Chapter Text
Facilitator Log – Ohrus-Sael
Breeding Assembly Internal Record – Tier 3 Clearance
Designation: Subject 0427-LS-83
Facilitator: Ohrus-Sael | Genetic Rank: Tier 2 Successor
Phase Initiated: Physical Preparation — Direct Contact Protocol
Subject remains compliant through enforced stasis. Verbal resistance recorded but within anticipated variance.
Pupil dilation: high. Breath cadence: erratic. Vocalization: continuous, fragmented, and escalating.
Muscle tension observed in jaw, pelvic girdle, and shoulder girdle. No active aggression.
Dermal hue: flushed. Olfactory signal: altered post-cleansing. Adrenal levels elevated.
Contact initiated at standard entry points (clavicle perimeter, lower abdomen). Subject responded with tremors and audible distress.
Vaginal secretory response measurable by midpoint of initial scan. Secondary scan confirmed heightened tactile receptivity.
Subject vocalized resistance at multiple intervals and used the Facilitator’s identifier. Screamed at one. Noted: a pleasing resonance. Standard neural override not deployed. Assessment: unnecessary.
Note: Subject attempted eye contact repeatedly. Correction applied through simple repositioning.
Imprint Risk Assessment:
Negligible.
Subject exhibits no sign of pair-bond delusion or transference.
Facilitator maintained full emotional null. Tendrils remained bound.
Deviations:
None.
Recommendation:
Union viable. Proceed without sedative this cycle. Monitor for residual psychosomatic resistance.
Filed by:
Facilitator Ohrus-Sael
Successor to High Regent Tharien
Tier-3 Elite Breeding Corps
Emotion Index: Zero
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Observation Log – High Regent Kaelen Tharien
Breeding Assembly | Internal Use Only
Designation: 0427-LS-83 | Subject Status: Reassignment Evaluation
Observer: Kaelen Tharien
Access Level: Prime Clearance (Tier-1 Override Protocols Enabled)
Session: Facilitator Introduction — Ohrus-Sael
Session Summary:
Subject 0427 was exposed to Tier-3 Facilitator Ohrus-Sael for reassignment suitability assessment. I was instructed to observe without intervention. The session was recorded and archived under Reassignment Protocol 7-C.
Subject entered in passive resistance state: shoulders tense, oculars narrowed, verbal output defiant. Emotional volatility within expected high parameters. No sedation was administered.
Facilitator proceeded with Phase Initiation Touch Assessment. Contact included:
Cervical collarbone tracing
Sternal pressure index mapping
Lower abdominal ovulatory zone scan
Subject verbalized resistance at multiple intervals. Screamed at one.
Tearing observed:
Minor dermal abrasions.
Micro-muscle rupture consistent with force and stillness under restraint
Throat strain from vocalization
Aftereffects (immediate):
Shallow breathing
Ocular water discharge (non-allergic)
Tremor in lower limbs post-release
No verbal output following final contact
Facilitator marked the session as “successful.” I do not concur.
Recommendation:
Subject requires immediate aftercare:
Full hormonal stabilization protocol
Neural soothing loop (Duration: no less than 72 Terran hours)
Solitary cycle with warmth modulation and non-invasive presence protocol
This was not evaluation or assessment. It was damage.
[REDACTED – PRIVATE OBSERVATIONAL ENTRY]
I’ve read Ohrus’s report. Twice. The phrasing made me ill. That wasn’t science or Union preparation. This was something else. Something hungry.
I could not continue to watch. The fact that others could, and did so, was alarming to me for reasons I can’t quite explain.
I looked away after the second sound. One that did not match any known Terran pleasure response. It was thinner. Torn. As if something vocalized only by instinct had slipped through her resistance.
The forced entry was rough. Multiple tissue tears resulted. When offered sedation, Sael declined, deeming it unnecessary. ‘A waste of precious resources,’ he said. ‘Let the Terrans scream.’
When the subject attempted to turn and face him, no verbal correction was issued. Ohrus struck her until she averted her gaze.
The sounds of this experience may stay with me. Haunt me.
I began reciting the manual like scripture in my head to remove myself entirely. It didn’t help nearly as much as I had hoped it would.
I recorded my biometric spike as a malfunction in the observation sensor. That was a lie.
My palms were slick with sweat. My pulse exceeded all mandated thresholds for neutral observation. My stomach turned. I retched after.
It was not the food.
Against protocol, I watched her feed as I waited for the medical wing to bring her back. She was returned to her holding like a broken Terran doll, discarded after rough play. Her eyes were vacant glass marbles reflecting nothing. Her limbs were arranged in unnatural angles, not from physical breakage but from some deeper fracture of will. The tremors that wracked her body came in waves, violent enough to rattle her teeth yet somehow contained, as if even her suffering had learned to make itself smaller. Her skin had taken on a gray pallor beneath its natural hue, and when the door sealed behind her, she didn't flinch at the sound.
The woman who had spat defiance just hours before now lay curled into herself, a creature hollowed from the inside out, breathing only because her body hadn't yet received permission to stop.
Ohrus-Sael was… brutal.
Unnecessarily so that I felt the need to review his previous assignments, and what I found horrified me.
But he had done what I could not. Therein lies the immediate problem.
He succeeded.
And now she could end up assigned to Ohrus until the next Ascendancy Ceremony in two years.
It.
It could.
I have no words for what that knowledge presses upon me.
Only the pressure.
Only the slow, rising suffocation of it.
[END REDACTED SECTION]
«⟪—⟫»
I didn't move for a long time after they returned me. Minutes. Hours. Days. Time had collapsed.
I didn't move because I couldn't move. My body contracted, folding inward like origami made of bruised flesh, as if it had reached a final conclusion: personhood costs too much. My muscles seized. The skin between my thighs burned raw. Each breath fluttered shallow in my chest, afraid to disturb the air.
The space between my legs felt shredded. Not torn open, but abraded, like velvet dragged backward across concrete. His fingerprints lingered, invisible brands pressed into tissue. I heard it still. The sound that broke from my throat when he forced my body to betray me. The climax he extracted while I begged him to stop.
There is no word for this violation.
Not in any human language.
Not in the clicking consonants these monsters use.
I didn't cry at first. The tears waited, patient predators.
But I shook. The tremors began in microscopic places: the hinge of my jaw, the corners of my eyelids, the beds of my fingernails. Then it spread like poison through my nervous system until my entire body became a seismograph of trauma.
I curled tighter. Smaller. Tried to compress myself into nothing. Hide the wetness. Erase the evidence. Pretend the body he touched belonged to someone else.
If no one came, I could vanish. Dissolve. Melt into the sterile floor atom by atom until nothing remained but a damp outline. My cells would separate like sugar in hot water. My bones would soften to paste. Just flesh without resistance.
Maybe that's what they wanted all along.
Maybe that's what every Terran on this Gods forsaken rock had become. Not people but vessels. Hollow shells scraped clean of everything human. Husks of once-living creatures left to dry in the sun like cicada casings. A spider's abandoned molt still bearing the perfect impression of what once lived inside it.
We were ghosts trapped in meat, haunting our own bodies while they used us.
That’s when the door opened.
The chamber walls hummed. White noise designed to sedate. I didn't hear him enter over the mechanical lullaby, but his scent hit me like a slap. Faint ozone. Smoke and metal mingling in the sterile air. Kaelen.
I kept my head down, face pressed against the cold surface. Let him see the aftermath. Let him witness what remained of me. Let him turn and leave again.
Silence stretched between us like a wound. His footsteps whispered across the floor until they stopped at the edge of my sleeping platform. Through the tangled curtain of my hair, beneath the shield of my arm, I watched him. My vision blurred with hate. He clutched three items in his long-fingered hands.
A flat dermal patch, clinical and white.
A vial of regenerative salve that caught the light.
And a vial of cool-gel blue as a drowned sky.
He lowered himself to one knee with the careful precision of someone approaching a cornered animal. The items made no sound when he placed them on the ledge beside me. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone. Those tendrils coiled against his skull like living wire, pulsing with tension. Every movement calculated, restrained. A man defusing a bomb. A penitent at a grave.
I should have kept my eyes closed. Should have feigned unconsciousness until he left. Because when he finally spoke, I knew I would break.
"I can tell by your breathing patterns that you are, in fact, not sleeping. It is imperative we speak." His voice sliced through the silence with surgical precision, but beneath its measured surface churned something darker.
"I don't need your aftercare. Your medical unit already patched me up."
The wince that crossed his face lasted less than a heartbeat. A tiny blip. A flaw in the noble polish.
"That may be so. This is not standard issue. It speeds healing by eighty percent. Available only for treatment of the highest-ranking Virexari."
"Oh, don't I feel so special." I rolled away, spine a wall between us. These pigs deserved nothing more from me. Not my face. Not my words. Not a single breath.
"This is not the reason I am here."
"I don't give a fuck why you're here, King."
Silence stretched until it snapped. He shifted his weight. His mouth worked soundlessly, a fish drowning in air.
"Visual and Audio disrupted." The artificial words rang through the air between us, cold and clinical. He’d… cut the feeds. Acid started to rise in my gut.
"Yesterday... witnessing that was... abhorrent."
The word caught in his throat. He gagged on it before he finally got it out. I turned back to see his face drained of color, charcoal gray faded to ash.
"It is my fault. I was unable to perform. Hence, Facilitator Ohrus's presence and participation. Physical preparation is imperative to the Union."
Diplomatic garbage. Half-truths wrapped in protocol. The tears burned hot in my eyes while rage made my voice splinter. "You couldn't violate me, so they sent someone else to do it for you."
"This is not... that is..." His words dissolved into nothing. Something behind those alien eyes cracked open. Expanded. Ruptured.
When he spoke again, each word fell like stone. "It will happen again. Failure to complete physical preparation will result in reassignment. Repetition of prior trauma: statistically guaranteed. Imminent."
Bile rose in my throat, hot and acrid. My hollow stomach convulsed. This was my existence now: a body to be passed between predators, a vessel to be emptied and filled at their convenience.
"Please." His gaze locked onto mine, pupils dilating within those alien irises. Words tumbled from him in a desperate cascade, each syllable hushed against the sterile air. "I do not wish for that to happen again, but the statistics are absolute. It will happen. And this malfunction inside me, this glitch preventing protocol completion, means I cannot proceed without your explicit consent."
"Why pretend it matters which monster violates me?" My voice scraped raw from my throat. "What possible difference could it make to you?"
"It doesn't have to be… that. I possess privileges. Privacy during our first… acclimation. Control over the environment." He leaned closer, tendrils pulsing against his skull. "Once you are moved, no audio or visual surveillance. None. You could have some level of agency in your suffering."
"Tell me what you gain from this arrangement. The truth."
He went still. Calculating. Recalibrating.
"My credibility. My viability. My functionality within the hierarchy." His voice dropped lower. "None of which concerns you. What should concern you is this: privacy, comfort according to your specifications, and consent before contact. No Virexari has ever offered a Terran such autonomy."
Something flickered behind his eyes. A current beneath frozen water. An emotion without classification.
"Please, small Terran." Urgency threaded through his words. "Observation resumes soon. Can you trust me enough for this?"
My mind screamed refusal while my body betrayed me. Throat constricting. Hatred burning through every cell. Yet the memory of those other hands, those cruel fingers digging into my flesh, made this devil's bargain seem merciful.
Gods forgive me.
I told myself I was choosing the lesser evil, but I knew better. I wasn’t winning anything.
I was only selecting the monster that would take its time with my bones. One that might hollow me out a little slower.
Another realization struck me like a blade between my ribs, twisting with sickeningly sweet promise: he needed my consent. Craved it. His alien eyes had begged for it. Maybe I could use this to my advantage.
“Fine,” I said finally as I nodded. “But you don’t get to call this mercy, and you aren’t a fucking savior.”
He didn’t speak again. Simply gave me a curt nod and retreated.
As the door closed behind him, I picked up the salve and slammed it hard against the wall. I’ll keep the gel, though. I’m not a total masochist.