Recap:
It's showtime.
♤
Why does it always have to hurt to wake up?
That had been the first thought in her head every morning for... She doesn't know how long. Everything hurts; her wrists after the cuffs, her back after the beatings, her neck after the collar, her knees after the concrete floor. She could go on but ignored the pain as usual. The young woman was on her knees, bent forward on a hard, cold concrete floor with her arms pulled straight back and up by heavy chains and thick cuffs connecting her to the ceiling. The only article of clothing she had was a thin dress that just barely covered her. That's how she sleeps every night and has been for some years now. She has grown used to it. It was the safest thing to do: keep her in a way that rendered her limbs lame even after releasing her. Loud banging on the other side of the door shook her awake. Chained woman groaned. She knows the routine. It was always the same.
"Awake," she called, voice a bit hoarse. The door opened, and her handler entered her cell, made his way over to her and, painfully slow, he undid her bounds. When he finally undid the last clasp, he changed them out for smaller handcuffs to keep her hands tied back. As usual, he tested the shock mechanism on her collar just to be safe. She didn't make a sound, as usual. He then took out a muzzle from his little bag, kneeled in front of her, and held it out in front of her face. Bright yellow eyes glared up at him, but she opened her mouth, and the mouthpiece was shoved in as the straps tightened around her jaw. Oh, how they loved to take precautions. The man yanked her to her feet, her arms and legs still half functional, and hauled the stumbling woman with him down the winding corridors toward her office. She didn't know her name. It was always ma'am or the matron, never a name, only a title. To be fair, she didn't know his name either. He was her handler, so it was sir or my handler and nothing else if she wished to go unscathed. Now that she thought about it, she barely knew her own name, before she had her title. How many of the other girls remembered theirs?
"Peitho." Her title was called, and she snapped out of her head. They had made it to her office, and now she stood in front of the matron of the Palace. She quickly looked down at the floor. The sentence that had been imprinted into her brain since she was a child flashed like a warning signal in her mind. Obedience will keep you safe.
"Are you done with your defiance?" The matron's voice was calm and smooth, but her tone was sharp. Was she still standing? She hadn't even realized. She dropped to her knees and kept her head hung low but received a shock through her collar for the mistake.
"Thank you, sir, ma'am," she muttered.
"That's better. Now, for tonight's show: It will be themed, and I have chosen a scene from the little mermaid for your performance inspiration. You're portraying Ursula and experiment 22 1B will be our Ariel. I will have the reference material and outfit sent to your room. Dismissed," and with that, she was hoisted to her feet and dragged to her prep room where she would get ready. The other girl would probably be dragged to that room as well. At least she had gotten the little mermaid, one of the few movies she had seen in her life and remembered. She wondered why they had chosen just that experiment, but she figured she would know soon enough.
Once they made it to her prep room, her handler opened the door and pushed her in before locking the door behind them. He undid her bounds one by one, and soon she was able to move freely again. The collar never left her neck, but other than that she was free. Once he was done, he left the room without a word and locked the door again behind him.
This. This was the best part of Peitho's day. Nothing restraining her physically, and nobody was present to watch her except for the cameras. This was as close to free as she got. She began moving her limbs around, trying to become mobile again after a cold night of restraint. Each time she moved, there was a satisfying pop in her joints. Once she could move properly again, she went into the small bathroom to take a shower and brush her teeth. When she was done, she walked out and found her plate of food and glass of water on the designated table standing off to the side: her only meal of the night. Next to the food was a tablet with her reference material for the evening. She sat down at the small table, eating her food, and looking through the clips, photos and paragraphs.
♤
The young entertainer sat at a table and was painting her nails when the door opened. A thump and a groan were the only things heard before the door slammed shut once more. She didn't bother to look up as she blew on her now purple nails. A shriek came from the person on the floor. Peitho slowly turned around in her chair and laid eyes on a tiny, emaciated girl. The poor child looked terrified. The older of the two gave the younger a once-over with a blank expression. The girl was pale with skin no thicker than tissue paper. Her short brown hair had clearly not been tended to, and neither had her health: her torso was riddled with bones, old cuts, and bruises. As Peitho's gaze trailed down, she frowned. The girl didn't have legs. No, she had a fin, like a real-life mermaid, but it was in about as good condition as the rest of her. Patches of pale scales were missing, and the skin underneath was stretched over what looked like a snake skeleton. Over it all, she wore a thin dress much like the one Peitho always wore. It was clear as day why she was there: she was a failed experiment the scientists didn't want to play with anymore.
Peitho wore an emotionless face as she stood from her chair and made her way over to the girl who tried to back up into the locked door. She squatted down right in front of the girl, who flinched and pressed herself even farther into the door.
"And what stories have they told you to make you this terrified of me?" She asked calmly, sadly, as she put a hand under the girl's chin, guiding her gaze up.
"Y-you forced 50 men to kill themselves. You j-just had to say the word, madame, a-and..." She stuttered, trying to get away from the Latina's grasp.
"And if you didn't obey, you would be next?" Peitho completed the sentence for her. She nodded. Peitho stood up again, letting go of the girl's chin.
"What's your name, child?" She asked as she looked down at the girl.
"22-"
"I'm not interested in your bloody number. What do I call you? Do you have a name, or do I make one up?" Peitho cut her short, patient but stern.
"Laŭra, my name is Laŭra, madame," she answered quietly.
"Okay, Laŭra, can you sit still for me? I'm going to lift you and help you to that sofa over there, okay? It's going to look scary, but it will not hurt you. And stop with the formalities. I'm just as much of a prisoner here as you are," Peitho gently reassured Laŭra as the veins in her lower arms blackened. Letting her fingers move in smooth motions, black tendrils swirled around her hands and made their way over to the small girl. She tried to calm down and trust the mutant, but she had heard the stories, and they terrified her, just like they terrified everyone else under lock and key in this building. The dark matter slowly and gently lifted her into the air and brought her over to a sofa where they laid her down just as gently before retreating into the mutant. Once her appearance returned to normal, she smiled at the young girl, who looked at her with curiosity sparkling in her dull grey eyes.
"See, no harm done. Now, do you know what we're going to do tonight?" Peitho asked her. She shook her head no. "Okay, so here's what's going to happen: I'm going to put on a show, you're going to help me, and we're going to have fun doing it."
♤
They spent the next hour or so practicing their performance, with Peitho helping Laŭra do her makeup and getting ready in general. Laŭra was fitted with a long, fluffy, red wig with a starfish on the side, and with light makeup and red lipstick, she really looked like Ariel. She had the classic purple top, and her tail had turned a beautiful shimmering green without patches and scars, thanks to a strong illusion that Peitho had cast over it. Peitho had been given a violet velvet lingerie set that didn't cover much. It had beautifully patterned black lace connecting the top and bottom through a ribbon that cinched in her waist and anchored a sheer open-front skirt cascading out from her waist. She had managed to keep her villainess makeup from looking too dramatic. Instead, it was elegant and tasteful from years of practice. Her long curly hair was let loose to do as it pleased, and with her collar disguised to look like a lace piece, no one would be distracted from the performance or her body, just like the Matron wanted.
Suddenly, someone was banging on the door, and the girls quieted instantly. The door opened, and two handlers entered the room. Peitho, who had been standing, sunk to her knees but kept her glare firmly in place as she did so. Once she had taken her place on the floor, she lowered her gaze to the floor, per protocol. Laŭra just looked down at their feet since she couldn't really move on her own. Peitho, of course, recognized her handler, but the other one was new. He was tall with broad shoulders and generally huge. Military man, probably. He parked a wheelchair in a corner and studied the kneeling woman for a moment.
"She's a feisty one, isn't she?" The experiments handler commented in regard to Peitho's glare. He made his way over to the Latina and put a finger under her chin, making her look up at him. She had something in her yellow eyes that terrified him, but he didn't give her the satisfaction of seeing it. "Such a pretty thing too. Too bad she is already owned, right?"
"Yes, it is. Though, I would not recommend doing that, Wirtz. She doesn't have a muzzle on," her handler warned the man as Peitho smirked slightly at him. Newbie. The man paled significantly and let go of her. The second he let go, a painful shock shot through the mutant's neck, and her personality disappeared as if it had never been there.
"Down girl," he growled.
"Thank you, sir," she muttered.
"You know you aren't allowed to play with our emotions. I thought you knew better," he scolded her like a mother scolding a toddler.
"I apologize for my disobedience, sir. It won't happen again," she answered just like she was supposed to.
"That's what I thought. Alright, we've got 10 minutes before you two are announced. Let's get going," he directed, turning to Wirtz again, who looked between the two with a slightly amazed expression.
"That's impressive. Do tell, from one man to another, how do you control a whore so effortlessly?" Wirtz asked as he went over to Laŭra and put cuffs on her hands before hauling her up, carrying her bridal style to the wheelchair, plopping her down, and fastening straps around her.
"Show him your collar, minx," Peitho's handler ordered as he locked her hands behind her back and pulled her to her feet. Peitho complied without protest, and the illusion covering her thick collar shimmered away. "That's the only thing keeping her from making us blow our own brains out, and the fact that she has felt the Matron's rage firsthand. That helps too, doesn't it, minx," he purred, roughly taking her chin in his hand and angling it to the side.
"Yes, sir," she agreed quickly.
"Good girl. Cover it up again." He let go of her chin once her collar was out of sight again, pushed her forward, and they started the march to the ballroom. As they walked, Peitho held her head high and wore a proud expression, her skirt billowing dramatically behind her in their haste. Cells with glass doors lined the walls. She knew she was both an inspiration and a looming threat to the people in them. Some looked at her in admiration and awe, while others cowered as far back into their cell as they could. Laŭra tried to mimic her confidence if only to make herself feel better.
When they arrived behind the big red curtains, her and Laŭra's handlers uncuffed them. The girl who had been out on the stage earlier came through the curtains and made eye contact with Peitho. She broke it quickly and bowed before her handler took her arm and pulled her with him.
"Behave," was the only thing her handler said before he and Wirtz left them. Right after they left, the speakers announced Peitho. She gave Laŭra a knowing smile as black smoke piled out of her hands and crawled its way under the curtains and into the room on the other side, obscuring the audience's field of vision. They could hear the yelps and excited whispering becoming louder on the other side. Peitho turned her magic toward the young experiment and let a few tendrils lift her from her wheelchair. She smiled.
"Let's show themmagic."