Elara had no time to elaborate the deep meaning behind the system's words when she felt herself falling into a whirlpool.
Unlike her enigmatic travel across dimensions through her soul - where she had witnessed beautiful and oddly soothing scenes - her vision now captured nothing. Total blackness. Pure darkness.
However, she guessed she was about to regain a physical body soon, according to the logic of system novels she'd read in her leisure time.
An unknowable amount of time passed. When Elara began to sense a fulfilling feeling, she struggled to open her eyes.
She sensed her soul had properly entered another entity and expected her guess to be true. She didn't know how to describe or explain her state, but she was already aware.
Contrary to her anticipation, all she sensed was pain, lethargic dullness, and stiff limbs. Her body felt exhausted and weak.
Vision returned gradually through thin slits as she blinked multiple times warily, her sight shifting from blurry to enlarged normal images.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong with her condition. These aching sensations and weightlessness...
She had no time to ask questions as she received a powerful stimulus.
Pa! Pa! Pa!
Elara hissed and curled up unconsciously. When she tried to move her feeble arms to react and defend, they barely obeyed her commands.
Perhaps the stimulus was too strong - her eyes flipped open, glaring angrily at the culprit. Then, she was almost flabbergasted by her own situation.
She saw three figures, one of whom had obviously hurt her with a whip in his hand. His expression seemed to be playing with a toy.
His smug eyes and playful tongue enraged Elara. As a warrior in the past, she might not have cared about verbal insults and subtle bullying as long as her normal life wasn't affected.
However, that didn't include destroying her dignity. Some people advised giving up pride to survive; they weren't wrong either.
Yet, most didn't know about so-called death by personality. Some things, once broken, could never be mended again - like inner pride and backbone.
You are never the same you again.
"Haha, I was almost frightened by your eyes. It seems I'm overworrying about your life. We can play harder," his grin reflected an ominous future.
Elara had no time to fathom his words as he lashed out another whip and she attempted to resist.
Clankle.
Pa!
The first sound came from her struggle. The second from the whip landing on her skin.
"Aahh," Elara groaned and cursed in a muffled voice at her dire scenario. Who could tell her what was happening?
Where was that overbearing system now?
"Damn it!" she scolded herself as she realized why her resistance was so feeble. Her wrists were shackled above her head and suspended by a chain.
Elara found herself kneeling on the cold, wet concrete floor, almost naked. Her clothes were tattered from the whipping, partially revealing the pale skin underneath. As she endured more lashes, she gritted her teeth and assessed her situation.
To her despair, there was nothing she could do but endure the beating and hope for more time to gather intelligence.
The walls were sealed, allowing no natural light from outside. Only a dim lamp stood eerily, heightening the sense of dread.
The tools surrounding Elara frightened her even more—the room was filled with torture instruments, particularly aimed at women. A rocking horse and various devices to contort the body were present, enough to make even BDSM enthusiasts shudder.
Her fate, if she accepted it, would be terrifying. She had nothing to fear since she was bound to the system. Nonetheless, having died once from a nuclear blast, she didn't want to experience torture, especially sexual degradation. She would never embrace such a fate.
Given her current weak state and confinement, Elara acknowledged her helplessness and the near impossibility of escape.
Did she have to submit to buy some time and win mercy? The continuous whipping and mocking ruined her thoughts.
"Eh, come on, scream, you bitch. Why don't you moan like before? Those satisfying sounds, I miss them."
With every strike, the man whipped her without missing a beat. The lashes landed on her arms, exposed belly, thighs, and most harshly across her breasts.
It wasn't surprising for a sexually depraved beast to indulge in his twisted desires.
Each time the whip landed, Elara's eyes grew colder, though she tried to avoid provoking her torturer further. She wasn't foolish enough to aggravate her assailant and lowered her head beneath her disheveled hair to conceal her expression.
Unfortunately, her silence was interpreted as defiance in the eyes of her aggressor. She couldn't scream like an ordinary woman, regardless of the pain, nor could she ever pretend to be one.
The man grew increasingly dissatisfied and annoyed, yearning for the desperate pleas he had once relished.
"As expected of an undercover policewoman," the man sneered. "At first, I pitied you when you lost consciousness, but resistance is far more entertaining."
Undercover? Elara narrowed her eyes. She needed more information and had nearly forgotten about her closest and most probable ally.
System, you better resolve this crisis. It would be a disgrace if your sole administrator were to die at the hands of a lustful criminal during torture, Elara screamed inwardly.
[Tudu…Tudu.]
An electronic response answered her plea. Elara heaved a sigh of relief that she could communicate silently with her golden finger.
'Don't tudu me. I want answers, information about this body.'
[Inputing rough outline to avoid harming the administrator in the process. Further memories will be supplemented once you're in a safer condition…Proceeding to add memory as requested in five…four…three…]
Elara clicked her tongue, bracing herself for the incoming data surge. Otherwise, she wasn't sure if she could remain sane through multiple 'attacks.'
At the very least, she had to praise her system for considering her tolerance level amidst the chaos. The forceful entry of new memories made her brain feel as if it were flying sparks, and she bit her lips so hard to prevent any sounds from escaping.
"Haha, that's the sound I've been vying for," the man exclaimed excitedly, thrashing on the ground near Elara once he heard her groan. Although soft, it rang as loud as a church bell in his ears—a pleasant and joyful melody.
Meanwhile, Elara synced with the new memory input. The identity of the woman was indeed that of an undercover operative. However, it was far from what the man had guessed. She wasn't formally trained or recruited for such a profession. She was an external asset, hired from outside.
The short summary allowed Elara some information, though she didn't understand the full background story clearly. The predecessor of her body had fled from a neighboring country and crossed the border illegally to survive. Obviously, someone or some parties had been chasing her to the brink of death, much like in those clandestine spy movies. She was the sole survivor among her family members.
Naturally, her escape journey was fraught with difficulties, from financial crises to the fear of losing her life. The details of the events stood blurry since only outlines relevant to her current scenario were given.
In order to earn income and survive with her illegal identity, the original woman resorted to taking on multiple jobs. Elara was confused as to why the woman had to juggle so many jobs to secure abundant finances. She worked as a waitress at a low-end restaurant to suit her identity, despite the risks involved, and as a part-time stripper at a nightclub.
She also participated in a small delivery errand whenever an opportunity arises. No doubt her line of work soon stepped among the gray zone.
Naturally, her connections among underground forces grew. She cleverly sought middle grounds, avoiding mishaps and offenses to the big bosses. Perhaps the goddess of luck favored her, helping her avoid the tragedies and dangers that illegal immigrants often faced.
After some time, during one police crackdown, she was arrested. Instead of being punished and facing legal action, a police chief found her and offered her a promise—to serve as an informant and spy, fancying her wide network. As a reward, she could keep her original occupation's welfare plus the ample income given by the police.
What made her work harder was the incentive to solve her identity documentation issues and the promise of a stable job as an officer directly at a desk post after her mission was completed, as warranted by the chief.
Of course, the chief wasn't a chief at that time and needed more merits for his promotion, as well as hidden knives to strike at his political enemies. She just became a tool in his plan, a chess piece. Even if the chief didn't expect much, she succeeded in providing precious information.
Through luck or coincidences, she gained experiences and skill sets, and the information she provided helped the chief climb the ladder.
A few years passed, and the promise was getting closer. Now, somehow, her identity was blown, and she got caught by the gangs she was tasked to snoop around.
Elara sympathized with the original body's fate and her strong willingness to fight hard. Just a little more, and she could have achieved her stable future, the dream she always sought.
Although Elara struggled to make sense of why she worked so hard in multiple jobs and where the huge sums of money disappeared, these weren't her immediate concerns, which sparked complaints against her system.
The original body was also called Elara. Making matters worse, her surname was also Volkova.
According to the logical sequence of events, Elara suspected that her transmigration journey was supposed to occur naturally, without any system intervention. She shared the same name and gender as her predecessor.
Elara cursed the system's interception and deceit. Her transmigration should have been a natural process, but the system, hungry for the nuclear radiation inside her, had cut in halfway and posed as a savior.
The soul transfer wasn't the system's doing but a natural flow that should have happened, though she had no idea where the predecessor's soul had gone. The system had merely paused the process and exploited her. Had it not been for the absence of any disgusting, malicious intent, Elara would have confronted the Crisis Response System immediately.
However, creating obstacles and acting like a nuisance toward her only ally when she needed its help wasn't a great idea—she wasn't that foolish.
Of course, her dissatisfaction remained, but there was still a ten percent chance her guess was inaccurate. These matters could be discussed in the future.
While Elara pondered how to outmaneuver her ally and bargain for a more favorable option, the scumbag torturing her wouldn't let up.
"Keep howling! Why did you stop?!" he shouted, using even more force.
Perhaps Elara's adaptation to the new memories and her halted groans agitated him further.
Feeling the heightened pain, Elara knew the scumbag was becoming increasingly ruthless. Her body shivered from the strikes, each coming at intervals. Despite her pain resistance, instincts were hard to suppress.
"Beautiful. Look, girls, isn't it a marvel when a woman twirls from pain? What a sight," the man laughed and said to his followers.
Elara furrowed her brow at his words. Girls? Were there other women in the shadows?
"Woman, if you're thinking about your chief rescuing you, I'm sorry to disappoint you," he said, pausing his whipping session to catch his breath. "It was your chief who sacrificed you as a token to honor our deal. How does it feel to be betrayed by someone you trust?"
Elara's eyes widened at the news, but she wasn't too surprised. She stared at the man, who looked satisfied, bobbing his head at her reaction.
"You know too much, and it's natural to be eliminated. A white glove must have the mindset of a tool, destined to be replaced once dirty," he half-knelt close to her, staring into her fiery eyes. "Oh, quite feisty, I see. It seems like you don't believe what I said."
The man grabbed her chin and squeezed her jaw, eliciting a painful moan from Elara's lips. His other hand reached for her kneeling thighs, rubbing the smooth skin as it fondled upward.
She really wanted to beat the hell out of this annoying scum, nearly losing control when his thumb brushed her lips.
"It doesn't matter; I also desire more playtime with my toy," he chuckled. "It's strange that you become stronger and talk less after losing consciousness from my little whippings. Is your masochistic body adjusting to my rhythm? Quite to my liking."
That's it! Elara spat in the man's face, momentarily throwing him off guard.
He wiped the saliva off his cheek and grinned. A hollow, bone-dry maniacal giggle escaped his lips, devoid of warmth. His laughter sharpened and echoed like broken glass in the dark—sharp, wrong, and cold.
Bah!
Elara was slapped in the face. The sharp impact seared her cheek, which instantly reddened from the force, showcasing how much strength the man threw in anger.
Blood trickled down the corner of her lips as it slowly flow down the chin. The chain above vibrated with her swing, mimicking her face angling from the slap.
"That's it?"she rasped, lifting her head just enough to look him in the eye. "As expected of a weakling who finds power between a woman's legs. Pathetic. You're just a coward, nothing more."
Elara's body hung by her wrists, knees grazing the wet floor, her arms stretched and aching but her mood stood strong.
The man paused.
His grin wavered.
He stepped closer, fists clenched. "Say that again, bitch."
Elara did better—she smirked, lips split from blood, and tilted her chin defiantly. "What will you do? Whip me harder? That's all you are—a sad little parasite."
That did it.
He lunged forward in blind fury, reaching to grab her jaw.
In that split second—Elara struck.
She used the chain for leverage, planting her knees and launching her head upward.
CRACK!
Her forehead collided with his face.
He recoiled, shrieking as blood gushed from his nose.
Before he could retreat, Elara shifted her weight, her torso swinging slightly from the chain. She twisted her hips and slammed her knee into his exposed side with all the force she had left.
"Ugh!" he grunted, stumbling to the ground, crashing hard.
Still hanging, Elara dropped to her knees again, gasping from the strain—but not done.
She used the chain's slack to lean her weight forward, and kicked both legs out, her bare feet slamming into his chest as he tried to crawl away.
The impact knocked him back. She pivoted slightly, one knee down, the other leg stretched forward, heel poised.
Stomp.
Right into his shoulder.
He screamed.
"Still playing tough?" she growled, dragging her foot back and stomping down again, using every ounce of balance she could maintain while suspended.
But before she could strike again—
Snap!
A jolt of electricity tore through her spine. Her body spasmed, flailing against the chains.
Two shadows approached—female guards.
One had fired the taser baton. The other grabbed a fistful of Elara's hair and slapped her face hard.
"You ungrateful slut," the guard hissed, fury flashing in her eyes.
Elara laughed through bloodied teeth.