4

I walked to the bed and sat down, my body sinking into the mattress.

It was too soft, like it was swallowing me whole.

I buried my face in my hands, trying to keep the panic at bay.

I couldn’t stay here.

I had to find a way out.

But how?

There was nothing.

No way to escape.

The fear gnawed at me, eating away at my thoughts.

I thought about my life before all this—how normal everything had been.

How easy.

I had a good job, friends, a future.

I had worked so hard to get where I was.

I wasn’t from the city originally.

I came here for the opportunities, for the chance to make something of myself.

I had left behind a small town, an overbearing family, and a past I didn’t want to think about.

I was independent, driven, ambitious.

Now, none of that mattered.

Now, I was just a captive in a room I didn’t understand, at the mercy of someone I couldn’t see.

5

THE WATCHER

I watched her on the monitor, her small form hunched over on the edge of the bed, hands pressed to her face.

She was trying not to cry.

She had been stronger than most of them so far—no hysterics, no immediate breakdown.

But it would come.

They all broke eventually.

They always did.

I had been planning this for months.

Every detail had to be perfect.

It wasn’t just about grabbing her off the street—that was the easy part.

The real work began here, in this bunker.

It was an old underground shelter, long forgotten by the city above.

No one knew it existed anymore, and no one would ever find it.

That’s what made it perfect.

She was perfect, too.

I’d been watching her for a long time.

She didn’t know, of course.

They never did.

I blended in, just another face in the crowd.

I had followed her routine for weeks—work, gym, home, the occasional night out with friends.

I learned her patterns, her habits.

She was always so focused, so determined.

So sure of herself.

That was why I chose her.

Anya wasn’t like the others.

She wasn’t weak, wasn’t broken by life.

Not yet.

But I knew how to break people.

I knew how to tear them down, how to strip away their defenses piece by piece until there was nothing left but the raw, vulnerable core.

That’s when the real transformation happened.

That’s when they became mine.

I had done this before, of course.

But this time was different.

This time, I had to be more careful.

More precise.

Anya was stronger than the others.

More resilient.

She had lived through things, I could see it in her eyes.

There was a darkness in her past, something she didn’t talk about.

I would find it.

I would pull it out of her and use it against her.

It wasn’t about the violence, though.

I could be violent when I needed to be, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was control.

True control.

The kind that seeps into the mind, that wraps around every thought and action until they don’t know where they end and I begin.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her on the screen.

She was pacing now, her steps slow, uncertain.

The room would do its work first.

The silence, the isolation.

It would grind her down, wear away at her until she was desperate for any kind of interaction.

That’s when I would step in.

That’s when I would start to speak to her.

But not yet.

She had to suffer alone first.

It was essential to the process.

She had to feel abandoned, completely isolated.

Only then would my voice become the lifeline she needed.

6

ANYA

Time passed.

I don’t know how long.

There was no clock, no way to measure it.

Just the endless stretch of silence and darkness.

I had tried everything.

Pounding on the door, screaming until my voice cracked, searching every inch of the room for something—anything—that could help me get out.

But there was nothing.

The walls were solid, the door unmovable.

I was trapped.

I couldn’t even hear my own heartbeat anymore.