The light overhead flickered, casting a sickly glow on the cracked concrete walls. The hum of the machine in the corner was relentless, its presence more oppressive than the guards who flanked her. Eva’s wrists ached, her whole body tense, stressed. The coarse restraints biting into her skin were the least of her problems, and she knew it. Her body felt like one giant bruise—raw, broken, and exposed. Were they going to kill her? Rape her? Forgive her? No, no, no… don’t be stupid, Eva, she thought. There’s no positive outcome here. She sounded like Sofia.

The interrogator, a tall man in a military uniform, paced slowly around her, the tap of his boots echoing off the walls. He stopped and crossed his arms, watching her like that strange kid who liked to burn insects with a magnifying glass. A superior being inspecting an inferior specimen. His expression remained cold, clinical.

“Tell me again, Ms. Volkov,” he said, voice calm but sharp. “What was your role in this so-called glitch?”

Eva swallowed, her throat dry and swollen. “I told you,” she rasped. “I had nothing to do with it. I’m not involved with the rebels. I have always worked with you. I’ve been useful to the Conglomerate.”

The interrogator raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe that? Yes, the Conglomerate paid you well. Gave you shiny things, tasty-tasty food, and plenty of wine. It has even allowed you to change your skin, so to speak. Yet you, a woman with connections everywhere, with access to cyber security experts, a whole team of minions, and millions of followers, just happened to have your live stream hacked by accident?”

“Yes,” Eva said, her voice a broken whisper. “I swear, I wish I could prove it. If your IT guys look into it… I’m sure I could find an expert to explain how this happened. I have no tech knowledge, otherwise I would’ve proven it myself.”

The interrogator let out a small laugh, a sound devoid of humor. He moved closer, looming over her as he crouched to meet her gaze.

“I’m sure you could find someone to prove it was all just an unfortunate event, and you, a victim,” he repeated, tasting the word. “Accidents don’t happen when millions of people are watching. Coincidence doesn’t cause systems to fail at precisely the right moment. Let’s say you didn’t actively cause or allow the glitch. You were used, Ms. Volkov, whether you like it or not. You’ve become a symbol. People are already graffitiing your fine figure on Conglomerate walls, defying our cameras, our men, our guns.”

Eva’s stomach churned at his words, the gravity of her situation settling in deeper. Her mind screamed at her to deny it all, to push back, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she remained silent.

The interrogator straightened, gesturing to a nearby table cluttered with papers, tablets, and screens. He flipped one of the tablets toward her, the screen lighting up with a detailed list of transactions, numbers scrolling down the screen.

“These are your assets,” he said coolly. “Bank accounts. Real estate holdings. Investments.”

Eva’s heart sank. She had known, deep down, that they would seize everything. But seeing it laid out in front of her, so coldly, so efficiently cataloged—it was like a punch to the gut.

“Everything you’ve worked for,” the interrogator continued, “is now in our control. Your penthouse in the central district, that vacation home on the coast—gone. Frozen. You have nothing, Ms. Volkov. Nothing except your face and your name. And right now, both are being used by that scum.”

Eva’s lips parted, but no sound came out. She could barely process what he was saying.

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“Do you know how easy it is,” the interrogator said, his voice growing colder, “to erase someone like you? A name is just data in a system. A number in a bank account. A public persona. We could wipe you out with a single keystroke. Easier and cleaner than shooting you.”

He tapped a finger against the tablet, the screen flickering ominously. The message was clear: they had complete control.

Eva’s mind whirled. Her influence, her power—everything she had spent years cultivating—was nothing more than fragile data, malleable to their whims. Her life, once the epitome of luxury and control, could be dissolved in seconds.

“But,” the interrogator said, snapping her back to the present, “it doesn’t have to be this way.”

Eva frowned, her cracked lips struggling to form words. “What… what do you mean?”

The interrogator leaned against the table, his eyes gleaming with a kind of predatory satisfaction. “You can still be useful, Ms. Volkov. The Conglomerate doesn’t just erase people like you. We’re smarter than that. There’s still milk to be milked from your tit.”

She recoiled inwardly. He knew how to use his words to make her feel like an object, livestock, merch.

He clicked on the tablet again, this time pulling up a series of images from her past—pictures from her time as an influencer. Videos of her promoting products, smiling to the camera, her perfect life broadcast to millions. The algorithm never failed to present her as flawless, untouchable.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the screen, “is why you’re still here. You see, Ms. Volkov, you’ve spent years building this public persona. People trust you. Admire you. Look up to you—for no reason whatsoever, let’s be honest. You’re not an expert in anything; you just sold stuff for your own benefit. Creams, necklaces, images, ideas—whatever suited you at the time. You never crossed a line, true, but you never really embraced the Conglomerate either. And now, with a little… re-education, you can serve the Conglo-Hive Mind.”

Eva’s blood ran cold. The term—Conglo-Hive Mind—struck a chord. She had heard it in passing, a piece of corporate jargon, a propaganda tool the Conglomerate had started pushing to encourage collective loyalty over individual freedoms. It was meant to unify the masses, a subtle way of framing allegiance to the Conglomerate as a moral imperative. But there was something sinister behind it—something designed to crush dissent, to suppress any form of individuality that might threaten the system. Individuality could only exist if it served them, simply put, the famous us and them.

She stared at the images on the screen, her former self smiling back at her, oblivious to the chains she had placed on herself over the years. “I…” she stammered, her voice barely audible. “You want me to work for you again? After all of this?”

The interrogator smirked. “Not quite the same as before, Ms. Volkov. We want you to do one more live stream. Only this time, you won’t be promoting products. You’ll be promoting the truth. Our truth.” Eva’s heart skipped a beat. “The truth?”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” the interrogator said, moving closer. “You’ll be publicly admitting your guilt. You’ll tell your followers that you were part of this glitch, that the rebels manipulated you. And then, you’ll thank the Conglomerate for saving you. You’ll denounce the rebellion and urge everyone to stay loyal to the Conglo-Hive Mind.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. They weren’t just going to destroy her—they were going to make her the tool of her own destruction. She would be their puppet, their mouthpiece, and in the process, she would lose whatever remained of her dignity.

“I won’t do it,” she whispered, her voice shaky but defiant. “I won’t say I’m guilty of something I didn’t do.”

The interrogator raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have much of a choice, Ms. Volkov. The Conglomerate doesn’t forgive. And believe me, if you refuse, you’ll be wiped from existence. Erased. Both figuratively and literally. But if you comply—if you show the world that the rebellion is a threat to the collective good—you might still have some value left. Maybe we will be generous enough to let you become the true image of a traitor’s repentance. A prime beggar. A fallen angel. Milton would write books about you if he were alive. But I digress… of course, someone like you probably never read a book—maybe just lotion labels. Or worse, rebel propaganda.”

Eva’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling with exhaustion, fear, and rage. She was trapped. They had stripped her of everything, and now they wanted her to betray whatever shred of integrity she had left.

The interrogator’s gaze hardened as he straightened. “You’ll make the right choice, Ms. Volkov. For the sake of your survival. And for our dear Conglomerate. After all, you might do some good for our splendid society. Maybe you can even benefit a little bit on the margins of it, where you’ll belong if you’re smart and play ball. Begging with that face must be better than choosing to add a bullet hole to it.”

He motioned to the guards, signaling the end of the session. As they moved to take her back to her cell, Eva’s mind raced. The Conglomerate was going to force her to become their weapon, their mouthpiece against the rebellion.

But the words he had let slip—Conglo-Hive Mind—stuck in her mind. She had seen what they could do. Seen how fragile power and wealth were, just illusions held together by public perception and data. But she had also seen how easily it could all crumble. The system that had built her was the same one that could tear her apart.

And now, she had to decide—submit and fall from the heights of grace, or die and probably have her image used either way. Control. They had control. She had the illusion of choice, but there wasn’t much of a choice in reality. Reality was whatever the Conglomerate wanted it to be. She knew it. Sofia knew it. Everyone knew it. Just those idiot rebels didn’t know. Assholes. And because of their ignorance, she was ruined—or worse.