Deep Below

In Which The Phrase "Hot as Hell" Is Extremely Literal

Elliot and Benedict finally came to a stop outside a small chamber containing a sofa which faced away from the door.

"Myra? The new one's here for you."

The shadows behind the sofa shifted and curled into the form of a tall, slim girl who only looked to be about nineteen, with streaked black and red hair. Her skin was cracked and scarred, a deep orange glow showing through the wounds, and her smile was filled with sharp obsidian teeth.

"Elliot Locke?" She purred, and Elliot felt an invisible force shove her forward and to her knees. "I'm going to be your mentor."

Elliot managed a weak smile. "Mentor? That sounds good. Very-" She was interrupted mid sentence by an unseen hand over her mouth, and she spluttered. Benedict stepped forward.

"Myra here is my daughter. She's only a few hundred years old, so she needs training. You're not the first person she's worked on; the last two have since been transferred. She's good at her job."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Elliot queried, and Myra's grin widened.

"To make you sorry for what you did. I had hundreds of years before I became what I am, and in that time I learnt a little about how to really make someone regret."

Benedict stepped in to explain. "Myra used to be just like you, Miss Locke. A bad little girl. But she had hundreds of years of improvement, and now she's ready to do the same for you."

This doesn't sound too positive, Elliot mused - they were being as vague as possible, but the inference of decades upon decades of pain was very clearly received.

"Is there nothing I can do?" She asked, and she saw Myra's beautiful face move into a sick parody of sympathy.

"Ah, you're sorry? You repent? You don't want to do this? Well -" she paused, bringing her face closer so that Elliot could see the tiny flames flickering within -"you shouldn't have killed your ex girlfriend then."