I wandered the streets alone at night. The city life was a blur of people, except for those that had the misfortune of winning my attention. Faces flashed by, but hers stood out to me. I had been watching her for several nights now. Her name was Alexia Hayes. She was an aspiring actress who believed the world was just too dumb to appreciate her talent. She lived at home to care for her ailing mother and her very young niece. She was the sole provider since everyone had left and she placed hope in gaining fame as an actress to hopefully one day pull her and her family out of poverty. Despite her troubles, she had a positive spirit and beautiful smile.
In the cold night, I nervously approached to speak with her on the street for the first time. I told her she looked like a famous actress. I knew she would like that. I pretended to be interested in her upcoming audition and flattered her by claiming that if she is anything like the actress she looked like, she must be talented. She told me about having to care for her mother. "Family comes first" I said with the resolve I knew she wanted, even needed, to hear. When she asked what I do, I lied and told her I'm a professional photographer figuring this would increase my chances of appealing to a hopeful actress. When she expressed doubts about her life choices, I decided telling her that "life is what you make it" would put her at ease. Once I knew I had her trust, I asked her to come home with me.
When she woke up, she was in my basement dungeon at the end of a winding hallway with cameras lining the corridors to film the torture about to happen. She was chained to the wall, but once she was awake again and the cameras were rolling, I remotely unlocked the chains. As she fearfully tried to escape, my first trap sprung forth: a spinning series of razor blades that slashed her face and body repeatedly. As she stumbled dizzy with pain, I stripped her body of its clothing. This was not for sexual reasons, no. You see torture is only partly physical, but the mental aspects of engendering humiliation, mistrust, doubt, and hopelessness cannot be underestimated.
Naked, bleeding, and fearing for the worst, she attempted to flee through the brick corridors. As she rounded the corner, however, she was greeted with a flamethrower to the face. Her skin charred, but she was not dead. Meanwhile, a man emerged from the shadows while she was still blinded from the flame and its pain. He was a strange man I had hired to rape my victims. He took her from behind. After he had his way with her, he shoved her off and let her escape.
She fled and tried to open the strategically placed "exit" doors that opened into brick walls. I had them installed to break the spirit of those expecting an easy escape. A chainsaw mechanism then hobbled her knees. As she crawled her way towards the exit, bleeding all the way, I had planned just one final step. She was dunked into a vat of water and pushed towards drowning. This would be the final crack in her sanity just before she reached the exit door. I knew she was now at the brink of death, but would still barely live, but not live a life anyone would want to live. She was not who she was before. Though I had not removed all hope before the exit, the psychological damage would be forever scarring, leaving her a ghost of her former self too traumatized to ever speak of what I had done to her. Thus, I would not be caught. As she walked out, I knew I had done it. She left knowing it would have been better if she had died instead. I had crafted the beautiful escape.
The next day I posted the videos online and awaited the comments that would fall in evaluating my work. The dungeoneers were going to be pleased with me.
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