Day 6 (continued)

The cold metal bites into her skin as I help her onto the bench and adjust her position – her back resting against the backrest, her breasts lifted slightly on the metal supports. She shivers, not just from the temperature but from the inevitability of what's coming. Her gray eyes track my movements as I secure each limb with straps – left arm, right arm, left leg, right leg.

"Wait-" she gasps when you start adjusting the supports around her breasts.

Her breath comes faster as the cold metal presses against her sensitive flesh. She looks down at herself, watching helplessly as I position her nipples against the metal studs designed to keep them from pulling too far when the cutting begins.

"This is so fucked up."

I pause the preparations and embrace her bare shoulders from behind.

"Do you want me to hold you while this is done?" I whisper to her.

Talia's body goes rigid as the metal studs press against her nipples, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She turns her head and her gray eyes meet mine, and for a second there's something almost grateful in them before it's replaced by raw terror. She nods frantically, her teeth chattering.

"Yes. Please. Just – just stay with me. Don't leave me alone for this." Her voice breaks on the last word, tears streaming down her face.

She tries to pull against the restraints, but the metal holds firm, leaving angry red marks on her pale skin.

"Hold me, John. I don’t want – can't be alone for this."

I hug Talia from behind and kiss her, my fingers finding the button and activating the machine.

Talia's back arches violently as a skewer erupts from the left side of the machine, piercing her breast with a wet squelch. A strangled scream tears from her throat as I hold her against me, my mouth still pressed to hers in a brutal, silent kiss. She thrashes in my arms, her body convulsing as the metal rod emerges from the right side of her breast.

My lips muffle her scream as blood trickles from the wound, warm and metallic. She tastes like iron and salt when I force my tongue into her mouth, swallowing her next cry. Her body trembles uncontrollably, her arms pulling uselessly against the restraints, legs kicking weakly.

"F-feels like fire -"

Talia's scream rips from her throat like a gash as the continues its path, now piercing her right breast as well. She thrashes wildly in my arms, her body contorting as the metal rod emerges from the other side of her breast, blood streaming down her sides in crimson streams. Her gray eyes roll back, showing only white as she gasps for air.

"J-john -" she chokes out my name, her voice raw with pain and terror.

Talia's body jerks violently as my fingers slide between her legs, my other hand cupping her pierced breast. The metal studs keep her nipples in place as I massage them, thumb rubbing over the point where the skewer entered. Her pussy is soaked – fear mixed with perverse arousal.

"Oh god -" she gasps as my fingers find her clit. Her hips buck involuntarily, pushing against my hand even as her body betrays her with pain. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the blood on her chest, her breath coming in ragged sobs.

"I- it hurts so bad -"

A spinning blade emerges from underneath her breast, wet sound of it slicing through flesh mingles with Talia's high-pitched scream. I feel her body convulse as the first cut separates her left breast completely, warm blood gushing over my hand. She bucks against my grip, her pussy pulsing around my fingers despite the horror of what's happening.

"Ahhh! Fuck! FUCK!" Her words fracture, her head thrashing against my shoulder.

Her skin grows clammy with sweat as she hyperventilates, her nails digging into my arms where she's still restrained. The blade rises again, moving toward her right breast.

"I- can't- can't take this-"

The blade moves with mechanical precision, slicing cleanly through the base of Talia's right breast. She shrieks as the severed flesh hits the metal table with a wet slap, arterial blood spraying in crimson arcs. Her body convulses, muscles locking and releasing in violent spasms as her nerves scream in agony.

"M-Mother of god-" Her words come between gritted teeth, each syllable punched out with her ragged breaths.

She's sweating profusely now, her skin slick and pale where it's not coated in blood. I can feel her heart pounding frantically against my arm, her chest heaving as she struggles to process the trauma. I press her harder against my chest, whispering nothings in her ear to try and calm her down.

Talia screams as another circular saw roars to life, its teeth chewing through muscle and bone of her arm with obscene ease. Her body jerks violently in my embrace as the blade severs her left arm just below the shoulder, the metal disc spinning faster and faster. Blood sprays in hot pulses against my chest as I hold her tight.

"S-sh-sh-" she babbles, her breathing erratic and panicked.

I feel her shoulder hitch with another sob as the saw finishes its work, the severed limb dropping onto the table with a dull thud. Talia's head lolls back against me, her eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.

Talia's scream cuts off abruptly as the second saw tears through her remaining arm, severing it completely. The limb tumbles to the table, her body convulsing as her nerves fire their last desperate signals. Blood pools beneath her as she sways in my arms, her eyes fluttering.

She whispers something unintelligible, her words slurred as blood loss clouds her mind. Her skin grows cold against my chest, her pulse weakening as she struggles to breathe. The saws power down with a mechanical whir, leaving only the drip of her blood echoing in the chamber.

"S-still... here... s-somewhere..."

The circular saw emerges from beneath the table with a hydraulic hiss, its whirring teeth chewing into Talia's left thigh. Her back arches violently as the blade bites through flesh and bone. A wet crunch echoes as the saw completes its work, severing the leg cleanly.

"Nnngh... F-f-f-f-fuck..." Talia's words come in broken gasps now, her strength ebbing away with every pulse of blood from the stump.

Her body slumps against mine, but she still twitches when I adjust my grip around her torso. Her breathing grows shallow and rapid, her skin growing clammy.

The second saw rises from the table, its teeth slicing through the soft flesh of Talia's right thigh. She lets out a strangled gasp as the blade meets bone, her back arching in a final spasm. Her blood sprays across the saw housing in thick ropes as the machine works, grinding down to the pelvis.

For a moment, she's silent save for her ragged breathing, then a shudder runs through her body as the saw completes its work. The severed limb drops to the table with a wet thud, her remaining torso quivering in my arms. Talia's head lolls forward, strands of her matted hair sticking to her sweat-slicked face.

The final blade descends with merciful swiftness, slicing through Talia's abdomen in one smooth motion. Her stomach cavity yawns open like a grotesque mouth, spilling warm coils of intestines onto the metal table with a wet slap. She gasps sharply at the initial incision, her head jerking back against my shoulder.

"J-John..." she breathes, barely audible.

Her eyes have gone glassy now, unfocused, but there's still something there – something desperate and aware. The machines whir softly around me, the smell of blood hanging heavy in the air.

"F-feels... strange..."

I lift Talia's limp form with surprising ease, her body now light and strangely boneless. Her head lolls against my shoulder as I carry her to the nearby table, her body feeling almost flaccid in my arms. The exposed coils of her intestines shift with my movement, slithering slightly as I lower her onto the cold metal surface.

Talia's eyes flicker open briefly, focusing with what seems like an effort as I adjust her position. A shudder runs through her as the chill of the metal seeps into her skin, her breathing shallow and labored.

My lips meet Talia's in a final, tender touch. She's still warm, but her skin has a terrible pallor now, almost gray in places where the blood has pooled away from her extremities. She parts her mouth slightly in response to my kiss, her breath coming in short, wet gasps.

I stroke her damp hair, feeling how the strands cling together with sweat and blood. Her eyes flutter closed, then open again with visible effort.

"You... kept your word," she murmurs. The words crack as they leave her mouth.

Her breathing comes in wet, rattling gasps now, each one shallower than the last. Blood trickles from the corners of her mouth, and she watches me with an expression of exhausted peace – of resignation and, oddly, gratitude. Her eye lids flutter closed, then open again with visible effort.

"H-hold me..."

I gather Talia's broken body against my chest, cradling her with gentleness that surprises even myself. Her torso is slick with blood and bile, the wound gaping open where her abdomen was cut apart.

For the first time since this started, I cry. Not shaking. Not trembling. Just tears running down my face as I feel her heartbeat fade against my chest.

Talia's breathing falters, exhalations wet and bubbling now. Her eyes focus on me with surprising clarity, even as death takes her. She presses her forehead against my neck, her skin cool and sweaty. I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, slowing to a feeble rhythm. Her body shudders slightly – whether from the cold or the final remnants of life, I can't tell.

"Thank you," she whispers with her last breath.

Thank you.

For what? For killing her gently? For making her death bearable? For treating her like a person in her final moments?

I don't know. But something fundamental has shifted.

Cruelty didn't make this easier. Detachment didn't make it bearable. But kindness... kindness made it meaningful. Made her death about her instead of about me.

And somehow, that feels right.

I turn my head towards the transparent wall. Emily is curled up on her bench, her face buried against her knees, her entire body shaking. Her long blonde hair hangs in limp strands around her face. I can hear the faintest whimpers escaping her.

Astrid stands frozen in place, her expression unreadable. She watches Talia's death in silence, her blue eyes icy and bottomless. There's no shock in her face, no fear – just a cold, calculating understanding. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, fingers digging into her biceps hard enough to leave marks.

"Poor Talia," Astrid says finally, her words smooth and measured. She doesn't look away from Talia's face as she speaks.

I maintain my embrace of Talia's cooling body. Her skin has taken on that unsettling waxy quality of the freshly dead, and I can see the last traces of her life draining away in her still-open eyes – dimming like a lamp being slowly extinguished.

I gently lay her body back on the table, close her eyelids with my hand and exit the machine room.

Astrid and Emily watch me, and for the first time, I see something other than hatred in their faces.

They see it too. I've changed.

I just wish it hadn't taken six deaths to figure it out.

With heavy heart, I call the cleaning crew and leave the dungeon.

The cleaning crew enters silently, their white hazmat suits stark against the blood-slicked floor. They move with practiced efficiency, setting down metal buckets and rags. The lead worker – a young man with a shaved head and surgical mask – nods to me before stepping forward. He kneels beside Talia's body, eyes flicking to her face for just a moment before he begins wiping away the worst of the blood.

The others begin unbolting the machine, its various components grinding as they're detached. The buzz of the circular saws being disconnected echoes in the chamber, filling the silence left by Talia's faded heartbeat. Emily flinches at the noise, curling tighter into herself.

I step into the observation room, the monitors connected to cameras giving me a perfect view of the remaining girls. The space is cramped but immaculate, with a single desk chair facing the screens. I sink into it, resting my elbows on the table and folding my hands beneath my chin.

Emily hasn't moved. She's still curled into a ball on her mat, her back pressed against the soft wall as if trying to become invisible. Her shoulders shake silently, her hands pressed to her ears – whether from the noise of the cleaning crew or the memory of Talia's death, I can't be sure.

Astrid stands near the wall, watching the crew dismantle the machine with calculating detachment. She folds her arms tighter, her fingers flexing rhythmically against her biceps. I notice her throat working as she swallows hard, the muscles tensing and releasing in a slow, controlled motion. Her gaze flicks away from the cleaning crew, drifting toward Emily with a flicker of something – pity, perhaps, or recognition.

Astrid starts to pace the room with her hands clasped behind her back, taking measured steps. She's speaking in a low murmur now, words almost lost in the distance.

"...fucking worthless... spineless... "

I can’t figure out whether she is directing her words at someone specific or just psyching herself up.

The words rise as she turns toward Emily.

"God, look at you! Still crying like a little girl!"

Emily doesn't look up.

Tomorrow is the last day – one of these girls will survive while the other one drowns. I wonder if Astrid is going crazy just thinking about this – I would.