The relief of 2 hours being completely alone really helped a lot more then she expected, even in this place. She got daring enough to really explore the lair a bit more thoroughly, although the exploration didn't help her view of this place – it was still like living in hell as a prisoner unable to shake the bindings. She could have easily walked out the front door if she wanted to, but then again she thought about the consequences of leaving and being caught up in another one of John's "lessons" which was the last thing she wanted. She listened to the sound of the rain tapping on the metal roof of the building and found herself leaning back in a chair against one of the tables. The entire time she used music to keep herself from losing her mind, the lyrics rolling through her mind, tickling her imagination, was enough to allow her to escape for a short period of time. As she puttered around the lair and finally took a chance to relax in a chair, closing her eyes as she listened to the unsettling buzzing of the lights above her head, John watched her carefully from a distance, allowing her the chance to realize her freedom in his "home". He was amazed that she didn't even try to leave, even though she spent about 15 minutes with her hands and forehead resting on the front door and although it was locked, he noticed she never once pushed against it to test whether it was or not, she just simply surrendered and walked away from it. John was a people watcher, it was clearly obvious and she was intensely intriguing with her behaviors here in the lair. Watching her tap her foot to the music, mouth the lyrics she was listening to, and seeing her every now and then close her eyes as if trying to hide within a fantasy world was all very fascinating to John – mainly because he knew she needed to live outside of it and he wasn't willing to let her crawl back inside herself and escape the reality of her own life; he would ensure she appreciated every single breath she took. He could judge the content of the songs she listened to based on her facial expressions and body language; if something sad was playing she'd sit idly in a chair, staring off into space or perhaps fiddling with her fingers, if something more upbeat and angry came on she'd start to pace uncomfortably around the room. She was a curious creature, yet she had so much to offer the world and he could not understand why she was so weak – sure she put up a great front, but it clear to John that if he pulled at her emotional cords, he could easily get her to fall apart which was exactly his plan.
The time passed much too quickly for her, especially when she found herself broken out of her state of mind by John who clearly wasn't going to allow any protest or wait for her – he took hold of her arm and pulled her to a stand, dragging her into the other room where she saw all the monitors, but this time Hoffman and Amanda were both sitting in the room. Hoffman at the moment was messing with installing tapes in the tape decks while Amanda eyed her very intently, watching her every move. As Hoffman put the last tape in the tape deck, he wheeled over a chair and sat down in it, directly in front of the screen; he seemed to love having front row seats to these sick and twisted games. Amanda propped her boots up on an adjacent table as she leaned back in her chair, peering momentarily at John before speaking "She's gonna watch this? You think she can handle it?" "Silence Amanda. Now, Michelle, sit down." It was a demand, not a suggestion and she quickly sat, eyes still trained on the two other individuals in the room. She felt extremely uncomfortable in this situation and even worse was the feeling of dark, heartless eyes piercing into the very core of her being. John sat down beside her "Let the games begin." Slipped past his lips as if it was a rehearsed, daily phrase much like a morning bowl of cereal was for most people. The very tone in which it was said sent chills down her spine and for a moment, she felt extremely cold even though it was clearly a very comfortable temperature in the room. There were 6 rooms on the monitors and in each one was one person, each in a different trap, each with a different life-altering decision to make in order to survive. She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to witness on these old, scrambled and jerky screens, but it was obvious from the looks on Amanda and Hoffman's faces that it was as exciting to them as it was to John – sick fucks. The first room had what appeared to be a young man and John was more than willing to describe the situation to her "His name is Donnie. He works for a company that constantly prescribes medication that could easily kill the patients taking it in order to make a dime. He doesn't care if his customers die from the medication they are given, doesn't provide them the essential warnings about the side effects of their medicine, yet he lives inside a 4 bedroom house with a wife he hardly ever speaks to while he spends his nights in his girlfriend's bed." It was all overwhelming to take in, to see the true nature of mankind in its purest form was...frightening. And as quickly as his description began, the game started; it was clear the young man woke up, he was fighting violently against the hooks that suspended him in the air. Gears clicked and whirred as the device seemed to come to life, breathing of its own accord with the evil infused within its design. She could see the horror stricken on his face, watched his body twist and contort violently against the cold metal digging into his skin. He was already covered in blood, drops of it hitting the floor beneath him as he tried to free himself from the vile creature holding him prisoner. She could see the chains pulling to the walls surrounding him, pulling further away from the middle of the room where he hung. His shoulder blades popped with the strain, he screamed in a way that sounded like a violently wounded wild animal taking its last breath. Essentially this man was the prey instead of the predator he normally was at his career. Her hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide, and she could feel the sting and burning from the tears; was this real and was she really watching this happen? She felt sick, like she truly wanted to vomit and she wanted nothing more than to look away, however it was like a fucking train wreck. The gears cranked harder as the man struggled frantically to free himself yet when he seemed to realize his fate was inevitable it appeared from the screen that he let out one last final scream of submission to the violent animal holding him hostage. His shoulder blades popped out the socket, his hips twisted and contorted till they loosened entirely from their own snug location. The chain wrapped around his neck was the first to jerk, snapping his neck, tearing his head completely from his torso – the actual visual caused her to squeak as tears ran down her cheeks. It was far from over though as his arms and legs tore from his torso, tendons and muscles snapping and pulling, bones breaking, and a river of blood pouring from every dismembered part of his body. It was so gruesome that blood spattered against the lens of the camera and it was clear that the pool forming beneath the torso was tinged red. His dismembered body swung back and forth from the hooks anchoring it to the ceiling as the gears grinded to a halt.
Her whole body trembled uncontrollably, tears streamed down her face. She was breathing hard, unable to articulate, unable to feel anything – or perhaps the issue was she finally felt everything. Amanda smirked, her focus trained on the girl that was clearly an emotional wreck over what she just saw, Hoffman also watching her very closely before only making one single statement to the man behind the diabolic monster in that room "I don't think she's doing alright. You may want to take her out of here because she fucking passes out." John focused quietly on the young woman trembling beside him in her chair, her face stained with tears that didn't seem to stop. He reached over to touch the salty droplets running down her cheek but instead she jerked away from him violently, raising a finger towards him and uncovering her mouth. "NO! Don't you fucking touch me! You fucking monster!" She was in hysterics, quickly standing up to leave the room, but John stood in her way quickly. "Sit down." Regardless of his demand, she shoved past him and quickly exited the room to make her way to the only place that would solve the sickness creeping up on her. Rushing into the bathroom, she found herself praying to the porcelain god without alcohol which was a change. She was so sick to her stomach from what she saw that she couldn't even stop to properly cry her fucking eyes out. How could they watch that? What the hell kind of show was this for any person to endure? It was repulsive and horrifying – it was wrong. She curled up around the toilet, praying for some kind of relief, some kind of hope; perhaps it was all just a dream. However she realized one very critical part of this – there were no drugs to use to stop the horrible images from flooding her mind, she had to endure this like most 'normal' people did…through suffering.