The Cage of Conscience

When Olga reached the bed, she paused—unable to take that final step. Her knees shook. Her arms hung at her sides, lifeless. She drew a deep breath, as if preparing to dive into icy water, and turned to face Vadim. Their eyes locked—but where she searched for even the smallest trace of humanity, she found none. Only the same indifferent mask.

Do you even understand how revolting this is? – she whispered. “How can you do this like it means nothing?”

Vadim tilted his head slightly, as if trying to process her question. But there was no pity in his face. No empathy.

How else would you have me do it? – he answered evenly, devoid of emotion. – You think anyone wants this? It’s a condition. The sooner you accept it, the easier it’ll be.

Olga exhaled sharply, but the fight had drained from her. Her breathing quickened. She bit her lip again to stifle another cry, then turned away from him and sat at the edge of the bed.

Vadim followed silently. His footsteps were muted in the tense stillness. He stopped close behind her, looming. His movements remained steady, his eyes focused, as if he were performing a task—nothing more. He didn’t say another word, but in his stance there was the unmistakable air of someone convinced that everything was proceeding exactly as it should.

The room, now choked with a suffocating silence, felt smaller than ever. The quiet was so thick it could be sliced with a knife. No one dared move. No one dared speak.

The invisible line between silent submission and the eruption of protest stretched thinner with every heartbeat.

Olga stood, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if to shield her body from Vadim’s gaze and her own humiliation. Her frame trembled faintly, and stifled sobs broke free from her throat. She tried to suppress them, but they betrayed her, piercing the silence of the room. Tears streamed down her face, dripping onto the floor, yet she kept her head bowed, avoiding the cold, piercing stare that sought her out.

Vadim stepped closer, stopping mere inches away, so close that she felt his presence like another blow to her already shattered state. He leaned forward slightly, peering into her face. The corners of his lips twitched, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling across his features.

Well, now, – he said softly, drawing out his words as if savoring them. – It’s just a game, Olga. Want it to end quickly? Then relax.

His voice was deceptively gentle, but a mocking undertone threaded through it, making her shrink further into herself. Olga said nothing, only took a step back, but her retreat was halted by the edge of the bed. She stopped, uncertain where to go next. She turned her face away, but Vadim wouldn’t let her hide. He closed the distance again, now almost pressing against her, and lightly touched her shoulder.

She flinched, her body freezing as if paralyzed. He leaned closer to her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper, yet no less cutting.

No need to be so dramatic, – he said. – No one’s going to pity you. This isn’t a place for weakness.

Olga recoiled sharply from his touch, but made no move to flee. She knew it was pointless. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks, her gaze fixed on the floor. She felt broken, trampled, yet forced to stand and endure whatever came next.

Vadim, by contrast, radiated unshakable confidence and composure. He raised his hand deliberately, reaching for the collar of her blouse. His movements were slow, precise, like a surgeon performing a routine procedure.

Olga tried to pull away, but her body refused to obey. She stood rooted, gripped by fear and despair, as her clothing slipped away under his cold, indifferent fingers.

Vadim watched her reaction with that same faint smirk, his eyes glinting as though her distress amused him. When her blouse fell to the floor, he stepped back, appraising her with that same mocking gaze.

There we go, – he drawled. “See? It wasn’t so hard.

His tone remained calm, but it carried a veiled taunt, as if he relished the power he held over her. Olga could bear it no longer. Her hands jerked up to cover her exposed shoulders, a gesture that only underscored her vulnerability. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if she stopped looking, it might all just end.

But Vadim didn’t stop. He sank to one knee, continuing to strip her of her clothing. His movements remained meticulous, but his eyes betrayed that he viewed this as little more than a tedious task. When he stood again, she felt the weight of his cold gaze once more.

Olga’s figure was slender and toned, with subtle, graceful feminine curves and slightly sloping shoulders. Her collarbones accentuated the elegance of her upper body. Her slim, faintly trembling arms appeared strong yet delicate. Her chest, of moderate size, had soft, rounded contours. A clearly defined waist flowed smoothly into hips that were slightly broader, lending her form a natural grace.

Her fair skin was almost porcelain, tinged with a faint flush that betrayed her inner turmoil. Delicate veins were visible at her wrists and ankles, adding a refined fragility to her appearance. Her firm yet not overly pronounced hips complemented her long, shapely legs, which were a natural adornment.

Olga’s body radiated a blend of fragility and inner strength, as if mirroring her complex character: an outward vulnerability concealing resilience and the ability to withstand fate’s blows.

Now it’s my turn, – Vadim said, as if stating the obvious.

He began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving Olga. Her breathing grew ragged, and she barely held back a scream. But she knew a scream would change nothing. She had learned that by now.

His movements remained steady, unhurried. He undid his cuffs, then slowly removed his shirt, folding it neatly and placing it on a chair, as if even this act was an extension of his composure. He squared his shoulders and cast a glance at the others in the room.

You’d better get used to it, – he said loudly, addressing them all. – This is only the beginning.

Olga’s sobs grew louder, but she didn’t move. Vadim looked down at her impassively, as if the scene unfolding had no personal bearing on him. He took another step forward, and she instinctively stepped back, only to find the bed behind her. A choked sob escaped her, her shoulders trembling like those of a cornered animal.

It’s going to happen anyway, – he said in a flat, cold voice, as if stating an indisputable fact. “The longer you resist, the harder you make it for yourself.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a fleeting spark of desperate defiance flaring in her gaze. But instead of words, another stifled sob broke free. Her hands fell limply to her sides, her entire being seeming to surrender. She could no longer speak, no longer argue. Tears streamed down her face, trailing onto her chest, but she made no move to wipe them away.

Vadim stepped closer, closing the distance entirely. He reached out, lightly grasping her shoulder, and before she could react, he pushed her forward with a sharp motion. She stumbled, her legs giving way, and she collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the sheets like a broken doll. Her sobs grew louder, though still muffled, as if she feared letting her pain fully escape.

Vadim silently climbed onto the bed and parted her thighs as she whimpered. Her cries were soft and stifled, like those of a child who knows resistance is futile. She tried to close her legs, but he forced them apart, pinning her down with his weight. He leaned close to her face, his hot, sharp breath grazing her cheek.

Submit,” he whispered, his voice rasping like gravel. – It’s the only way.

Olga’s body shook with sobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut him out, then gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles whitened, desperately seeking some anchor, some way to save herself.

But there was no escape. Vadim pressed her to the bed with cold, unrelenting force, and she knew fighting was useless. So she surrendered, yielding to the inevitable. Her body and soul shattered under the weight of his presence.

The others watched, their faces a mix of horror and helplessness. Igor gripped the edge of the table so tightly his fingers cracked. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t stop witnessing the violation of Olga’s dignity, her humanity. Nausea churned in his stomach, a mix of disgust and pity.

Without a trace of compassion, Vadim entered Olga swiftly and fully.

Her stifled sobs filled the room, starkly contrasting with his strained grunts. There was no tenderness, no empathy—only cold, mechanical efficiency. Each movement was a reminder of her powerlessness, a brutal assertion of his dominance.

Anna couldn’t look away from the scene unfolding before her. Her heart pounded wildly, and bile rose in her throat. She wanted to scream, to intervene, to do something—anything—to stop this violence. But she was frozen, her body paralyzed by shock and fear.

She knew any attempt would only worsen Olga’s plight. So she sat there, tears streaming down her face, her heart thundering like a drum.

Vadim, it seemed, sought to prolong Olga’s humiliation. Every motion was deliberate and merciless, as if he—not some disembodied voice—aimed to break her completely. Beneath him, Olga continued to sob quietly, trying to hold back her tears, but they flowed endlessly. She turned her head aside, hiding her face from him, from the others, from the world.

The room pressed in, heavy with oppressive silence. The air was thick with tears, despair, and powerlessness. Katya, unable to bear the sight, buried her face in her hands and wept softly. Igor, seated at the table, stared blankly at the laptop screen, his eyes unseeing.

At last, Vadim quickened his pace and, with the same ruthless precision, completed his task inside Olga.

He rolled off her, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her with an expression that suggested he had just finished some grueling labor. Settling into a relaxed posture, as though he had merely completed a routine chore, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. His gaze fell on Olga, tinged with a faint weariness that bordered on indifference. His breathing steadied, but his eyes held no trace of remorse or acknowledgment of what had transpired.

Olga, drenched in tears, her hands trembling, tried to rise. Her body seemed to defy her will: her legs quaked, her knees buckled. She collapsed back to the floor, exhausted, like a broken doll. Her hair clung to her forehead, and her gaze remained averted, as if she sought to hide her face from his eyes and from herself.

Vadim slowly shifted his attention to her. His expression carried neither pity nor malice—only a detached acknowledgment of the moment. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and with a faint smirk, said:

You’d better get up. We don’t have much time left.

His voice was even, calm, but the words landed with a heavier weight for it. It wasn’t a suggestion but a command, delivered with icy clarity, as though he were addressing not a person but a malfunctioning cog in a machine.

Olga froze, her shoulders heaving with rapid, uneven breaths. She didn’t immediately raise her eyes, as if searching within herself for strength. When her gaze finally met his, it held not only pain but something else—a quiet, unyielding spark of hatred. It was a challenge, faint but resolute.

She drew a deep breath, struggling to suppress another wave of sobs. Her chest rose with the effort, her fingers clutching the sheet convulsively. After a moment, as if by sheer force of will, she released one hand, straightened, and slowly, unsteadily, stood. Her movements were uncertain yet determined, like those of someone desperate to cling to the remnants of their dignity.

Olga didn’t look at Vadim again. She turned away from everything around her, including herself. Her legs trembled, but she stood, arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to piece together what was left of her strength.

The others sat in the corners of the room like shadows, caught off guard by their own powerlessness. None could remain indifferent to the scene, yet each coped in their own way. Katya, her face pale, had retreated to a corner. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She covered her face with her hands, shielding herself from reality, but the muffled sounds from the bed, cutting through the tense silence, were impossible to ignore.

Anna sat frozen on the edge of the mattress, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze, clouded with horror, fixed on the floor. She wasn’t crying, but her fingers trembled faintly, betraying her inner struggle. It seemed she wanted to intervene, to do something to stop this nightmare, but she didn’t know what. Her body was paralyzed by the realization of her own helplessness.

Igor, seated at the table, appeared composed, but his composure was laced with a tension bordering on despair. His eyes were fixed on the laptop screen, but his fingers remained motionless on the keys. He sat rigid, jaw clenched, unable to bring himself to glance at the bed. His shoulders trembled slightly, like those of a man straining to maintain control but on the verge of breaking.

As the tension reached its peak, a cold, mechanical voice sliced through the silence:

Result recorded: the participant did not achieve orgasm. Task failed.

The words were clear, leaving no room for doubt, resonating in everyone’s minds like hammer strikes. Katya let out a louder sob, covering her ears as if she could block out the voice. Anna lifted her head, glaring toward the speaker with a mix of indignation and powerlessness. Igor exhaled deeply, his face remaining impassive.

As per the experiment’s rules, participants who fail the task are immediately eliminated,” the voice continued in its mercilessly even tone. – Olga and Vadim are excluded from the experiment.

Olga’s tear-streaked face contorted, not in surprise but in despair. She had known this was coming, had felt it would end this way, but the reality of those words was too heavy to bear at once. Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t speak.

Vadim, by contrast, remained utterly unruffled. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on the mattress, the other casually smoothing his hair, as if it were part of some ritual. His gaze swept the room, as though daring someone to speak. But no one did.

That’s that, – he said quietly, almost to himself. His tone held no emotion, no regret—just indifference. Then he stood, squared his shoulders, and, without looking at anyone, moved toward the bathroom door.

Olga didn’t move. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her gaze fixed on the emptiness before her. She heard Vadim’s footsteps, felt him pass by, but couldn’t bring herself to react. When he paused at the door and glanced back at her, she slowly raised her head. Her eyes met his cold, impassive stare, and for a moment, her face twisted with rage.

You… you don’t even try to understand what you’ve done, – she whispered, her voice barely audible but steeped in raw despair.

Vadim merely shrugged, then looked at the speaker as if awaiting further instructions.

The voice sounded again, its steady, unyielding tone cutting through the thick, oppressive silence.

Participants Olga and Vadim, proceed immediately to the bathroom to conclude your role in the experiment.

The words made everyone shudder. Olga, still standing by the bed, flinched as if doused with ice water. Her eyes widened, her face slowly twisting in horror. She took a step back, shaking her head, as if she could flee but knew there was no escape.

No… no, I won’t go… – Her voice quivered, rising into a desperate cry. – Please, don’t make me… please!

She turned to the speaker, as if believing the voice could hear her pleas and reconsider. But there was only crushing silence in response. She looked to the others, her gaze darting frantically, searching for support in vain.

Help… someone, please, do something! – She sobbed, grasping at the air like a drowning person clutching at straws. But no one moved.

Katya broke into louder sobs, pressing herself into the corner. She covered her face with her hands, trying to block out the scene. Anna, still seated, froze: her reddened eyes stared into nothingness. She tried to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly. Igor stared at the floor, his hands clenching rhythmically into fists, yet he remained still.

Vadim, watching Olga with a stone-cold expression, finally stirred. His movements were slow but deliberate, as if accepting the inevitable with the same calm as the voice. He approached and caught her trembling hand, fragile as a leaf in the wind.

Let’s go, – he said evenly, almost in a whisper. There was no emotion, no sympathy in his voice—just another command.

No! Let me go! I won’t go! – Olga yanked her hand free, stumbling back. Her face was pale, her breathing ragged. “I can’t… I won’t!”

Her cry echoed through the room but went unanswered. Vadim, without another word, grabbed her wrist again. This time, his grip was firmer, unyielding. She tried to pull away, but her resistance was weak, almost hopeless.

Stop it, – he said, pulling her toward the door. His voice remained indifferent. – It’s going to happen anyway.

Olga let out a moan, her legs buckling, but Vadim held her up, refusing to let her fall. He dragged her along, almost carrying her, as she struggled feebly, pleading for mercy.

Please… please, no… I beg you! – Her voice broke, turning hoarse as she cried out.

As they reached the bathroom door, Vadim opened it and stepped inside without hesitation, pulling Olga along with him. She stumbled at the threshold, but he hoisted her up, gripping her arm tightly once more. Her cries echoed through the room until the door slammed shut behind them, leaving the others in a chilling, suffocating silence.

One second, two—and then came piercing, desperate screams. They were so loud, so raw, that the walls seemed to tremble with their force. The sounds tore through the air, curdling the blood in their veins. These were not mere cries of pain—they carried something inhuman, unbearable, as if a soul were being ripped apart.

Katya, unable to endure it, clapped her hands over her ears and curled into a ball, her sobs drowned out by heaving cries. Anna sat like a frozen statue, locked in her own horror. Igor clutched the edge of the table, his knuckles white with strain. Artem sat motionless, silent, but his face twisted with inner turmoil.

The screams gradually faded, dissolving into faint moans, and then silence fell. It was an unnatural, oppressive silence, as if the room itself had frozen along with its occupants. No one moved, no one dared breathe too loudly. All that remained was the echo of those cries, still ringing in their minds.

Chapter 6

Silence filled the room—dense, like morning fog over a swamp. None of the remaining participants dared to speak, as if a single word might awaken the nightmares of the previous night.

Anna sat on the edge of the bed, her face pale and exhausted, her eyes like empty mirrors reflecting only burdensome thoughts.

Katya was curled up on the floor, her face buried in her knees. Her shoulders trembled, and the occasional sob that escaped her filled the air with despair. Igor, hunched over, sat on a chair by the wall, his gaze fixed on a corner of the room, as if he were trying to tear himself away from reality. Artyom stood motionless by the window, staring into the darkness beyond the murky glass. His fists were clenched, and though his face was blank, it betrayed a storm of irritation and helpless rage.

Then came a sound—faint at first, like static from an old radio.

A cold, mechanical voice crackled through the speakers:

All participants must begin cleaning the bathroom. This task is mandatory. Failure to comply will result in punishment.

Each word carved its way into their minds, leaving behind a chill.

Katya jolted, clutching her chest, her terrified eyes darting around the room. But then she curled back in on herself, trying to hide from a reality too cruel to face.

I can’t go in there… That’s where it happened…

Her voice trembled, breaking apart with sobs.

Anna looked at her and slowly stood. She walked over, knelt down, and gently placed a hand on Katya’s shoulder.

We’re together in this. We’ll make it. No one will be alone.

Katya lifted her gaze—eyes full of tears and fear—but said nothing. She simply clung to Anna’s hand like it was her only lifeline in this waking nightmare.

Igor raised his head slowly. Though his face remained still, his voice carried the weight of exhaustion:

We just need to get it done. The faster we finish, the sooner it’ll be over.

Artyom scoffed, turning to face them:

As if they care. It’s just another one of their games. They want to break us.

Anna cast him a heavy, wordless glare of disapproval, but said nothing. Igor, however, replied sharply:

Then break. But don’t drag the rest of us down with you.

Artyom didn’t respond. He merely turned away.

They opened the bathroom door slowly, as if afraid of disturbing something lurking behind it. The heavy creak of the hinges shattered the tense silence.

The first thing that struck them was the smell. Faint, yet gut-wrenching. A metallic tang of blood mixed with the sour stench of decay. Katya slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her stomach from revolting.

When the door swung fully open, the sight froze their hearts.

Bloodstains covered the walls, the floor, the mirror—as if someone had flailed around in madness, their hands soaked in red, or thrown it wildly in all directions.