The Condemned Sister

Glaring lines of white text flooded the massive black monitors, scrolling at a dizzying pace. Millions of viewers across the globe waited in digital anticipation, their impatience bleeding through the screen.

[Still dark? I thought this memory stream was supposed to be live.]

[They said these VR glasses link straight into the subject's nervous system. Real sensory input. No filters.]

[Give us the billionaire secrets! I want to see how the filthy rich live.]

A smooth, resonant voice cut through the low digital hum of the server racks. "Welcome to the Memory Livestream." Cyrus Hargrove stepped into the sparse, icy lighting of the penthouse studio. "Here, you will experience every sight, every sound, and every physical sensation exactly as the memory owner once did."

He paced slowly before the wall of monitors, his tailored suit catching the dim light. "No scripts. No edits. I stake my life on the raw truth of this feed. And today's memory contributor is..." He paused, letting the silence stretch tight across the broadcast. "...Cordelia Mercer."

The chat froze. Not a single comment dropped for three agonizing seconds. Then, the digital dam broke.

[That psycho? I’m out.]

[You're giving screen time to a monster?]

[Wait, think about it. Memory extraction hurts. She’s the first test subject for this tech. She’s a lab rat. This is torture.]

[Hell yes! After what she did to her own sister, life in prison was too good. Rot her brain!]

Ten feet away from the monitors, three men sat anchored to heavy steel chairs. Thick nylon straps bound their chests and wrists. Heavy, customized VR headsets clamped tight around their temples, forcing them to participate in the broadcast.

Ronan Mercer jerked against his restraints. The metal chair groaned under his weight. "What kind of sick joke is this, Cyrus?"

His red hair clung to his forehead with sweat. Pure disgust warped his handsome features. Cyrus had ambushed them, tied them up, and strapped his twisted tech to their heads just to force-feed them Cordelia's past.

"How many times did she spread her legs for you?" Ronan spat, his voice echoing off the glass walls of the penthouse. "Is that what it took? You cancel your engagement to our sister, drag that criminal out of her cell, and kidnap us? What is your endgame? Speak!"

Ronan thrashed again. The headset slipped a fraction of an inch down his brow.

Beside him, Gideon and Declan sat in stony silence. They were the untouchable pillars of the Mercer family. Normally, they would have shut Ronan down to protect the corporate peace between their empires. Not tonight. Tonight, the same venom burned in their eyes. The mere mention of Cordelia made their blood run cold.

Cyrus did not flinch at the crude insult. He reached up and tapped the microphone on his lapel. "You are here to watch the live. Nothing else. When the sun comes up, I will cut you loose. Whether you continue watching after that is your choice."

He turned to the master console. His finger struck the enter key.

[Stream is up! Whoa, look at that mansion.]

[Why does a witch get a childhood in a palace?]

The black void inside the VR headsets shattered. Golden afternoon sunlight spilled across the visual field. The sudden sensation of a gentle breeze rushed over the viewers' skin, carrying the crisp scent of cut grass and blooming jasmine. The view swayed back and forth in a slow, rhythmic arc. A child’s perspective. The squeak of a swing set filled the ears.

"Time to wrap up. Let's wash those hands before dinner."

A boyish, melodic voice broke the calm.

"Okay!"

The reply came from the viewer's own throat—a soft, cheerful chirp. Cordelia’s voice.

The perspective shifted as the ground fell away. A handsome boy, around ten years old, filled the frame. He scooped her into his arms with practiced ease. The rough texture of his denim jacket brushed against her bare arms.

"But you don't have to carry me," Cordelia said. The genuine, aching worry in her small voice vibrated through the audio feed. "I don't want you to get tired."

"You weigh nothing," the boy chuckled, shifting her weight against his chest to make her more comfortable.

The chat feed flared to life.

[Is that... Gideon Mercer?]

[Look at that bone structure. Has to be Declan. He’s the actor.]

[No, I work at Mercer Group. That’s Gideon. Since when does the Ice King smile like that?]

Footsteps slapped against the paving stones. A younger boy, missing a front tooth, sprinted into the frame. "Cordelia! Sit next to me at dinner. I learned a magic trick at school today."

"She’s sitting with me," the older boy shot back, tightening his protective hold. "I need to make sure she actually eats her vegetables."

"No, no!" Cordelia squirmed, her tiny hands pressing against his shoulders. "You guys need to eat all your food so you grow tall and strong! I can feed myself now!"

The view panned out as they carried her toward the patio. Two adults stood by the sliding glass doors, their faces bright with adoration. A picture-perfect family bathed in the evening sun.

[Wait. I thought her defense was severe childhood trauma? She had it all!]

[She was just born rotten. Sign the petition for life imprisonment. Keep her away from my idol!]

[But... does anyone else think she sounds really thoughtful here?]

Back in the cold reality of the penthouse, the VR projection cast a faint, mocking glow over the captured men.

Declan let out a harsh, barking scoff. "I was an idiot back then. Don't look at me." He squeezed his eyes shut behind the visor, refusing to let the golden warmth of the memory settle in his chest.

Gideon’s jaw tightened. The muscle feathered under his cheek. For a long, suffocating minute, he stared into the projected past. "I used to think she was kind," Gideon murmured. His voice sounded hollow, stripped of its usual ruthless authority. "I thought she was innocent. Lovable."

A brief, almost imperceptible softness brushed his features. It vanished the second he blinked. His lips curled into a sharp, bitter sneer.

"Then came the kidnapping." Gideon’s voice dropped, hardening into jagged ice. "They trapped us in the back of that truck. I ripped my hands apart forcing the lock. I got the door open. I took the hit."

He drew in a ragged breath. The hum of the server racks seemed to amplify in the tense air.

"She pushed me out of the way," Gideon said, the memory tasting like ash on his tongue. "She scrambled over me and ran. Saved herself without a second thought, and left me to die."

The penthouse fell into a heavy, crushing silence. No one moved. The bright illusion of the childhood garden lingered on the screens, a stark and confusing contrast to the suffocating weight of the betrayal hanging in the dark.