Day 4

The night is quiet and I get surprisingly good sleep, all things considered.

The remaining girls are awake when I arrive, their faces pale in the cold white lights of the dungeon.
They get up and stand there, looking at me in reluctant silence. I don’t say a word – the five sticks in my hand ready for them to draw, to determine who is not worthy of living. A cruel parody of justice.

Amara steps up first, her movements confident but betrayed by the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. She selects a stick without hesitation, her fingers wrapping around it tightly. As she pulls the stick out, we both immediately notice it’s a short one – Amara’s defiance has failed her today.

For three days, she's been the voice in my head. Calling me monster, coward, sick fuck. Every word landing like a punch because she's right. And now she is going to die. I feel a rush of something – relief? Vindication? Permission?

She sees it in my face.

Her dark eyes meet mine, burning with hatred, but there's something else beneath it – something I recognize as terror. She's a beautiful woman, even now, her perfect curves taut with adrenaline.

"You wanted this," she says. "You wanted me dead so you don't have to face what you are."

"You chose the saw," I remind her. "You promised you would."

A shudder runs through Amara's body at my words, amber skin paling as I recall her earlier bravado. Her jaw tightens, but her gaze doesn't waver.

"I did," she says, each word precise and controlled. "Not very wise of me, right?" She attempts a smile, but it dies almost immediately.

The other girls exchange glances – they all remember her words from before, how she threw those words into my face as if trying to defy death itself.

"But you're right," She squares her shoulders. "Because I meant what I said. I won't give you the easy death. I'm going to make you watch every second."

For once, we're in agreement. Both of us wanting this to hurt.

“Do you want to say your goodbyes to others?"

I’m still willing to offer her this last grace. Besides, it keeps the drama up, viewers like that.

Amara's gaze flickers toward the other women, her posture stiffening as she considers her options. For a moment, I think she might refuse – maintain that proud defiance to the very end. But something in her face changes. She nods once, sharply.

"Yes," she says, her words strained but firm. "I want that."

Astrid is first to speak.

"Amara," she whispers, her Norwegian accent more pronounced than usual. "You were always kindest to me."

Her words break, her blue eyes glistening as she tries not to hide her gaze like she always does.

Valeria steps forward, her hand outstretched. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs. "I should have- "

"No," Amara interrupts, placing her hand against Valeria's. "Don't. Don't give him anything more." She gives a small, knowing smile. "Remember what I told you? Be strong. Be brave."

She looks at Emily next. "You’re the explorer. Whatever happens, face the future without fear."

Her thumb brushes Emily's knuckles before she pulls away.

Talia stands closest to Amara, her face tear-streaked.

"I wish..." she begins, then shakes her head. "I don't know what I wish. But thank you. For always having been there."

Amara's hand rises to cup Talia's face.

"You listen too much," she says gently. "But that's a good thing. It means you understand people."

She leans forward, pressing her forehead against Talia's for a brief moment before drawing back.

She turns to face me, straightening her shoulders.

"I'm ready."

I open the glass door to the machine room and let Amara go first. Usually defiant, she doesn’t resist this time, as if accepting her fate. It feels strange to know that she will be dead in a few minutes – over these several days it started to seem like she was invulnerable. It looks like the other girls were feeling that too – their faces showing mixed emotions of sadness, disbelief and relief that it’s not their turn today.

The machine room's fluorescent lights cast harsh white beams across Amara's brown skin as I guide her toward the table. Her breathing is controlled, but I notice the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. She climbs onto the steel surface, positioning herself with steady, practiced movements – like a soldier preparing for inspection.

As she settles into place, the leather restraints catch the overhead lights, their dark surfaces gleaming. She reaches for the arm restraint, her fingers brushing the buckle with surprising gentleness.

"May I?" she asks, her voice steady.

I nod, and she fastens the leather around her own wrist, pulling it tight enough that the veins stand out. I help her with the other restraints. She still doesn’t show fear over what’s to come next.

I step forward, crowding her against the table. Her body tenses as I press against her, but she doesn't resist – just watches me with those dark, steady eyes. Her breath hitches when I grip her hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh there.

"Still time to reconsider," I whisper, leaning close enough that my lips brush the shell of her ear.

Her mouth curls into something almost like a smile.

"Why?" she responds, also in a hush voice. "Would that bother you?"

I laugh softly as I guide my cock between her thighs, dragging it along her slit. She's wet – whether from arousal or fear, it doesn't matter. Either way, her body betrays her.

I push inside her with one smooth thrust, drawing a gasp from her throat. Her back arches slightly, fingers curling against the cold steel table beneath her. Despite the initial shock of penetration, she doesn't cry out – just holds my gaze, face impassive even as I sink deeper.

The warm grip of her cunt clenches around me, her body yielding despite the resistance in her expression. I set a relentless pace from the start, determined to draw some reaction from her – some crack in that composed demeanor. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, her body tensing as I thrust harder, but still she says nothing.

The pace that I set becomes my own enemy as I feel the orgasm coming despite my effort to contain it. Amara's breath catches as I bury myself to the hilt inside her, my release spilling deep. Her body tenses around me, her inner walls fluttering in instinctive response, though she makes no sound. I watch her face for any sign of reaction – any change in those dark eyes – but she keeps them locked on mine, unflinching.

As my grip on her hips tightens, I notice a slight shift in her breathing – just a fraction deeper, slower. Her chest rises and falls with careful precision, as if measuring every movement. When I pull out, her body releases me with a soft sound, the glistening evidence of what I've done trailing down her thigh.

"You always do this." She remarks

I clean my cock and put my pants back on.

"I like it." My voice casual and matter-of-fact.

Her face doesn't change, but something flickers across her features – a subtle tightening around her mouth.

"Of course you do," she says, her words even, measured.

She looks up at me, those dark eyes steady, knowing. There's no accusation in her tone, no challenge either – just simple understanding. She shifts slightly on the table, testing the restraints at her wrists. The leather holds firm, keeping her anchored to the cold steel.

"I didn't expect you to do anything else." Amara's head tilts slightly, considering me. "You take what you want. That is who you are."

“If circumstances were different, I would debate with you about that, Amara.” I say, taking the saw remote into my hand. “For some reason I care about what you think. But we need to finish the job.”

And I press the button.

The circular saw rumbles to life with a low, mechanical whine, its blade spinning in slow, deliberate revolutions. The teeth catch the cold steel table beneath Amara, sending tiny sparks flying as the machinery inches forward. The metal edge glints in the harsh light of the machine room, its dull thrumming filling the space.

Amara's breathing remains steady at first, but as the saw approaches her spread thighs, her fingers tighten against the restraints. She watches the rotating blade with calculated focus, her dark eyes flickering as it closes the distance. I notice the faintest tremor in her arms, a slight parting of her teeth.

"This is it," she murmurs, almost to herself.

Her breath catches as the spinning teeth are mere inches from her delicate folds, the movement of air palpable against her skin. The vibration thrums through her body, and for the first time since I dragged her to this machine, true fear flashes across her face.

"Don't look away," I tell her softly, gripping her chin.

She locks eyes with me, those dark irises wide, pupils dilated. Her chest heaves with shallow breaths as the saw inches closer with a soft buzz. A tiny gasp escapes her when the blade makes contact, the first fleeting cut. Her thighs quiver, restraints creaking under the force of her grip.

"It's..."

The circular saw blade carves through Amara's flesh with methodical brutality, severing muscle and bone in one fluid motion. Her body convulses violently as the metal edge starts parting her in half, splitting her lower torso cleanly down the middle.

A wet, tearing sound fills the machine room as the saw works its way through her pelvic bone. Amara's scream pierces the air – a raw, primal sound of agony that reverberates off the dungeon walls. Blood sprays in crimson arcs, painting the transparent barrier separating the remaining girls from the horror unfolding before them.

This is what I wanted. To break her. To make her suffer. To prove that all her moral superiority meant nothing in the end.

But as the blade carves through her pelvis, splitting her in half, I don't feel victorious. I feel sick.

My grip on her chin tightens as the saw continues its relentless ascent, her scream breaking into a gurgle as it slices through internal organs. A sickening squelch accompanies the blade as it rips through her liver, then her stomach. Amara's body jerks involuntarily, her back arching against the restraints as if resisting the inevitable.

"Almost there," I murmur, watching as the saw nears her ribs.

Her blood splashes up, streaking my shirt in warm stripes. I can see the exact moment the saw bites into her chest cavity – her scream shifts, turning hoarse as her lungs fill with blood. Amara's face contorts in a silent scream, her mouth hanging open as the blade finally cuts clean through. Her eyes find mine one last time before the saw completes its work, severing her head from torso with a wet snap. Her body slumps against the restraints, dark blood pouring from the giant wound stretching across its whole length.

Even in death, she's still looking at me. Still witnessing. Still judging.

I stand there, covered in her blood, and realize: she was right about everything. And now she's gone, and I have to face that alone.

The remaining girls watch in horrified silence. Astrid looks away immediately, while Talia's hands fly to her mouth. Valeria's fingers dig into her own thighs, and Emily stares with a mixture of terror and fascination.

I wipe Amara's blood from my hands with a towel, the metallic smell still heavy in the air. The four remaining girls press themselves against the far wall of the dungeon, creating as much distance as possible from the transparent barrier that separates them from the carnage.

Valeria's usually confident posture has crumbled – her arms wrap tightly around herself as she rocks slightly. Astrid's face is pale, her blonde hair sticking to the sweat on her neck. Talia stares at the spot where Amara's mutilated torso still lies strapped to the saw table, with a visible tremor in her hands.

When I leave the machine room and enter the dungeon, Emily finally breaks her trance-like state. She straightens her posture, forcing herself to look at me despite the bloodstains on my shirt. Her brown eyes flicker to the two halves of Amara's body still strapped to the saw table before returning to me.

“I won’t forget to clean up today, don’t worry.” I tell her, giving a signal to the cleaning crew.

The four remaining girls remain pressed against the far wall of the dungeon, watching in numb silence as the hazmat-suited figures methodically disassemble the circular saw, each motion precise and practiced. The saw blade, still slick with Amara's blood, is carefully detached and placed in a wheeled container. The table is dismantled piece by piece, what remains of Amara's body transferred onto a gurney with a thick plastic sheet beneath it.

I take a final look at the girls before leaving the dungeon. Valeria has her arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched. Astrid's head remains tilted down, staring at the floor, her fingers interlaced so tightly they whiten at the knuckles.

The observation room's monitors provide a clear view of the dungeon. The remaining four girls look exhausted, their earlier strength worn away by the relentless violence they've witnessed. Astrid sits cross-legged on the floor, her face buried in her hands. Valeria paces the whole length of the open space, her bare feet padding quietly against the soft floor. Talia stands near the door, her arms crossed as she watches the cleaning crew finish their grisly work. Emily remains near the glass wall. She studies the cleaning process as if memorizing each step, her fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of the deadly machines on the other side of the barrier. Nobody speaks.

Amara was the center of gravity – the one who gave their fear a voice, who verbalized what they were all thinking. With her gone, they're just... scattered. Lost.

And I'm lost too.

She was my enemy. My conscience. My excuse to keep being cruel – to prove her right, to justify her hatred, to match her anger with violence. Without her, I'm just a man torturing women for money. No philosophical battle. No moral crusade. Just... cruelty for cruelty's sake. I listen to myself, trying to understand what I feel, but my head and chest seem strangely empty and absent of all emotion.

My hands aren't shaking anymore. I'm not sure if that means I'm getting used to it, or if I've just broken something inside myself that can't be fixed.

I study my hands in the dim light of the observation room. Steady. Calm. Capable. Monster hands.

Amara was right. And I killed her for it.

Tomorrow there will be only four girls left. And no one to tell me what I am.

I'll have to figure that out for myself.