Shocking

They didn't like hearing "no", they didn't like "tantrums" or "sass".  They droned on and on about how "girls" like her were "to be seen and not heard", how it was expected that she'd have the "very best manners".  She only had two words to say to them.

"Fuck that."

She probably should have been content with that rebellion, with the looks on their faces.  She stood tall and proud even as other women, simpering and shaking, winced and took a step back.

She knew she should have stopped there, instead of lunging forward and sinking her teeth into the "director's" nose.  The taste of his blood, his cry of pain... it was oddly satisfying.

~~~

"I hope that it was worth it, pet."

Pet was a potent word, those who failed as babies were downgraded to something far below, and this little girl was pushing the limits. Maybe it was what she wanted, maybe she thought she'd have more dignity as a pet: but she wasn't getting out of this fate so easily.

"Take her to the chair."

~~~

A gasp rippled through the room.  That punishment had not been given in a long time.  No one had been bad enough to earn it.

"My name is Camilla."

She squared her shoulders and stood tall... well, as tall as she could.  The "caretakers" were enormous, intentionally dwarfing the captives.  The fire in the director's eyes and the steady approach of the menacing caretakers sapped some of the venom from her words.  To regain her standing, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, flinging his blood to the floor in a spatter.

She turned to the other women, trying to look as fierce as possible.

"Are we going to take this from them?  Help me!  We can escape together."

~~~

Nobody stood. Nobody stepped forward. Nobody believed that one little firecracker raging against the machine could make a lick of difference. It took a single caretaker very little physical energy to restrain the girl, to lift her up, to take her from her source of power: the other women she fancied her sisters in arms. When the doors opened, though, it wasn't to take her from the room - it was to wheel a sinister looking gurney into plain sight. Some of the others whispered. Some of them had seen this ghastly machine before. For Camilla, this would be her first experience with the Throne of Thorns.

~~~

"Help me!  Fight with me!"  Camilla struggled for all she was worth, scratching and biting at the thug who was dragging her along.  "Help me... please?  Please!?  Sarah!  Liz!  Amy!  Please!!"

Faces burned red with shame and disappeared, sitting on the floor and grabbing the nearest toy.  They didn't have names.  They weren't supposed to share their names.  Camilla had only doomed them to punishment as well.  Resentful whispers floated through the room as she was strapped to the wheeled table.  One caretaker held her down easily while the heavy canvas bonds were secured.  Ankles.  Thighs.  Wrists.  Waist.  Biceps.  Neck.  When they were done, she could do little more than wiggle her fingers and head.

"Please... "

The fire was out.  The firecracker fizzled.  Drowned in her own whimpering tears.

~~~

No insulation, no plastic in her diapers, no vinyl of the table, nothing could protect her from what came next, from what she could never have anticipated the truly demented horror of: the headset that went over her eyes and covered her ears, images and sounds fed to her in rapid succession with too much information to process, and questions fired off in rapid successions with answers provided for her. Wrong answers. She was a big girl. And the electric shocks began. She was free. Shock. She was independent. Shock. She was violent. Shock. She writhed and she would have screamed if not for her mouth being full. Soon those wrong answers would be anathema to her, but soon was nothing she'd be familiar with. The process would last an hour before the words told her the simplest of truths, and an hour more after that before they stopped. And her lies, her falsehoods, her dreams of freedom? They'd be gone like summer lightning.