'It was so simple, yet so impossible.' Trevellian shook his head. 

Regan held on to the sides of the chair, keeping herself perfectly balanced.

'I guess you just didn't have what it took to follow your dream of chopping bits out of people and attaching them to other people. Maybe you should look for a new hobby.' 

Trevellian sighed. 'As always, you have the subtlety of a sledgehammer. We found the problem in the end: it was in the mind. Even with the physical structures transplanted into their bodies, our subjects didn't have the neural pathways they needed to control their crafts. Just because you give me wings doesn't mean I have the brain structures to say "flap".' 

Trevellian rubbed his eyes. 

'Of course, once we found the problem it just made a solution seem more impossible. The brain is infinitely complex. To find the exact structures to control each individual craft would take a thousand researchers a thousand lifetimes. It was only luck really that it was about that time I met Jordan.' 

'Lucky for you. Probably not for her.' 

'She's an adult,' said Trevellian irritably. 'She can make her own decisions.' 

'All actions have consequences,' said Regan gravely. 

Trevellian laughed in spite of himself. 'I've always rather thought that attitude was severely lacking in ambition.' 

'I wonder how your psychic is going to feel when she stops being useful and the consequences come for her.' 

Trevellian shrugged. 'I don't see that happening. Jordan was like an angel, descending from heaven with the solution to all of our problems. I was the first one to recognise her potential through. With her ability to sense the electrical impulses in people's brains, she could function as a living link to the structures that let people control their crafts. It took careful training and some specialised equipment, but eventually Jordan learned to map out the neural networks that allowed people to control their crafts.' 

'I'm starting to regret not killing her more and more.' 

'If you had, I would have cut your throat,' said Trevellian seriously. 

'For love?' Regan gave him a mocking smile. 

'Because I'm a sore loser. Infiltrators learn to find out what people secretly need and give it to them. Jordan's need was obvious: she was lonely. However, exploiting that took a lot of careful planning.' 

'Your pathetic attempt to cover your weakness for her is laughable.' 

'I suppose I have a soft spot for lonely people too,' Trevellian admitted. 'Infiltrators get to know people, but they never really connect with them.' 

'I find my first meeting with people is usually the last.' 

'Your conversation skills reflect that. Luckily, that's not why we brought you here.' 

'You're such a charmer.' 

'Like I said, I'm not here to make friends with you, but I thought if I explained the process, you might realise that it's not so bad. Just let Jordan map out your craft, and you can walk away to continue your life of ruthless murder, such as it is.' 

'You're good at lies. They roll so easily off your tongue, I'm surprised it's not forked.' 

'You still think I'm lying.' 

'I think you're so wrapped up in lies that if I peeled them all away you'd disappear into a little pile of scraps.' 

Trevellian ran a hand through his hair. 'I know you think you're some sort of hard case, but this shouldn't be that difficult for you to understand. If you keep holding out, I'm going to let Pyotr back in here to finish what he started. You think he was brutal before? That was just a prelude. He's going to break your fingers and shatter your knees. He might even take one of your eyes for good measure. Even if you survive, you'll never use a sword again.' 

'I don't need a sword to kill you,' Regan snarled. 

Trevellian rolled his eyes and straightened up, preparing to leave. For an instant he dropped his guard. 

Regan transferred all of her weight to the balls of her feet and launched herself at him. Trevellian's chair made a loud clatter as it was knocked aside. She slammed into his chest and they hit the filthy metal floor in a chaotic mess of limbs.  

Regan hands were still chained to her chair, and she grazed her forehead on the floor as she landed face first with enough force to drive the wind out of her lungs and send a vicious shot of pain spiking up from her broken ribs. 

She fought through the pain and twisted awkwardly so her face pressed into Trevellian's collarbone. Before he could recover she pushed herself forwards and blindly bit down into the first piece of exposed flesh she could find. 

His reaction was instant and violent. 

Trevellian screamed in pain as her teeth cut into the flesh of his neck just above his collarbone. He tried to struggle away, but Regan sunk her teeth in harder. She felt his fist hit her broken cheekbone and tried not to pass out. There was a salty taste of skin and sweat as she bit down on the tough tendons. 

Trevellian swore and hit her again. She tasted blood. He was struggling backwards and trying to pull away. She hung on with grim determination and tried to twist her neck so she could tear away at his flesh. Blood welled up from the wound and filled her mouth and nose, blocking off her breathing. Bile rose in her throat, as little strings of darkness started to swim across her vision. She couldn't hold on much longer. 

There was a rasp of metal on metal. Regan felt a sudden pressure against the side of her mouth and a stinging pain as Trevellian worked the blade of a dagger in between her teeth. It cut into her lips as he worked it back and forth, pushing it in millimetre by millimetre. Regan tried to bite down harder, but her jaws clamped down on the sharp steel. She felt the point graze against her tongue as Trevellian twisted the blade and violently forced her teeth apart. He jammed a thumb into her eye and pushed her off him. Blood streamed from her mouth as she fell back and hit the floor. 

He staggered to his feet with a hand clutched to the side of his neck, and a look of shock on his face. Blood leaked between his fingers, despite his attempts to put pressure on the wound. It ran down his neck to form a deep red stain on his shirt and jacket. His expensive clothes were splattered with blood and smeared with rust and grime from the floor. 

Regan stared balefully up at him from the ground. There was blood around her mouth and running down her chin. She spat some of it on to the floor in frustration. 

'I thought I could reason with you,' Trevellian's voice cracked and he let out a hacking cough. 'I shouldn't have lied to myself like that.' 

He stumbled backwards and almost fell to one knee. His face was ashen, like a wax death mask of himself. He retreated unsteadily to the door, leaving Regan on the ground chained to the overturned chair. 

Minutes passed and no one came. The layer of grime on the floor smelled like dust and engine grease, and there was a splattered trail of Trevellian's blood leading to the door. Regan cursed herself for letting him escape. 

Eventually, Pyotr returned. She felt his heavy tread through the floor even before he entered the room. He detached her from the chair and lifted her up effortlessly to hang her from the chains dangling from the ceiling. She watched him pace back and forth with the same agitated energy he'd had when Trevellian told him to leave the room. Suddenly, he reached out and gripped her jaw in one powerful hand. He brought his face so close to hers she could see the deep pores in his skin and examined her face in minute detail. He was like a jealous lover searching his beloved for signs of deception. His hand on her jaw was rough and forceful, as he turned her head left and right. It was as if he blamed her for Trevellian's interruption, like he somehow viewed it as cheating on their private relationship. 

He let out a short tut of disapproval when he saw the deep cuts on Regan's lips from Trevellian's knife. 

'The boy,' he threw a disgusted look towards the door then started again. 'The boy has told me that, before I continue punishing your body, he wants me to erode your mind.' 

As he released her jaw and stepped back, a cacophonous blast of atonal piano music started from a crackling set of speakers somewhere in the roof. The deafening sound dislodged flecks of dust and grime from the ceiling that drifted down like flakes of snow. 

'Do you recognise it?' Pyotr shouted above the noise. 'This is me. My finest performance. After this, I never took to the stage again. How could I? After this night, I knew what perfection sounded like, and I knew I would never reach it again.' 

'It sounds like you're demolishing a piano with a brick.' 

'To the untrained ear, the finest music can sound like random noise, but the greatest beauty is always found at the heart of struggle.' 

Pyotr leaned in close again until Regan could smell the slightly sour odour of his breath. 

'It will be the same with us,' he whispered. 'You are my greatest performance.' 

There was a resonant thud, and above the mirror in front of her a row of floodlights flared to life, filling the room with their halogen white light. Regan flinched away from the sudden intense glare. 

'The limelight doesn't really suit my complexion,' she said. 

'You'll find this new phase less amusing as the days pass,' said Pyotr. 'Already, I have taken from you your strength. Now, I take from you your sleep.'