britishers

The last time he saw her was just before the Night of a Hundred Heads, when he had been brought to the War Room. Her head was shaved back then, but since her fall from grace, it seemed she was letting her hair grow.“Unhand me, you godless bastard!” she hissed, trying to loosen the iron grip on her throat.

He extended his control throughout his body, first adjusting his position in his chair, then, while pouring sweat, he lifted himself up and got to his feet. Just standing up straight and remaining upright was a challenge. Back when he first unlocked his clone ability, he remembered having to reacquaint himself with every muscle required for standing and balance, and those first few steps were like all the times he learned to walk as a baby. All that experience was invaluable. Soon enough, he was circling the room, tweaking the awkwardness out of his movements.

“Now, what’s in here, I wonder? Liquid pleasure, which will enslave your mind and bend you to my will for the rest of your life, offering everything you have for another taste? Or maybe it’s a vicious toxin that will have you screaming and writhing in pain, biting your wrists in an attempt to kill yourself, with every second feeling like a lifetime spent in the heart of a bonfire? Pick a vein, and let’s find out. Or…” He brought the needle right up to her eye, making her shudder in terror. “I can always go in through the mucus membrane. Yes, that sounds like fun. Now take a deep breath and think of home.”