“Why won’t you let me go?”

The developer's voice was controlled, strong despite her wavering state. Time seemed to stand still as the shallow black water she stood in sloshed slowly against her ankles. It didn’t feel wet. Light reflected off the water, yet where the shine came from within the pitch black abyss, she hadn’t a clue. It was always the same place, time and reality irrelevant. Not even gravity felt real, as if the only reason her feet remained planted within the boundless obsidian sea was because she couldn't go anywhere else in the depthless void.

She stood, silent as the gentle waves were the only sound. She stared at her replica; it was silent itself. The light breeze tussled with each of their hairs and clothing as they stood but a few meters apart. It was always so liminal, the way it appeared. It stood taller than her, skin flawless aside from the circuitry pulsing light through the imaginary body. Its clothes were always pressed and pristine, that waistcoat had to get hot sometimes, right? Oh, what’s the difference- she was wearing a black hoodie over a turtleneck, and this place was devoid of any temperature anyways.

“I’ll ask again then, why won’t you let me go?”

“We both know I can’t answer that, Amber.” It responded, its voice resonating the exact same sound of the developers despite the words not leaving her own throat.

“It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you won’t.”

She stared at it, eye contact never breaking as it stood its distance until the tingle of electricity and the feeling of a cold hand settled on her shoulder. When her eyes turned, it was standing beside her. It stared down at her, into her eyes as they contacted again.

“…you’re right. I won’t deny that you aren’t wrong, of course I wouldn’t.” It sighed, releasing her shoulder as she took a few steps forward in the sea before taking a seat midair, resting its elbow against an imaginary arm rest. “You really need to find some new questions to ask, it feels like you’re always asking the same ones. Say, why don’t we just have a pleasant conversation?”

“Every conversation with you is unpleasant.”

“Oh- ouch! Getting feisty, are we now?” It laughed, snapping its fingers.

Amber jolted as she was picked off her feet, a leather chair rising from the water below her. It was her office chair, its cracks and feel all a perfect copy from its comfort in reality. Of course it was. She scoffed, readjusting herself deeper within the chair as the duplicate’s plastic gaze remained on each of her small little movements.

“Will you never tell me when you’re going to do that?”

“Likely not. This is your head, I'm surprised you never see it coming yourself.” Its small smile was always a parallel to her glare. “Here, if it makes you feel better, check your left.”

Amber rolled her eyes to the side, reaching out her hand as a table rose from the water, a single energy drink on its surface rising perfectly into her palm. Her fingers wrapped around the aluminum, other hand and nails shifting as she did to pop open the black tab on its top.

“Say, why do you drink those here anyways? Coffee, tea, energy drinks- the caffeine doesn’t affect your ‘body’ in this place at all. Why bother?”

“For the taste. Why else?” She answered irritably.

“I figured you drank them in reality due to the long nights you work for the Dante’s Division- I couldn’t figure any logical reason due to how bad overconsumption of caffeine is for you.”

“Please, a little caffeine won’t kill me.” She paused, taking a sip from the can, bubbling and fizzing with carbonation. “Besides, I’d be glad if it did.”

“Why must you choose to so desperately waste this gift I give you?”

“Because it’s not a gift. It’s a torture method.”

Every day was another day of pain. Bleeding, leaking, breaking down. Amber should have been long dead. She was dead. It said so on that plastic badge of hers, pinned to her hoodie. Morta - Infecta. Dead, infected. That's what the company titled it, anyways.

This wasn't an infection.

This was a parasite

“Virus, actually. Really, you need to quit thinking of me in such harsh terms. Do I really look like a parasite to you? We’re in this together!”

“Can you stop peeking into my inner monologue for two seconds, you prick?”

“Oh- ouch- prick? Strike two!” It chuckled again, resting its hand beneath its chin, leg crossed. “But, alas, no. I can’t. I’m not capable of such a thing, you know. My apologies!”

“Yeah, yeah. Your ‘apologies.’ You don't give a damn,” she drew quiet for a moment, “but- what, do you not like being called what you are?”

“I’m not a parasite. I’m not alive. I don’t need you to keep going, Amber. I could be rid of you in seconds.”

“So? Why not do it. You give everyone else maybe a week or two… get your thrills from your puppets and throw their mangled bodies out to rot.” Amber’s nails strummed rhythmically against the wooden armrest as she held her beverage in her other hand. “…Why not me? It’s been decades, but you haven’t cut my strings, oh-so dear puppeteer. …What fucking value do I have? Why. Won’t. You. Let. Me. Go?”

The smirk dipped from its face, the knowledge she’d gotten under its ‘skin’ being satisfying to the developer. “…I believe that, due to you being so unreasonably stubborn, this will conclude our… ‘conversation~!”

To this, Amber immediately jumped up, her words choking on a sudden desperate plea as it spoke. “H-hold on- no, you don’t get to-!”

“Call out if you need me, I’ll always be here. Until next time, au revoir~!”

“Wait- wait don’t! Tch- ACER!”

She reached out her hand as she charged forward, but as the skin of her fingertips were near to grazing the virus’s cheek, she found herself back in her ‘office’ within the blink of an eye. She stumbled, catching herself from falling by grabbing onto the desk she had suddenly found herself charging at. Her breathing was panicked and heavy, labored as she hyperventilated. She tried to yank her wrist away, but-

But it was chained to the desk.

Tight metal wrapped her wrist, the iron chain dangling with heavy weight. With her free hand, she reached up and touched her neck. Her fingers contacted the smooth metal of the painful collar she was all too familiar with, running over to the small embedded light indicator glowing yellow as the light reflected in the dim room. It was then she noticed her hands were covered in a mix of clotting blood and viscous oil. She could wipe the oil away as it oozed from her internals, whether the blood was hers or not she couldn't tell.

“A… Acer… you fucking-…” She muttered words sputtering through the gorey liquid that seeped out her throat quietly.

She turned her head around to face the mirror on the back wall, located beside the door which sealed shut without so much as a handle despite it already weighing a metric ton. She raised her voice to be heard, an edge or anger still tracing her tone as she griped the words.

“Can I get some light in here and some statistics?”

With a chime over a speaker from god knows where in the cell the light suddenly flicked on, liminally bright light filling the room of concrete walls. She reclined into yet another leather chair, yet this one failed to be the one she found so comforting. It was stiff, new. It felt like vinyl against her skin and it made it crawl. She sighed and rubbed her temple as now a masculine voice was transmitted over the sound system.

“Three RING2 members dead, one wounded from RING6.”

“What, wanna’ demote me down to RING7?” She scoffed and chuckled.

“Ah, of course. The ring of anger! Funny, miss Acer. Now, alas, you know we can’t do that. You’re the head of Dante’s, you’re best off staying right there at RING9.”

“Treachery then, Delacroix?”

“Treachery indeed. Alas, I didn’t make the rules for what it is you yourself lead.”

At this point, she’d already grown tired of staring into the mirror, only seeing her own reflection despite knowing the scientist stood beyond the wall staring back at her.

“…Would you come in here and speak to me face to face, Doctor?”

They sighed across the speaker. “You infected are quite the hazard, you know. But, I’ll humor you. You are the only one deserving of trust, you know.”

The buzz of radio frequency ceased from the speaker, and moments later the large metal door began to creak and groan as it raised. Dressed in black and adorned with a long, unbuttoned white lab coat, Dr. Delacroix stepped into the doorway with a chair trailing behind them as they took a seat.

“There we go, head scientist of Judas’s Division in the flesh! Always a pleasure to see your sleep deprived face, Doctor.” She scoffed, glancing over their questionable appearance.

Their raven hair was messy, their eyes sunken and tired, yet a smirk remained on their face nonetheless. “And an honor to meet the lead of Dante’s as well. …although we’ve met thousands of times.”

“Never gets any easier, now does it?” She chuckled softly. “Now, are you sure you couldn’t let me go early?”

“You know there's rules to this. Besides, it was a hell of a fight trying to get you contained. I’ll tell you what, we can ditch the collar. That's always the worst part, right?”

She nodded as they stood up, walking over to her and hovering a hand over the thick band on her neck, prongs unscrewed themselves from her flesh and the entire device snapped open and released. Dozens of holes were left bleeding in the circumference of her skin, but it was typical. You grew used to it, even if it still hurt like hell.

She rubbed the bleeding wounds- the red and black that dripped from them. “Appreciated, Delacroix,”

“Don’t worry about it too much, now. Anyways, you've got two days in here and I’m set aside for all of it. Ask me if you need anything; water, food, all of it. You’re lucky you got me and not one of the other containers, you know how they tend to be.”

“This is why you’re the only person I can tolerate in this hellhole of a company.” She met their fist with a small bump of companionship, a small smirk on her lips similar to that of the scientists.

“These next few days will be a breeze, you’ll be out of here in an instant. For now, I suggest you get onto whatever deadline you're missing. I’ll chat with you in a bit, Amber.”

She sighed as they picked up the chair and chuckled themselves as they lifted it out of the room, the door behind them sealed shut with the grinding of bearings and the thud of metal hitting the concrete floor. She swiveled in the chair to pull herself back to the desk, careful to not tangle her bindings as she flicked on the old pc that sat upon the desktop, the machine booting up with a whirr.

Delacroix listened to the clicking of the keyboard from within the observation room, gazing at her through the window as she'd begun to work. It was never entertaining to watch. Others would scream, bite and resist. Bark as their bodily fluids spat from their screaming jaws, enraged and dying. The eventual result was always the same. They’d vomit all they could and expire, or their veins would begin to burst, shredding their flesh and curling up as they slowly died. But as a matter of fact, they’d seen this all from her. Her flesh would rip from her bones, shed vomit up gears and organs in a sea of black and red as they’d splatter against the concrete floor. But she didn’t die. No, it didn't want her to. She’d slowly heal and suffer through the agony before it happened all again. It’d been decades, yet it wouldn't let her die. Not now, maybe not ever. Delacroix wrote notes in the observation log, but they’d never get it off their mind. They’d think back to when she’d snapped out of the deluded state in fear and panic. They hated thinking about her situation as a friend.

She was an enigma, yet she practically lived in purgatory.

What a shitty way to live.