The Branding
Chapter 3: The Branding
They came for her at dawn.
The lights overhead flared, banishing all shadows from the facility floor. A single tone rang out—sharp, sterile, inhuman. Then the restraints released from her wrists and ankles with a hiss. Not freedom. Just transition.
Two guards stood waiting. One male, one female, both wearing black armor trimmed in red. The female held a data tablet, eyes scanning coldly.
“Subject 17. Scheduled for Branding and Presentation.”
Ameena said nothing. Her body ached from the night before—every nerve still humming from the neural stimulation. But her spine remained straight as they shackled her wrists in front of her and clipped a collar around her neck.
The metal was warm. Engraved with a number.
#V-0037
They marched her down a corridor—white walls, red lights blinking in rhythmic pulses. The branding chamber wasn’t hidden in darkness. It was glass-walled, visible from the observation decks above. A message to the other women: This is what happens to you. This is who you are now.
The chair at the center was designed for exposure and restraint. As they strapped her in, the front panel of her gown was sliced open. Her breasts bared. Her thighs parted.
She clenched her teeth, refusing to show shame.
The technician returned—same woman from before. Red coat. Sterile hands. Smiling like she enjoyed her work too much.
“Don’t struggle,” the woman cooed, brushing a gloved hand along Ameena’s inner thigh. “It leaves uneven burns.”
Then came the branding iron.
It wasn’t a rod. It was elegant. Precise. Laser-heated with a symbol: a crescent moon encircling a “V.”
Voss’s mark.
Ameena’s breath caught.
Not a number. A possession.
The device hissed. Heat built. She felt it coming before it touched her flesh.
Then—burning. Blinding. Blistering.
She bit her tongue until blood flooded her mouth.
Still, no scream.
The technician leaned down afterward, inspecting the mark just below her hipbone, then whispered, “Commander Voss wanted it visible. You’ll wear his seal like a crown.”
The door opened behind her.
She knew it was him before he spoke.
The room changed. Even the air stiffened.
Ameena lifted her chin. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking away.
Commander Voss stood tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black military formal wear with blood-red insignia stitched at the collar. He had the face of a man who had never been told no. Early forties, pale skin, dark eyes that seemed to see everything and feel nothing.
He stepped closer.
“You’re stronger than they said.”
His voice was smooth. Calm. Almost gentle. Which made it worse.
She didn’t answer.
He circled her like a predator who wasn’t in a rush to eat.
“They think fear is the best motivator. Pain. Humiliation.” He paused, brushing a fingertip near the edge of her fresh brand without touching it. “But I’ve found some women break more exquisitely under seduction.”
She met his gaze. Her voice was rough, but steady.
“I won’t break.”
He tilted his head.
“Oh, you will. But not the way they think. I don’t want another hollow doll, Ameena.” He leaned down. “I want you fully conscious. Fully aware. When you beg… I want you to mean it.”
Her stomach twisted.
He stood and looked toward the technician. “Dress her. She’ll dine with me tonight.”
Shock rippled through the room.
The technician’s eyes flickered, almost… uncertain. “Sir, protocol doesn’t—”
“I’m not asking.” His voice cut like glass.
Then he turned and walked away, not looking back.
As they began dressing her in a black silk slip—clearly made for presentation, not comfort—Ameena heard a whisper near her ear.
The female guard. Quiet. Almost invisible until now.
“Don’t fight him head-on,” she said quickly. “He’s different. Twisted. But he likes games. If you play it smart, you might survive long enough to burn him from the inside.”
Ameena blinked.
A secret ally.
She didn’t know the guard’s name. Didn’t even see her face.
But for the first time since the red X appeared, something in her chest flickered.
Hope.
Twisted. Dangerous. Barely alive.
But hope, nonetheless.