Page 9 of Cruel Master
This isn’t my house.
Memories rattle in, shaking away the lingering confusion. Preparing to meet Alex. The underground garage. The sting on the back of my neck.
Oh no. Oh shit.
The pieces click into place one by one. I’ve been drugged and brought…where? And by whom? Alex? It had to be him, though I never gave him my address. How did he get it? And why?
Panic starts, a tight, scrabbly sensation inside my chest.
Why the fuck do you think?
He hasn’t kidnapped me to talk about the weather. Or even to have sex with me—I was more than willing to do that without the need for abduction.
I dressed up for him, all excited and horny. Stupid. So, so stupid. I run my hands over my body and—oh God—the clothesare gone. Wait. I reach my thighs and stifle a wild laugh. He left me the stockings.
The impenetrable blackness is driving me crazy. I struggle up to sit, though my body aches and my head swims with the movement. I lick my lips. Christ, I’m thirsty. And dying for a pee. There's a sound, I realize. A sound that’s making that particular feeling worse. Running water, as though someone left a tap on.
I feel around my body, trying to work out where the hell I’m lying, when a faint glow starts to creep in.
It starts at the corners of the room but spreads, gradually moving across the roof. The effect is weirdly stylized, like light seeping in through cracks, and I stare at it, transfixed, as it gets brighter. It tugs at something, a memory, but I can’t place it.
Once the light glows bright enough to see, I forget all about it as I close my eyes and open them again, sure I must be hallucinating. I do it three more times, but nothing changes. How? How can I be seeing what I’m seeing?
The room is far more familiar to me than the back of my hand. Who wastes time staring at their hands? I spent weeks staring at this room. Months. I drew it out so carefully, every line sketched first in black and white, then color.
And finally, I brought it to life in my game. Every inch rendered perfectly into the digital world for players to discover and enjoy.
The dungeon.
The room looks like it’s been carved into the center of a stone block. In one corner of the square room, water runs in a steady stream from the ceiling down to the floor, escaping through a hole at the bottom. Another wall holds a large, rusty chest, the lock broken and hanging offexactlyas it does in the game.
I know without looking that it’ll be empty. It’s a save chest, a place to store items you can’t carry. I’m sitting on a raised stone platform draped in ancient red silk like a sacrificial altar. I hardly dare turn my head to see what I know must be behind me, but slowly, I do.
In my game, a magical forcefield prevents players from accessing the torture equipment until they’ve reached the relevant level. Here, lightly frosted glass shields the heavy oak cabinet, but I know what will be inside.
Torture equipment, but not the traditional sort. In the game, the dungeon belonged to a mad priest who brought his victims here for his own entertainment before offing them. I never showed what happened in detail, of course, just gave brief snippets of dark cut scenes when Eliana, Saldar’s lover, was captured and brought here.
Imayhave hinted, in the vaguest way possible, that after they killed the priest, Eliana and Saldar made use of the dungeon for themselves. The amount of fanfiction of exactly that scenario shows the hint was well received.
I must be dreaming.
The tight knot in my chest relaxes as that simple truth makes itself known. I’m dreaming. I have to be, because none of this makes any sense at all. I’m dreaming, and now that I know I am, I’ll wake up.
Any minute now.
The room stays stubbornly solid. I don’t ever remember being this thirsty in a dream. Or needing the bathroom this badly. Why did I have to add the running water?
More minutes creep by, and I just sit on the edge of the altar, gripping it with my fingers. I’m not waking up, and every moment that goes by, the certainty that I will fades away. Howcan I be here? Am I drugged? Trapped in some virtual reality simulation?
I force myself to my feet, though my body is heavy and slow. My stockinged feet hit cold stone, and it’s real. Virtual reality can’t chill your feet. The solid floor under me is a lightning bolt, shattering my last hopes. I’m really here. This is really happening.
What the fucking hell is going on?
Panic hits me again, full force, and I drop to my knees, staring around the room. I run my hands over the chilly floor, then get to my feet. I’m struck with the urge to touch everything, to see if any of it falls over, like a movie set, when I reach it.
I check the door first. It’s thick wood, banded with metal. Exactly the right sort of door to have in a dungeon. And of course, it doesn’t move when I push and pull at it. There’s a large keyhole, but when I press my eye to it, I only see blackness.
Next, the cabinet. The frosted doors are locked seamlessly to the wood. Do they open? I run my hands over the edges but can’t find anything like a catch. Next, I try the water. It’s icy cold, like a mountain stream, and the urge to drink it is overwhelming. My throat aches. Is it safe?
