Day 8 (continued)

The guests erupt in applause that feels like hail against my skin as I pull away from Juliette, whose face now holds raw hope. She understands what I’m saying – that I might find a way to make this easier on her. Even as her wrists remain bound, she leans slightly toward me, as if physical distance might break the fragile connection.

Jeff stands, his wine glass raised high.

"Our host's kindness knows no bounds!" he announces, his voice carrying across the room.

The guests laugh at the irony, but I catch Juliette's slight smile – the first since she was brought down. She mouths "thank you" to me, so softly it's almost inaudible over the continued applause.

The servers approach Juliette again and her breath catches as the sharp edge presses against her skin. They work methodically, their practiced hands pinching her nipple to position it before the first incision. Blood wells up immediately, a bright red bead forming before gravity pulls it down her sternum.

She gasps through gritted teeth, her free hand clenching into a fist. Her gaze never leaves my face, as if searching for something that isn't there. The second cut is longer, releasing more blood as it peels the tissue away from her body. A drop falls onto her stomach, mingling with the sweat there.

The server's blade works at the base of her breast now, carefully severing the tissue that anchors it. Blood drips onto the silver platter with a soft pattering sound. Juliette's back arches involuntarily as a ragged cry escapes her.

I don't move from my seat, but I feel it in my gut – the way her body tenses and twists against the restraints. Her face is slick with sweat and tears now, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The guests lean forward in their seats, some licking their lips, others gripping their drinks too tightly.

The servers lift the detached breast on a silver platter, displaying it to the guests like a trophy. Juliette's body shudders as they do this – her chest now an open wound, her skin still twitching around the edges where nerves are still firing.

She watches as the meat is presented, her face twisting with revulsion and pain.

"Eat it," she says, though I can barely hear her weak voice over the excited murmurs of the crowd. "Eat my fucking tit so I can get this over with."

I gather my courage and turn to Jeff.

His face lights up, as if knowing exactly what I’m about to ask. He leans closer, the ever-present grin never leaving his face.

"What is it, John? Need a little more... drama for the cameras?" He speaks just loud enough for me to hear over the ambient noise of the guests.

I meet his gaze, steady and controlled despite the discomfort in my chest.

"I made her eat her own pussy," I say, voice measured. "She's already lost a lot of blood, what else do you want to get out of her?"

Jeff's grin widens, his eyes glinting with calculated amusement. He strokes his beard thoughtfully, considering my words.

"Oh, John," he chuckles, "you think I don't know what you're doing? You're trying to soften the blow for her. Trying to make it quick."

He leans back in his chair, resting an arm along the back.

"That's sweet of you, really. But this show isn't about quick. It's about entertainment. And what we have here…" - he gestures toward Juliette with a flick of his wrist – "is gold."

Jeff's tone drops lower, intimate despite the room full of people.

"You know the rules."


"Rules are made to be bent, Jeff." The words surprise me even as I speak them. My hands are steady on the table. "I think she earned a quick death."

Jeff's face darkens for a fraction of a second before his smile returns, but I don't miss the dangerous glint in his eye. He leans closer, speaking with an almost paternal amusement.

"Rules are made to be bent, but only with permission." His fingers tap rhythmically against the armrest of his chair, a slow, measured beat. "You're bending them without mine, John. That's a problem."

I hold his gaze, jaw tight. Around us, the guests continue their gluttonous observation, some laughing, others merely watching with detached fascination. Juliette whimpers softly as the servers wipe blood from her chest, her body weak but still struggling to remain upright in the restraints.

"I bend them to everyone's satisfaction, Jeff." Now it’s my turn to sound condescending. "Or did you have me feeding her pussy to her in your program?"

Jeff's face shifts, the forced friendliness giving way to cold calculation. He leans back, appraising me with newfound respect tinged with irritation.

"Yes, that was clever." He angles his face slightly, watching your reaction carefully. "That was your... improvisation. And it worked. Got the highest ratings yet."

He sips his drink slowly, letting the moment stretch.

"But improvisation requires permission. Without it..." He shrugs. "Well, let's just say my expectations have changed. I need to know you're still in control, John."

"This wouldn't happen without me." My trap is wide open and it’s time to spring it. "Next time try to pull off something like that yourself – see if you succeed."

Jeff's laugh is soft, genuine even, but there's steel beneath it.

"You're right about that." He sets his glass down with deliberate precision. "Your little stunt with Juliette worked incredibly well. But it also made the guests hungry for more."

His eyes narrow slightly.

"We'll give them more. Next season." I am trying my hardest not to shout at him. "Now please listen to me and just let her die already. Look at her - she's not even fully conscious."

Jeff follows my gaze to where Juliette sways in her restraints, her head lolling slightly. The medics move to prop her up, their gloved hands adjusting the straps across her shoulders. She moans softly, eyes flickering open but unfocused. A trickle of blood runs down her inner thigh, pooling on the floor beneath her.

"She's still beautiful," Jeff remarks, almost to himself. He taps his fingers against his lips, studying the scene. "Frail, but beautiful."

His smile returns, sharper now.

"Very well, John. Since you've become... invested... I'll grant you this favor. But you'll have to do it yourself."

"Thank you Jeff." I’m almost sincere when I say it.

Jeff watches me intently, studying my face.

"Thank you," he echoes softly, as if tasting the words. Then he nods once, decisively. "Proceed then."

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. The other guests fall silent, turning their attention to me and Juliette. The servers step back, leaving the remaining platter with its grisly offering untouched. Waiting. Watching. The silence grows thick, charged with expectation.

I step toward the dining table, feeling all eyes on me. Juliette stirs slightly as I approach, her head lifting with great effort.

I take a sharp knife from the table and look at her. Her gaze finds mine, and for a moment, clarity cuts through the drug-induced haze. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Her fingers twitch against the restraints, a small spasm of awareness before the pain and blood loss drag her back under.

The knife catches the light as I turn it in my hand. The blade is polished to a mirror shine, the edge honed to a whisper-thin cutting surface.

"Hey Julie." I murmur. "I promised I'd find a way to ease your pain."

Juliette's eyelids flutter at the sound of her nickname. A thin strand of saliva connects the corner of her mouth to her chin. She inhales shakily, her breath catching as she tries to focus on me.

"I... I know..." she whispers, the words slurred but audible. Her head lolls slightly as she tries to lift it. "You... you promised..."

Her fingers flex weakly against the armrests, leaving faint red marks on her pale skin.

Jeff watches from his seat, his face a mask of detached curiosity. The other guests lean forward, their attention fixed on the scene. Some exchange quiet murmurs, others simply stare with rapt fascination.

I step closer, the knife glinting in the low light. Juliette's breath comes faster now, her pupils dilating as she stares up at me. Her bare chest rises and falls with quick, shallow movements.

"Easy now," I murmur, setting the knife down on the table beside her.

I reach out, my fingers brushing her cheek. She shudders at the contact. My thumb wipes away the trail of spit, smearing it across her skin.

"Cold," she whispers, her voice almost gone.

I kiss her – her lips are cool against mine, dry with the taste of blood. Her body tenses for a moment, then relaxes into the contact, her mouth yielding. I feel her breath against my face, shallow and uneven. When I pull back, her eyes stay closed for a moment longer, eyelashes fluttering. A single tear escapes, trailing down her temple.

"Thank you," she breathes, so softly I strain to hear. Her head tilts slightly, offering more of her neck, exposing the most vulnerable part of herself to me.

"I love you." I whisper.

My knife moves in a swift arc, biting deep into Juliette's throat. Blood sprays hot across my face, coating my lips, filling my mouth with the copper taste of her life. Her eyes go wide, mouth forming a perfect 'O' of shock. Hands clench and unclench at her sides.

A wet gurgle escapes her lips as her body convulses, back arching against the platter. Her feet twitch in restraints as her legs spasm. I hold her shoulders, steadying her as she twitches violently. The blood pours from the wound in thick pulses, soaking her body, running in rivulets down to the silver surface.

Juliette's body jerks once more, her hands spasming before going limp. Her mouth moves soundlessly, blood bubbling at the corners. Her wide blue gaze is locked onto mine, shock and recognition visible in them. A strangled, wet sound comes from her as she tries to speak, but only more blood spills.

Her strength ebbs away, muscles going slack in my grip as I hold her. Her fingers twitch weakly against my arms, her chest shuddering in its last breaths. The platter beneath her catches the red flood, already deep with her blood. Her pupils dilate as she stares at me, her body going still as the last breath leaves her.

The guests murmur in awe.

Blood drips from my chin as I lower my head to hers, pressing my forehead against hers. Her body has gone limp now, the last shudders of life fading away. Her face is slack, but those wide, blue eyes still stare at me, holding a strange calm in their depths.

A thin thread of red trickles from the corner of her mouth. She exhales one last time, and then nothing. The blue of her irises dims, clouding over as her body goes utterly still.

The audience falls silent for a moment before erupting in excited chatter.

The blood on my face and chest is already beginning to dry, stiffening my shirt against my skin. I straighten from Juliette's body, running my forearm across my face in a futile attempt to clear the red coating my lips and jaw.

My fingers dig into the armrests of my chair as I lower myself onto the seat. The leather creaks slightly under my weight. My forearms shake despite my best efforts to hold them still, the muscles in my upper arms straining as I try to maintain control. Sweat prickles at my temples, mixing with the drying blood on my skin.

Juliette's corpse lies before me, her blood pooling beneath her like a macabre halo. Her head lolls to one side, her expression frozen in that last moment of recognition. The red stain spreads across the platter, creeping toward the table's edge.
I force myself to speak.

"See Jeff? The audience liked it."

Jeff leans forward in his seat, his manicured fingers drumming the tabletop. His smile is wide but his eyes are sharp, calculating as he assesses the crowd's reaction. The guests lean forward in their seats, murmuring among themselves, the atmosphere charged with dark excitement.

"I did say I wanted something memorable," he says, voice rich with satisfaction. His gaze flickers to me, studying my blood-splattered face. "And you certainly delivered."

His fingers pause their tapping as he gestures to a nearby server.

"Get our host cleaned up. And bring him a drink – something strong."

A server materializes at my side, dabbing at my face with a damp cloth.

"As for Season Three... I think we need to work on our machines." I try to sound casual, though this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever tried. “Some of them are not very efficient.”

Jeff's smile doesn't waver, but his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Is that so?" His tone carries an edge that wasn't there before.

The server freezes mid-dab, the bloodstained cloth hovering near my collarbone.

"Of course, we're always looking to improve the viewer experience." Jeff's gaze flicks to the transparent wall where the remaining machines stand waiting. "Though our audience seemed quite pleased with what they've seen so far."

He pauses, watching me carefully.

"What exactly did you have in mind, John?"