Day 7

The night drags on endlessly. I monitor the girls through the cameras – Emily eventually curls into a fetal position in her cell, nothing seemingly able to get between her and her sleep. Astrid on the other hand, stays awake seemingly the whole night. With this being her second night without sleep, she must be exhausted already, but shows no signs of it yet. The silence in the dungeon is oppressive, broken only by Emily's occasional whimper and the distant drip of water.

Morning finally arrives, the dungeon's fluorescent lights flickering to life. I watch as Emily stirs, rubbing her face before pushing herself upright. Her movements are slow, mechanical. She looks toward the now-empty table where Talia died.

I step into the dungeon, the soft floor rubbery under the soles of my shoes. Emily flinches as the heavy door swings shut behind me, but she doesn't look up. Her knees are pulled tightly to her chest, hands gripping them like she's holding herself together. The overhead light catches in her blonde hair, casting golden streaks across her pale skin.

Astrid doesn't even turn when I enter. She's leaning against the far wall, arms crossed beneath her breasts, eyes fixed on the single remaining machine – the water tank. Her white hair falls over one shoulder as she exhales sharply through her nose. When she speaks, her words come out calm but edged with something dangerous.

"So, this is the last day, isn’t it?” Her voice husky and grim.

I look at her, then at Emily who’s curled in the corner, then back at Astrid.

“Correct,” I look directly in those two pieces of ice that Astrid has for eyes. “One of you drowns, the other gets to go free with a fifty million dollar prize to boot.”

Astrid's lips curl into something that isn't quite a smile. She pushes off the wall, her movements fluid despite the stiffness in her muscles.

"All or nothing, is it?" she says, voice smooth as polished steel.

She steps closer, bare feet silent against the soft surface. The overhead lights catch the faintest sheen of sweat along her collarbones.

Emily finally raises her head, green-blue eyes red-rimmed but dry now. She doesn't meet my gaze, instead looking at the empty water tank.

"Can I... can I say something first?" Her words come out hoarse, strained from crying or maybe just from the dry air of the dungeon. "Before... whatever happens..."

“Sure,” I look at her, my head slightly tilted.

Emily licks her lips nervously before speaking.

"I just wanted to say..." Her words fade for a moment as she glances at Astrid, then back at me. When she continues, she speaks in a quiet rush. "Thank you. For being kind. Even though I know it's your job."

Astrid scoffs, crossing her arms again.

"Jesus, Emy. You really going to thank the guy who's about to drown us?" But there's no real heat in it – just exhaustion.

Emily doesn't react to Astrid's comment, too focused on me. She shifts forward slightly, as if leaning toward something she wants to say but can't quite find the words for. Her breathing has steadied now, though her shoulders remain hunched.

"I just wanted you to know that," she finishes, then looks down at the floor.

Emily’s words are the redemption I longed for all these days. Something to let me know that I can still be a better person even if I have to commit all those terrible murders and inflict torture and humiliation on the innocent women. I suddenly wish I could just walk away and let Astrid and Emily both go free.

I study both girls for a long moment. The air in the dungeon feels thick with unspoken tension. Astrid keeps glancing at the wall of machines, jaw tight with what might be anger or fear. Emily unconsciously bites her nails while staring at the floor.

"Well," Astrid finally says, breaking the silence with a sharp exhale.

“Yeah, the sticks,” I say reluctantly, not willing to launch the vicious cycle again. “Here you are.”

Astrid's face doesn't change, but something dark flickers in her eyes. She looks at Emily and gestures with her head, inviting her to come over.

“Come on, let’s draw together.”

Emily slowly gets up and approaches the two sticks that look identical in my grasp. She hesitates just a fraction of a second before picking one. Astrid selects the other with a swift motion. They look at each other, neither reaching for the other's hand.

Emily's breath catches as she turns her stick over in her fingers. Her fingers tremble as she examines it, her breathing shallow. She looks at me, then at Astrid, then back down at the short stick in her hand. Her face remains eerily still for a moment before a soft sound escapes her – something between a laugh and a sob.

"That's... that's..." She blinks rapidly, eyes glassy but still dry. "I should have guessed. Lucky me."

Her words crack despite her attempt at lightness.

Astrid's face finally changes – just the slightest quirk at the corner of her mouth. She nods once, her eyes never leaving Emily's.

"So it’s over," she murmurs. "At least you don’t get to die dry."

I look at her, trying to recall, to understand how she could transform from a timid fragile teenager to a cold-hearted bitch in just two days. Or was she always like this and I simply didn’t notice?

"Not very nice of you, Astrid.” I say. “But I understand."

Astrid's gaze hardens, the amusement in her eyes dying like a snuffed candle. She shifts her weight, her bare foot scraping against the concrete.

"What's not nice?" she asks, her voice low and dangerous. "That I noticed the irony? Or that I said it out loud?"

She advances toward me, stopping just inches away. Her breath smells faintly of the stale dungeon air and something metallic.

"Because let's be clear," she continues, her words soft and measured, "if I was going to die today, I would have found the humor in it too."

Behind her, Emily watches this exchange with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Let's go Emily. She's just overwhelmed that she gets to live after all of this."

Emily flinches when I take her wrist. She feels too small in my grip, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.

"I-I know I said I was scared before, but I..." Her words falter as she glances between me and Astrid.

Something uncertain crosses her face. She's not sure if she should walk with me willingly or resist – if either would even matter at this point. I use this point of indecision to move things forward and gently lead her into the machine room, my hand resting on her waist. She walks on straight legs, her body trembling. Once inside the machine room, I stop and give her a hug.

Emily's body goes rigid at first, but as my arms encircle her, she slowly relaxes against me, her skin cold and covered in goosebumps. She inhales shakily, her breath hot against my neck.

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, voice thick. "I know you don't really want to... to do this. I know you care. Even if you don't care about me."

Her fingers clutch at my back, twisting in the fabric of my shirt.

“I wish things were different...” I whsiper to her, then pause, not sure what to say next. “I wish I could just get to know you… or Talia, or Rita… any of you. Maybe we would even like each other, start a family...”

Emily's breath catches, her body shaking against mine. For a moment, she seems too overwhelmed to speak. Then she pulls back just enough to look up at me, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Why?" she whispers. "Why say that? It's cruel."

Her fingers tighten in my shirt, bunching the fabric. She speaks hoarsely with emotion.

"We both know that’s not possible. There's no happy ending. There's just... this. And you. And me. And this water tank." Her breath hitches. "And you saying things like that makes it harder to die."

I notice how her pupils have dilated, how her lower lip trembles slightly. I can’t resist the urge and kiss her.

Emily stiffens for a split second before responding to my kiss with desperate urgency. Her fingers climb up my chest, threading through my hair as she presses her body against mine. There's nothing gentle about it – just raw, frantic need.

When I pull back, she chases my mouth, panting.

"Please," she whispers, her forehead resting against mine. "Not yet. Not like this. I can't... I don't want this to be the last thing." Her hands slide down to my shoulders, gripping hard. "I don't want my last time to be with death."

The admission cracks as she speaks. I take her words as an invitation.

Emily gasps as I lift her, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist. Her nails dig into my shoulders as I enter her, a sharp inhale escaping her lips. The heat of her body clings to me, her inner walls fluttering around my cock.

"Oh god," she breathes, her face buried against my neck.

Her hips roll slightly, guiding me deeper. There's no hesitation, no resistance – just a desperate need to feel something other than fear. Her thighs tighten around me as I begin to move.

"Please," she whimpers, the words raw with need. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

Emily’s breath comes in short, ragged bursts against my skin. Her back slams against the cold wall as I drive into her, each thrust punching the air from her lungs. Her head tilts back, exposing the pale column of her throat as she cries out, her body arching against mine.

"Fuck... fuck, John!" Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks in my skin.

Her pussy clenches around me, wet and tight, inner walls fluttering desperately as I stretch her.

"You feel so good," she moans, breaking. "I- fuck, I missed this."

Her hips jerk against mine, matching my pace with unsteady movements.

Emily's body jerks with every thrust, she gasps and moans, fingers clawing at my back as I push into her harder and faster. Her legs shake around my waist, toes curling as pleasure and pain collide in equal measure.

"Y-yes," she pants, head thrown back, her breasts bouncing as I move. "Don't stop, don't stop-"

The words break as she clenches around me, pussy convulsing with the force of her climax. Her body arches, nails scraping down my back as she moans openly, no longer caring if Astrid can hear.

She tenses as I spill inside her. A choked sob escapes her throat and she buries her face against my shoulder, shaking. Her arms tighten around my neck, pulling me close as if she could keep me inside her forever.

"Don't pull out," she whispers hoarsely. "Not yet."

Her breath is hot against my skin, uneven and ragged. Her legs tremble around my waist, weak from exertion but still holding on.

She presses an unsteady kiss to the side of my neck, fingers moving restlessly over my back.

"I don't care what you do to me after," she murmurs. "This..."

I kiss her back, continuing to move inside her – no more words needed between us.

Emily melts into the kiss, body yielding to my every movement. Her mouth opens for me, her tongue meeting mine in slow, hungry motions. She moans into the kiss, the sound vibrating through her chest and against mine. Her fingers slide up into my hair, tugging gently as she deepens the contact.

"Don't stop," she breathes between kisses.

Her hips roll subtly, milking my cock as she holds me tight. The slick heat between her legs clings to me, drawing me in deeper. She whimpers as I thrust, her entire body quivering with pleasure.

"I'm gonna- " Her words cut off with a gasp as her second orgasm rips through her.

Emily's legs tremble as I pull out, body swaying as I take her arms in mine. She clings to me immediately, pressing her forehead against my chest. Her breathing is still uneven, skin flushed from exertion and heat.

"You're so warm," she murmurs.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, holding on like she's afraid I'll disappear. Her head lifts just slightly, blue eyes peering up at me with something fragile yet searching.

Making love to her – and it is making love, not fucking, not rape – feels like redemption I don't deserve. This is how it should have been with all of them. This connection. This respect. But I can't change the past. Can only make this moment, right now, as gentle as possible.

"Thank you," she whispers, clinging to me. "For this. For being human."

Human. I haven't felt human in days. Maybe months.

But with her, I do.

She shifts her weight, leaning into me for support. Her gaze drifts past me, toward the water tank behind my back.

I gently take Emily’s hand into mine, as if inviting her for a dance. She follows my lead, her fingers intertwining with mine as I guide her across the concrete floor. The water tank looms before us, its glass surface gleaming under the harsh overhead lights. The inside is empty now, the mechanical arms retracted and the water drained away.

She looks up at me with wide, frightened eyes. I step into the tank first and hold out my hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she climbs in with me, the glass swallowing us both. I force a smile and kiss her on the forehead. She leans into it, her fingers clinging to mine. I ease her hands away, step out of the tank, and lock the door behind me.

With a press of a button, the water rushes in from below, bubbling up around Emily's ankles. It rises swiftly, cold at first but warming as the heaters kick in. Emily gasps as it laps at her ankles, then knees, her body tensing.

"It's warm," she whispers, surprised at the temperature.

Her breath comes faster now. The water climbs higher, now reaching her thighs. She looks up at me through her lashes, lips parted.

"It's- it's not so bad," she says, voice strained.

Her blue eyes flick up to mine as the water reaches her waist. The tank muffles the sound of rushing water, making the silence feel heavier.

I watch her, standing just outside the glass enclosure. The water rises to her chest, causing her to instinctively lean back against the smooth glass.

The water climbs steadily, now up to Emily's collarbone. Her arms instinctively wrap around herself, but she keeps looking at me. My hand presses against the glass, and she mirrors the motion on her side, her palm flattening against mine.

The level rises to her neck now, forcing her to lift her chin to keep her face above the surface. She blinks rapidly as the water laps at her face.

"You're still here," she says, smiling slightly despite the terror evident in her expression.

The water reaches Emily's mouth, forcing her to exhale her last breath before it covers her completely. Her hand presses harder against the glass, fingers splaying as the water envelops her face. Her body jerks once, twice, as her lungs fight the instinctive need to breathe.

I can see her lips moving behind the glass, forming words I can't hear. Her hands slide up the glass until her palms are level with my own, fingers spreading as if reaching for something. The water obscures her features, but you can still make out the determined set of her jaw as she remains still, fighting the natural panic that would send her thrashing.

For a moment Emily's body goes rigid, then begins to shake. Her fingers claw at the glass, leaving streaks of condensation as they scramble for purchase. Her mouth opens wide, releasing tiny bubbles that float slowly to the surface. Her entire body convulses once, then twice. Her legs kick weakly as her lungs desperately seek air that isn't there.

Through the glass, I can see her expression contort with agony as her body's survival instincts take over. Her back arches, pressing her bare skin against the tank's surface. One hand slides up to her throat, clutching at the air she so desperately needs. Her other hand pounds feebly against the glass near my face, mouth working silently as she gasps.

The last bubbles escape from Emily's mouth as her body goes into its death throes. Her skin turns an eerie pale blue as her limbs spasm.

Her eyes are open and fixed, unblinking now. Her vision dims, the spark in her pupils flickering and dying as her brain starts to shut down. Even as the body convulses, her hand remains pressed against the glass, fingers still curled in a faint grasping motion.

Slowly, her struggles grow weaker. Her legs stop kicking. Her fingers go limp against the glass. The last bubbles rise to the surface, and the water remains still.

I stand there for several more minutes which seem like an eternity. My hand is pressed to the glass, and I don't look away.

I owe her that. Owe all of them that. To witness. To acknowledge. To carry the weight of what I've done.

Her hand slowly slides down the glass, and I force myself to lift mine.

I still stand in the machine room when the cleaning crew comes in and starts to methodically drain the tank. Masked workers in protective gear step into the water to retrieve Emily's body. Her limbs float limply, pale and still. One worker places her gently on the waiting gurney while another efficiently disconnects the water supply. The hum of machinery fills the space as they begin dismantling the tank piece by piece.

I turn away, unable to watch the mechanical precision of her disposal. My steps carry me back to the dungeon’s holding area where Astrid waits. She sits cross-legged on her sleeping mat, completely nude but unconcerned about it.

"Congratulations, Astrid." I tell her as I offer her my hand. "Let's go."

She stares at me for a long moment, studying the gesture with cold calculation. Her pale blue eyes hold mine, searching for something – perhaps a hint of sincerity or hidden intent. After several seconds, she slowly reaches up and takes my hand, her fingers cold against my skin.

"Congratulations on surviving," she replies, her voice soft but edged with something unreadable.

She stands, moving with fluid control despite the confined space. The harsh lighting from above catches the pale blue of her irises, making them appear almost luminous in the dimness of the cell.
Astrid doesn't break eye contact as she rises, her small, firm breasts lifting with the movement.

The door leading outside the dungeon opens before us and I lead her outside – her leaving the dungeon for the first time since she got here.

We walk the long sterile corridors of the facility, a tall clothed man and a petite naked girl holding hands like some weird lovers. Except there’s no love in Astrid’s gaze – only uncertainty and fear.

I open the door at the end of a corridor – behind it a small but cozy apartment, similar to a typical luxury hotel room.

Astrid steps into the apartment, her bare feet meeting the soft carpet as I guide her inside. She surveys the space with careful attention – the clean white sheets on the queen-sized bed, the steaming dinner waiting on the table, the plush bathrobe laid out across the armchair. Her pale fingers trace the edge of the bedding before she turns to face me.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of prize?" she asks, her voice carrying an edge of suspicion despite the comfortable surroundings.

She crosses her arms, the motion causing her small, firm breasts to shift slightly under the harsh fluorescent lighting that filters through the window.

“No,” I say, motioning for her to sit on the bed. “The prize awaits you tomorrow. For now just relax and suit yourself."

Astrid's lips tighten into a thin line as she absorbs my words. She slowly uncrosses her arms, letting them hang loose at her sides. Her fingers twitch slightly – whether from nerves or irritation, I can't quite tell. She turns away from me, padding across the carpet toward the table where the steaming dinner awaits.

She pauses, nostrils flaring slightly as she inhales the aroma. Then she sits, back rigid, and picks up the fork with practiced calm. Her first bite is methodical – chewing slowly, eyes fixed on the plate as if measuring every taste. When she finally speaks, she keeps her attention on the food.

"This is good," she admits, voice barely above a murmur.

I smile.

"I'm glad you like it. Enjoy the dinner, take a warm shower – I will see you tomorrow."

Astrid doesn't immediately respond. She cuts another piece of chicken, brings it to her mouth, and swallows before setting the fork down with deliberate precision. Then, without looking up, she finally speaks.

"You're going to kill me tomorrow, aren't you?"

The words are calm, almost detached. She still doesn't look at me, her hands now resting in her lap as she studies the steam rising from her plate. There's no tremor in her speech, no fear in her posture. Just a simple, direct statement.

I shake my head slightly.

"Tomorrow is the award ceremony. Then you get to go free with a fifty million dollars in cash."

Astrid grabs the robe and slowly pulls it over her naked body, her fingers curling into the fabric, knuckles whitening slightly as she processes what I just said. Her breathing catches almost imperceptibly, but her face remains unreadable. She looks up at me finally, her pale blue eyes flickering with something unnameable – calculating, perhaps, or maybe just accepting.

"Fifty million dollars," she repeats softly, tasting the words like a new flavor. She licks her lips unconsciously. "That's... significant."

There's a beat of silence before she adds, "And after I get the money, I get to leave? No conditions? No tricks?"

"Award ceremony, then a small feast in your honor and a private jet back home." My arms are open as if welcoming her back to the world where girls like her are free and don’t get murdered every day.

Astrid's expression shifts slightly – so subtle it might be imperceptible to most. Her gaze intensifies, her mouth opening just slightly as she exhales softly through her nose. She reaches for her water glass, sips deliberately, then sets it down with equal care.

"You make it sound so civilized," she murmurs.

Her fingers tap once against the table before she stills them.

"The private jet... it will just be me? Or do I get to bring the body of Emily, the girl you just murdered?"

There's no inflection in her words—no accusation, no sarcasm, just simple curiosity. She studies me, head tilting slightly as she waits for my answer.

"There's nobody left to murder, Astrid. You won." I keep my voice calm and steady.

Astrid blinks once, then twice. Her lips part slightly as the reality settles in, her fingers tightening against the edge of the table. Her breathing deepens, the slow rise and fall of her chest becoming more pronounced. For a moment, she looks almost childlike in her disbelief – wide-eyed, unguarded in a way I've never seen before.

"I... won?" she repeats, whispering now. She shakes her head, a faint movement, as if trying to anchor herself to the moment. "Not just survived. Won." A short, sharp breath escapes her.

“Good night Astrid,” I say as I leave the room. “Tomorrow’s your big day.”