“Contaminant, your keeper expounds on your special treatment by permitting you to learn new skills. Be fair to Oleen. She is equipped to curb the killer in you. However much I commend your proficiency, we cannot allow you to murder more of the inmates. Eventually Enki will catch on and punish us all.”

Triss repeated the reprimand as we traveled to the Lyriki quarters at the top of Gait’s ziggurat. The corridor between the private spaces smelled of floral sweetness and warm spices. Intoxicating to a sensory-deprived ten-year-old. It gave me something to focus on rather than Triss’ admonishments. The Lyriks exited and entered their rooms. Fourteen, including Triss, all of them pitch dark with feathers for hair in shades of fire. Their eyes weren’t like mine. They were like hard gemstones. Beautiful and shiny. Dressed in variations of warden gear, each showed more skin than I saw below. They looked beautiful.

One caught me looking. I don’t think I ever learned her name, but she blew me a kiss and forced me to blush. I hid my face from her until we entered Oleen’s room.

Spacious and sparsely furnished, I liked the bright colors against all the prison’s black interior. Red furniture. A green rug. And a painting above her headboard, at which I almost gaped. A blue mountain pass with its peaks coated in fluffy snow.

Oleen, gentle and quiet, noticed my gaze and smiled. “I painted that on a visit to Enki. If you do well in your instruction, and refrain from killing more prisoners, I can provide you some supplies and teach you to paint. Would you like that, Korac?”

She always called me by my name, where Triss more and more referred to me as “contaminant.” I liked Oleen. I tried so hard to fight my smile, but it won in the end with my nod.

Triss nudged me the rest of the way inside. “I have a visit with your keeper. I may bring him down to check your progress. See you in a few hours.” She left as Miy made her way inside.

Where Oleen was slight, Miy was voluptuous. She always wore strapless, constricting dresses to flaunt it. The unusual color of her feathers—black with red-orange streaks—set her further apart. Her smile reflected the fire I noticed in her. Feisty, that one. Her excited expression fell when she spied me in the room. “Oh. The lesson is today. Am I to be his first?”

Oleen held her hands out to placate her Lyriki sister. “I promise. His potential is astounding. Please have some patience.”

Miy rolled her eyes and turned around. She knelt and swept those strange colored feathers aside, baring her back. Unenthusiastically, she said, “Whatever. Make an impression, young man.”

I was no man. I was a child. And this was all very fucking confusing to me.

My gentle instructor saw my confusion deepen when she retrieved a leather crop from beneath her red bed. I recognized it because a few prisoners used it on me. I buried my initial instinct to shy away when I realized I didn’t care enough for any of these women to hesitate from killing them.

Softly—everything Oleen did was soft—she explained, “This is for Miy. Not you. Like the prisoners enjoy hurting you, she enjoys pain.” At my raised brows, she continued, “Controlled pain. Strategically placed across her body and the strikes carefully timed—she derives pleasure from this. There are many who do.”

I think I’d begun to understand her, but I was reticent to let her know that.

Oleen stepped over to Miy and looked back at me reassuringly. “Observe.” The tempered and kind Lyrik swatted her sister hard enough to welt Miy’s back and cause her to cry out sharply.

But it was her breath that captured my attention. True, she hissed through her teeth, but her subsequent breaths were calmer than before. Deep with a sound like a purr.

I never breathed like that after a strike. I breathed like that after a kill.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Oleen saw the curiosity I let show on my face. She spent the next ten minutes explaining where to hit and how to hit. With her guidance, I struck the bed a few times as she instructed.

Eventually, Miy cleared her throat. “This is touching, but I have a limited amount of personal time before my shift starts. I agreed to this for the stress relief. At the moment, I feel less relieved then when I stepped through your door, Oleen. Let the boy try on me or let me find my sanctuary elsewhere.”

“Korac, try. Like I showed you—”

I struck Miy with a loud crack. I felt it run through me like electricity. Her cry was a mixture of surprise and something else. The something else appeared on the features of her face as she turned to look at me. Wide eyes. Lips parted. The welt on her back glowed.

Oleen pulled ice from a machine and pressed it to the mark.

While Miy still faced me, her eyes rolled back as she sucked through her teeth. With her shudder, a delicate perfume filled the room.

My instructor clarified, “The ice is after care. As essential as the pain itself. Do you understand? This kindness after is part of what separates Miy’s experience from the torture the prisoners inflicted on you.”

Miy returned to herself long enough to quip to her sister, “You should open a school.” To me she asked, “Again?”

I raised the crop and boldly answered her with my full gaze. “Again.”

She shivered, but turned away and gave me her back.

After another hour, Miy confessed she was late for her shift and said, “I will speak to Triss and volunteer myself for his practice.” Her eyes caught mine before leaving. “When you have matured, we will discuss other instruction for which I find myself wanting to volunteer.”

I nodded, not entirely understanding her, but I understood a modicum of peace for the first time. Serenity, even.

Oleen gawked at her sister’s retreating back before tsking. “The women here are terribly deprived. How do you feel, Korac? A few more sessions, and I believe the prisoners can attend your needs rather than you attending theirs.”

I felt… better. Better than when I killed, even. To an extent, the killing wasn’t necessarily in my control. It was in self defense. But this… this was mine. I found I wanted it. “I am ready to learn more.”

“Good. Tomorrow we can work with more intricate instruments—”

A knock sounded, and Oleen answered it. I lowered my eyes at the sound of Triss’ voice. And, to my surprise, perfectly shined white shoes appeared. Black pants. That’s all I saw.

“Thank you, Oleen, for your lessons.” The man made the use of her name sound special.

“Of course, sir.” Oleen even curtsied.

Triss pushed me toward the door and waved goodbye. “Tomorrow, then.”

During the walk back to my empty room, I considered the change in my fortune. And I feared it. In my brief life, all the kindness shown to me was lies. No matter how sincere Oleen seemed, I couldn’t trust her. And this quiet walk to my quarters behind the well-dressed man and the Executive Warden wasn’t a stroll in the snow-filled yard.

It was a flex. A reminder of my place.

The man—Razor—assured me along the way. “If you provide this exclusive service for the asking prisoners, without incident, we can increase your time outside to two hours a day. And Triss will grant you one special favor a year. Does that sound nice?”

It did, but after his last reassurances about the drone brought me to Eternity—twice—I only offered him a non-committal nod.

“Good. Here we are.”

My cell was one bunk beside a ratty bureau that acted as clothing storage. A single book lay beside the bed. A fairytale from the girl, two cells beneath me and who helped me after the first drone attack. She called it Elden’s Verse, but I couldn’t read.

I bet the well-dressed man’s closet was more spacious than my cell. His bed enormous and filled with warm company. Bookshelves lined with digital reads. Beautiful trinkets everywhere, mementos of his travels to exotic worlds.

I nudged the book under my bed with my foot and kept my head low to hide my shame.

In her typically conflicting maternal habits, Triss dressed me in what passed for pajamas. She picked me up and laid me on the bed as if I weighed nothing. “Sleep well, contaminant. More instruction awaits you tomorrow.” Gently, she pressed her palm to my crown.

It was the first time in my memory that someone tucked me in. To hide my tears, I rolled onto my side, giving them my back.

I heard Triss walk toward the cell door, and Razor called to her, “Stay. I have business with you here. An Imminent need.”

Their messy kissing sounded not two feet from my weeping. The negotiation of cloth brushing aside. Her ever-increasing moans. The sounds of his ego inflating with his favorite acolyte worshiping him.

While I cried at my loneliness and neglect, they fucked in my cell. Got off to my misery—

[SS]: Hey. What do ya know? We hit six thousand words, and I dictated we take a break. Got me some more snacks. Got us both some more hugs. I am so happy I killed Razor. Okay. We’re ready to go.

In that one day, I understood the pleasure in pain. In inflicting it. In reveling in it. All kinds of experiences involving its release, and I understood more than enough people took a release from me. From that day forward, I would take mine from the backs of my abusers.

And I would enjoy it.

Thoroughly.