She twisted other parts of his emotional makeup until he was compliant, adrift in apathy, obedient.  “Stay.”

Aaand we’ve got a thrall.

He stopped retreating.  He was still breathing hard from his momentary panic, but that would pass.

The body does its own thing until it catches up with the brain’s new orders.

She leaned towards him and ran her hand along the top of his head.  It was like rubbing a toothbrush, spraying minuscule bits of water onto the wheel and dashboard.

There is nothing dry in this city.

The rain is doing its part in ensuring that, catching spots like the Palanquin hill, where the usual flooding doesn’t reach.

“Good.”

He stared at her.  There was fear in the look, and she didn’t have the heart to erase all of it.  A little was good.

…from a victim’s perspective, is a little bad emotion better than no emotion?

I think a lot of people would say yes to that. It’s like how humans hate boredom so much they’ll rather do a thing they know will hurt, just to get some stimulus, any stimulus.