A few hours had slipped by since the council adjourned. Now, in Revic's private chamber,
The room smelled of sweat and synthetic silk.
Dim lights cast a soft gold haze over the walls, tracing the outline of a wide bed tangled with discarded sheets. The silence wasn't peaceful — it was heavy, charged with something unspoken.
Revic stood near the glass wall, shirtless and dressing with deliberate slowness. His movements were precise, unhurried — adjusting his collar, fastening cufflinks — eyes half-lidded, lost somewhere between thought and calculation.
Behind him, the five girls lay sprawled across the bed, naked and still. Their flawless skin gleamed faintly in the low light. Their faces held neutral expressions, but their eyes remained open — unfocused, distant. Dolls waiting to be picked up again.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
This was all part of the design.
Not just obedience. Not just performance.
Pleasure when given. Reward when earned.
Even if their bodies ached beneath the surface. Even if their minds screamed quietly behind locked doors.
Revic glanced over his shoulder.
"Good work tonight."
The words were casual — but to the girls, they struck like lightning.
A sharp pulse of programmed satisfaction surged through each of them. Breaths caught. Spines arched almost imperceptibly. Not from affection, not from desire — from conditioning.
Selica felt it like a crack down her center.
A heat ignited in her chest — foreign, synthetic. Her body betrayed her again, flooding with false joy at his approval.
She swallowed hard.
And yet somewhere in the back of her mind, a whisper lingered: Do it again. Make him say it again.
She hated that voice.
But it never faded.
The others showed no outward sign. But Selica could tell. Their muscles tensed just so. Their breathing was too shallow. They were overwhelmed, drowning beneath the code that told them they were loved — because they had been used.
Revic turned away, buttoning his shirt with steady hands.
"Get cleaned up. Briefing at 0600. You'll be reassigned."
Without a backward glance, he exited.
The door slid shut with a soft hiss.
The silence left behind was heavier than before.
Selica sat up slowly, sheets slipping from her bare skin. She didn't bother covering herself.
What was the point?
She looked down at her hands. Perfect. Flawless. Designed.
He doesn't see us. Not as people. Just property. Creations.
A month ago, I was someone else.
Now, I'm a product—thanking him for being used.
She turned her gaze to the others.
None moved.
That made it worse.
A few seconds passed, fragile as glass.
Then, Mia's voice broke the stillness, soft and bright.
"He praised us," she said. "Said we did good."
She flopped onto her stomach, kicking her feet, face glowing.
"I love when he says that. Don't you?"
"Obviously," Nova replied, brushing her hair in smooth, mechanical strokes. "Means we were useful."
"We're always useful," Lyra added, stretching. "That's the point."
Selica watched them. Glowing, but not from pride — from something deeper. Built in. Gratitude. Purpose.
Because they pleased him.
Because they were used.
Not just on missions.
Completely.
"He always knows how to use us," Nara said, buttoning her suit with a faint smile. "That's what makes him different. He doesn't waste what he owns."
Selica wondered if she should pity them — or envy them.
They dressed easily, joking softly, smiling as if blessed.
"I call the mirror first!" Mia said, darting toward the closet. "My hair's a mess. Can't look bad standing next to boss."
Selica pulled on her uniform slowly, each motion feeling disconnected — as if her hands weren't hers.
They were happy because they needed to be.
Because they were built to be.
And I'm no different.
That smile he gave us… it made me feel real.
She clenched her jaw, zipping her jacket.
"Hey, Selica," Nara said, noticing. "You okay?"
"Just tired," Selica said, nodding.
"Same," Nara said, tossing her a hair tie. "But briefing's soon. We have to be perfect."
Selica caught it without thinking.
Perfect.
Useful.
His.
The rhythm was easier than the questions.
A soft chime sounded.
Lyra clapped her hands.
"Mission today. Let's move."
The others snapped awake. Boots hit the floor. Hair tied back. Uniforms adjusted.
No hesitation.
Just motion.
"Finally," Nova muttered, zipping her jacket. "Sick of waiting."
"Combat?" Lyra asked, strapping on gear.
"Probably," Nara said. "Boss wouldn't wake us early for a delivery."
Selica said nothing, pulling on gloves one finger at a time.
They moved out.
Five girls stepping into whatever came next.
Outside, the sea wind cut sharp across the metal deck.
The ship groaned beneath hidden upgrades — armored hull, scanning scramblers, secret compartments.
Two black-suited guards stood by the gangway, rifles resting easy.
A third man — lean, gray-streaked hair, synthetic eye — waited beside a private skiff.
He watched the girls step onto the deck in near-perfect rhythm.
"They're more lifelike than I expected," he murmured, adjusting his tie.
Revic stood beside him, hands clasped behind back, eyes on the horizon.
"They don't need to impress. Just work."
The man nodded and motioned toward a younger officer holding a datapad.
"Mission briefing. Priority clearance."
The datapad projected a photo.
A man. Early fifties. Dark beard. Sharp eyes. Scar across his brow.
"Kalen Strath."
"Target is Strath. CEO of Lunatech Systems. Linked to four anti-Spiral factions. Speaking at a private gala in Sector 7 tonight."
"Your job: eliminate him. Quietly. No panic."
"Clean. No witnesses."
A floor plan flickered into view.
"We insert you as guests. IDs handled. Escape route through second-floor staff corridor."
The girls said nothing.
The man paused at Selica.
"Understood?"
She nodded once.
"Confirmed."
The others followed with curt affirmations.
The man looked to Revic.
"They ready?"
Revic didn't look away from the sea.
"They were born ready."