"Rein Ashlin hereby forfeits her civilian rights, freedom and autonomy. From this day forth, she will be known as v.0429, property of VirtuNet."

They shoved me forward, barefoot and half-naked, into a cube that stank of bleach and battery acid. The lights above shone a hard white that eliminated all shadows from the room, the kind that made your skin look diseased no matter how attractive you were. The floor hummed beneath my bare feet as if the whole room were alive and eagerly waiting to swallow me whole.

Glass walls boxed me in. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors multiplied my pitiful state into infinity. I tried to keep my gaze lowered, but out of the corner of my eye I could see the pitiful state I had been made into. Dark, frizzy hair clung to my pale sweaty skin in tangled clumps, the only clothes I wore were a paper gown that was practically see-through with the amount of sweat and moisture soaking into it.

Behind those mirrors I knew they were watching. They were probably eagerly anticipating what it would feel like to process someone who had once sat in the room as them. Some of the more sadistic pricks were probably drawing sticks over who would get to personally shove me into the machine. How many of them really believed the spiel that they were 'offering a path to correction' and not plainly sending people to their deaths? Hell, I was once one of those naive bastards who only saw a villain in need of redemption.

"Keep walking," a voice said behind me, flat and emotionless. I didn't need to turn to see who it was.

"Desi," I said, my voice cracked as I spoke.

I turned my head to see her reflection standing behind me. Dark eyes that stared at the back of my head with a look of hatred I didn't even know she could have. Her blonde pixie cut stuck up in messy chunks as if she had to electrocute herself to get up this morning. This was not the same girl I had once known. The same girl who used to sneak into X-rated testing rooms together. The same girl who used to hold my hair back while I puked up stolen vodka in a park toilet. The same girl who'd just spent last week crying about being dumped.

"Desi, you know I didn't—"

"Don't talk to me, you murderer," she spat out. "You don't get to speak, you are nothing to me." Then she shoved me. Not hard, but hard enough that I stumbled and had to catch myself before I took a faceplant—yeah, that would have been the best way to finish a fan-fucking-tastic day.

"V.0429 will not speak, or we will be forced to administer punishment," a man said as he entered the room.

I bit back any words as I knew he was serious. He probably wanted me to push the limits so that he could take the pleasure of taking my voice as well. I dropped my gaze to the ground, trying not to look at the new man, but he moved in front of me and I couldn't help but notice what he held in his hand.

The man, probably mid-forties, wearing a white labcoat and buzz-cut hairstyle, held a black box. It was non-descript, plain, with just four metal walls with only a hole at the top. A shiver ran down my spine as I recognised it and I had to force myself not to take a step back.

"Desmona Fitzgerald, you are to initiate the processing of v.0429." The man held out the black box towards Desi.

"It would be my honour," Desi said as she took hold of the box. "V.0429, you are hereby stripped of all autonomy and will be processed for the full immersion Villain Rehabilitation Program. From this point on, the person named Rein Ashlin is dead." Desi grabbed my hand and shoved it into the hole in the top of the box.

With a metallic whirr and click the machine came to life. Pain surged through my hand as it felt like millions of tiny teeth biting into my wrist. My fingers convulsed and my hand burned, but I refused to scream. I bit down on my inner gum until the coppery tang of blood filled my mouth. They could control everything else about me, but they would not see me scream.

After around a minute had passed the machine shuddered as it released my hand. 

I pulled my hand back. The mark on my wrist was red and raw, still seeping with blood and pus. A black tattoo angrily stared back at me:

v.0429

Desi leaned in, close enough I could feel her breath. "I hope you rot in hell for what you did to Aira."

That name sent a shiver surging through me. My sister. I hadn't even seen her body, I was just told she was also dead. I was told I had killed her.

Desi moved behind me and ripped the paper gown off me. "Subject v.0429 has been processed and will begin integration into the system." She moved over and pressed a button on the wall that caused the floor beneath me to move. The mirror in front of me lifted, revealing a thin corridor that had nothing but mirrored walls on both sides and holo-screens that hung from the ceiling that sparked to life the moment I entered the corridor.

The screens showed a cheery, overly bright cartoon of a murderer that turns into an inmate that turns into a villain in a fantasy world with the words 'Which Path Will You Choose?' scrolling beneath the cartoon.

I braced just in time as hoses lowered from the ceiling.

A jet of water slammed into my ribs like a frozen fist. My breath ripped out of me in a ragged gasp. Before I could find it again, another blast smashed into my spine. 

Left. Right. Up. Down. The hoses struck with industrial force, slamming jets of ice into my ribs, spine, thighs, until everything below my jawbone buzzed with impact. My arms twitched uselessly, pinned by cold and pressure. I collapsed, knees hitting steel. Not in surrender—just defeat.

My hair hung in sodden ropes. Every nerve flared red. My breath shook. My body trembled.

“Welcome to the VirtuNet Villain Rehabilitation System,” the voice chirped, synthetic and chipper, like it was reciting from a manual instead of sending me to die. “You have been selected to participate in an immersive, therapeutic narrative experience.”

Selected. Sure. If that's what you call this humiliation.

"Your assigned role: Villain. Through story-driven engagement, you will have the chance to reflect, redeem, and rehabilitate. Make the right choices... earn a second chance at life.”

Second chance. Is that what comes after my death?

The platform lurched. I slid forward on trembling limbs—conveyor-style. Just cargo now.

Two techs waited at the end. One held a controller, his gaze flicking to a display I couldn’t see. The other lounged against the pod frame, eyes bright with mean interest.

“Well, well,” he drawled, “if it isn’t our little prodigy.”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. My jaw locked on instinct.

Then the ceiling hissed open and I didn't even see the needle as it struck the back of neck as fast as a viper's bite—cold metal punching deep, followed by a rush of molten wire through every inch of me. I screamed.

And kept screaming—until my voice broke into a moan as the pain gave way to heat. It ripped through my bloodstream, twisted the pain into pleasure, every nerve dancing as though I'd just been electrocuted.

It felt good.

It shouldn’t have.

And I hated myself for it.

My body sagged, trembling. My spine arched, hips twitching against the floor, breath coming out in ragged gasps. Everything felt distant and bright and oh-so-wrong as if I wanted more. 

"Fuck," one of them muttered, laughing. "You hear that? She sounds like she's ready to beg."

“Get up,” the second one said. 

But I refused to listen to them.

“I said up,” he repeated.

A button beeped. My limbs jerked like a marionette yanked by its strings. Hands shoved against the metal floor. Feet planted. Spine straightened. My arms dropped neatly to my sides like a machine run through diagnostics.

“Still sluggish,” the second muttered.

“Don’t worry,” the first replied, tone too casual as his fingers danced over the pad. “She just needs a little calibration.”

Then his hand left the controller. And found me.

He started at my side, fingertips brushing ribs still sore from the hoses. His palm slid over my waist—slow, testing, as if gauging heat, tension, breath. Then higher. His fingers curled over my breast and squeezed.

I couldn’t flinch. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.

Every nerve sparked. Every muscle twitched under the skin.

And all I could do was take it.

He leaned in close, lips brushing my ear. “You know,” he whispered, “your father died cursing your name.” His thumb skimmed the underside of my breast. “Didn’t scream much. Just stared—like he knew it was your fault.”

My breath caught, shallow and ragged. He trailed lower, fingers skating across the curve of my stomach.

“But your sister?” he murmured, sliding closer—his chest against my arm, voice thick with mock reverence. “She begged. Sounded just like you. Had that same slutty look in her eyes.” His hand moved again—fingertips brushing the seam of my thigh, creeping toward the space no one should ever touch.

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to bite my tongue clean off.

I wanted to kill him.

“But you just had to stick your nose in,” he hissed. “Had to play detective. Had to ruin everything.” His hand tightened, possessive. “So now? Everything that happens in there? That’s on you.”

He stepped back, smirking like he’d left a signature. “Pain, pleasure... all tuned. Just right. Perfect little puppet.”

“Cut it out,” the first tech said. But he was grinning.

“Don’t worry,” the man whispered. “You’ll get your grand finale after all a so-called genius designed this story. The betting pool’s already live. Some say you’ll break in a week. Me? I give it three days.”

He stepped back.

The first tech tapped the controller again.

They man tapped on the controller and my body turned until my back was facing the pod and then I moved back, one step, then another, into the pod. I couldn’t stop it.

The inside was padded and cold. The restraints clicked into place, one by one.

The second tech leaned close again. “You were made for tragedy, little genius. Hope your ending’s worth the wait.”

The pod sealed.

"Immersion Initiating. Please Remain Calm," a voice echoed around me.

A countdown flickered in front of my eyes.

00:00:10

00:00:09

00:00:08

Fluid rushed in at my feet, like wobbly jelly. It climbed my legs. Crawled my waist. Wrapped around my chest.

I gasped, which I realised was a stupid mistake as liquid filled my mouth. The gel slipped down my throat, into my nose, my lungs. My body spasmed once, then went still. Panic screamed inside me.

"You are not drowning," the voice said in a calm voice. "You are simply entering stasis. Your body will survive as long as your mind does. Your mind will survive as long as your body doesn't die in the immersion."

The last thing I felt was the weight pushing into my ears.

“Welcome,” the voice said softly, “to the Villain Rehabilitation Program.”

Then the lights went out.