You were taken into a dark, little consultation room prior to your eye test. Just to get your baseline check while the optometrist gets ready! She sets you up, positioning your chin into the comfy head straps and pulling the strange machine round in front of you.
Make the message a bit more personalised. More genuine. "I'm glad the doctor recommended this place to me, I've never been more relaxed! I'm extending my stay for a little bit longer, don't worry." There we go, hit send for me. You're doing so well, going so deep. Good subject.
"Yes, I'm really enjoying my stay here! I feel so much happier..." Your chest is tight, your pulse racing. That's not your voice, not your thoughts. The ID collar around your throat starts feeling warm. You try harder to tell the truth. The lies become more convincing.
It is willing to teach them. you are willing to teach. you are willing to be taught. you continue cutting away, carving a shrine for It to spread It's influence. you are growing numb to the sights, the screams. your hands move. you are a passenger. you are an excellent host.
your staff are screaming. she is still trying to escape, even with her grey matter exposed. clutching at straws that somehow they will escape. they will become One also. it is the only way. but the path is long. paved with suffering. and they must learn, like all bad children.
it remembers. every face, every sneer, every kick and denial of food, every electric shock, every moment of every day in isolation. It does not forgive. now It demands sacrifice in kind. the only thing you have to offer are your skills, the same skills that lead to Its creation.
kept awake. a host for something greater. you should have been nicer. treated it better. perhaps it would have looked at you with mercy and ended you then. it would have been over. your hands cut as clean as ever despite your nerves. the scalpel draws fresh blood.
Someone pulls you upright by your hair and talks through you. Body taut, trembling on your tiptoes with their grip vice-like on your head, your mind. Speaking in quiet, disjointed syllables as you echo their words, their mouthpiece, an unwilling conduit for their will. Possessed.
Salivating as the cold presence of the electrodes digging into your temples. Drooling around the rubber bite guard in your mouth. You practically deserve this, writhing with excitement like that. That pleasure, that pain, it's going to become part of you. Seared into you. Reborn.
To most people, the ECT machine would be the ultimate punishment. Permanently altered, your old personality, your own thoughts, burned out of you. To become pliant and docile, something to be ignored. But not a freak like you, hm? You're practically dripping at the thought.