(Warning: This story will describe physical and psychological torture. Also, in this world Booker & Elizabeth have a sexual relationship. If all this makes you uncomfortable, then move along. The rest of you enjoy the beginning of what will hopefully be a thrilling ride. Comments, follows, and favorites always appreciated:) )

"ELIZABETH!"

Clutched tightly in the mechanical bird's giant hand the sound of Booker's voice ripped her apart inside. Elizabeth turned her head to look back, but her hair and tears streaming in the wind obscured her vision. Now, she couldn't hear anything but the strong whooshing beat of Songbird's wings gliding through the chilly air. Elizabeth rested her forehead against Songbird's fist, hiding her face from the world as she sobbed into the familiar scent of oil and aged leather.

I'm going back….she realized with disbelief and horror as she wept. But, she had saved Booker's life. That was the only thing that mattered. He would come for her. You stay alive, no matter what it takes, she thought fiercely, willing it with every fiber of her being. Stay alive and come find me….please.

Songbird landed in front of the marble steps of Comstock House with a loud thud. The small crowd of people that had gathered there anticipating his arrival scattered like a warren of rabbits, flushed from their burrow by the ominous bark of a hunting hound. The bird's wings of rough canvas and intricate metal gears folded against his back. Elizabeth opened her eyes, and was startled by the group of unfamiliar faces staring at her. She frowned, her thin eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she gazed up at Songbird. "I…I don't understand, what am I doing here?" The only answer Elizabeth received from the bird was a cryptic chirp and whistle, as if to say he was just as confused about the whole situation as she was. The crowd of faces came closer as Songbird gently lowered her to the ground.

Elizabeth heard a woman in the group mumble. "Praise the Lord; she's here just as the Prophet said she'd be."

The young woman felt her feet touch the ground.

"Indeed, the Prophet is good," said another as Songbird opened his fist, freeing Elizabeth of his grasp.

"The Prophet is wise," a man added in as he approached her.

They were all dressed in clean white coats, and walking towards her with fake smiles, and empty eyes. Alarmed, Elizabeth started backing up away from them. She quickly looked over her shoulder at Songbird, brown hair whipping around her face. He tilted his head side to side curiously, but made no aggressive move towards the strange people that were beginning to surround her. His eye ports still glowed with baleful green light indicating that there was nothing to be alarmed about, but the hairs on the back of Elizabeth's neck stood on end. Adrenaline coursed its way through her body, her instincts screaming at her to run…

Elizabeth kept backing up, until she bumped into the chest of a man standing behind her. She cringed, and tried to pull away from the strong hands that descended on her narrow shoulders. "Let go!" she cried throwing her weight forward. But, there were more hands on her now. As each hand pressed against her back, fingers curling around her arms, Elizabeth jerked and shuddered as if she had been burned.

"Get your hands off me!" Elizabeth shouted.

She contorted her lithe figure back and forth, trying to squirm away from their hated touch. The group of nurses and orderlies completely ignored her protests. The more Elizabeth struggled, the tighter they held on to her, half dragging her up the steps.

The enormous doors were beginning to open.

Comstock House Re-Education Center was the words that loomed over Elizabeth's head as she was brought through the foyer. The candles at her feet were glowing seductively, flickering in and out with the draft. They cast suggestive shadows on the walls, and the smooth wooden door that was before her.

Panic spread through her body like a cancer. "Let me go!"

An orderly wheeled in a chair, and Elizabeth was shoved down into it while another man took off her jacket. Her blue eyes widened when she felt cold metal close around her wrists with an ominous snap. A man knelt at her feet pulling off her boots before locking her ankles securely in place. Elizabeth's boots and jacket were then placed across her lap. They began to wheel her away…

Elizabeth took in a shaky breath, as metal touched her chest.

"Specimen's heart rate, 120 beats per minute."

Rough fabric chaffed the skin around her bicep, growing tighter and tighter around the muscle.

"Blood pressure is normal at 120 over 80."

Elizabeth looked back and forth from one stranger to another in confusion. Their voices were so…dead. They were discussing her like she wasn't even there. Elizabeth felt completely disoriented; she could barely believe what was happening right before her eyes.

"Just take me back to my tower. Please…please!" she begged.

Elizabeth felt warm breath against her ear. "Shh… hush child. You are safe now," one nurse whispered soothingly.

She twisted her head to the side trying to see who had just spoken to her, but there were too many people talking all at once for her to pin point the woman. Elizabeth took small comfort in the knowledge that there was at least one person present that would speak to her like a human being.

Elizabeth unconsciously gripped the arm rests of the wheel chair as she took in her surroundings. Plush red carpet, green potted plants, candles, and plentiful images of Father Comstock scattered about like religious icons.

"What is this place? What are you planning to do to me?" she asked persistently.

The chair rocked as the men and women in white unceremoniously wheeled the young woman up a ramp. They were pushing her towards an elevator were another man in a white coat stood vigil, waiting for their arrival. Anxiety was blossoming in Elizabeth's chest like a wild flower the longer she lingered in Comstock House. It wasn't the unfamiliar sites of the place that had planted the seed of fear within her breast. It was the sounds and the smells. The place reeked of harsh cleaning chemicals and fear, and Elizabeth swore she could hear the steady buzz of electricity.

"Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen, I can take it from here," said the man by the elevator door nonchalantly. Elizabeth looked up at him. He was around average height with dirty blond hair and gray eyes. She held him with her hypnotic blue stare, searching for some sign of compassion and finding nothing.

The group of people that had herded her to this point had dispersed, now only a nurse and two orderlies remained at Elizabeth's side. The woman passed a clipboard over to the blond man. He briefly glanced at it as Elizabeth was wheeled inside the elevator.

"Please…Please, what is this place? Just…Just send me back to my tower," the girl pleaded.

"It's too late for that now, child." The man replied with a raised eyebrow, pushing a large button. The elevator groaned as it began its descent.

"Your father gave you a lovely home, and you chose to destroy it…"he continued.

Like a summer storm, her temper flared. "He's NOT my father!" Elizabeth vehemently denied.

The doctor sighed at the girl with annoyance. This was going to be…difficult.

It was the nurse that pushed her out of the elevator. The woman wheeled the girl down the long hallway dutifully following Dr. Pettifog. The nurse was grateful that she faced Elizabeth's back. The child is not going to like what comes next, she thought grimacing.

Once they had reached the end of the long hallway, Elizabeth heard the sound of a key turning into a lock. Great, my new cage, she thought darkly. But, when they opened the door Elizabeth saw that the room wasn't a cell at all. It was a huge store room full of boxes with names on them. As she was being wheeled behind a corner Elizabeth peered down, catching a glimpse at the contents of a box on the floor. A pair of scuffed boots lay on top of a thread bare shirt and pants that had holes in them patched with different colored fabrics. They were someone's belongings…Elizabeth felt her heart sink. Fresh tears sprung from her eyes, and she watched them fall on to the plush dark blue fabric of her jacket like spring rain.

The nurse swung the chair around, and reached over her to retrieve Elizabeth's boots and jacket. The woman placed them neatly inside a nearby box, before turning back to her ward. She bent down to unlock the metal restraints around the girl's ankles and wrists. "You're going to want to stand up now," she told Elizabeth softly. The specimen hesitantly lifted her chin, deep blue eyes meeting soft brown ones.

"Please…please, please don't…"

The words barely made it passed her lips, but the older woman heard the girl clear as a bell.

"I'm sorry, but it isn't up to me," the nurse resolutely whispered back.

There was a click, click noise of well shined shoes on the hard wood floor when Elizabeth rose from the chair. The nurse cast the girl a quick and furtive glance, before moving aside. The older woman's plump figure slowly moved away from Elizabeth's line of sight like a theatrical curtain. Standing no more than a few paces away from her was Father Comstock, the Prophet himself.

He was a tall man, neatly dressed in a black and gray suit which contrasted with his snow white hair and long beard. His eyes were blue, and cold. Elizabeth shuddered when she felt the nurse's practiced fingers tug on the laces of her corset.

"Hello, my child," Father Comstock greeted her. His voice was as smooth and swift as a river.

Over the past few days Elizabeth had thought of countless things that she wanted to say to the Prophet, mostly angry things. But, now that he stood there before her Elizabeth found herself speechless.

The blue satin ribbons made a barely audible sound as they come undone, but to Elizabeth's ears it was like listening to nails scrapping against a chalk board.

"Don't look so worried child, you're going to be ok," Comstock said opening his arms in a grand gesture. That was when Elizabeth saw the white dressing gown hanging off his right arm. He gave her a fatherly smile. "I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you took care of Me; I was in prison and you visited Me.'"

Elizabeth made a mental note; Matthew, chapter twenty -five, verse- thirty six.

"The Lord provides for all his children. We only need to be willing to reach out for our own salvation," he continued.

He looked so…sure of himself, and that burned her. Perk of the prophesy business, har, har, Elizabeth thought privately with acid sarcasm. If only the "Prophet" could hear how ridiculous he sounded. God, she could have laughed just then. She was starting to think like Booker.

When the nurse reached for the clasps at the front of her corset, Elizabeth lightly slapped the old woman's hands away. The nurse frowned, opening her mouth in protest. "I can do this myself," the girl said. With a tear streaked face Elizabeth stared straight ahead at Comstock as she silently undressed.

She refused to let herself to be broken. Elizabeth would not allow this man, this abuser, to make her feel ashamed. She was through with being the victim. Elizabeth's blue eyes locked onto his, a dark mirror of her own. All her life Comstock had made her decisions for her by keeping her locked up in that tower for twenty years. If it was a test of wills he wanted, well then bring it on. She could teach him a thing or two about patience.

Her corset fell to the floor, a gentle but poignant sound. The nurse helped her step out of the dress and petticoat layers. Elizabeth found herself facing the Prophet wearing nothing but a pair of dark stockings, and satin panties. Elizabeth shivered with cold and barely contained rage. She gritted her teeth, hands balled into fists and even her toes were curling together.

Comstock was closing the distance between them. For a moment he had the dressing gown held out to her like a strange sort of peace offering, he was offering her an olive branch. But, something made him stop in his tracks. He blinked several times as he stared at his daughter's flesh. Elizabeth's fair skin was marred with bright pink splotches. It was painfully obvious what the marks were. Mouth shaped ovals danced across the girl's thighs and caressed her breasts, framing her sensitive areolas in crimson and purple.

The large room echoed with the distinctive slap of flesh striking flesh. Elizabeth gingerly turned her head; the right side of her face was still tingling from where Comstock struck her. A small sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

The Prophet's voice came out half-choked, "check her."

The nurse gazed back and forth from father to daughter, unsure of what she should do.

"Didn't you hear me woman?! I said, check her!" Comstock spat angrily.

She knelt down, looking up at Elizabeth with pleading brown eyes. The older woman tried to apologize to the girl with her facial expressions. Elizabeth gave her a slight nod, quickly feeling the nurse's fingers slip inside her panties. At least the woman was gentle. Slowly, the nurse withdrew two fingers from Elizabeth's sex.

Comstock gripped the old woman's wrist, inspecting the fingers on her hand. The nurse's middle and ring fingers were slightly pruned from being inside the girl. From finger nail to knuckle they were slick and wet, coated in fluids. The Prophet glared at the evidence of the union between the hated False Shepard with his Lamb.

The sound of his hand striking Elizabeth's other cheek resounded with a vicious crack. "Child…do you realized what you have done?!" Comstock half asked, half shouted at his daughter.

Glaring back at him, "I…am…NOT…a child!" she replied defiantly, anger punctuating each word.

With a frustrated sigh, the Prophet turned away from Elizabeth. He could barely look at her. "You disappoint me Elizabeth," was all he said as he handed over the hospital gown to the nurse.

The woman slipped the rough fabric over the slender girl's head. The gown was badly sized, and it drowned Elizabeth's petite frame, making it look like she was wearing a tent. The nurse gathered the strings that hung at the front of the gown, tying them off one by one in order pull the awkward garment closed.

Comstock took a step closer to Elizabeth, eyeing the brooch that rested in the hollow of her neck. In response she tried to take a step back, but the wheel chair behind her prevented Elizabeth from escaping. He reached out and tapped the brooch with his index finger once, twice. She could feel the object pressing into her throat. Elizabeth interpreted the gesture as both curious and malevolent.

Suddenly, Comstock turned on his heel and began to walk away from her. He was so arrogant. She didn't want them to take her choker away like everything else, but Elizabeth couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"So much for having a lamb without spot or blemish," she called out after him vindictively.

Comstock stopped in mid-stride at Elizabeth's words.

"Dr. Pettifog," he called in a commanding tone.

Scowling, her brilliant blue eyes bored holes into the Prophet's back. Comstock stood up straighter. It would take much more than verbal taunts to cause a man like him to become unglued, and Elizabeth hated him for it.

The snooty man with the dishwater hair and dead eyes appeared from around the corner.

"Yes, Prophet," he answered, quickly appearing by Comstock's side obedient as any lap dog.

"See to it that my daughter has a room with a window," Comstock ordered, pausing to look back at Elizabeth. His eyes glinted in the light like cold chips of ice.

"Yes sir," the doctor replied.

"I want to her to know how many days go by without DeWitt coming for her."