The camera cuts on to a blurry scene. The noise of it sliding against its surface is jarring and abrupt, indicative of the low production value of the video. The hand adjusting the camera's angle recedes, and an object in the foreground slowly comes into focus. It is a nude young woman with long black hair crucified to two small pieces of wood. Her skin is pale, though it's hard to tell through all the bruises and lacerations. Her whole body is a mess of white, black, blue, brown and red. A lot of the punishment seems to have been inflicted on and around her breasts. Her head weakly bobs up and down, but she seems to be looking at the camera through half-lidded eyes.

“Say your name for the camera.” A masculine voice says. Based on the volume, it's clear he's the one sitting behind her. His torso and arms are visible, and he wears a fine black suit. His head is above the camera, but his voice is plainly recognizable to the intended recipients.

“Viridian.” The young woman says. Her voice is meek, but her proximity to the camera's microphone makes it audible anyway.

“Two weeks ago, what were you?”

“I was an assassin.”

“And who was your latest target?”

“You, Master.” The word, while spoken naturally by her, is jarring and out-of-character for those who know her. The man knows this. This is his intent.

“Tell your brothers and sisters back at the temple how you feel about that, two weeks later.”

“We were wrong.” She says. Defeat is plain in her voice. This woman has been broken far beyond her limit. “Our resistance, our struggle... it is useless. I was wrong. We are wrong. My Master has shown me that under his rule, everyone will be much happier. I was fighting a fight that I could never have won, and so are the rest of you.”

He reaches out and strokes a finger down her side. She winces away from his touch, the pressure obviously causing her a great deal of pain. He grinds the tip of his finger against her ribs until she cries out, lurching forward on the cross. He withdraws his hand, and her gaze shoots sullenly to the camera.

“Very good, little V.” A nickname. Something by which the woman she used to be would never have abode. “Are you sorry for trying to kill me?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And are you ready to be executed in front of your family?”

There is horror plain on her face, but her body and her voice seem to lack the energy to match it. “Please, no Master.” She whimpers, shifting on the stakes that keep her pinned to the wood. One through each palm and a third through both of her feet. “I've been obedient. I've been a good girl, Master.”

“It was always going to come to this, little V.” Despite his words, he does not seem concerned with either her acquiescence nor her acceptance. His hands settle in front of her, between them a length of fishing wire is held. With no more fanfare, he pulls it back against her throat. The young woman's eyes open wide, and her body thrashes weakly against her restraints. She rocks her head back and forth, as if saying 'no,' and a grotesque gurgling comes from her mouth. Fresh blood slowly spreads across the length of the wire, and drips down her chest.

It doesn't take her long to die. Almost ninety seconds and she twitches her last, slumping forward against the miniature garrote. The person she had been had died long ago; this was largely a formality. The man sets the wire to the side, and gently manipulates the small corpse, moving her head back and forth and running his fingers over her body. Eventually he seems to tire of this play.

“Viridian was the only one to escape my camps. She was the only one to ever make it to me personally, and from what I understand she was the only one of you to have a double-digit kill count. So let this be something for you Resistance vermin to chew on. If you come at me, I will not kill you.” He leans forward, but his face remains out of frame. When he speaks next, his voice is low and threatening. “I will end you.” He reaches forward and snaps off the camera, and the video cuts out with a soft click.