Anya's decision

Chapter 5 – The final trip 

The heavy wheels squeaked softly against the sterile tile floor as they rolled the trolley out of the prep room, marching down the final corridor toward the execution chamber where the mechanical chair awaited its final component.

Lydia kept step right beside the heavy steel trolley as the technicians wheeled it down the final, frigid corridor. Though the blackout hood masked Anya's vision, Lydia's hand found Anya's shoulder, pressing down with a firm, grounding warmth. 

"I'm right here, Anya," Lydia murmured softly, her voice the last familiar anchor before the heavy, pneumatic doors of the execution chamber hissed open ahead of them.

The blackout hood was lifted, and the harsh, stadium-grade lights of the execution chamber flooded Anya’s vision. She blinked against the glare, recognizing every steel beam, every drain in the floor, and every inch of the high-backed mechanical chair waiting in the centre of the room. She had walked this floor hundreds of times as an administrator, but never from this perspective. 

Standing beside the control console was the new execution nurse, a stranger with cold, unyielding eyes who had taken over the shift. She looked down at Anya strapped to the trolley, her expression entirely devoid of pity. 

"Bring the condemned in," the new nurse commanded, her voice echoing sharply off the tiled walls. 

She stepped closer to the chair, peering down at the wired, exposed, and trembling form of Number 12. A cruel, professional curiosity edged into her tone. 

"So, you're Anya," the nurse said, leaning in just close enough for her breath to carry over the hum of the hydraulics. "Well, look at you now. About to get your insides blended and die from internal bleeding. After everything you've been told, and every detail you've just sat through..." 

She straightened up, tapping the activation pad of the chair. 

"Do you still want this? After everything?"

Anya met the new nurse's cold stare head-on, her voice steady and deliberate despite the chemical cocktail racing through her veins. 

"Yes, please," Anya whispered, the amphetamines keeping her razor-sharp and entirely unyielding. "And if you want to talk about fear, I will tell you everything. I won't hold back a single detail. I want you shaking and sobbing before you clamp that death mask over my head." 

The new nurse’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the inmate's chilling composure. Recovering instantly, she narrowed her eyes and gave a sharp nod to the technicians. 

"Right," the nurse commanded, her voice dropping into an icy register. "Sit her in the chair. And strap it tight." 

The technicians moved with brutal efficiency. They lifted Anya from the trolley and maneuverer her into the heavy, high-backed mechanical chair, aligning her lower body precisely over the concealed hydraulic housing where the primary rod and internal spreader rested.

Thick, industrial-grade leather straps were yanked across her chest, waist, thighs, and ankles, ratcheting down until the metal frame bit into the leather and pinned her immovably in place. The wired electrodes, the saline-engorged tissues, and the internal spreader locked into the chair's terminal harness with a series of heavy, definitive metallic clicks. 

Anya was completely immobilized, locked into the machine she had once commanded, awaiting the final sequence.

The new execution nurse stepped directly into Anya's line of sight, her expression a mask of clinical detachment, relishing the final psychological grip on the former administrator. 

"The new metallic poles have arrived today, and they're being tested on you, Anya," the nurse stated, her voice cutting sharply through the hum of the chamber's machinery. "They have micro-hooks engineered all along the shaft. As it rises through your body, those hooks won't just slide—they will actively catch, drag, and tear along your anal tract, your lower digestive walls, and whatever else it comes into contact with on the way up." 

Before moving to the final controls, the nurse signalled a technician to conduct one last sanitary check. The technician stepped up, inspecting the thick institutional diaper worn over the locked steel chastity belt. The combination of heavy fluid intake, saline injections, and the relentless stress of the procedure had taken its toll; the diaper was damp, heavy with a small amount of involuntary leakage. 

"Diaper is damp, showing minor stress-induced release," the technician reported flatly. 

"Leave it," the execution nurse dismissed with a wave of her hand. "It won't matter in a few minutes anyway." 

She stepped back to the main console, resting her hands on the heavy steel levers and digital interface. She leaned in close to Anya's face, her eyes locking onto the hyper-aware gaze fuelled by the amphetamines. 

"Now," the nurse said, her tone dropping into a slow, deliberate cadence as she prepared to outline the final sequence. "Let me explain exactly what is going to happen to you, step by step, and how you will feel right up until the moment of your death."

The execution nurse’s smile widened, a cold, predatory curve of her lips as she leaned in closer, relishing every single syllable of the final, sadistic briefing. 

"Let's start from the moment I press the primary activation switch," she began, her voice smooth and conversational, like a technician explaining a standard equipment diagnostic. "The hydraulic pump beneath the chair will engage, and the new rod—embedded with those microscopic, razor-sharp steel hooks—will begin its ascent. You will feel the initial breach at your anal sphincter. Because of the amphetamines keeping your nervous system completely unshielded, you won't miss a microsecond of it." 

She traced a finger over the digital interface, pointing toward the internal schematics displayed on the overhead monitor. 

"As the shaft moves upward," she continued, "those micro-hooks will catch immediately. They won't just cut; they will drag and snag against the delicate lining of your lower digestive tract, shredding the mucosal walls as it punches deeper. You'll feel the internal pressure build exponentially as it passes your intestines, pushing straight upward toward your throat. Every inch of upward movement will feel like a white-hot rake of steel tearing through your core." 

She paused, letting the visual sink into Anya's hyper-aware mind before moving to the secondary mechanism. 

"Simultaneously, the internal mechanical spreader—the pair of anguish—housed inside your vaginal vault will begin to mechanically expand," she purred, her smile bright and clinical. "The metal arms will wrench outward, splitting your vaginal walls, fracturing your pelvic floor, and completely shredding your womb from the inside out. The pain from that structural collapse alone will trigger massive neurological overload." 

She stepped back slightly, gesturing broadly to the electrodes clamped onto her chest and lower body. 

"And while your internal organs are being ripped apart and flooded with your own blood, the electrical array will kick in," she added, her eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. "High-voltage current will surge through the chastity bra spikes biting into your breasts, and through the clamps on your clitoris, locking your muscles into continuous, agonizing spasms. You will experience absolute sensory overload—burning, tearing, and crushing pain simultaneously." 

The nurse tilted her head, locking her gaze onto Anya's wide, amphetamine-sharpened eyes. 

"You will remain entirely conscious, entirely lucid, and completely aware as you drown in your own internal bleeding, choking on the tip of the rod as it reaches your throat," she concluded, her smile unwavering. "Any questions, Anya, before we begin?"

"No," Anya said quietly, her voice steady and clear against the hum of the chamber machinery. 

The execution nurse gave a sharp nod and turned back to the control panel. "Clear the room. Everyone not directly involved in the execution sequence, out." 

The technicians and nurses packed up their instrument trays and began filing toward the heavy steel exit doors, the pneumatic locks clanking behind them. 

Lydia did not move. Remaining true to the warden's permitted exception, she stepped as close to the heavy mechanical chair as the clearance allowed. She reached out, her fingers wrapping firmly around Anya's trembling hand. 

"I will be right here in the room, Anya," Lydia whispered, her voice tight with strain as she looked down into her friend's eyes. "So you can see me. Right until the end."

The execution technician stepped forward with the heavy, heavy-duty pneumatic gag. Without a word, she forced it between Anya's teeth and began pumping the bulb, inflating the rubber sphere until Anya's jaw was wedged wide open, entirely silencing any further words. 

Next came the sterile surgical gauze. It was pressed firmly over Anya's eyes, plunging her into sudden, absolute darkness before being secured tightly in place with layers of medical tape. Finally, the heavy, coarse execution hood was pulled forward over her head, and the front drawstrings were yanked hard, locking it down and sealing her off completely from the outside world. 

She was blind, gagged, and sealed in darkness, left entirely with her own senses and the relentless, chemical clarity of the amphetamines. 

At the control console, the new execution nurse gave a sharp nod. "Arm the rod." 

A heavy, mechanical clunk echoed through the base of the chair. Stripped of her sight and voice, Anya felt the cold, blunt tip of the steel rod press directly against her anal bud—just touching the surface, resting heavily against her skin, and waiting for the final command to begin its ascent.

Tears leaked steadily from beneath the tightly taped gauze, tracking hot and fast down Anya’s cheeks as she sat encased in darkness, feeling the cold steel resting against her skin. 

From across the chamber, the execution nurse’s voice rang out, amplified slightly by the room's acoustics. 

"We have final confirmation from the warden. The death sentence has been authorized." 

The nurse's hand hovered over the primary terminal. 

"Five... Four... Three... Two... One..." 

She slammed the activator down. 

Instantly, the entire chair roared to life. The heavy pneumatic hum beneath Anya shifted into a deep, mechanical whine as the primary internal rod engaged. Slowly, relentlessly, the cold steel pushed past her anal bud, the microscopic steel hooks biting immediately into the delicate tissue as it began its upward crawl. 

Simultaneously, the internal mechanical spreader—the pair of anguish—unlocked within her vault, its metal arms beginning to fan outward to fracture her pelvic floor. Across her chest, the chastity bra electrodes and the lower clamps surged with high-voltage current, driving a violent, white-hot shock straight through her nerve clusters. The sequence had begun, and the amphetamines ensured she would feel every agonizing fraction of it.

The inflated rubber sphere in her mouth caught and muffled the desperate, agonized shriek into a choking, wet gasp. Behind the thick gauze and the heavy execution hood, her body violently convulsed against the leather straps, but the mechanical restraints held her immovably pinned to the chair. 

The primary rod continued its slow, merciless ascent, the micro-hooks tearing deeper through the lower tract, while the internal spreader forced its metal segments wider, fracturing bone and tissue from within. Across her chest and lower body, the continuous surge of electrical current locked every muscle into a violent, rigid spasm, flooding her amphetamine-sharpened nervous system with an overwhelming, white-hot cascade of agony that drowned out all thought, leaving only the raw, blinding reality of the machine finishing its work.

Beneath the heavy plastic backing of the institutional diaper, the intense internal trauma, structural tearing, and high-voltage electrical shock triggered a sudden, catastrophic release of the body's autonomic functions. Boiling-hot urine flooded the thick padding, quickly followed by a heavy, pressurized whoosh of bright red blood that spilled over the edges of the mechanical housing. 

Down the shaft of the slow-rising internal rod, small, dark drips of blood and tissue fluid began to seep continuously out through her stretched anal canal, pooling onto the cold steel base of the chair as the machine relentlessly continued its upward drive.

Behind the thick rubber sphere of the gag and the suffocating folds of the execution hood, Anya’s muffled cries dissolved into broken, breathless whimpers. The amphetamines kept her relentlessly conscious, forcing her mind to process every agonizing second as the internal rod ground upward, the micro-hooks snagging and tearing through tissue with mechanical precision. 

The high-voltage current continued to pulse through the electrodes, locking her chest and lower body in unyielding spasms, while a fresh, heavy wave of dark blood welled around the base of the ascending shaft. Her body convulsed violently against the industrial leather straps, fighting a battle she could not win, entirely trapped in the dark as the machine drove relentlessly toward its final conclusion.

On the main diagnostic monitor mounted against the sterile wall, the green trace of the health status monitor held steady and unyielding. Heart rate, blood pressure, and neural activity indicators remained peaked in the high-frequency zones, confirming that Anya’s brain was fully active, processing every fraction of the trauma. 

The execution nurse watched the readouts with a grim, satisfied nod. The precise cocktail of amphetamines she had ordered was doing its work flawlessly stripping away any possibility of merciful unconsciousness, locking Anya in a state of hyper-aware, agonizing clarity as the machinery continued its slow, brutal work inside her.

A sharp, pulsating red light flashed on the central diagnostic console, accompanied by a low, intermittent alarm chime. 

The head nurse frowned, immediately slamming her hand onto the emergency pause toggle. The deep mechanical whine of the hydraulic pump died down instantly, and the high-voltage current snapped off, leaving a ringing silence in the chamber save for the ragged, wet breathing of the prisoner. 

"Hold the sequence. We have a positioning alert on the primary probe," the head nurse announced sharply. 

She walked away from the console, her footsteps echoing across the tiled floor as she approached the high-backed chair. With practiced precision, she unhooked the front drawstrings of the execution hood, pulled the coarse fabric back, and unfastened the surgical tape holding the blackout gauze over Anya's eyes. 

She reached down, deflated the rubber sphere, and unbuckled the heavy pneumatic gag, sliding it out of Anya’s mouth. 

Anya’s eyes stared upward, wide, bloodshot, and hyper-dilated from the amphetamines. Her jaw trembled violently as she tried to force words past her lips, but only garbled, wet sounds emerged, thick with dark blood that immediately began dripping in a steady stream from the corners of her mouth down her chin. 

Without a word of pity, the head nurse snapped on a pair of sterile gloves, picked up a penlight, and forced Anya's jaw open to inspect the upper terminal. She tilted her head, peering down the dark cavity. 

At the very back of the throat, the blunt, gleaming tip of the metal bar was visible, pushing upward with microscopic barbs just showing through the tissue, pressing dangerously close to the airway without completely obstructing it. 

The nurse withdrew the light with a clinical nod. "Alignment is verified. Structural path is clear. It's in the right place." 

She slid the pneumatic gag back between Anya's teeth, pumping the bulb until it wedged her jaw rigidly open once more, silencing the garbled attempts at speech. She pulled the coarse execution hood back down, fastened the front drawstrings tight to plunge Anya back into darkness, and turned briskly back to the control console. 

Her hand hovered over the panel for a fraction of a second before she slammed her palm down on the green restart button. 

The chair instantly buzzed back into aggressive life. A fresh surge of high-voltage current tore through the chastity bra spikes and lower electrode arrays, seizing Anya's body in a violent electrical spasm, while the internal mechanical spreader resumed its agonizing expansion within her vault, driving the sequence forward.

The digital timer on the central console flashed red: 24:45. 

Across the diagnostic screen, the steady green trace of the heart monitor abruptly flatlined, stretching into a continuous, unbroken straight line accompanied by a low, hollow terminal tone. 

The head nurse stepped away from the controls and crossed her arms, standing in absolute silence as she watched the flatline persist. One minute. Three minutes. Five minutes. No rhythm returned, no secondary impulse flickered across the screen. 

"Time of death: 24 minutes and 45 seconds," the head nurse stated, her voice flat and clinical. "The subject has expired." 

The technicians immediately stepped forward, beginning the systematic shutdown of the hydraulic pumps and cutting the electrical current to the arrays. 

The head nurse walked up to the chair, unfastened the execution hood, and pulled it back, stripping away the dark fabric and the rubber gag. She gently peeled the surgical gauze from Anya’s face, revealing a pale, waxen skin marked by dark bloodstains tracing down from her nose, ears, and the corners of her open mouth. With a practiced, emotionless gesture, she reached out and pressed Anya's eyelids closed, silencing the wide, amphetamine-dilated stare. 

Lydia stepped forward from the shadows of the chamber, walking slowly across the tiled floor until she stood right beside the high-backed chair, looking down at her old friend. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood and ozone. 

Lydia reached out, her fingers gently brushing against Anya’s cold hand one final time before letting go. 

"Rest peacefully, my old friend," Lydia whispered, her voice quiet and steady in the empty room. 

Without looking back, she turned away from the chair and walked slowly out of the execution chamber, leaving the technicians to begin the final clearance protocol.