Simon Grant ran twenty miles with a hundred pound backpack. By the end he didn’t even throw up his food anymore, although the mixture of bile and blood that he had last vomited out had never really been food in the first place. Slime and grime caked his face as he wondered idly how it was possible for it to be both dusty and humid. 

Even the bottled water tasted bitter, the tangy plastic taste leaving a layer on his tongue that reminded him of the way it had been processed for Maximum Rehydration. It was hell. His muscles were on fire, his eyes unfocused as all he could do was stare straight ahead in the blistering heat.

He would think — and talk about — this period of his life as the happiest he’d ever been. 

He wanted to die. 

Simon Grant was on the ground on a hill, the piece of glass in front of him covered with a piece of cloth just see-through enough for him, but just enough to obscure any possible scope glint. In the far distance, large rocks had been put on posts. At first it had been fruit, but then the fruit had ran out. Besides, rocks were better for the conditioning. One rock. Two rock. Three rock. Insurgent. Four hostiles down.

The recoil against his shoulder was a good distraction from the sick feeling in his stomach, the sense that he was eroding himself here, and that he was doing so deliberately. He hated this and he hated himself and that was why he stayed. 

He would tell himself that the death of his parents had led him down this path. 

He lied. 

Simon Grant was on his side in his bunk and tried to sleep. After the crash, a friend had reached out to him. Mentioned how joining up had helped him when he’d felt alone and aimless. It would be good for him. Getting a workout and being around other men, many of whom were in similar situations as Simon. It would instill a sense of camaraderie, of kinship, of brotherhood. 

Because of his friend, his hazing had been light. Because of his build — Simon had never been particularly small — the bullying was practically non-existent. So when he saw others in his barracks receiving a treatment that he would have always been spared, he tried to close his eyes and ignore the muffled cries coming from the next bunk over. 

A hand touched his face. His eyes shot open. There was nothing out there in the dark, and yet it looked at him. So, the darkness said, this is where you go when you really want to hurt yourself. I’m impressed. Simon closed his eyes again. This was a memory and not real and Stygia had not even been there, she couldn— Can’t what? 

His eyes fluttered open again. The shadows were much, much closer now. He could vaguely see the outline of something humanoid, his eyes trying to focus on the darkness and failing. 

Stop, Stygia said. You’re missing it. Simon didn’t look behind him, tried to tune out the whimpering. She didn’t let him. A hand on his jaw, firm not like that of a parent disciplining a child, but harsh and cold like rusted rebar, wrenched his head to the side. 

He knew what was there, of course. His memories included enough of the hazing ritual for him to form a clear image in his head, and his imagination had done the rest. The new recruit, tied face-down to the four posts of the bed with his own clothes. The guys surrounding him made a big show of making it look like he was going to get branded, sexually assaulted, or both. 

Look, look closely. You can see him quivering. You can smell his sweat. He’s terrified. Simon was rolled over all the way, forced to look at the scene, by a pair of strong hands made of shadow and darkness, being held into place. He felt a figure behind him, her voice in his ear like sand on glass. Why is this where your trauma starts, Simon, hmm? Stygia asked. Cold fingers touched his skin, threw the covers aside. 

“No,” he begged softly. 

Sorry, I’m in here now. She chuckled. Could it be that you hate these memories so much is because you can’t stop thinking about them? Her voice was next to his ear. He could feel her cold, clammy breath on his skin. Because you can’t stop thinking of yourself there, on that bed, in his place? Tied down? Threatened? 

She paused, ripped his clothes off, and then very gently slid a hand under the skin of his chest, ripping it like paper, and moved it up. If the other hand on his throat had not strengthened its vice-like grip, he would have screamed. As it stood, he couldn’t even breathe as her hand reached up to his collarbone, slowly tearing away the outer layer of flesh. 

You wish that was you, don’t you? You want to be branded and owned and fucked, don’t you, Simon? She hissed and then… backed off. Breath filled his lungs and his skin healed instantly — this was a dream, after all. Her hands were still keeping him in place, though. I was just going to hurt you, you know. Turn your entire body in pain receptors and set it on fire until eternity. But now I have much more interesting ideas. That rabbit hole of yours goes so deep, Simon, and at the end of it lies oblivion and I think you’ll thank me when we get there. She laughed, very softly, like a spider might. Maybe that is my purpose.

He felt the hands roll him over onto his back. He felt exposed but still couldn’t move. He couldn’t see anything. There was only darkness above him, and yet he felt looked at. He could hear her laugh in his ear, a pressure on his body like something pushing down on him. 

You know, even in here, Stygia said, I can’t shake that feeling of wrongness. I think that’s the price I have to pay for being in your body. I hate it. He felt claws run over his skin. You put so much work into these muscles and you despise them. You hated every second you were here and became Simon Grant. You were so miserable, I could stretch a moment to infinity and feed like a queen every day. But well, that’s not enough.

“What do you—“ Simon started, trying to find a face in the darkness, something to talk to, something to bargain with. Someone to beg. To his horror, he finally found one, an inch from his face. Cruel eyes on a cruel face, with a smile that would put a shark to shame. And far too many teeth. Her face was much too large. He felt her weight on him now, taking his breath away again. She was twice the size of a normal person and she deliberately pushed down on him, grinning from ear to ear. Something popped in his pelvis as his legs dislocated. And through a haze of pain his waking mind would have tried fainting at again, he saw her. Naked in the darkness, skin like an oil slick, constantly moving, reflecting what little light there was. She towered over him. He’d never felt so small before. 

So many questions, Simon. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. For now, I’m going to make your dreams come true. She lifted herself up just enough to spin him around so his face was pushed into the pillow and he could no longer look up at her visage. Her clawed hands pinned him down and raked across his back. It was like the palms of her hands were made of razors, slashing his flesh to ribbons. This time he screamed, into the pillow. He felt even more hands around his wrists and ankles, holding him down as her weight lowered onto him again, his spine bent at an unnatural angle. Don’t you want to get fucked, Simon? She said. He felt something hot and heavy rest on his lower back. Something wet. Something sharp. 

“Nghhhh,” he wailed, but his mouth was full of cotton and his mind was full of fear. 

Bite the pillow, sweetheart, she said, and something was shoved into the small of his back, wrenching his spine in half and pushing through his guts. Oh, that’s good, Stygia said. Her hands leaned on his shoulders, holding him down as the appendage was shoved into him, ripping him apart. The rhythmic thrusting, her animalistic breathing in his ear, and tears running down his face. I know, Stygia said. I know. I can feel it. I can feel it coming off of you. Poor Simon wants this to be over. Simon is in pain. Simon is scared. Do you want me to stop? 

He tried to speak but couldn’t. He tried to move, but couldn’t. He tried to think. He couldn’t. 

Don’t worry, Stygia said, her voice soothing as it all fell away, darkness filled everything and pain slowly ebbed. You don’t have to say it. You don’t even have to think it. I can feel it. 

Her hands, so soft, so strong, picked him up. He was held up against a giant shape that was hot to the touch, so hot it almost — but not quite — hurt, like a freshly drawn bath. She was so much larger than him he was a doll in her arms. Simon cried. Shame. Pain. Fear. They were constant companions now. 

Shhhh, Stygia said, it’s okay. Her voice was soft and gentle. I understand you, Simon. Better than you understand yourself. Why one moment of shame self-amplifies in a lifetime of self-hatred and you never, ever thought to look under the hood. And now, like a little toy, you are broken and nobody to put you back together again. He felt a pair of lips against his forehead. Except me.

A feeling rose in Simon’s throat. Consciously, he was aware of what she was doing, what she’d done to him, but it didn’t stop the feeling and there was really no point in keeping anything from her anyway. “I want it to stop,” he said quietly. 

I know, honey, she said. I’ll make it stop. He felt something in his head, an unpleasant, writhing pressure, like worms or bugs rooting around, squirming. I’ll make it all go away. Simon was about to protest, but then again, why would he? He felt fine. Why would he even have thought about protesting? She was going to help him, after all. Help him forget…

Help him forget.

Help him forget what?

“What did I forget?” He asked softly as he stood in the darkness. Stygia’s voice drifted around him like the faint traces of perfume. 

Nothing to worry about, love, she said. A bad dream.

“Oh,” he said, and then realized that he didn’t want to remember bad dreams if he had them. “Thank you, then.” He was vaguely aware of having experienced something truly painful, but he couldn’t remember what. She must have been thorough, he thought. He was grateful.

Good, she said. Good. But there’s still pain. Her arms coiled around him from behind again. You have deeper pain and I think we’re going to have to fix that, too. 

“What do you mean?”

You’re hurting, Simon. I think you’re broken, and I don’t think forgetting about it will help. 

“So what then?”

Simon is the problem, Stygia said. Let’s get rid of Simon.

“What does that mean?” He asked. He was aware of a pit in his stomach. 

Sweetheart, you are strung together of pain and misery and fakery. And that’s all something Simon did to you. Her hands ran across his body and that same discomfort bloomed all over. Was that something she was doing to him? No, Stygia chuckled. No, that is all you. That’s Simon. You want me to take it all away. I can take it all away. Would you like that?

Her skin was so soft against his. Her form firm but gentle, pressed into his back. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, please.”

I would like for you to say my name, love.

“Take Simon away, Stygia. Please. I’m begging you. Make it go away. All of it.” He turned to face her. Even in the darkness he could see her, outlined clearly, her form so tall compared to his. She was kneeling, so they were roughly eye to eye. 

She didn’t say anything, just reached out, gently cupped his face. No more name, she said, and kissed him. Her mouth was firm against his and when she pushed his open he could feel her teeth, razor sharp. A tongue forced its way into his mouth and he didn’t even have the strength or the will to push back. She tasted like smoke as it reached out, exploring, almost gentle until it shoved its way forward. His jaw was wrenched open and a mass of writhing flesh was pushed down his throat, making it impossible to think or breathe. Her hands were all over him, nails drawing white hot lines of pain and pleasure and guilt and shame across his skin. There was that strange, discomforting feeling in his head again, and, and, and, and, and, and and and a

Good, Stygia said to the creature in front of her. It was dismantled. It barely understood anything, but it understood that Stygia had unmade it and had taken away a pain deep inside. If only it remembered how to speak. Don’t you worry about that yet, little one. She stripped away its flesh slowly, like she was undressing a doll. It didn’t have the strength or capacity to withstand it, letting the pain wash over it in waves. She tore at it, slow at first but faster and faster, like she was in a frenzy, until she was stripping away muscle and sinew and bone in a glorious crescendo of agonized flesh.

And then it felt something new. It didn’t know what it was, but it had a body. Not one it was familiar with, but a body nonetheless. It looked down. There was something there, a faint memory of a muscle that was rough, hairy, strong. A sense of pain. A faint sadness came over it.

Oh dear, Stygia said. Missed a spot. Would you like me to get that for you? The figure looked up at her in confusion but nodded. Good, she said, and a second later the pain and whatever had been the cause of it was gone. It looked up at her in gratitude. Do you want to say something, pet? It nodded. Speak.

“Thank you,” it said. “What… where… who…”

Oh, sweetheart, you don’t even have a name. Having a name like that, a body like an insult, it was just causing you pain. It made it hard for you to think. Even now, if you think really hard, there’s probably some of that still left in there. 

It thought, frowning to itself. There was something there. The memory of a discomfort. It wrapped its arms around itself and marveled at the softness of its skin, the sensitivity of its flesh. “Yes,” it said.

You don’t want that, do you?

“No.”

No. Could you do me a favor, love? It nodded. Could you bark for me?

“Woof,” it said, and the smile on her face made it feel a happiness it couldn’t imagine it had ever felt before. It knew that making Stygia happy would make it happy.

Good girl. Come here, little one, no name. She held her arms open. I’ll make you feel good. 

It smiled and walked into her embrace, and its last thought was one of warmth and happiness.

I’ll make you feel good, Stygia said, to the creature in her arms. I’ll make you feel the most beautiful, sweetest pain the universe has ever witnessed.

Stygia stretched as she sat upright on the floor of the laboratory. The torture of the thing formerly known as Simon Grant continued in her head, and thanked her for the pleasure of it. It made her whole body tingle. She’d made some adjustments, of course. Simon had hardly been ideal. But now it was strong, lithe. Powerful. Her pet would supply her with all the sustenance she needed for a very long time. Standing up, she walked over to a terminal. Simon’s old memories had not been completely destroyed. Just dissected. Punching in a few codes, she requested emergency transportation off this rock. There was a whole universe to explore out there. Billions of people. So much food. So little time. 

As the confirmation was sent back, she looked down and chuckled, realizing she was stark naked. There had to be a woman’s shirt somewhere on this outpost.