Fiction by JockBoy
The Punishment Room
You kneel on the cold concrete of Room 101—the Punishment Room. Gray walls stretch around you, scarred and unforgiving. Overhead lamps cast harsh, surgical shadows. Hooks, ropes, whips, and leather straps line the walls; stainless-steel dog bowls gleam on the floor.
The air is thick—sweat, dust, disinfectant, and leather cling to your skin and fill your nostrils. Every sound—the shuffle of knees, shallow breaths, faint whimpers—echoes like a drum of dread.
“Blessed be the fruit,” one of the watchers whispers nearby. The words hang heavy in the still air. It is a ritual phrase, steeped in echoes so ancient it was once used by an overrated novelist in a famous book many pretended to have read when they had only watched the movie. But like everything in this dystopian world, it has been turned upside down. Now it serves as a chilling invocation, binding bodies and wills alike.
Continue reading Discipline Training Institute Part 5 – The Origin Story
