Ingenium viscera mea odit-LXX
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DATE:1st of August, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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The corridors were eerily quiet as I walked, the dim fluorescent lights casting long shadows on the walls. My guess was right—Dumas must have had somewhere to smoke, which likely meant we weren't that far underground. That realization was both a relief and a problem.
I made no effort to hide my face. Deus would know by now that Dumas was dead. Whether he didn't care or had his reasons for letting it happen didn't matter at the moment.
The silence of the hall was interrupted when a hand landed firmly on my shoulder.
I turned to face a man with pale, unblinking eyes. His gaze felt like it could pierce through me.
"Doctor," he addressed me. His tone was even, but there was a hint of suspicion.
I forced myself to remain calm, adopting Dumas's authoritative air. "Yes?" I replied curtly, as if annoyed at being interrupted.
He hesitated for a moment, then added, "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be preparing for your next test?"
*He doesn't know yet,* I thought, but his hand lingered a bit too close to his hip—likely where his gun was holstered. He was wary.
Thinking quickly, I said, "I needed a break. Smoking clears my head. Where are the teleporters? I'll use one to head up."
He raised an eyebrow. "Teleporters? We don't have any here. You'll need to use the wardrobe near the south wing. The keycard should already be on your desk."
His answer was deliberate, almost rehearsed. He suspected me.
I noticed his hand shift toward his weapon. Before he could act, I moved first.
With a swift motion, I plunged the knife into his neck, twisting to ensure he couldn't cry out. His pale eyes widened in shock before the light left them, and his body crumpled to the floor.
I crouched and wiped the blade clean on his uniform, then checked him for anything useful. No keycard, but he had a pistol. I took it and tucked it into my borrowed coat.
Standing, I glanced down the hallway. *South wing, he said. That wardrobe better be there.*
Straightening the coat, I walked on, more determined than ever.
The faint beeping of a heart monitor echoed down the hallway. At first, I wanted to ignore it—getting sidetracked wasn't part of the plan—but curiosity got the better of me. If it was something important, it might help me.
The door to the room was slightly ajar. I pushed it open cautiously. Inside, surrounded by a maze of wires and machines, was *him*.
Dumas.
He was lying on a medical table, unconscious, his pale body illuminated by the cold fluorescent lights. Tubes and electrodes connected him to various machines, the steady rhythm of his heart displayed on a nearby monitor.
*This doesn't make sense.* I had killed him. Snapped his neck. Left him lifeless. And yet here he was.
I approached warily, scanning for any signs of life or movement, but he didn't stir. *Was someone keeping him alive? Did they find him that quickly?*
I didn't bother entertaining the thought for long. I drew the pistol and fired several rounds into his head. Blood sprayed across the machines, and the monitor flatlined with a jarring beep.
Satisfied, I turned and left the room, heading back into the hallway.
But then I heard it again—the steady beeping of a heart monitor.
My grip tightened on the pistol as I followed the sound to another room. Pushing the door open, I froze.
There he was again. Dumas.
Alive. Unscathed.
My breath hitched as panic clawed at the edges of my mind. I backed away, my pulse quickening.
Without thinking, I turned and ran. The hallway seemed endless as I sprinted, my shoes echoing against the cold, sterile floors. I needed to find the wardrobe, to escape.
But no matter how far I ran, the scenery remained unchanged. The hallway repeated itself, the same stretch of walls and doors looping endlessly.
I stopped, gasping for air, my mind racing. *This isn't natural.*
It wasn't just paranoia; I was trapped in some sort of ability or device.
The beeping sound grew louder, as if mocking me.
Then, faintly, I heard footsteps. They were slow, deliberate, and they echoed louder with each step.
I tightened my grip on the pistol and waited, my eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of movement.
The eerie voice of "Hello" rang out behind me, startling me. I spun, bending low and firing instinctively, but when I turned to see what I had hit, there was nothing there.
Another "Hello," longer and drawn out, echoed through the corridor. I turned back quickly and froze.
It was the guard from earlier. The one I had killed.
Except now he was paler, almost translucent. His uniform shifted, morphing seamlessly into plain white robes that seemed to glow faintly under the sterile lights.
"Who are you?" I demanded, leveling the pistol at him.
He smiled faintly, his voice calm and measured. "I go by Sortre." Such a peculiar name. He must hail from Normandia.
Sortre. The name stirred no recognition in me. He continued, unbothered by the weapon I aimed at him.
"We are trapped under a temporal field," he said, gesturing to the endless hallway around us. "A loop, as you might call it. I wanted to talk."
"Talk?" I asked, my grip tightening on the pistol. "About what?"
He tilted his head, his pale eyes studying me. "About your condition. I feel sympathy for you."
"My condition?"
"You are undead," he said matter-of-factly, as though stating the weather. "I see it clearly, and I recognize your suffering. Your fate is a cruel one, bound by unnatural forces. But I can help you. I can break your curse."
I narrowed my eyes, trying not to scoff. He was clearly one of those religious zealots. His sympathy meant nothing to me. But I could use this.
"Alright," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "If you want to help me so badly, start by getting me out of this loop."
He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "It is not so simple. The loop is controlled by Deus. To escape, we must fool him, and that is no small feat."
I felt irritation rising. "So you're useless, then?"
Sortre raised a hand, as though to placate me. "I am only useless if you choose to see me that way. Deus is powerful, but not invincible. We will find a way. Together."
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. He truly thought we were allies in this. Fine. Let him think that. For now, I needed to find a way out of this loop, with or without his help.
I didn't bother arguing with Sortre anymore. His games, his fake sympathies, his attempts to manipulate me—they meant nothing. Instead, I drove my blade into his throat again, watching the light leave his pale eyes.
And then, just like before, the loop restarted.
The hallway stretched endlessly, and there he was again, standing as though nothing had happened.
"Hello again," he began, but I didn't let him finish. My pistol barked once, a clean shot to his knee. He crumpled with a groan, but I wasn't done.
I stepped forward, aiming for the other leg, blowing out the second joint. His cries echoed through the empty base, but there was no one to hear him. No one except me.
"Why… are you doing this?" he gasped.
I didn't answer. I holstered my gun, pulled out a knife, and got to work. His screams grew hoarse as I ripped out his teeth one by one, blood pooling in his mouth as I methodically removed each one.
When that was done, I started on his skin. With careful, deliberate cuts, I peeled back strips of flesh, exposing raw, twitching muscle beneath. His cries became guttural, his body convulsing as I worked.
The loop restarted.
I didn't stop.
Each time, I found new ways to hurt him. One loop, I shot his fingers and toes, watching them dangle uselessly before I severed them entirely. The next, I sliced off his ears and carved into his scalp. I took my time, savoring the process, ensuring he felt every agonizing moment.
On the third loop, I found a lab stocked with supplies. Acid and salt caught my eye, and I grinned. The next time his skin was exposed, I doused the wounds, watching as his body writhed in agony.
After that, he tried to run.
It didn't matter. I was faster, and I had better weapons. He only carried a knife, while I had a submachine gun, two pistols, and more blades than I could count. Each attempt at escape ended with him back on the ground, broken and bleeding.
I started counting the loops.
**Loop 4** He begged me to stop. I laughed and pressed the barrel of my gun to his stomach, firing a shot that left him gasping like a fish out of water.
**Loop 6**He didn't say a word, just tried to lunge at me with his knife. I shattered his wrist and tore the blade from his hand before cutting his throat.
**Loop 9** He barely moved, his once-pristine white robes soaked in endless cycles of blood and bile.
At some point, I realized when the loop had started. It was when he first touched my shoulder. The thought amused me—he'd been the one to set this endless cycle into motion, and now he was trapped in it with me.
Sortre made a grave mistake.
I had weapons. I had the patience of someone who had lived through endless suffering.
And him?
He was nothing but a fool with a knife.
**Loop 11**
Sortre's scream filled the hallway as I drove the knife deeper into his side. Blood oozed around the blade, soaking his once-white clothes. "I've spent close to a hundred years in these loops!" he bellowed, his voice breaking with desperation. "Endless experiments, endless pain!"
I leaned closer, pressing the knife deeper into his flesh. His eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness before I could answer.
**Loop 39**
Sortre shivered uncontrollably as I approached. He didn't try to run anymore; he knew there was no point. His pale, lifeless eyes darted between me and the knife in my hand, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"No… no more…" he whimpered, clutching at his broken body.
I didn't bother responding.
**Loop 47**
"Please… stop…" he sobbed as I dragged him down the hallway by what remained of his arm. His voice was hoarse, his words trembling. "You're a barbarian… a monster…"
The laugh that escaped me was hollow, echoing in the hallway as I tossed him against the wall and began my work anew.
**Loop 65**
Sortre didn't resist anymore. His body collapsed to the ground as the loop restarted, completely limp. His face was devoid of any emotion, his will to fight—or even speak—shattered.
I crouched next to him, tilting his face toward me. "Nothing to say anymore?" I sneered. "Good."
**Loop 83**
This time, I didn't kill him immediately. I left him there, a barely breathing corpse of a man, before grabbing him by what remained of his neck. His body dangled like a ragdoll, and I sneered, a guttural, monstrous laugh escaping me.
It wasn't my own voice. It was my father's—deep, cruel, and unrelenting.
"Eons," I snarled, shaking him violently. "You think your years in these loops mean anything? You spent them wasting away, conducting useless experiments. But me? Mine were nightmares. Endless pain, endless suffering. And you think you know torment?"
I threw him to the ground, watching as he tried to crawl away. "Undo the loop," I demanded, my voice dripping with venom. "Unless you want this to continue forevermore."
He didn't respond. I broke his neck again.
**Loop 95**
The moment the loop restarted, Sortre raised his hands weakly, trembling as he spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'll stop it… please… no more…"
For the first time in this endless hallway, I allowed myself to hope that this torment was nearing its end. As of it was my torment... What a joke.
I replenish my ammo from the corpses before going down the corridor. Was finally time to reach that damned office.
The doctor's office came into view, its sterile, glass-paneled door standing ominously in front of me. I pushed it open without a second thought. The dim lights inside flickered like the final breath of a dying man. I immediately spotted the key card, lying on the desk beside the doctor's computer. It felt almost too easy, too clean. This was the kind of prize that always carried some hidden cost. But I didn't have the luxury to second-guess myself
I swiped the card and inserted it into the terminal. The computer screen blinked to life, and there it was-his files. Unlike the polished, high-tech systems I was used to seeing, this was a relic. The technology was at least a decade old, if not more. The interface was clunky, slow. I was surprised it still functioned at all. The files were there-endless documentation of gruesome experiments.
Photos of bodies, some dismembered, others altered in horrific ways. These were nothing new to me, and nothing that would bring me any closer to understanding what was truly going on. The doctor was a monster, yes. But these were the actions of someone who had long since stopped being relevant. I was looking for something that could give me leverage. Just as I was about to give up on the computer and start rifling through physical files, a notification pinged on the screen. A message.
From: DEV$
I froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard. DeV$. The name rang in my head like a warning bell. A cold shiver ran down my spine. It took me only a moment to realize that "DEV$" was just a corrupted version of his name, but it was unmistakable.
The message read: "I must say, I'm impressed. No agent of ours could have made it this far. Your efforts haven't gone unnoticed." My mind churned. I couldn't tell if this was part of the game or if Deus was genuinely impressed, but it was too late for me to play his game. I quickly typed back, "I want Emily back." The response was near-instantaneous.
"Ah, Emily. She was quite an interesting experiment, wasn't she? But I can't return her to you. I like her. She's... useful.
I felt my heart rate quicken. That was it. I had to know more. My next words were typed with a cold fury. "Let's meet." Deus's response came quickly, and I could almost hear the sarcasm dripping from his words.
"Is this your way of ending me like you did with my colleagues? You think you can just walk in and defeat me? How quaint." Before I could respond, another message pinged. This time it wasn't from Deus.
From: Emily
"I need your help. I'm trapped. I don't know how much longer I can hold on".
I read the message twice. My instincts screamed at me. The timing was too perfect. It could be a trap, and it probably was. Sortre had mentioned the wardrobe, and this could be nothing more than a setup to get me to walk into a lethal trap. But what other choice did I have? The lead was the only one I had left. I cautiously replied, asking Emily where she was, and her response led me to a secluded room deep within the base.
I arrived at the wardrobe she had mentioned. The room was quiet, almost ominous in its stillness. I opened the wardrobe, my hand trembling slightly as I reached inside. There, nestled between the clothes, was one of the teleportation watches. The same kind the agents wore. I paused. This was it. Either this would be my salvation or my end. I picked up the watch, the cold metal against my skin sending a jolt through me. It hummed with a strange energy, presence sending a shiver down my spine.
Before I could even input the location, the sound of the intercom hum reverberated through the desolate base. The voice that followed was unmistakable—Emily, faint but resolute.
"Deus is sending you to an ambush," she warned, her tone laced with exhaustion. Before I could react, the teleportation watch strapped to my wrist surged with electricity, jolting me violently. I gritted my teeth against the pain, slapping the device hard to stop its malfunctioning.
"I'm sorry for being forceful," Emily added weakly, her voice faltering. "I've rerouted the coordinates to bring you here. Please… come get me. We need to leave."
Her words carried a sense of urgency I couldn't ignore, but doubt lingered. The timing was far too convenient. Still, what choice did I have?
I stumbled through the disorientation of teleportation, the world dissolving and reforming around me. When the dizziness faded, I found myself surrounded by humming machines, their mechanical arms whirring and moving with precision. The room reeked of burnt plastic and metal.
There, in the center, was the phone—or rather, what was left of it. The device that had once housed Emily was now mangled, its internal components exposed and fused with a web of machinery.
I stepped closer, the hum of the machines growing louder. Emily's voice echoed faintly, not from the intercom this time, but from the machines themselves.
"Help me," she pleaded, her words twisted with agony. The sound was unbearable, a raw, visceral scream that reverberated through my skull.
"Emily…" I muttered, shaking off the unease and pushing forward. I reached for the mechanical arms holding her SIM card module, their claws twitching as if resisting me. The module was already halfway severed from the motherboard, hanging by fragile threads of metal.
"Please... don't," her voice screamed, a cacophony of pain that I couldn't block out. My head pounded, her cries amplified through every machine in the room.
I clenched my jaw and yanked at the module, snapping it free from its twisted prison. Her screams crescendoed into a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very walls of the lab.
And then—silence.
The vibrating watch on my wrist activated again, this time dragging me into another teleportation sequence. The sudden pull was chaotic, throwing me off balance. I hit the ground hard, but it wasn't the cold, sterile cement of the lab.
It was dirt.
I opened my eyes to find myself lying in a golden field of wheat, the stalks swaying gently in the wind. The warm sun overhead felt surreal, a stark contrast to the cold mechanical hell I had just escaped.
"Emily?" I called out, but there was no response. My wrist buzzed faintly, but her voice was gone.
I looked down at my hand, the SIM card resting there like a fragile, lifeless artifact. She wasn't gone—not entirely—but she was silent now.
I closed my hand around the card, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. Emily needed a new phone. She needed a vessel, a way to speak again.
For now, though, all I could do was sit in the field and catch my breath, the golden wheat stretching endlessly around me.-*-*-*-*-*