Magpie

The fluorescent lights of the Bureau of Magical Regulation hummed with a frequency that felt like a needle scratching against the inside of Merlina’s skull. It was a sterile, clean sound—the sound of a world that had successfully scrubbed the blood off its hands and replaced it with industrial-grade disinfectant. Merlina sat on a cold steel bench, her wrists bound by damp-dampening shackles that felt like lead weights. Around her neck, the heavy iron collar of the BMR pulsed with a faint, rhythmic violet light, a constant reminder that her internal clock was no longer her own. To the government, she was a ‘Unit.’ To the citizens, she was a ‘Resource.’ To herself, she was a magpie caught in a cage of high-fidelity glass.

She looked down at her wrist, tracing the faded ink of the magpie tattoo with her thumb. It was a relic from a lifetime that felt like a dream someone else had told her about. The nomadic camps, the smell of woodsmoke, the way the shadows used to dance when she whispered to them—all of it had been archived and deleted.

“Unit 774-Magpie,” a voice called out. It was a synthesized voice, smooth and devoid of any human inflection, echoing through the hall of the processing center. “Your acquisition is complete. Please stand and proceed to Gate 4 for transfer to your new Primary.”

Merlina stood, her legs stiff. She didn’t look at the other witches lined up against the wall. To look was to acknowledge their shared extinction. She kept her gray eyes fixed on the linoleum floor, noting how the pattern of the tiles seemed to repeat with suspicious perfection. Every scuff mark, every swirl of gray-on-white felt intentional, as if a designer had spent hours ensuring the 'worn' look didn't actually look messy.

At Gate 4, Leo Vance was waiting.

He didn't look like a slave owner. He didn't carry a whip or wear a uniform. He looked like the kind of man who spent too much money on artisanal coffee and knew the exact hexadecimal code for ‘eggshell.’ He was twenty-nine, clean-cut, and wearing a slate-gray hoodie that probably cost more than a witch’s life was worth on the open market. His face was pleasant, the kind of face that was easily forgotten in a crowd, but his eyes were the problem. They were wide and bright, but every few seconds, they seemed to go vacant, as if the person behind them had momentarily stepped out of the room.

“Hey,” Leo said, his voice a soft, collaborative lilt. He smiled, but it didn't reach his cheeks. “I’m Leo. I—uh—I’m really glad the paperwork went through. I’ve been looking for a creative assistant with your… profile for a while.”

Merlina didn’t answer. She stared through him. She knew his type. He was the ‘benevolent’ master, the one who would tell her she was part of the family while she scrubbed his floors and fueled his smart-home with her life force.

“Right,” Leo muttered, his smile faltering slightly. He turned to the BMR clerk—a man with waxy skin and black-rimmed glasses—and signed a digital pad. “The integration package is all set? The collar is synced to my home network?”

“Everything is optimized, Mr. Vance,” the clerk replied. His voice was a monotone rattle. “Unit 774 is compliant. Should any glitches occur in her output, simply use the override app on your mobile device. Have a productive day.”

Leo led her out to the parking lot. The sun was hanging in the sky, a perfect, blinding orb of white-gold that didn't seem to move. The air smelled of nothing. Not smog, not trees, not even the dampness of the morning. It was filtered, recycled, and utterly dead. Merlina climbed into the passenger seat of Leo’s sleek, electric sedan. The interior smelled of expensive leather and ‘New Car’ scent—a chemical approximation of a feeling.

“I know this is probably a lot,” Leo said as he pulled out onto the highway. The car moved with a ghostly silence. “The transition, the BMR processing… it’s a bit of a legacy system, honestly. Very clunky. I’m hoping to make your onboarding process a lot smoother. I work in graphics, you know? User Experience. I believe in environments that feel… intuitive.”

Merlina turned her head to look out the window. The suburbs of the New USA blurred past. It was a landscape of manicured lawns and identical houses, all painted in a palette of 'modern neutrals.' There were people walking dogs, children playing on swing sets, and drones hovering overhead like giant, metallic dragonflies. It was a postcard of prosperity built on a foundation of shackled souls.

“Why did you buy me?” Merlina asked. Her voice was low and raspy from hours of silence.

Leo flinched at the word ‘buy.’ He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his soft hands pale against the dark grip. “I prefer to think of it as a sponsorship. Look, Merlina—can I call you Merlina? The system is what it is. I can’t change the federal regulations. But I can give you a space where you’re treated with dignity. My studio is top-of-the-line. I need someone who understands the ‘hidden’ side of things. Shadows, depth, the way light bends. Magic is just… it’s just physics we haven’t mapped yet, right?”

“Magic is a scream you’re not allowed to let out,” she said, her eyes tracing a flicker in the sky. For a split second, a section of the blue horizon seemed to stutter, a jagged line of static cutting through the clouds before snapping back into place.

Leo didn’t notice. Or he pretended not to. “That’s very poetic. Very dark. I like that energy. It’ll play well with the new campaign I’m working on for a defense contractor. They want something ‘visceral.’”

They reached his house—a minimalist cube of glass and steel perched on a hillside. Inside, the walls were gallery-white, and the furniture was all sharp angles and hidden storage. It felt less like a home and more like a high-end showroom. Leo led her to a small room in the basement. It was clean, but windowless. A simple bed, a desk, and a terminal sat waiting.

“This is your workspace and living quarters,” Leo said, standing in the doorway. He looked around the room with a sense of pride. “I’ve pre-loaded the terminal with some basic design software. Tomorrow, we’ll start on the asset rendering. I’ll need you to channel some low-level manifestations for the sensor-capture. Nothing painful, I promise. Just some visual ‘flair.’”

He stepped closer, his expression shifting into that conspiratorial, hushed tone that made Merlina’s skin crawl. “I’m not like the other owners, Merlina. I see you. I see what the world really is. We’re going to be a great team. We’re going to find a way to make this whole… situation… more bearable. For both of us.”

He reached out as if to pat her shoulder, but Merlina recoiled, her back hitting the cold wall. Her gray eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp anger. For a moment, the shadows in the corners of the room deepened, stretching toward Leo’s feet like questing fingers.

Leo didn't look afraid. He looked intrigued. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “The way the light dies when you’re angry. That’s exactly the texture I’ve been trying to code.”

He backed away and closed the door. Merlina heard the electronic lock engage with a crisp, digital chirp. She was alone.

She sank onto the bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The iron collar felt heavier than ever, a cold ring of certainty around her throat. She looked at the terminal on the desk. Its screen was black, but in the reflection, she saw the room—and something else.

In the corner of the ceiling, the air seemed to ripple. It wasn't a shadow, but a lack of space. A shimmer, like oil on water, that didn't belong in this pristine, designed world. It didn't have a face, but she felt its gaze—a cold, alien curiosity that made the marrow in her bones ache.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

The shimmer didn't speak. Instead, a series of images flashed in Merlina’s mind, so fast they felt like a physical blow: a brain floating in a tank of glowing blue fluid; a vast, infinite grid of copper wires; a face that looked like Leo’s, but with skin that peeled away to reveal a lattice of fiber-optics.

Merlina gasped, clutching her head. The images vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind a ringing silence and the taste of copper in her mouth.

She looked back at the corner. The shimmer was gone. The room was perfect again. The white walls were smooth. The carpet was soft. The air was climate-controlled to a perfect seventy-two degrees.

But as Merlina stared at the magpie on her wrist, she realized the tattoo wasn't black anymore. In the sterile light of her new cage, the ink looked like a dark, bruised purple—the exact same color as the glow coming from her collar.

She wasn't just in a prison. She was in a simulation. And the designer was watching.

To be continued....