“Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.” –Psalm 2:9

Margot Wilson had always been fascinated by human behavior. As a former anthropology teacher at the junior college, she spent years unraveling the intricacies of cultures and societies. Or, rather, repeating the intricacies that had already been unraveled by others. However, there was an itch in her mind that mere observation couldn’t scratch. She yearned to delve deeper, to understand the very essence of human nature. This was before the war, before she made a drastic career shift.

She was enlisted early in 2025 to collaborate on the Christian-Nationalist Holocaust and Eugenics program. Her well-known hatred for Native Americans, Homosexuals, Transexuals, and all other savages and abominations to God made her the ideal candidate for the ironically-named Musk Science Award, which came with a government-funded laboratory and staff where she could carry out experiments to sterilize, disable, or euthanize those who may (or may not) be heathens

Leaving behind the lecture halls and academic debates, Margot found her home at Fresno’s Community Hospital, where the corridors echoed with the steady rhythm of medical machines and the hushed whispers of gossip. Here, she embarked on a new journey, one that blurred the lines between academia and practical experimentation.

With individual subjects, her experiments metronomed between psychologically sadistic and Spanish Inquisition torture methods. Sleep deprivation, repetitive noises, and strobe lights were often her starting point. Those who held up well to that torture – which was many of them, having come from the nearby internment camp – were subjected to some truly heinous crimes.

In an earlier time, some may have criticized her methods as unethical, but as part of the dictatorial Regime, she was afforded immunity from such critique. In fact, the more sadistic her experiments, the more praise and funding she received from The Regime. Those who criticized her and her methods were whisked quickly away to the fairgrounds, where Brian and his soldiers would implement their decidedly unscientific tortures.

Lately, she’d been vying for funding for memory implant research. The way Margot saw it, if she could make the subject believe they’d been subjected to trauma, from war to childhood abuse to sexual assault, they could demoralize and oppress without the need for military theatrics.

Margot’s sidekick, Tammy, had been a wannabe martial artist before enlisting to serve The Regime. Despite having no real skills, she owned a dojo in Clovis, which lent her enough credibility to be appointed Margot’s personal bodyguard. Tammy’s expertise, if you could call it that, was in obsessive stalking. She could, and would, relentlessly stalk any man or woman she desired as her next sexual victim. Under Margot’s authority, she had free reign over the hospital’s prisoners, so she spent most of her time assaulting drugged and restrained patients. After all, there was no reason to guard Margot when she was surrounded by a cadre of soldiers.

Always in tow behind Margot was her robot assistant, Jaleel, who was equipped with an array of electrical, mechanical, and biological weapons. This made her feel safer than Tammy or any of the soldiers.

Proceeding down the corridor, Margot looked in at the strappado room and laughed at the crying and screaming ‘patients’. Normally, she’d go in and take part in the experiment, but today she had somewhere to be. A penal treadmill had just been installed on the next floor and she was eager to see it in action.

In case you haven’t heard about it, the penal treadmill is also known as the never-ending staircase. Perhaps inspired by the legend of Sisyphus. A large wheel, not unlike that which might be found on an old-timey riverboat, would be fitted with steps. Victims would be forced to walk up the stairs, the wheel rotating with each step so they could never make it to the top. In the early days of the United States, they made use of the prisoner’s exertion by grinding stones or grain beneath the wheel. Before they fell out of fashion, that is. But now, it was utilized as a purposeless exercise in futility, designed to break the spirits of hospital newcomers. For an additional level of demoralization, Margot had fine-grain sandpaper added to the steps.

“Why isn’t that Belial on the treadmill?” Margot demanded of the soldier tasked with operating the machine.

“There is no room, Madam. When one of these pass out, she will take their place.”

“That’s unacceptable. None of these reprobates are deserving of a break.” Margot reached over and pushed the idle elderly woman under the wheel, sneering at her screams as the paddles rotated around, crushing her. The prisoners who attempted to stop walking so the woman could escape were met with a harsh flogging from the guard’s metal-tipped whip.

Satisfied the guards had been effectively put on task, Margot left the treadmill room for the elevator. She pushed the button for the top floor, not waiting for Tammy, who stood gawking as the paddle wheels that continued to mangle the old lady.

Margot’s office was a stark contrast to the elegance of the old hospital building that housed it. Instead of shelves lined with classic literature and medical manuals, as might have been the case when the hospital was in its heyday, the room was filled with an array of video monitors, each displaying scenes of unimaginable suffering. She sat in a leather chair that was too soft for the rigidity of her task, her fingers moving across a sleek console with practiced precision.

The room was dim, lit only by the blue glow of the screens. The monitors were arranged in a semicircle around her, each one broadcasting a different scene of torture, ranging from medieval devices to modern contraptions. Despite the horrific nature of the footage, Margot’s expression was one of detached focus.

Her personal surveillance room was a highly secretive part of an organization dedicated to studying the limits of human endurance. Her goal was to compile data on pain thresholds, responses to various forms of torment, and the effectiveness of different techniques. She wasn’t a sadist, she told herself, she was a scientist, albeit one devoid of ethical pursuits.

As she flipped through the channels, she came across a scene that wasn’t particularly exciting: a woman bound in a cold, metal cage, her body suspended by chains. The torturers in the video were methodical, their actions calculated and unhurried as they sawed at the woman’s extremities and inserted needles into nerves as they followed along on a screen that showed the meridians of traditional Chinese medicine. Even the dictator, Xi, had debunked the use of meridians in his own country, but as people of faith and not science, the United States continued to use pseudoscience as their guide. Margot watched as the woman’s face twisted in agony, her tears mingling with the sweat of her distress.

Margot’s mind began to wander. She wondered about the woman’s life before this moment. Was she a mother? A daughter? Did she have hopes and dreams that now seemed so distant and irrelevant? Margot shook her head to push away the empathy that threatened to cloud her judgment. It was a dangerous thing, allowing personal feelings to interfere with her work. Though she was a quintessential misanthrope, like most of her colleagues, the intrusive thoughts sometimes arose.

The hours passed and the weight of the images on the screens began to take their toll. Margot’s usual steely resolve was faltering. She reached for a cup of coffee, but her hand trembled slightly, causing the hot liquid to slosh dangerously close to her control panel. She had become more than just an observer; she had started to feel a deep sense of unease. What if? She thought, What if Brian and his division decided to use her research against her?

The door to her office opened and Mark Randle, her medical assistant, slinked in. He was a man of imposing stature who followed his overseers and messiah without question. He had always been the more emotionally detached of the two.

“Doctor Wilson,” he said sternly, “What’s your problem?”

Margot rubbed her eyes and looked away from the monitors.

“You have more issues than National Geographic, Lady.” His choice of using the former magazine as a reference amused him, as the publication, like its subject-matter, had long-since been destroyed.

Mark looked at the monitors and nodded. “It’s important to remember why we’re doing this. It’s not for the sake of cruelty. It’s for understanding,” he lied. “If we can understand them better, we can work towards preventing the collapse of our society.”

As Mark left, Margot took a deep breath and forced herself to refocus. She began to sift through the data she had collected, trying to find patterns that could be of use. But as the hours wore on, she realized that her task was more than just a scientific endeavor.

The room, once a sterile environment of detached observation, now felt like a chamber of moral introspection. The monitors continued their relentless display, but Margot was no longer interested. She’d gotten into her head that she could be next and this gave her the slightest twinge of empathy, one she was quick to disregard. She was a part of a larger ethical dialogue that extended beyond the confines of her office. The challenge was not only in analyzing the data but in reconciling it with the biblical definitions of right and wrong.

Margot knew she would have to confront these feelings head-on, but for now, she had a job to finish. The screens flickered with the relentless reality of human suffering, and she had to find a way to turn that suffering into something meaningful – something that might one day help prevent others, especially herself, from enduring the same horrors should the rebels ever rise again.