The end came not from the police, nor from a vengeful survivor, but from the machine itself. Neural pathways, once forged, become roads. The more he traveled the roads of cruelty, the more those roads grew inside him. After the twelfth subject—a former teacher named Yuki—Sugimoto felt something crack. Not in the chair. In himself.
Later, alone in his quarters, he played the recording back through the chair. He closed his eyes. He felt what she had felt. And for the first time in years, Dr. Sugimoto smiled. The end came not from the police, nor
He repeated the process. Each victim was a new instrument, each terror a new symphony. He became connoisseur of suffering. He told himself it was research. He told himself the breakthroughs in anxiety treatment would justify everything. But late at night, he no longer bothered with justifications. He simply put on the headset and swam in other people’s nightmares. Later, alone in his quarters, he played the
He lied.