The Queen Back From Hell - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

The voices from back then still clawed at Arielle's mind, sharp as knives.
"The Bradford princess? Total shocker. Killed her brother Ronan's fiancée just because she was scared Ronan loved Emellee more."
"Pure evil! Burned her alive!"
"She's always been a snake. Jealous of Meredith, who's better at everything. Always ganging up to bully her at school. Only got away with it because she's the Bradford's lost kid."
"Jealous of her own sister-in-law? That's pathetic. She deserves the chair."
"Killers pay with their lives!"
In the courtroom, the crowd's accusations hit like a tidal wave.
Her empty, desperate eyes scanned the faces. Her parents. Her sister. Her fiancé. Her best friend. The people she loved most.
They stood high and mighty, tearing her apart. Her mom, sobbing, screamed for her to die—her "sins" had trashed her sister's future.
"I didn't do it!" Arielle'd begged. "Meredith's the killer!"
But the evidence was rock-solid. Nobody bought her story.
They sneered, saying she was low enough to frame her "sweet" sister. The Bradfords didn't claim daughters that rotten.
Those who feared her cursed her. Those who loved her wanted her gone.
Night settled in, a rusty black Santana pulled up by a dumpster.
A couple of roughnecks hopped out, grabbed a woman curled up on the ground, and tossed her into a sack like garbage.
In her daze, a voice—too familiar—sliced through. "Hey, sis! Out already? Your little sister's here to roll out the welcome mat. Time to live it up, huh?
"Oh, forgot to tell ya—everyone you loved? Dead. Done."
"Gavin's mine now. And that face of yours? Pisses me off. Got a nice spot picked out for you to… rot in style." Her laugh was cold, vicious. "Prison didn't break you, huh? Gotta say, I'm impressed you're still breathing."
Arielle thrashed, desperate to scream, but no sound came out. Meredith's vicious laugh burned in her ears. She wanted to lunge, to rip her apart, to make her hurt.
But her body gave out, her vision blurred, and everything faded to black.
Eighteen Months Later. North Lugra, Overseas.
Arielle slumped on the filthy basement floor, the damp cold seeping into her skin.
Flies buzzed around her like a plague, drawn to the stench of her unwashed body.
Meredith had sold her out, tossed her into this hellhole in North Lugra.
This place was pure nightmare fuel. One second, someone was alive, maybe even clinging to hope. The next, they were hacked apart like livestock.
The psychos here didn't flinch, rooting through severed limbs for organs like they were picking apples at a grocery store.
When Arielle first got here, they crammed her into a room with a dozen other women, all stripped naked, no shred of dignity left.
Women in this dump? First stop: playthings for the men. No choice, no escape.
Arielle fought back, swore she'd die before giving in. She bit her tongue, trying to check out for good. Her tongue snapped, but she didn't die.
They dragged her into a dark, stinking cell. The beatings that followed were brutal, like they were trying to break her soul. Torture that just wouldn't quit.
She begged to die, but they only laughed.
Some creep in charge smirked, saying someone had given orders to keep her alive and make her suffer—passed around, used by thousands, broken in every way this place could dream up.
"Her life's worth big bucks," he'd sneered. Three million a month rolled in to keep her breathing, to "take real good care of her."
Arielle knew exactly who was pulling the strings. Meredith. That backstabber wanted to crush her, grind her pride into the dirt forever.
And Meredith did it.
Then Arielle got AIDS. When she saw the disgust in those monsters' eyes, she didn't cry—she laughed.
She'd never thought a disease would feel like her only way out. All those men crawling over her every day—she cursed them, hoping they'd all catch it and rot.
Days later, death didn't come.
Too scared of catching it, they tossed her into a cold, pitch-black basement.
Normally, someone like her—sick and broken—would've been ground into nothing by their machines.
But someone wanted her alive, disease and all, just to watch her suffer.
Arielle thought, 'Finally, it's over.' Without their drugs propping her up, she'd be gone soon.
The ones she couldn't get revenge on? She'd haunt their sorry asses as a ghost.
But she didn't know how cruel people could be.
A couple of roughnecks dragged her from the basement into a room stuffed with medical gear.
Two guys in white coats and masks stood there, waiting. The goons dumped her into a vat of foul-smelling liquid. One of the white-coats waved them off, and they left, slamming the door.
A guy with freaky, wide eyes stepped up, staring at Arielle as she trembled with fear and hate. His gaze screamed twisted glee.
This was Glenn Harrell, North Lugra's shady backroom doc. The other was Roy Neilson.
Besides carving up organs and bodies, the two spent their days brewing sick experimental drugs.
Glenn smirked at the half-dead Arielle. "This her? Damn, what a waste. AIDS or not, the boys could've had more fun."
Roy nodded. "Time's up. Pull her out."
Glenn, gloved up, yanked her from the vat and dropped her onto an ice-cold operating table.
She let out weak, muffled whimpers, her body twitching uselessly. After seeing the madness here, she knew what was coming.
But the pain still terrified her.
A blade sliced through her tattered clothes, revealing pale, almost glowing skin.
"Hot damn, look at that skin,"Glenn said, grinning like a creep. "My new juice is gonna sell big. Makes you look young in, like, a minute. Roy, we got a winner. Gotta test it on a few more."
He eyed her up and down. Her broken body pissed him off at first—too damaged for his liking.
But that smooth skin? His eyes lit up, and he wouldn't shut up about his "miracle" potion.
Roy stayed quiet. He pressed a finger into her stomach, frowning a bit, his voice low. "If she hadn't lost that kid last year, she'd have a baby in there now. Watch Subjects Three and Four. Don't screw it up."
Glenn flashed a sick grin, waving his scalpel near her face. "Relax, man. Ten months, and we'll have a perfect little baby…"
'Baby?' Arielle's eyes clamped shut in despair. These monsters were planning to experiment on infants.
She had no idea when they started targeting babies.
Six months after landing in North Lugra, she got pregnant. Women here weren't allowed kids. They were just toys for those beasts' lust, lab rats for twisted docs.
A baby would mess up their whole game.
After forcing her miscarriage, they cut out her uterus. Every day, countless men used her. She fought back hard, labeled a "problem."
So they punished her. First, they sawed off her legs—no painkillers—until she passed out from the agony.
Ten days later, they chopped off her fingers, one by one, over ten brutal days, leaving her convulsing.
Twelve days after that, they let wolves rip her arms apart.