenly, digging into the soft flesh of my breast with possessive cruelty. A whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it.
He chuckled, a wet, unpleasant sound. "Young Guy here," he said, nodding toward the stoic guard, "doesn't appreciate the finer things in life… like these." With a vicious, practiced motion, he pinched and twisted my nipple, sending a bolt of white-hot agony shooting through me. My body arched against the restraints; a silent scream locked in my throat.
"And ever since we first met," Charles continued, his breath hot against my ear, "I’ve believed you could be the one. The one to cure poor Guy of his… unfortunate inclinations." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was meant for me alone: yet carried through the silent room. "The ones he so often paid your old friend, Max, to indulge. You understand… gayness. Not a desirable trait in a city guard. Not a desirable trait at all. You do understand the service you'll be performing for us, don't you, a stepping stone if you like from man to girl"
With a nod from Lord Sparks, the leather straps holding me to the cold metal table came undone with a series of sharp, final clicks. For a glorious second, I was free. My mind screamed at my limbs to move, to fight, to run. But my body, shattered and broken from the first round of questioning, refused the command. My legs buckled instantly, and I collapsed to the grimy, oil-stained floor like a sack of meat, the impact jolting fresh pain through every nerve ending.
I lay there, gasping, a puddle of helpless humanity on the cold stone. Lord Sparks sighed, as if annoyed by a minor inconvenience. He grabbed me by the arm, his grip bruising, and hauled my naked form back up as if I weighed nothing. He shoved me not onto the table, but into a heavy, scarred dentist’s chair that sat in the corner, its leather cracked and stained with dark, ominous patches.
Charles was there in an instant, humming a tuneless little melody as he produced a coarse length of rope. He bound my wrists together and then to the base of the chair, pulling the knots so tight the fibres bit into my skin, cutting off circulation. He forced my body to bend forward, leaving me doubled over, tied tight, my face pressed against the cold, stinking leather of the seat, utterly exposed and defenceless. The posture was one of absolute submission, a grotesque parody of prayer.
Both he and Lord Sparks watched with cruel amusement as Guy violated me, the two robotic heads cheering him on. I’d used my body before, traded favours, but never like this. Never so broken. Never so defiled.
"Well done, Guy-well done," Charles laughed “Good man” he screamed with more laughter as Guy finished, spent his load, his voice dripping with mockery. All three circled to the front of the chair, eager to continue their torment. Through blurred vision, I caught a flicker of shame on Guy’s face. A tear.
"Now," Charles sneered, "Lord Sparks mentioned you’re ready to confess. That Nate knowingly let you into our city so you could rig the elections. That the two of you planned to seize control and twist everything to the Sisters of Mercy’s will." He glanced at the others, grinning. "Though… she…it…might need another round of convincing."
I didn’t want to betray Nate. But I was too far gone. If they’d just kill me, fine-but I couldn’t endure more. Not the torture. Not the rape.
"I confess," I whispered.
Something cold and hard pressed between my thighs. "Louder. And in full." The metal dug deeper.
"I CONFESS TO EVERYTHING!"