Aboard the colossal immigration-warship *Proserpina*, a cold war of shadows simmers beneath the hum of luminite reactors. Sion, an elite agent of the Remna Federation's Karna Division, infiltrates the ship's vast underbelly on a solitary mission with less than a 20 percent chance of survival. Trained to feel nothing, own nothing, and belong nowhere but to her mission, she navigates crowded corridors, back-alley information brokers, and hidden maintenance ducts in search of the data that could ti
Steel Chains of Sorrow - Cage of Pleasure
Last time, after Sylvie left, the interrogation room was quiet.
Only the low hum of the air conditioning continued, unbroken.
Sion sat motionless in the restraint chair. The metal rings fixing her limbs in place bit coldly into her skin. She couldn't move a muscle.
The places where that woman's fingers had touched just moments ago still felt strange. The nape of her neck. Behind her ear. The slight hollow of her collarbone.
(*What... was that?*)
It wasn't pain.
If anything, it was the opposite.
The moment she was touched, something deep inside her body trembled faintly. Her shoulders jerked involuntarily. That wasn't a reaction trained into her. It was something else entirely—something she hadn't even known about herself.
Sion clenched her fists tightly.
Her nails dug into her palms. She tried to sharpen her consciousness with the pain.
(*I'm an agent of the Karna Division. Selection rate: 0.3 percent. One of only 200 operatives. I trained for three years, to the brink of death. I can endure pain. There are countermeasures for any interrogation.*)
She told herself this.
(*So, I'm fine.*)
(*That was just a physiological reaction.*)
(*It doesn't mean anything.*)
But—
The words that woman had spoken as she left kept repeating in her head.
*"Goodnight, Sion."*
She had called her by name.
For the first time since coming aboard this ship, someone had called her by her real name.
And for some reason she couldn't explain, it felt as if the deepest part of her chest had been seized and squeezed tight.
(*Stop it.*)
(*Don't think about it.*)
She's the enemy. An interrogator.
She's trying to break my mind.
That's all. That's all it is.
Sion closed her eyes.
The color of the ceiling's inorganic light seeped faintly through her eyelids.
How much time had passed?
Thirty minutes. An hour. Maybe more.
Suddenly, she heard the door open.
The air shifted subtly.
Sion opened her eyes.
Sylvie was standing there.
Long, silver-gray hair. Dead straight, reaching down to her waist. Inorganic, pale blue eyes. Her small, 162-centimeter frame was wrapped in a loose uniform. On her left wrist, a small, old scar.
She gazed at Sion for a moment, then let the corners of her mouth curl up slightly.
"Did you sleep well?"
A mechanical tone. But beneath it, there was something else.
Sion didn't answer.
Unconcerned, Sylvie walked to the center of the interrogation room. In her hands, the usual data pad. And a small metal case.
She stood beside the restraint chair and looked down at Sion.
"Starting today, I'll be changing the interrogation method slightly."
She continued dispassionately, entering something into the data pad.
"Information extraction using neuroactive agents is certainly efficient. However, it's not very effective against professionals like you. Because you've undergone resistance training against drugs. And resistance to pain. Isn't that right?"
Sylvie's fingers manipulated the data pad.
The backrest of the restraint chair began to recline with a low mechanical whir.
Sion's body slowly tilted backward.
Her legs were raised, her knees bent. A semi-recumbent position—a defenseless posture halfway between lying down and sitting.
"Therefore, I will try a different method. A more... direct one."
She opened the metal case. Inside were disposable medical gloves. Thin latex, white gloves.
Sylvie slowly pulled them on.
Her slender, white, unusually long fingers were sheathed in latex one by one.
Her movements were like those of a surgeon before an operation.
"Your body will react honestly to every place I touch from now on. Regardless of your will. It's a part of you that neither training nor resistance can do anything about."
Sion clenched her back teeth.
(*Here it comes.*)
Sylvie placed her hands on the collar of Sion's jacket.
"First, I will examine your body."
Her fingers unfastened the buttons one by one.
Silently.
Efficiently.
Sion's chest was exposed to the cold air.
The taut line of her collarbone. The shoulder muscles sculpted by training. And, distinct from the scar running from her left temple to her cheek, numerous old scars.
Sylvie spent a while silently observing Sion's upper body.
"...This is..."
Her finger touched Sion's right flank.
There was an old knife wound there, running diagonally.
The cold sensation of latex.
"Three years ago. An infiltration mission in the Halsia system. A wound from when you were captured with restraints fitted with a blade. It's in the records."
Her finger traced the scar.
A strange sensation—ticklish, yet different—spread slowly from that spot.
"You removed those restraints by yourself. Listening to the sound of your bones creaking. Without asking anyone for help."
Sion bit her lip.
(*How much does this woman know?*)
Her personal records should have been completely erased before the mission.
And yet, she knew.
My past.
"And this?"
This time, her finger touched Sion's left shoulder.
There was a scar there too. Older. One given to her by an instructor during a mock battle back when she was still a trainee.
"First year of the Karna Division training program. During a mock battle, you dislocated your right shoulder, yet still crushed your opponent's throat and won. Three instructors recommended you be disqualified. Too dangerous, they said. But you survived."
Sylvie lifted her finger from the scar.
Then, leaning in slightly, she peered into Sion's face.
"You've been alone all this time, haven't you?"
Her voice was flat.
But those words accurately pierced a place deep in Sion's heart—a place she didn't want touched.
Sion averted her eyes.
(*No.*)
(*I'm not alone.*)
(*I have the organization.*)
(*I have my mission.*)
But—
No voice came out.
Sylvie straightened up again.
"Now, let's begin."
Her finger touched Sion's collarbone.
A cold sensation through the latex.
Then, it slowly crept up toward the nape of her neck.
Sion held her breath.
Ticklish.
But it wasn't just that.
Every time the finger moved, something tingled sharply beneath her skin.
"How about here?"
Just behind her ear.
The soft hollow at the hairline.
The fingertip pressed there, just slightly.
A faint pressure.
Then—
A shiver ran up her spine.
Sion's shoulders trembled involuntarily.
A clear reaction she couldn't control.
"...Interesting."
Sylvie's gray-blue eyes widened slightly.
She quickly entered something into the data pad.
"Reaction threshold is considerably lower than expected. You never realized how sensitive your body is, did you?"
Sion bit her lip hard.
(*No.*)
(*That can't be.*)
But the place her finger had touched still throbbed, as if burning.
Sylvie's finger moved to the other ear.
In the same way, she pressed the hollow behind the ear.
This time, more slowly.
A firm press.
Then release.
Another firm press.
Repeated, small pressures.
Each time, Sion's back jerked slightly, beyond her control.
"Yes. That reaction."
Sylvie brought her face close to Sion's.
Her breath brushed against Sion's neck.
Warm.
"Your body is more sensitive to this kind of stimulation than to pain, isn't it? They didn't teach you that in training, did they?"
Sion squeezed her eyes shut.
(*Shut up.*)
(*Don't listen.*)
But she couldn't close her ears.
Sylvie's voice resonated right next to her.
"Now, the next question. What is the objective of your mission?"
Her finger descended from the neck to the hollow of the collarbone.
Then, tracing the curve of the collarbone, to the shoulder.
"Your method of communication? Your cover story?"
With each question, the finger moved.
Sion gritted her teeth.
(*Don't answer.*)
(*You must not answer.*)
But—not answering was becoming painful.
The finger touched her flank.
It slowly traced the old knife wound, over and over.
Each time, the skin around the scar twitched in response.
"Shall I guess? Your mission is to obtain this ship's navigational data. And—"
The finger moved from her flank to her waist.
The hollow just above her hip bone.
"You are looking for a place to die."
Sion's eyes flew wide open.
Sylvie smiled coldly.
"Am I wrong? You volunteered for a mission with an escape success rate of less than 20 percent. You erased all your personal records. You came to this ship without writing a will, without saying goodbye to anyone."
She continued, her hand still resting on Sion's waist.
"Is that out of loyalty to your mission? Or—simply because you grew tired of living?"
Sion almost cried out.
(*No.*)
(*No, no.*)
But—the words of denial stuck in her throat.
Because that was what she had been telling herself all along.
(*I live for the mission.*)
(*There is no other reason for me to live.*)
(*So, I'm not afraid to die.*)
—That was what it meant.
Watching Sion's silence, Sylvie moved her finger further down.
From the waist to the outer thigh.
"Then, let's hear the answer to my earlier question. What is the objective of your mission?"
The finger stopped on her thigh.
Biting her lip, Sion shook her head.
She wouldn't answer.
Sylvie tilted her head slightly.
Then, her hand slowly slid from the outer thigh to the inner thigh.
Sion's muscles stiffened reflexively.
"...Ngh."
A small sound escaped her.
It wasn't intentional.
The inner thigh—that was a sensitive place even she hadn't known about.
Sylvie's cold finger traced it over the fabric.
"Here, is it?"
Her voice sounded slightly buoyant.
"Your body is truly honest. To think this place is so sensitive. A new discovery, not in the data."
Sylvie's hand moved further inward.
Sion rattled her restraints, trying to escape.
But the metal rings only bit into her wrists and ankles; her body wouldn't move at all.
(*Stop it.*)
(*Please, stop.*)
—She almost cried out.
But her pride wouldn't allow it.
Even if she asked for help, no one would come.
Besides, this was an interrogation.
She couldn't show weakness to the enemy.
But—
The finger moved slowly, tracing circles.
Each time, a sweet numbness she couldn't control spread gradually from deep within her thigh.
"Does it feel good?"
The whisper came right by her ear.
Sion shook her head violently.
"...No... it doesn't..."
Her voice was trembling.
It didn't sound like her own voice.
Not her usual flat, cold voice.
It was hoarse, strained, as if—
(*As if I'm crying.*)
Observing Sion's reaction, Sylvie subtly changed the movement of her finger.
Weaker.
Slower.
A faint touch, as if tickling with a feather.
"That's a lie. Your body is saying it wants to be touched more."
Sion squeezed her eyes shut.
(*That can't be.*)
(*I'm just being interrogated.*)
(*Just being touched by the enemy.*)
(*There's no way it feels good.*)
(*There's no way—*)
—But.
She felt her own body growing hot.
Not just her thigh.
Her neck, behind her ear, the hollow of her collarbone—all the places that had been touched until moments ago were throbbing with heat.
And somewhere in her heart, a voice whispered that she wanted to be touched more.
(*No.*)
(*No, no!*)
Sion bit her lip harder.
The taste of blood spread in her mouth.
She tried to clear her head with the pain.
But—Sylvie's finger wouldn't allow it.
"You've always been alone, haven't you?"
Suddenly, she said that.
"The Karna Division training program. The other trainees all helped each other, sometimes even forming friendships. But you were different. You never opened your heart to anyone. You completed your training alone, passed your exams alone, went on missions alone."
Sylvie's finger left her thigh and touched Sion's wrist.
The cold wrist, fixed in the restraints.
"The organization gave you a place to belong. But it was a place as a function, not a place as a human being."
Her finger gently pried open Sion's palm.
Her nails had dug in, and blood was seeping out.
"More than dying, you fear disappearing without anyone remembering you. That's why you erased your personal records. You erased them yourself. Becau
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