You push the tape into the player. The static clears, and the images roll

-------------------------------

Sophie's hushed tones fill the microphone as the camera steadies on a truck parked outside a nondescript loading door.

"This is Sophie Slate. It’s 02:11, Friday the 9th of June. We’re outside the Meat Packing Factory, downtown. Place looks quiet just a few lights on. My source says there’s a smuggling op inside. We’re about to find out.”

The shot wobbles as she crouches low and darts from shadow to shadow. Footsteps crunch faintly, the mic catching her controlled breaths. For a moment the frame blurs, auto-focus hunting, then sharpens again as she steadies.

"Now… looks like I’ve arrived at the right moment. They’re unloading the truck.”

Half a dozen naked women stumble down, chained wrist to ankle. Their quiet sobs cut through the mic. Two men in white overalls and hairnets drag them out in pairs. When one woman trips, a short fat cylinder jabs her side.

She jerks violently, convulsing.
A gurgling scream rips out of her throat.

"Jesus… oh my god… what is this place?" Sophie breathes, voice cracking.
"Those poor women… is this some kind of trafficking ring?"

The shocked woman is hauled upright by the others and half-dragged inside. Sophie edges closer, focusing shakily on the men’s faces. She ducks behind a bin as the truck lurches away, then slips through the loading dock just before the door rattles shut.


The plant interior is dark, only a handful of ceiling lights glowing. The low whir of chiller fans fills the space, broken by the faint sound of women sobbing somewhere ahead.

"Christ, it’s cold in here," Sophie mutters, breath fogging.

Then, clearer “We’re inside. No sign which way they went… wait down there. Bright lights.”

The lens swings, catching a harsh spill of fluorescent glow through a window at the end of the corridor.

Her shoes click on the porcelain tiles, each step echoing.
She sets the camera down for a moment on a steel table.
The frame tilts, and for the first time she’s in full view 5'4, slim,
blouse pulled snug across her chest,
nipples visibly tenting the thin fabric,
skirt neat,
hair tied back in a tight ponytail,
Makeup minimal and professional.

She slips off her low-heeled pumps, tucks them into her purse. “Better. No noise”

She retrieves the camera, the lens jostling as she moves forward again toward the light.
Her steps are more silent and measured now, no sound at all and the camera is jerking less as she carries on.

The light from ahead grows harsher.
The corridor opens into a wide room lined with chain-link partitions.

For a moment the frame jitters, catching only metal and shadow then steadies.
Behind the chain link fence, women sit huddled on the floor, their skin pale in the glare of harsh fluorescent lights, wrists and ankles linked by chains.
The sound is worse than the sight: low sobs, sniffling, the occasional stifled wail.

Sophie’s voice cracks into the mic.
“Jesus Christ… there’s… dozens. Maybe more.”
She swallows audibly, the mic catching it.
“This isn’t just trafficking… this is industrial.”

The camera pans slowly, faces catching the light as they turn away from the lens.
Sophie mutters under her breath, barely audible: “Fuck. How many.”

The camera rests on the window ledge, its lens slowly zooming in across the faces inside.
The women in the pens aren’t shackled, but most bear bruises and cuts around wrists and ankles.
A few huddle together for warmth, arms wrapped tight.

In one corner, two press into each other, kissing hard, fingers moving between trembling thighs, while another woman watches with a look of sick disgust.

“Oh my…” Sophie breathes, her voice barely more than air. “Why would they I don’t get it.”

The camera jerks at the bang of a door.
Two men step in, white overalls unzipped and hairnets shoved into their pockets.
One lights a cigarette, the smoke curling as his partner scans the cages.

A grin,
a nod,
a jab of a finger.

The chosen woman sobs and shrinks back, but the others in the cage shove her forward, eyes down, avoiding her gaze.

Sophie’s voice cracks. “They pushed her. God, they actually pushed her.”

The door clatters open and a prod lashes out, jolting the girl with a cry. The men drag her to a wooden table, strap her down, large breasts crushed against the surface. From Sophie’s angle the camera lingers on her thighs, mottled with purple bruises and raw marks that speak of too many uses before this.

One man snaps the cage shut while the other fumbles his trousers down, pale skin and half-hard cock swinging into view.

Sophie’s whisper cuts through the background hum of fans. “I should do something. Christ, I should but what?”

The camera doesn't waver as the woman cries out, though we can catch the sound of Sophie suppressing the urge to vomit, the man rapes the woman, telling her she loves it, and that she's so special to him, he's going to keep her alive as long as possible because she's his sweetheart.

Her sobbing denials make him angry and he smashes her face into the table, a loud crack showing her nose is clearly broken as blood streams down her face. His partner just laughs and pulls out his own cock, shoving it in between her lips as the blood streams down and over him.

“Oh these aren’t men at all, they’re soulless machines,” Sophie hisses, her voice tight with fury.

The camera trembles as she zooms in on the table. The woman’s body is pinned, shaking, her muffled cries rising and breaking.

Minutes drag by. Her hands claw against the wood, then curl into fists. Her back arches. A sharp shudder runs through her, and for a moment her voice slips into something Sophie can’t mistake.

Sophie’s breath catches.
“No… no, she’s, she can’t be. How the hell could she?”
The words come out fast, stumbling over each other as the camera dispassionately records the raped woman's orgasmic cry and guttural following sobs.

The men laugh and jeer at her and redouble their efforts

“She’s being used like she doesn’t even matter. Like… meat.”

There’s a pause, too long, and Sophie’s whisper falls quieter, almost to herself.

“I mean… god. I’ve had rough sex before but… this…”

Sophie fumbles with the camera and it drops to the floor. The lens auto-adjusts, pulling the shot into focus just long enough to catch her white panties, a spreading wet spot betraying her arousal. Her hands dart into frame, snatching it up too fast, almost panicked.

"Shit, still working," she mutters, though her voice is hoarse, betraying more than just technical concern. Her face flashes briefly in frame, flushed, lips parted, before she spins the view back toward the pen. The men have finished and the woman is slumped over the table, cum trickling from her pussy. One of the men fetches a bottle of water and pushes it up inside the woman, flushing the cum out before spraying some over her face.

"Well we'd best get back to work, bring the meat with you, decided with her broken nose she's not worth keeping"

The woman struggles as she's untied but the cattle prod applied to one of her stiff nipples soon has her complying, she shuffles slowly between the two men and they disappear through a hygiene curtain

"Oh god, they’re not even… they’re not even keeping her," Sophie whispers, the camera jolting slightly as her hands shake.

“There’s no way to cross without the women seeing me,” Sophie mutters.
“If they make noise, I’m finished.”
A breath.
“The curtain ahead… if I go closer, I can’t turn back. But I have to know.”

She steps into the pen. The camera pans slowly, faces flinching, arms folding over naked skin. A few look at her with wide, hollow eyes. One or two half-reach out before stopping themselves.

"They're like cows" Sophie mutters to herself "Docile, scared cows"

The lesbian pair on the floor don’t stop their sixty-nine.
Their mouths are locked, thighs slick, moans louder now, almost defiant.

Sophie whispers without thinking, “Christ… that’s a nice pussy.” as the camera follows her gaze, framing a nearly trimmed pussy, tight lips, a pink tongue splitting the labia open before snapping back to the direction of travel.

No one calls out. No one wants to give her away.

The curtain parts under her hand. She gasps. The camera jolts, clattering to the floor.
In the blur: pink flesh, hooks, cleavers, blood-dark stains.

“Oh God… oh God oh God…” Sophie whines, scooping up the camera and starting into it.
Her face is flushed, streaked with tears. “I never imagined”

She swings it back. A torso dangles, head and limbs gone, breasts still bouncing faintly on the hooks. The conveyor hums, dragging it through another curtain.

A scream rips the air. The camera jerks to the floor below, the woman from earlier, thrashing, one arm gone, blood spraying into the air.

“Please, no” Sophie’s voice breaks. "at least kill her first you sick fucks"

The cleaver falls again. Another arm. The scream chokes off as a worker presses a hand over her mouth.

Legs.

*thunk*
*thunk*

Head.

*thunk*

Silence.

The smoker from before picks up an arm and taps his partner with it, laughing.

A third man walks over and scowls, sets the arm down gently, and closes the severed head’s eyes.

His look at her battered crotch is pure contempt and he orders the other two men to fuck off for a bit as he proceeds to gut the torso, throwing the organs and viscera into a bloody waste bin before hanging the torso on hooks and sending it on it's way.

“The number of women here…” Sophie’s whisper trembles. “Half the missing in the city, maybe more. But what are they doing with”

She swings the camera back on herself. Her blouse clings with sweat, her lips parted. She doesn’t notice the lens catches the damp patch spreading under her skirt.

“This is wrong. I have to go. I have to…”

Then, so soft it barely registers: “So why am I so turned on?”

Sophie edges backward, eyes locked on the conveyor. She doesn’t notice the metal rail jutting from the wall until her hip collides with it. The clang echoes. She stumbles, the camera jerking wildly as she grabs for balance.

A hand clamps over her mouth. She thrashes until she sees his face. It’s the man who laid down the arm, the one who closed the eyes.

“Shut up,” he hisses, low but urgent. His grip is firm, not cruel. He glances over his shoulder, then pulls her into the shadow of a stairwell.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. “They’ll eat you alive.”

Sophie’s breath is ragged against his palm, her eyes wide. The camera catches the flicker of genuine worry in his expression.

Footsteps echo in the distance. Shouts. The smoker’s voice. “Oi! You hear that? Someone’s in here.”

The man curses under his breath. “I can’t hold them off. Not for long. But I’ll try.”

He pushes Sophie toward a service door, fumbling keys from his belt. For a second, it almost looks like she might be saved.

The footsteps are louder now. The curtain flings back. Light floods the corridor.

The camera drops, rolling across the floor. It lands at an angle against a boot looking up, framing Sophie’s pale face as hands seize her, dragging her backward into the light. Her scream is muffled, cut short.

The man doesn’t move to stop them. He just watches, jaw tight, before one of the others shoves him back toward the killing floor. We see his hands bend and pick up the camera

"The boss might want this too" he calls, leaving it running deliberately as he walks, keeping Sophie in frame.

Sophie's struggling, one of the men crudely pawing at her breast through her blouse

"Nice tits, plenty of fat on these babies"

Sophie squeals and thrashes trying to get away, her skirt riding higher on her hips "Get off me you sick murdering fucks" she shouts angrily.

The man still holding the camera slaps at his colleagues hand

"None of that, you don't know what the boss is going to decide yet, might want to keep a pet snoop, you don't want to end up down here do you?"

They throw a bag over her head and Sophie shudders as she's enveloped in darkness.

Sophie is half walked, half dragged into a nicer part of the factory, soft carpets below her bare feet, and she's pushed into an office, the camera set down on a table, the man quietly fiddling with the angle to make sure Sophie and the desk's occupant are both in a frame.

An older woman, mid 40's, dressed in an expensive looking dress, her makeup flawless, luscious red lips and long crimson fingernails comes into view.

"Well what do we have here" the woman asks, looking at the three men

"A spy we found" replies the burly one "Well, he found her" pointing towards the man who'd just set the camera down, "but we helped"

"A spy hmm, well we'll just have to see about that, stand her up and take the bag off"

Sophie blinks in the sudden bright light and as she focuses she gasps

"You, but you're... fuck you're the head of Serenity Meats, I've seen you around, Christ, I love your breakfast sausage"

Sophie goes pale as a nasty thought hits her

"Oh please, please tell me.... no you don't do you.... but I eat them all the time"

Her knees buckle and one of the men thrusts a wastepaper bin in front of Sophie's face as she vomits, the woman behind the desk grinning a shit eating grin

The woman behind the desk steeples her fingers, nails catching the light. Her voice is velvet, corporate, the sort you’d hear in a keynote speech.

“You act like you’ve uncovered some grand conspiracy, Ms Slate. But really, it’s just logistics. Meat prices are unstable, supply chains are fragile, and the regulators only ever test for horse or pig DNA. No one ever thought to test for… people.”

She smiles thinly, watching Sophie flinch.

“And why would they? We’ve turned a civic nuisance into a civic service. Street girls, addicts, vagrants, they were draining welfare coffers, filling hospital beds, cluttering up the red-light district. Now they vanish, cleanly, profitably, and the city shines a little brighter.”

A lazy wave of her hand toward the floor below.

“The best part? We don’t even pay for raw material. Quite the opposite, the families, the shelters, the police pay us to make them disappear. Discreet, efficient, and then the product sells twice, once as disposal, once as sausage.”

The woman leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other with the casual grace of someone who’s never had to rush for anything.

“You see, Sophie, you stumbled onto a solution, not a crime. We’re not slavers, we’re not killers for sport. We’re problem-solvers. The shelters call us when they run out of beds, the precincts call when their cells are overcrowded. We take the city’s refuse and recycle it. Everyone wins.”

She tilts her head, smiling like a cat that’s caught a mouse and now wonders if it wants to play.

“Think about it. People eat sausage every day. They love it. Breakfast, barbecues, ballgames. And thanks to us, it’s affordable. Families fed, streets safer, budgets balanced. Tell me, doesn’t that sound… civic-minded?”

Her gaze sharpens.

“You’re a journalist. You understand the power of a narrative. If you print the wrong one, you vanish like the rest. But if you see sense? If you understand the bigger picture? Well, then you might find you have a place here.”

The woman moves closer and pulls up Sophie's skirt and rubs between her legs

"Hmm, so you perhaps find this a little arousing still? Horrifying but arousing yes?"

She keeps rubbing at Sophie's panty covered mound

"Come on dear, admit it, tell me there's not a small part of you that loved seeing him fuck a woman and then turn her into meat?"

Sophie’s whole body shudders, a ragged moan tearing loose before she can choke it back. Her face flushes crimson as the woman’s nails graze her through the sodden cotton, and the words tumble out in a whisper

"Yes… I’m wet…"

The boss cocks her head. "What was that, dear? Say it like you mean it."

Sophie squeezes her eyes shut, panting hard, and then snaps

"I said yes, you sadistic bitch. You can feel how wet I am. Finish me off. Let me cum. I’ll work for your sick little empire if that’s what you want!"

The woman laughs, a rich, cruel sound. She pulls her hand away from Sophie’s crotch and wipes the wetness off on Sophie’s cheek with a mocking little stroke.

“Oh darling. You think this is a job interview? That I’d bring some trembling little news-whore into my operation because she begged nicely? No. No, Sophie.”
She leans close, whispering hot against her ear.
“You’re not staff. You’re stock.”

Sophie’s breath catches, her lips trembling. “But I said I’ll help, I’ll keep quiet, I”

A sharp slap cracks across her face, making her stumble between the two men still holding her arms.

“You already helped, dear. You filmed every moment. Advertising and porn if we sell it right And now…”
The woman glances to the men.

“Now you’ll be our special. The boss’s cut. We’ve had a rush order for something unique. A spit-roast slow and tender, with just the right amount of fat. A real showpiece.”

Sophie gasps, thrashing weakly in their grip. “No no, please”

“Oh hush.” The woman traces a crimson fingernail down Sophie’s throat, lingering over her collarbone, then tapping just above her heaving breasts. “Think of it this way. You’ll finally be the headline you always wanted. Everyone will be talking about how good you tasted. Pass me the camera, we might as well finish off her final big break”

The boss turns to accept the camera and focuses it on Sophie.

“Redo your makeup, dear. If we’re going to keep filming, you should look your best.” The boss’s voice was calm, almost maternal.

Sophie blinked at her in disbelief. “You just told me you’re going to kill me and now you want me to look beautiful for you? You sick freak!” Her eyes flashed, and she threw her weight forward against the hands clamped on her shoulders.

With only a flicker of irritation, the boss gave a small nod. One of the men pressed the cattle prod into Sophie’s ribs. The crack of electricity filled the room, a blinding spark dancing against her blouse.

Sophie shrieked, collapsing onto hands and knees. She lifted her head defiantly, but the prod came down again, then again. Her screams broke ragged, each one shorter than the last, until finally her body sagged, trembling. A thin curl of smoke rose from the scorched fabric over her chest.

Head bowed, hair falling into her face, Sophie muttered something too soft to catch.

“Pardon?” the boss asked, leaning forward slightly, lips curling.

Sophie didn’t look up. Her voice was flat, emptied. “Fine. I’ll touch up my makeup.”

We watch as she repairs her makeup, looking in the small compact, her eyes darting around the room, as she finished

Sophie’s blouse hangs askew from the burns, her chest heaving. One of the men reaches eagerly for the buttons, grinning, but the boss’s voice cuts sharp across the room.

“No. She’ll do it herself. Don’t bruise the goods.”

The man hesitates, then steps back, smirking as Sophie glares up from the floor.

“On your feet, dear,” the boss purrs, as if coaxing a child. “And start with the blouse. Nice and slow. Show us you understand.”

Sophie’s trembling hands clutch at the fabric, holding it closed for a moment. A spark crackles behind her, the prod whining as it hovers inches from her side. She flinches violently, and the last of her defiance gutters out.

Her fingers fumble at the buttons, one by one, until the blouse slides off her shoulders. She squeezes her eyes shut, but the boss is already murmuring,
“Good girl. Now the skirt. And keep looking at me while you do it.”

Sophie fumbles with the skirt, tugging the zip down with shaking hands. It slips from her hips and pools at her ankles, leaving her legs bare. The two men closest leer openly, one letting out a low whistle.

“Look at those thighs,” he mutters, elbowing his companion. The other reaches forward as if to squeeze, but the boss clicks her tongue.

“Hands off. This one's a special dish”

The man withdraws with a sheepish chuckle, though his eyes linger hungrily.
Sophie flushes crimson, clutching her arms across her chest.

“No, no,” the boss says smoothly, circling Sophie like a predator.
“None of that shy routine. Arms down. Chin up. Let them all see how beautiful you are.”

Sophie hesitates, then slowly lowers her arms, her breath quick and shallow. One man still watching silently from the edge of the frame, eyes fixed not on her body but on her face, as if willing her to stay composed.

“Better,” the boss croons, sliding one crimson nail under Sophie’s bra strap and snapping it lightly.
“Now, finish the job. Everything off. Slowly. Gracefully. Pretend you want them to look.”

Sophie’s trembling fingers work at the clasp of her bra. It slips loose, fabric sliding from her shoulders. Her breasts spill free, pale under the harsh light. One of the men groans under his breath and bites his hand, groaning and clutching his groin.

“Patience,” she chides. “She isn’t done yet.”

Sophie forces herself not to cover up, her cheeks blazing. Her final layer, the white panties, clings damply. She hooks her thumbs beneath the waistband, pausing only when the low hum of a cattle prod behind her reminds her of the stakes. Swallowing hard, she slides them down, baring herself completely as she stands uneasily shifting from leg to leg.

“Lovely,” she purrs. “Now that’s how you present yourself.”

Sophie stares at the floor, humiliated, arms limp at her sides.

The boss claps her hands lightly, the sound sharp in the tense silence.
“Enough gawking. Time to make her ready.”
Her smile widens as she turns toward the door leading down.
“Let’s head downstairs. We’ve got to clean her out.”

They go back down to the tiled floor Sophie's nipples hard in the cold air before she wraps her around herself shivering

"Cold my dear?" The boss says from behind the camera lens as she zooms in a little
"Let your fans see those nice large breasts of yours"

Sophie reluctantly drops her hands after a quick sideways glance at the cattle prod in the hand of the man to her left

"Perfect, I've never seen such high, firm breasts, well not since my own youth anyway"

The basement is tiled and gleaming under the strip-lights, stainless steel fittings along the walls. A faint chemical tang hangs in the air. Sophie shivers as she’s marched in, and stands uncertain what is wanted.

The boss gestures lazily toward a padded bench.
“On your hands and knees, dear. We can’t very well roast you dirty, can we?”

Sophie hesitates. One of the men flicks the cattle prod with a sharp crackle and she flinches forward, climbing up onto the bench.

A hose is brought over, tipped with a curved nozzle. Sophie’s eyes widen in horror as she realizes what’s coming, but the boss just smirks. “Relax. Think of it as… cleansing.”

The camera lingers as the nozzle parts her cheeks and slides in, Sophie’s gasp echoing against the tiled walls. She grips the edge of the bench, knuckles white, body trembling as warm fluid surges into her.

As Sophie squirms on the bench, the boss smirks and waves a hand idly.

“You know, we really should charge you for this, my dear. Colonic irrigation are terribly de rigueur these days.”

Sophie flashes a look of anger at the camera before letting out a strangled sob, her body tensing, but the fluid keeps flowing.

“I'll be generous, you are giving me your meat after all, consider it a complimentary service then.” the boss says, the mirth audible in her voice

When at last she’s permitted to expel, Sophie buries her face against the bench, sobbing in shame. The boss steps closer, running her manicured nails lightly along Sophie’s spine.

“There,” she murmurs. “All clean. Now we can begin properly.”

Sophie sobs quietly as they force her onto a metal table, face down, her head on her arms. For a moment the men strokes and paws at her flesh, the boss silent for once, but the quiet one steps forward, pulling his jacket from his shoulders and laying it across her trembling back. It hides nothing, but the weight of it stills her shaking.

“Gentle as always,” the boss sneers, watching him. “Covering up the meat like you’re worried it might catch a chill. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes the long steel rod from the rack in front of Sophie. Sophie flinches at the sight, her eyes darting toward the camera, wide and wet. The man lowers his gaze, dipping the point into a bucket of grease, working it slowly along the shaft until it glistens.

“Awww,” the boss croons mockingly, lips curling. “Look at him, boys. So careful, so tender. He’ll grease it up and slide it in like he’s making love. Must hurt that bleeding heart of yours, huh? Falling in love again? You remember what happened to the last one.”

The others chuckle, and Sophie whimpers beneath the jacket, hope and despair colliding in her face.

The man wipes his hands, rests them on the rod, and breathes out once.

“All right,” the boss says at last, snapping her fingers. “Enough foreplay. Let’s begin.”

The men press Sophie down tighter, and the cold steel spit is wedged between her buttocks. She jerks, shuddering, but their weight pins her easily.

“Stop squirming, bitch,” one growls, cuffing the back of her head.

Her face tips toward the camera, tears streaking her cheeks. She opens her mouth, lips trembling. “Mum… Dad…” The words come out half-breath, half-sob.

The spit drives forward. Sophie stiffens with a strangled cry that curdles into a moan. She shakes her head wildly, forcing the words back out between gasps. “I… I love y” Her voice cracks into a sharp groan as the metal pushes deeper.

The lens holds on her face, her eyes wide and darting, her lips still trying to form the words. The sounds, though, are ragged, a broken mixture of farewell and guttural noises she can’t suppress.

Behind her, one of the men chuckles. “Listen to her sounds like she can’t decide if she’s dying or getting off.”

Sophie’s final attempt at a goodbye collapses into another sobbing moan, her humanity swallowed by the obscene spectacle.

The man holding the spit keeps twisting and pushing it in, working it like an obscene dildo. Sophie begins to pant with the intensity as it slides deeper into her body. She stops struggling so much but twists her head to look back at the camera and the woman holding it.

Her body stiffens as the metal forces deeper inside. She writhes, teeth clenched, a muffled sob breaking free. Then, through the panting and the tears, comes a strangled plea.

“Please… just let me… one hand…”

The boss raises an eyebrow. “One hand?”

Sophie nods frantically, her voice shaking. “I… I need to touch myself.”

The room falls silent for a beat. Then the cruel laughter begins. One of the men jeers, the boss smirks, and even the camera seems to dwell on her flushed face, the way her humiliation burns hotter than her fear.

“Pathetic,” the boss says softly, almost fondly. “Even now, you want to make it feel good. Fine. Give her a hand.”

The man standing to her left releases her and Sophie snakes the hand under her body, the camera dropping to get a low shot of Sophie's now slightly raised hips, her long fingers parting her labia and sliding into herself as the spit slides back and forth going deeper and deeper.

Within minutes she's moaning and shuddering, close to orgasm. The spit's inward movement slows and Sophie's rear jumps a little but she quickly focuses back on pleasuring herself, as she orgasms, the spit is shoved forward hard, and a little bit of blood oozes out of Sophie's stretched anus.

"Christ, you're killing me" Sophie moans before she resumes her frantic masturbation

"Yes, we are" the boss lady say "but you look so fucking sexy right now

The spit moves faster now, as if there's less resistance, Sophie shudders and retches

"gonna be sick" she moans

A man pulls back her hair as her cheeks bulge, she's looking pale and feverish now and no one's holding her any more, the spit about 2 feet inside her torso now.

Her cheeks bulge again and a thin watery liquid flows over them

"Easy now, don't you dare nick her heart" the boss lady warns, the camera turning to the man holding the spit for a moment, a look of concentration on his face. he nods once and focuses his gaze on Sophie

"Easy now, nearly there, one last push and then it'll all be over. Try to cum again, it'll make the last part easier"

Sophie nods slightly and resumes a frantic masturbation as she shivers and gags and retches and then the spit is sliding smoothly. A man grabs her throat and head and holds it still and the boss lady moves quickly around to Sophie's face to capture her expression as she enters a prolonged gag. The spit emerges moments later, a little bloody and Sophie's eyes cross as she tries to focus on the tip. The man behind her fucks it back and forth a few times and Sophie shudders and moans in a final orgasm.

Sophie's eyes dart around the room, her expression of disbelief, she tries to curl into a ball, her fists tight, but she can't. Slowly, she starts to fade, her arms dropping to the side, her eyes dropping shut, she stills and the frantic muffled screams fade to silence.

The room remains still and silent, but for the drip of urine off the table's edge

The boss brings her face into the frame, her hand under Sophie's slack chin, forcing Sophie’s glassy eyes to the camera.

“Smile, sweetheart. This is Sophie Slate, signing off.”

She wipes her slick, glistening fingers into Sophie's hair and hands the camera to the man who uses the spit, passing him his jacket off Sophie's corpse.

"Get that video to the Tech boys will you", she says as the footage ends abruptly.


---------------

You rewind, eject, and slide the cassette into an evidence bag. The label you scrawl across the top reads Cold Case – Jane Doe and a date over 3 years ago.

The man who brought it in looks shaken but hopeful. You meet his eyes.
“You understand what this tape really is, don’t you? A confession. Murder. You need to think very carefully about what happens next.”

He nods uncertainly and steps outside.

You lift the phone, press a button on speed dial. A voice answers.
“Yeah. You were right. He came straight to me. No trouble. I’ll take care of it.”

You hang up. The door creaks as the man returns, expectant.
“Well?” he asks.

You shift your weight, loosen the holster at your hip.
“Well,” you echo. “What’s it going to be?”