Defect of Servitude [Book #1]

"Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome."
-Isaac Asimov

The first thing I became aware of was the pounding at the back of my skull, each throb a reminder of my vulnerability. The second was the chilling, familiar feel of shackles locked around my wrists and ankles. When I opened my eyes, dread filled my chest, swelling like a storm.

I was imprisoned in a room that flooded me with dark and suffocating memories. It wasn't identical to the one the Academy had thrown me into, but the similarities churned my stomach. The atmosphere was heavy, as if someone had siphoned warmth from the air and replaced it with a fragrance of madness—a mixture of damp stone and something metallic.

Gray bricks lined the walls, reaching a ceiling low enough that Becca would have struggled to stand fully. There were no windows, no light, and the only opening was a small doorway, barred completely with gleaming metal, mocking any hope of escape.

I tried to move my limbs, testing the chains, but whoever had shackled me had done a better job than most of the Academy's handlers. There was no slack—only enough for the chains to jangle softly, a sound that echoed a haunting recollection. I couldn't stop it from playing in my mind, couldn't push it away. The chains felt familiar, but the Academy crest glared back when I looked at them, symbolizing my past.

As I looked up, the room transformed into a twisted reflection of the past. Gray bricks lined the walls, but now countless women were around me, bound precisely like I was. My heart raced, thumping erratically in my chest. I knew what was coming. I fought against the rising tide of panic, but the memory had me in its grip, refusing to let go.

I surrendered to the vision, forced to witness the nightmare unfold. Twenty handlers flooded the room, their faces twisted with greed and lust, their eyes cold and predatory as they swept over every woman. The air thickened with the weight of impending dread, and a chill raced down my spine as if the darkness of my memory was engulfing me once more.

For an hour, they had their way with us. Their whims, whether to hurt or claim our bodies, were our only duty to fulfill. The only law they adhered to was that life-threatening punishments were off-limits. Bound and powerless, I was forced to witness the blood of my fellow captives spill down the walls, their suffering becoming a twisted spectacle. I was always next—constantly reminded of my impending doom, etched into my mind like a permanent scar.

Finally, the remembrance receded, leaving a sweat that soaked my clothes. My muscles tensed, not just from fear but from a smoldering anger that coursed through my veins like fire. Adrenaline surged, making my skin prickle with an unexpected anticipation. Where was this surge of confidence coming from? Usually, such memories would leave me subdued, trapped in a state of acceptance. But now, it felt different, as if a flicker of defiance ignited within me, battling against the chains of my past.