The party filters into a white, echoing room. At the center is a strange pillory made from brushed aluminum. "Seat yourself," grinds the voice. The Rukario cracks his neck and jumps into the restraints. His back slopes slightly up from horizontal with arms crossed above his head. Legs are bent at the hips and knees with furry soles pointed slightly upwards. Thick chords pull over several vital points, securing him firmly to the chair.
"You have been a torturer, Rukario. You have tortured your brothers and friends no less than fifty times as blackmail for the assorted transgressions. You claim it an effective torture, but you do it because you love the feeling. You love the flesh trembling under your paws and the desperation it creates. You are your own worst nightmare."
A small section of wall revolves to reveal an identical Rukario. They are utterly identical, down to the slight discoloration on their ears. He ignores all of you and heads for the restrained Rukario. He yips with glee and digs his paws into the other's ribs, caressing and dragging his stubby fingers around. The first Rukario chokes out pained laughs and shutters.
"You know you would do the same if roles were reversed. You could not resist! This Rukario shares your drives; when you can have enough apathy to resist the urge, your clone will cease the torture."
The clone drags his paws down the original's legs, to the tips of his toes, and fiddles with his toes: pinching, brushing, and digging around.
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