Conflicted Memories

Hours passed, and Toy found herself exhausted from the struggle. Bill left her in her “designated” corner, chained to a small pole he’d set up, as he moved into the kitchen. She slumped against the wall, trying to gather her thoughts. Memories of her old life were already starting to fade, slipping away like a dream. She fought to hold onto them, reminding herself over and over who she was.

“I’m nrot Toy…” she whispered, clutching her head. “I’m… Fred…” But the name felt distant, strange, almost like a fading echo.

She closed her eyes, and images from her past flashed before her—her lab, her colleagues, even the face of Bill as her friend, not as her captor. The urge to give in and accept this new reality gnawed at her, but she fought back.

A few days passed with Toy becoming increasingly compliant, whether by exhaustion or an unwillingness to endure Bill’s “training.” She couldn’t ignore the strange urges that had taken over her mind, and she hated herself for the small moments when she found herself reacting to his touch with uncontrollable pleasure.

One evening, Bill returned home with a gleam in his eye. “Guess what, Toy? I got an offer from a buyer. Seems oni subspecies are in high demand lately. They’re willing to pay a fortune for you.”

Toy felt her stomach drop, panic flaring in her chest. “No… Brill, nrot trhis,” she gasped, tugging against the chain.

But Bill only laughed, ignoring her fear. “You’d make me a rich man, Toy. And it’s not like you’d have much of a choice… unless you show me a reason to keep you here.”

Toy’s mind raced, desperation fueling her thoughts. She realized she’d have to find a way to convince him—whether through obedience, manipulation, or escape. But as her memories continued to fade, she feared it might be too late to resist becoming what Bill wanted: his personal, obedient little oni pet.

Toy sat on the cold tile floor of Bill’s living room, dressed in the tattered clothing he’d provided for her. The outfit was more symbolic than functional—a rough, torn piece of cloth draped over her form, just enough to barely cover her chest and hips, leaving much of her skin exposed. The edges were frayed, and her clawed feet poked out without any form of covering; shoes were no longer an option. She shivered slightly, feeling exposed and stripped of her former self.

Bill walked into the room, holding a black leather collar in his hands. The collar was sturdy, with a metal tag engraved with a subhuman serial number and a single word stamped beneath: “Toy.”

“Alright, Toy,” Bill said, his tone mocking. “Tonight, we’re going out, but there are rules for someone like you. You know what this is, don’t you?” He held up the collar, letting it gleam in the dim light.

Toy’s stomach twisted as she stared at it. She’d been a person, a friend, not so long ago. Now, this collar would signify her place. Her eyes pleaded with Bill, but he only smiled in amusement and fastened the collar around her neck, pulling it tight enough that she felt its presence with every movement.

“There we go. Just remember: keep your head down, stay silent unless I say otherwise, and stay close. If you wander off, the guards might not be so kind.” His tone was firm, reminding her of her new limitations.

Toy nodded, suppressing the urge to shrink away from his grip. There was no other choice; this was her reality now.