(chapter originally by: worstfailure)
"Fucking cultists."
The bad feeling Stan had gotten since arriving had only gotten worse and worse as Stan climbed down the seemingly endless ladder. A tunnel had been built running from Carlo's shack down through the desk and into the basement below. Stan had anticipated some lights to show the way but none ever came on, and even more concerning, as soon as he'd climbed down two feet, the hatch closed above him with a click, sealing him in total darkness. Stan had frantically climbed back up and tried to open it but of course it was locked shut. Having no other option, he resumed his climb down the long, dark tunnel, his heart pounding faster in his chest the longer he spent descending the ladder.
By the time he set foot on solid ground again, he was out of breath. The room was cold and as dark as the tunnel had been. He could just make out a chair in the room and remembered Carlo's instructions to sit, but the bad feeling that had been growing stronger and stronger held him back. Instead he felt the walls in the vain hope for a light switch, but found nothing. Even more worrying, he didn't find any doors!
"SIT."
The feminine voice came out of nowhere. It was silkily soft, yet somehow it filled the room. There was a seductive quality to it, like a serpent doing ASMR for a mouse it planned to feed on. It made the hairs rise up on the back of Stan's neck and arms. Not knowing who was speaking or where she was, he did as she commanded and sat in the chair in the middle of the room.
"Miss," Stan called out, feeling frightened, "could you please turn on the lights? It's a little--"
"Why are you speaking without permission?"
Stan faltered at the coldness in that silky voice. "I... I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
No response. No response for so long that Stan was tempted to call out and ask if she was still there, but was too afraid of what might happen if he spoke without permission again.
"Don't move."
Stan flinched. It felt like her cool breath was washing over his neck even though the room was too small to contain her. Still, he had to fight every instinct to look behind him to make sure she wasn't there.
Finally there was light. Not from a bulb but from a projector that showed a blank white screen on the wall Stan was facing in his chair.
"I am your guardian angel, Stan Padding. I am here to conduct your orientation and lead you down the path of salvation. The path where you can be of use. If I give you permission to speak, you will address me as "Angel". Do you understand?"
"Yes, Angel," Stan said.
There was a click and the image projected on the wall changed from blank to an inkblot.
"What do you see?" Angel whispered.
"Snakes," he answered honestly.
There was another click, another new inkblot.
"What do you see?"
"Mushroom cloud."
Another click, another inkblot, and so on and so forth. Stan answered honestly and Angel gave no indication what she thought of his answers. She only asked the same thing over and over again, "What do you see?" It felt like Stan was growing crazy from the boredom as he identified each image, when all of a sudden the next image that appeared on screen was a woman's butt. Not an inkblot shaped like a woman's butt. A literal picture of a real-life woman's butt.
"What do you see?"
Stan couldn't help it. He laughed.
"Did I say something funny?"
Stan swallowed nervously. "No, Angel."
"Then why did you laugh?"
"I, well, because... I mean it's a woman's butt."
"You think it's a woman's butt?" Angel asked sounding the slightest bit intrigued.
Stan was confused by her reaction. "I don't think it's a butt. I know it's a butt. It's literally a picture of a real-life woman's butt. It can't be interpreted any other way!"
Angel was silent for the longest time.
"Fascinating," was all she said.
Click. Back to inkblots. Stan answered honestly. Several more minutes passed and just as Stan got back into the routine of identifying them--he couldn't believe it. There was another real-life photo. Only this time it was of a woman's bare breasts.
"What do you see?"
"I don't understand," Stan said.
"You don't understand what you're looking at?"
"No," Stan said, battling his frustration with his fear of this unknown woman. "I know what I'm looking at, I just don't understand why you keep asking me to interpret photographs. There's no interpretation, it's obvious what it is!"
Several seconds worth of silence.
"What do you see?"
"Breasts!" he snapped. "It's a photo of a woman's bare breasts!"
The projector turned off. Stan was left in pitch blackness. Immediately he regretted his outburst. He knew he should've watched his tone. He had no idea who this woman was or what she was capable of, but the hours of pointless testing and then her mind games had made him lose his temper. He wondered if she would leave him now, in the darkness, trapped in a room with no way out. Then, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
Manicured fingers curled around the edge of his chair. Stan opened his mouth to scream when one sharp nail pressed into his throat. His scream was cut off and he struggled to breathe as she applied pressure.
"Did you raise your voice to me?" the serpent's whisper turned to pure venom.
"No--"
"Don't. Lie."
With each word she applied more pressure to his throat.
"I'm sorry," Stan choked out. "I did it... I'll never do it again!"
"Do you wish to be of use, Stan Padding?"
"Yes!" Stan said desperately. "More than anything!"
"Salvation will come for even those who deserve damnation. So long as you obey your guardian angel. Now. Don't. Move."
The nail withdrew along with her hand, disappearing behind the chair. Stan fought every instinct imaginable not to turn around. The room was made for a tiny. There was no way a woman could fit inside. There must be a hidden door she could reach through. A way out. But what good was a way out if it only led him to the person he wanted to escape from?
The projector turned back on.
"Tell me the first word that comes to mind," Angel said, back to whispering in her silky voice as if nothing had happened.
There was a click and a word appeared on the wall.
"RED."
"Blue," Stan answered.
"YOU."
"Used," Stan said quickly.
"LAW."
Stan hesitated, nearly saying, "Order." But he didn't think of a replacement fast enough.
"Faster," Angel whispered threateningly.
"BAKER!"
Stan was worried that Angel would press him. His pause was too long. She had to know that wasn't the first word he'd thought of. Would she press her nail into his throat again? Instead, there was a long pause, then a click as a new word appeared.
"LOVE."
"Tia."
Stan's eyes bulged as he realized what he'd said. He'd been so relieved Angel hadn't dug deeper about the last question, that he answered this one as she'd intended, with the first word that had come to mind. And that word hadn't been Izzy, the person he was supposedly volunteering to dedicate his life in service to. He called himself an idiot and resolved to do better, but already Angel had moved on to the next word. The next hour was grueling, just more words, shined on screen quicker and quicker. Some Stan was proud to think of an answer so quickly, others he kicked himself for like when he associated the words "FEAR" with "Sister" and "FIGHT" with "Mom." But Angel didn't give him time to think. She wanted instinct and Stan couldn't help what his instincts were.
"YOU."
"Cop."
Stan gasped as he realized the massive mistake he just made. The projector shut off and he was once again in darkness. He began to hyperventilate in his seat, looking to his side, anticipating Angel's hand wrapping around him again. Instead her voice filled the room, a whisper that filled his ears like a thunderclap.
"You seem to be in two minds about yourself," Angel's silky soft voice purred with the satisfaction of a cat catching the canary. "Do you truly wish to be of use, Stan Padding?"
"YES!" Stan said, desperately. "Please, Angel, let me be of use!"
"Obey your guardian angel, Stan Padding," Angel whispered, and for the first time Stan could hear the smile in her seductive voice. "You can still be of use. But not to Isabella Lopez. Not now. Maybe not ever."
"I... please," Stan said, trying to salvage the situation, "please, I'm supposed to be with Izzy."
"But you can't be of use to her," Angel said simply. "I cannot give a member of the Lopez family an inadequate servant. It would be an insult. I would need to train you, night and day, you would need to prove your utmost devotion to Isabella before I could allow you to serve her. And if you can't be of use to her... you'll be of use to me."
Was this psycho really talking about keeping him for herself if he couldn't prove he'd be a worthy slave to his pig of a partner?
"Or maybe," Angel continued, "Izzy is not the one you wish to be used by. There is no shame in devoting yourself to another. Maybe... someone you love?"
"No," Stan thought. "She can't possibly be thinking of dragging Tia into this."
"Or maybe... someone you fear?"
"NO!" Stan screamed, overtaken by panic. "Angel, please, I'll do anything!"
"Yes, you will," she whispered seductively. "I have much to think on. By tomorrow, I will have decided the best way you can be of use."
"Tomorrow?!" Stan said. "Angel, please, I have to be with Izzy, it's important, I beg of you!" There was no answer. "Angel?"
Still no answer. She was gone and Stan wasn't going anywhere until tomorrow.
What does Angel decide?
1) Angel agrees to train Stan to worship Izzy but makes it clear if he fails, Angel will keep Stan for herself.
2) Angel invites people Stan knows to the resort: Tia and Shaniqua Harris, his mom Allese and most terrifyingly, his stepsister Tessa. Angel plans to condition Stan to be an ideal servant to one of them.
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