The room was silent, but Eva could feel the hum of the machines behind the walls, the hidden network of surveillance cameras, the all-seeing eyes of the Conglomerate, watching her every move. She sat in a metal chair, cold to the touch, her reflection barely visible in the darkened glass of the one-way mirror in front of her. Her wrists were still sore, the marks from the restraints a reminder of her captivity, though they had finally released her arms. They wanted everyone to see the marks on her body. The guards stood outside the door, ever-present, silent, and menacing. A reminder that more bruises could always be easily arranged. She was docile, there was no need for more pain.

The tablet was still in her lap, its cold surface glowing faintly with the last remnants of her former life. She scrolled through the images—photos of her in glamorous dresses, posing on balconies with glittering cityscapes behind her, the perfect influencer. Eva Volkov. The untouchable. The woman millions wanted to be, wanted to follow, wanted to emulate. The woman soon to be despised by all. Conglomerates and rebels alike.

Now, all that glam felt like a distant dream, as though it had belonged to someone else. The smile in those pictures felt hollow, shallow, a reflection of something that had never really existed. She had been a performer her whole life, and now they were asking for one last act. One final performance. To end her career with a bag full of shit. On fire.

The door slid open with a hiss, and the interrogator stepped in. He was different this time—his expression less severe, his stance more relaxed. Behind him, a small team followed: a woman with a makeup kit, a man holding a small camera, and another with a clipboard. They were setting the stage.

“It’s time,” the interrogator said, his voice even. “You know what to do.”

Eva’s stomach churned. She nodded but didn’t say a word. The woman with the makeup kit moved forward, brushing foundation over the bruises on Eva’s face, erasing the physical signs of the torture she had endured. But the makeup couldn’t erase the weariness in her eyes, the deep lines that had formed from days of mental torment. She felt like a doll being prepared for display, a hollow shell. She thought they wanted to show the bruises. But that was just for the people there to spread rumors, she thought.

Her mind raced as the camera man set up his equipment, adjusting the angles, ensuring the lighting was just right. They wanted this to look perfect. Controlled. Propaganda at its finest.

The interrogator approached her again, this time leaning in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You’ll admit your guilt, Ms. Volkov. You’ll tell the world that you were used and misled by the rebels, that they hacked your stream with your help, but you realized the mistake. The dishonesty. The unfairness to the Conglomerate, that gave you everything. And still, we are forgiving. So you’ll thank the Conglomerate for saving you, for rescuing you from their lies. And you’ll urge your followers to remain loyal to the Conglo-Hive Mind. Do you understand?”

Eva didn’t respond at first. Her throat was dry, her mind a whirlwind of fear, anger, and resignation. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. She knew what this was. She knew what they were doing. But she also knew she had no other choice. The alternative was worse—erasure. Disappearing. She had seen it happen to others. Once they were gone, it was like they had never existed.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Yes,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Yes, what?” He said.

“Yes, sir”, she hissed in defeat.

The interrogator straightened, satisfied with her response. He gave a curt nod to the crew, who finished their preparations and then positioned themselves behind the camera. The woman handed her a glass of water, which she gulped down eagerly, though it did nothing to soothe the tightness in her chest.

The camera man signaled to the interrogator, who gave her one final look before stepping back. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

Eva stared at the camera lens, her reflection distorted in the glass. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. This was it. This was the moment she had to let go of everything she had built. Eva Volkov was about to die, right here, in front of millions.

She took a deep breath, forcing the words to the surface. “I… I want to start by saying… I’m sorry.” The words felt foreign in her mouth, bitter and strange, like poison. “I let you down.”

She swallowed hard, her voice wavering. “I was… misled. Manipulated by the rebels. They… hacked my stream, used me to spread their lies. I didn’t know what was happening. I—” She stopped, the words catching in her throat. “I was used. But the Conglomerate saved me. They… they protected me.”

These words felt more like venom instead of poison, she was now both a rat and a snake. Prey and predator. A poisoned woman injecting venom in every person in the audience.But survival was all that mattered now, wasn’t it?

Eva’s hands trembled slightly as she continued. “I want to thank the Conglomerate for… for their mercy. For rescuing me from the rebels’ influence. I urge all of you to remain loyal, to stand with what’s good, what has been protecting all of us from what’s outside. They are our only protection against the chaos outside, the destruction the rebels want to bring. The anarchy, the drug, the violence.”

The camera man nodded, encouraging her to continue. She had to sell it. Sell the lie.

“They… they will stop at nothing,” she added, her voice barely a whisper. “The rebels don’t care about any of us. They just want to destroy everything we’ve built. Don’t let them win.”

Eva forced a smile, though it felt like her face was cracking. She held it, waiting for the camera to cut, waiting for the moment to end. But it didn’t. The camera stayed on her, the interrogator watching intently.

“Say it,” the interrogator ordered softly from behind the lens. “Say you were wrong.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I was wrong,” she whispered. “I was wrong to doubt. To question. To bite the hand that fed me.”

She wanted to scream, to rip the camera from its stand and tear the whole set apart. But she couldn’t. She had to survive. She had to hold on, even if it meant tearing herself apart in the process.

Finally, the camera man gave a thumbs up. The recording was over. The performance was complete.

Eva slumped back in the chair, her chest tight, her body trembling with exhaustion. She had done it. She had sold the lie. But it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a funeral.

The interrogator approached her again, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Well done, Ms. Volkov. The Conglomerate thanks you for your service.”

He then calmly raised his hand and slapped her in the face. Her mouth filled with blood instantly, her eyes watering. Eva didn’t respond. She didn’t have the energy. All she could feel was the cold, gnawing emptiness that had taken root inside her.

As the crew packed up their equipment and left the room, she was once again alone in the silence, the flickering light above casting shadows on the cold concrete walls.

Eva Volkov was gone. And in her place, there was only the glimpse of a ghost of who she had once been. She had no more cheeks to turn, no more flesh to give, no more words to say. The room was indeed empty.