- Joined
- Oct 31, 2009
Morgan looked over his creation one final time. Making sure everything was in order before the Precious Princess was to arrive. It was a warehouse at one time - since abandoned and emptied. But he outfitted it in a way that might make the designers of Guantanamo Bay jealous. Or at least - that's what he thought. All the cages and chains filling the room, and all the whips and riding crops hung on the wall, combined to create what Morgan viewed as a work of art. He wouldn't just use this room for Katherine - no, Katherine, the girl he hated so, was just a test subject. If his program was a success, he would go on to reform what he saw as the scum of the earth.
He heard the van pull into the concrete room. He turned to it, and looked on as the back doors were opened. His sleeping beauty was laying there - unconscious, still dressed in the outfit she was wearing when she was attacked, and knocked out with a healthy dose of chloroform. He had her taken out of the van, and layed on the concrete floor.
She was on her back, arms outstretched with her black hair strewn across the concrete. Like the angel the media made her. He took out a knife, and knelt beside her. His intention was not to damage her dark skin, but rather to damage the expensive little outfit. He cut, and cut, until the outfit was in shreds and no longer covering her curvy, youthful body.
Beside a support beam, Morgan had a bucket of water. Ready for her. He grabbed it, and tossed the cold water onto her nude body. It was to wake her up. He took a step back, and crossed his arms as he looked down, waiting for her to wake up, so that her re-education could begin.
He heard the van pull into the concrete room. He turned to it, and looked on as the back doors were opened. His sleeping beauty was laying there - unconscious, still dressed in the outfit she was wearing when she was attacked, and knocked out with a healthy dose of chloroform. He had her taken out of the van, and layed on the concrete floor.
She was on her back, arms outstretched with her black hair strewn across the concrete. Like the angel the media made her. He took out a knife, and knelt beside her. His intention was not to damage her dark skin, but rather to damage the expensive little outfit. He cut, and cut, until the outfit was in shreds and no longer covering her curvy, youthful body.
Beside a support beam, Morgan had a bucket of water. Ready for her. He grabbed it, and tossed the cold water onto her nude body. It was to wake her up. He took a step back, and crossed his arms as he looked down, waiting for her to wake up, so that her re-education could begin.