Page 1 of Deviant

My knees slam into the hard floor. I don’t want to cry out, but I can’t keep the sound in either, and it comes out like a strangled noise from behind the gag that was stuffed into my mouth.

My wrists are tied behind my back so tightly that I swear my fingers are going to drop off from lack of blood. I try desperately to move them, to ease the pressure, but it makes no difference. It’s too tight a knot for me to have any effect.

Something beats into me. It might be a stick, it could be something metal, whatever it is has no give whatsoever and I double over in pain.

Then a boot slams into my side, forcing out the final bit of air from my lungs.

My top is pulled back from behind and something sharp drags down my skin as I realise they’re cutting my clothes off.

I jerk out, I try to fight, but what can I actually do when I’m practically hog tied? Within seconds, I’m stripped naked and I shudder, trying to curl up, trying to do anything I can to hide myself from their gaze.

A hand gropes my breast. I scream out, ramming my head back into whoever is stood behind me, but they obviously see it coming so it has no effect.

“Stupid fucking bitch.” I hear the curse above the rough fabric sack they’ve wrapped around my head.

I don’t know where I am but I can make a damned good guess and it’s hard to contain the fear I feel.

As if answering that thought, the sack is ripped off. My eyes dart about, I desperately try to adapt to the sudden brightness.

I’m in the hall. Their hall.

I knew it and yet my heart sinks all the same. It’s so much worse seeing it in real life and not just from the few stolen images Ronin gave me.

I am so fucked.

Maybe if I’d left sooner, maybe if I’d been better…no, they would have found me anyway. There’s no escaping this. No escaping them.

They’re the Brethren, after all, they run the entire world, control all of us, we’re just too dumb to realise it.

This hall is normally filled to the rafters. It looks like a church, with a high vaulted ceiling and ornate, gothic carvings. It must be sixteenth century, but I know it was never used for worship, at least, not worship of anything beyond their own greed and power.

My mind flickers to the photos, the ones Ronin managed to take during one of their ceremonies, and a chill runs up my spine. I don’t know what they have instore for me, but I know it’s going to be horrific.

There’s ten of them, ten men, all masked, all robed, surrounding me like I really am some sort of sacrifice to their cursed altar.

“Someone’s been sniffing around where they don’t belong,” one of them says, nudging by me.

I glare back, unable to hide my derision. It feels reckless, but then, what does it matter? They’re going to kill me. I know that much. I know I’m not making it out of here alive.

From above, something drops.

It’s been dropping, no, dripping, for a while but up until now, I’ve ignored it.

I glance up and pure, unadulterated fear grips me.

I fall back, shaking my head, losing all sense of reason, but I can’t tear my eyes from the horror suspended above me.

It’s Ronin. So they got him first.

He’s strung up, dangling between ropes that span the width of the roof. His skin has been flailed. He’s been tortured for what must have been hours.

And it’s his blood that keeps dripping down onto the flagstone beneath us.

He doesn’t even have any legs left, Christ, what have they done to him?

“Please…” the word escapes my lips, but it comes out as a desperate, pathetic wail beneath the fabric.

One of the men starts laughing. Another tilts his head, takes a step forward, and grabs my face, digging his nails into my cheeks.

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