The Santiago estate sat on the edge of the cliffs like a tomb made of glass and bone. Victoria moved through the shadows of the perimeter, her tactical suit humming with a low-level stealth field. But even through the tech, she felt the air thickening. The frequency was here—not a sound, but a physical weight pressing against her temples.
"I'm in," Victoria whispered into her comms.
"Stay sharp, V," Elizabeth’s voice crackled, sounding miles away. "The biometric readings in that house are... they’re too steady. No one’s heart rate is spiking. It’s like the whole place is breathing in unison."
The Living Statues
Victoria breached the heavy oak doors of the grand foyer. She expected guards, dogs, or laser grids. Instead, she found the Gallery.
The room was bathed in a sterile, violet light. Lined up against the marble pillars were the missing women. They were completely nude, their clothes piled in neat, discarded heaps at their feet. They weren't huddled in fear; they stood with a haunting, military posture.
As Victoria walked past, she saw their faces. Every single one of them had their eyes rolled back into a milky, porcelain white. Their expressions were fixed in radiant, vacant smiles, their chests rising and falling in perfect, synchronized rhythm.
One girl, a track star who had vanished three weeks ago, was kneeling in the center of a velvet rug. Her hands moved in a frantic, mechanical blur—she was masturbating, her fingers following a rapid, synthetic tempo that seemed dictated by the pulsing violet lights. She didn't moan; she hummed a flat, monotone note that vibrated in the back of Victoria's throat.
"Elizabeth... they're hollow," Victoria breathed, her hand trembling as she raised her watch to scan the room. "They're not just captives. They're... they’re running a program."
The Conductor’s Reveal
"A very observant guest," a voice drawled from the mezzanine.
Victoria spun, her hand glowing with a spark of gold energy, but it sputtered and died as a sharp Tick-Tok resonated from the house's built-in speakers.
Mr. Puppet stepped into the light. He wasn't a monster; he was a man in a bespoke charcoal suit, holding a tablet that flickered with the same violet hue as the girls' eyes.
"You see 'hollow,' Victoria. I see 'optimized,'" he said, his voice calm and philosophical. "Why struggle with the chaos of human emotion when you can have the serenity of the machine? Look at them. No anxiety. No pain. Only the rhythm."
The Loss of Autonomy
Victoria tried to lung forward, but her watch let out a piercing, high-frequency scream. The "lost time" from the hallway returned, but this time, it didn't let go.
She felt the connection between her brain and her limbs snap. Her legs locked into place. Her arms, once ready for combat, drifted down to her sides with a haunting, robotic grace.
"No..." Victoria gasped, her internal monologue screaming, but her mouth was already beginning to curve upward.
She watched, a horrified passenger in her own body, as her blue eyes rolled back, the iris vanishing into that terrifying, milky white void.
"The temple is empty," Victoria’s voice betrayed her, speaking the mantra of the Gallery. "My truth is the Master's voice. I am happy to be a doll."
"Excellent," Mr. Puppet whispered, tapping a command on his tablet. "Now, Victoria... show the Gallery how a hero sheds her skin. Strip. Join the collection."
Victoria felt her fingers reach for the seal of her tactical suit. She was mentally fighting, clawing at the dark walls of her mind, but her hands moved with a shivering, blissful precision, beginning to peel the armor away from her shivering, porcelain skin.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.