Chapter 2
Margaret lifted the small plastic pouch of medical supplies toward the camera, her knuckles white. Inside the transparent plastic lay two syringes, a vial of clear hormone regulator, and a roll of sterile gauze. Julian adjusted the frame, ensuring the label on the vial caught the overhead glare. "Smile, Elena. Tonight is your final performance," Julian said, his voice dropping into that smooth, practiced cadence he used whenever the viewer count climbed past ten thousand. Elena watched the pouch sway slightly in Margaret’s grip. She knew what those injections meant; they were designed to keep her weak, to induce the quiet, trembling compliance that the chatroom considered picturesque. Margaret set the pouch back down with a soft click against the wood. Julian’s phone buzzed in his hand, a silent vibration indicating another wave of donations rolling in from somewhere across the ocean. Elena kept her shoulders squared, refusing to slump, though her lower back ached with a dull, persistent fire. The silence in the room stretched thin, broken only by the hum of the small refrigerator in the corner.
