Numquidnam ego inveni?-XXIII

-

-

DATE:15th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation

LOCATION: Concord Metropolis

-------------------------------------------------

-

-

Yes, something was definitely strange.

I wake to the sound of metal grinding against metal, the stench of blood thick in the air. My eyes snap open, but I wish they hadn't. I'm no longer in the haunted house -this time, I'm in a slaughterhouse. Massive, mechanical, and alive with a kind of grotesque rhythm. The walls are cold steel, slick with fresh blood. I can hear the heavy machinery churning somewhere in the distance-saws, blades, gears grinding and cutting, their movements methodical and merciless.

I stand in the center of it, surrounded by slabs of meat hanging from chains overhead, swaying with the low hum of the machines. Some of the carcasses are animal-too large, too unfamiliar to be anything I recognize-but others... others look human. The chains rattle, pulling the bodies further into the depths of the slaughterhouse. The smell-coppery and foul-clings to me, making my stomach turn.

I try to move, but my feet stick to the blood-slicked floor. The sound of dripping echoes from all directions, and the oppressive weight of the place presses down on me. There are no hallways here, no clear exit. Just a maze of rusted metal and conveyor belts, each one feeding into the grinding machinery. A voice crackles over a distant speaker. It's distorted, unintelligible at first, but then I recognize it-my father. He's here, again. Hunting me. Only now, he doesn't sound like himself. His voice is colder, filled with a strange mechanical edge, like the slaughterhouse has twisted him into something inhuman. "You can't run forever," He says. "This place will grind you down."

It's not like I want to escape. This looked like an 8 hour torture session, and I was fine with it. I was too tired to run away.

No, something else was strange about this dream. There was a girl next to me?

She was small in figure, somewhat like Alice? And had a dense, straight blue hair with bags, reaching about her shoulder. Blue pupils assorted with the eyes and some stereotypical hacker clothes. Who was she? She was surprised, but more so seemed scared. Glancing at me, she lets out a faint whimper.

"W-W-Will?!"

"Who?" How does she know me?

"It's.... It's me, Emily." She tried to get on her feet but had a hard time balancing. ' Emily?' the AI? What was she doing in my dream?

" I can feel... Everything. My hands moving, my feet tensing up... What is this place? H-how did you bring me here?"

" As if I know. I have no idea how I bring myself here. Why do you have a human body?" Thinking about it, This thing brought me into her problems without asking and now I do the same to her. If my your problems became mime. The mind became yours!

" This... This is a human body?! I can't believe it! I... I can feel everything-" so this means she really was just an AI outside. Or was it because her "body" limited her? Whatever. I didn't want to break her enthusiasm, but this wasn't really the best environment for her to " feel" things.

" I'm sad to inform you but this is kind of my torture room."

She then stopped and turned to me" What do you mean?"

" You heard the man over the communication right? If he finds us he will inflict pain you can't even imagine. Way worse than when the professor tried to move you into another phone."

" Then, then we should escape right!?"

" It's not that simple. Actually I don't think it even is possible."

" Huh.... What do we do?" She was terrified. It was clear. The act of feeling pain left some kind of scar over her mentally.

" We should try to stay away as long as we can I guess." A horn rings throughout the facility.

Panic sets in, and we stumble forward, weaving between hanging slabs of meat. I don't know where we're going-just away. Away from his voice, away from the machines. But the floor vibrates beneath us, pulsing with the rhythm of the slaughterhouse. Everything here feels alive, like it's feeding off.... My fear? No, it was Emily's.

We round a corner and I have to cover Emily's mouth to not scream. There, towering over the machines, are things I can't even begin to describe. They're made of steel and flesh, some grotesque fusion of man and machine-eldritch horrors with blades for limbs, eyes that don't blink, and mouths that open impossibly wide, dripping with oil and blood. They move with precision, as if they're part of the slaughterhouse itself, their bodies jerking and grinding with the rhythm of the machinery. They don't see me yet, but I know if they do, it's over.

I duck low, crouching behind a pile of rusted crates while pulling the small girl under me as a hulking monster shuffles past. Its metal limbs creak and whir, blades dragging across the floor, carving deep grooves into the steel. It's looking for me, its grotesque head twitching as it sniffs the air. I hold my breath, the cold metal digging into my palms as I grip the edge of the crate. The thing pauses, its head jerking in my direction. I think it's seen me. I can almost feel its cold gaze through the blood-soaked air.

But then it moves on, the rhythmic clanging of its movements fading into the mechanical drone of the slaughterhouse. I exhale slowly, hearing a heart pond from the girl pressed against me. Kind of strange for this to be her first experience with life. I can't keep this up for eight hours. I don't even know how much time has passed. Minutes? Seconds? It all feels the same-an endless loop of hiding, running, and barely escaping.

Then I messed up.

The smell of rotting flesh and the mechanical hum of the slaughterhouse fade into the background as my father's footsteps echo behind us. We've been caught. Emily stands beside me, trembling but trying to hold it together. I don't even look at her. My mind races, trying to think of a way out, a way to turn this around—but there's nothing. My father, dressed in a butcher's apron slick with fresh blood, looms over us, his face obscured by a mask of twisted, metallic grins. His eyes, though, are unmistakable. Cold, cruel, and gleaming with satisfaction.

He says nothing as he drags us, one by one, into his office. His grip is iron. The room is cramped, the air stifling, and the walls are lined with tools—saws, hooks, knives, each one stained with years of use. The desk in the center is covered in old papers, charts of flesh, diagrams of human anatomy, but what catches my eye are the restraints, bolted into the steel floor, and the long, blood-soaked table that dominates the room.

Emily's breathing grows ragged. I feel her panic like a wave crashing over both of us. "You don't have to do this," she whispers, her voice trembling, barely audible over the grinding of the machines outside. I know she's not talking to me.

My father doesn't respond. Instead, he motions for us to sit, the massive cleaver in his hand catching the dim light of the room as he points toward the table. I hesitate for a second too long, and he yanks me forward, shoving me hard into the chair. The chains rattle as they snap around my wrists, biting into my skin. Emily is forced onto the table, her body strapped down, her face pale with terror.

The silence that follows is unbearable. My father moves slowly, methodically, sharpening a blade while Emily watches, her eyes wide and wet. Guess it's time for her to grow up.

I can feel my own pulse sliwing in my throat, I refuse to beg. He won't stop. I know that much. He's enjoyed this too many times before.

Without warning, he begins. The first cut is shallow, a testing slice across Emily's arm, barely deep enough to draw blood, but it's enough to make her scream. I don't grit my teeth, my fingers are relaxed and I don't look away. She screams again as he moves to her legs, drawing out every inch of pain with precision. The blade glides through her skin like paper, his hand steady, his eyes never leaving her face. He's savoring it—savoring the fear, the pain, the hopelessness.

And then he turns to me.

I've been in nightmares like this before, felt the cold sting of metal against my skin, the heat of my own blood running down my arms. It's not about killing me. No, that would be too easy. It's about breaking me. Piece by piece.

He carves slowly, methodically, cutting into the muscle of my arms, the tendons of my hands, as if he's taking his time to learn every inch of me. But he knows it already. I don't grit my teeth. I don't to scream. I was numb. I won't give him the satisfaction. Not again.

Emily cries out between sobs, pleading with him to stop, to let us go, but her words are swallowed by the sound of slicing flesh, by the mechanical drone of the slaughterhouse outside. The world narrows to this room, this moment, the endless cycle of pain and silence.

I start to drift away, disconnected from this situation. My father's voice, cold and mocking, cuts through the haze.

"This is what you deserve. You never understood, did you?" He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. "All that running, all that hiding… but you always come back to me."

I feel the blade press into my chest, cold and unforgiving. But just as it starts to slice, he stops. My father steps back, staring down at both of us like a disappointed god, as if he's deciding whether to end it or draw it out longer. The clock on the wall ticks away the minutes, but time has no meaning here.

There's no escape this time. No exit, no way to wake up. Just the endless, sickening rhythm of the butcher's work, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning.

We're trapped. And he's not done yet.

She watches him approach once again, her glowing eyes wide with a fear I've never seen in her before. Her body trembles as he brings the blade to her skin, hesitating for just a second. But Emily is silent. She doesn't scream anymore, doesn't flinch as the blade sinks into her flesh, drawing a thin line of black oil and synthetic blood. The sound of tearing skin is sickening, and yet she only watches him, her eyes flickering with code, glitching as if her mind is struggling to process what's happening to her body.

"She can feel it," my father says, a twisted smile in his voice as he draws another line across her arm. "Just like you."

Emily's mouth opens, but no words come out. Her body twitches involuntarily, but her face remains blank, her eyes flickering faster, more erratically. Something in her is breaking, and I know this pain is something her programming was never designed to handle. She wasn't meant to feel—but here, in this nightmare, she does. Was she too broken to scream anymore? Already?

Such a weak ass AI. How is this supposed to be compared to the human determination?

Seeing her silent, father got annoyed and started punching her until she responded. She lost consciousness. An AI.... Lost consciousness.... No wonder she had no reaction.

But he was persistent. Father didn't stop until she once again started to scream.

Then he got to work once again.

Having a companion take this punishment made the whole ordeal seem way longer.

By the time he was done and I wake up Emily wasn't talking anymore.

Not...at all.

I asked her through the messaging app if she was alright, but I got no response

Oh well.

I did my usual morning routine, unbothered of what happened. Alice asked me about how Emily was doing, but I kept it short as "she was thinking about something". Alice didn't need to know of my nightmares.

Thinking about it, how did she even come with me? Is it that contract? Because I am her owner? Whatever.

I saw the bandaged Sasha walking down the hallway so I went inside the boy's bathroom by instinct to avoid her. I don't think she saw me.

I went into one of the stalls as technically teachers aren't supposed to be in here.

Then a small guy entered the bathroom. I could tell by his soft step. This is when something strange happened. While he was pissing in the urinal, out of the stall near me come out two bigger dudes. We're they in there together? I hope they were smoking.

I vividly remember the conversation:

"Hey, Heyy, Heyy; What are you doing here?" said one of them to the small guy.

He in turn sighed and responded with "not again", like what the hell is this routine?

The... Bully then said

"Hey, his penis is so small" then they both started doing a strange, slow laugh while... Pointing at it? What the hell was wrong with them, first of all the gest and second of all... Why was the little guy out there with it hanging it loose? He said "short penis" and they laughed again. "He repeated that again two times in between these strange slow laughs.

Then he said " Bastard, don't mess with me, I'll unalive you." As they were leaving. Like what the hell just happened. I walk out of the stall and I see, I think the nerd from the tournament? He was still with his willy hanging outside, giving me a serious look. How gay could these students get?

" Zip up your pants kid."

I left the bathroom disgusted. I should have just passed by Sasha.

And pass by I did! She was waiting in front of the bathroom. What is my luck these days?

We lock eyes and I can see she is still bandaged from what happened. The good doctor probably wanted her to recover faster by moving or was it her that didn't want to stay in a hospital bed?

She had a pretty sweater on. I have no idea how she doesn't get hot in this kind of weather.

She was petrified to look at me, but I have an idea that she knew I was here. Otherwise why would she wait in this place? Sasha never goes out of her "lair" except for smoking or a big reason. What did you want to say?

She was biting her finger, probably out of anxiousness. It was clear she wouldn't be the one taking the initiative in this apparent discussion so I did.

" So how were you? Sasha?" She didn't respond. I could see her shaking, her breathing was getting faster. Sweat developed on her skin while tears covered her eyes. Were they the symptom of a convulsion or a panic attack?

Behind me rushes to the left the nerd. Seems like he managed to raise those pants. Gosh am I happy to leave this place. Didn't know it was filled with such weirdos.

Anyway about the girl at hand. I thought about calming her by grabbing her arm but considering the circumstances it would probably only scare her.

" What do you see when you look at me? Why are you so scared?" She still didn't want to say anything. Well this is boring. I would just leave but it would feel strange to leave her as is.

I got closer, so that our faces were about a meter apart.

" What is it when you look at me?" I seriously didn't understand her. If she was scared of my trauma, then that only spoke of how weak she was as a counselor. I barfed out those accusations on the moment, but the more I think about it the more I made sense in that time.

Surely, if this woman considered herself, a highly experienced practition, highly mature and powerful. She wouldn't be broken from a single experience. On the other hand, I am not exactly sure what she saw because our experience is may have been totally different.

I can't say I have been a slouch with it, after all, I also felt for the first time in years the fear of death in one of my dreams.

She almost killed me. Shouldn't I be the one to fear her?

That is so amusing. I couldn't stop a smile forming on my face, and it seems like she also saw it. But she wasn't calmed by my gesture. Quite the opposite.

I didn't want to make her think it was about what happened. I appear quite villainous in this moment if you were to not know the circumstances.

"Sorry. I'll leave if it is too much."

Just as I started placing my steps away, she grabs my shirt with her delicate, bandaged hand.

" W-wait..." I hear a soft whisper escape her mind, but I don't turn around.

" What is it?" I was quite tense. Could I get some Revelation into what she was thinking?

"You... You're not a monster. I'm sorry for saying t-that." She did? I don't even remember.

I glance back at her, her oceanic eyes untouched by the torturing experience. They beamed of light.

" It's no problem. We both weren't in the right state of mind." I give her the brightest smile I knew but it probably wasn't enough.

As she lets go I make some distance before quickening my pace to my room.

I look at the messaging app and Emily finally responded in the meantime.

'I now know pain. Why did you do that to me?' well that was a strange statement. Entirely untrue. Even if I brought her in that world by some Force I am not aware of, it wasn't a conscious effort.

But she wouldn't care about any excuse.

I respond to her message: " your problems became mine, but sadly it appears that my problems also became yours."

What I got back was a simple 'What?'. She probably needed some clarification.

' Because of this apparent contract, faceless men are after me. Sadly for you, I seem to be cursed to go in that place every now and then. Through the same contract you are brought there.'

'How... Do we end it?'

' It isn't that simple. If I knew I would have ended the cycle long ago.'

'So... I will go there... A-gain?"

It's not really up to me. I was surprised and AI was brought inside my mind.

' Didn't you want to experience life as a human? Sorry to break to you, but it isn't just independence and happiness, there is also suffering. In that place I find the mostly physical suffering, but it still is never the less one of them.'

'...' now what was that supposed to mean?

'Look. I have been suffering in that place for about 30 years. I did all I could to try and stop it yet I failed. The same could be said about your suffering and how you are currently being tracked by those people. Why won't we work together? I'll keep you safe from them.... While you use that New perspective of an all-powerful AI to find the way to save me? How about it?'

'...' at first I thought she went back into her broken mode but, Emily was thinking.

'Yes, we will save each other. I don't want to go there.... Again...' well it's good we got that covered.

I look around the academy but I don't find Alice. At some point she calls me possibly being an empath who read my mind and told me to go back to the teaching building, More precisely the biology laboratory.

It was a very well funded project. The space has high ceilings with large, old-fashioned windows that let in natural light, though the glass is slightly foggy from years of weathering. The walls are a faded shade of cream or pale green, with remnants of outdated posters showcasing diagrams of the human body, the food chain, and the periodic table.

The workbenches, made of sturdy wood, are scratched from years of use, with some wear visible around the edges. They're lined with microscopes, older models but still functional, though a few of them creak when adjusted. There's a noticeable contrast between the newer, modern digital devices, like a projector or one or two computers used for data analysis, and the older equipment such as manual centrifuges or glass test tubes stored in yellowing cabinets.

A corner of the room holds a refrigerator, its metal slightly rusted, where biological samples and reagents are stored, along with an incubator that has clearly been used for decades. In the back of the room, there's a tall, wooden cabinet displaying preserved specimens in formaldehyde-filled jars — frogs, insects, and other small creatures. The shelves creak slightly under the weight of old textbooks and dusty anatomical models, some of which have chipped paint and missing parts.

The laboratory's ventilation system is older, with a large fume hood that hums loudly when turned on. While the lab lacks some of the cutting-edge technology of more modern facilities, it still serves as a functional space, where students engage in traditional dissections and hands-on experiments. There's a certain charm to the space, as its history is evident in every worn surface and aging piece of equipment, yet it continues to inspire scientific curiosity in each new generation.

Usually I don't care much about classrooms, but I always wanted to go in here since I came to the academy. When I was young I wanted to become a biologist. But fate had other plans... Such a cliche thing to say from me...

Anyway, at one of those tables was Alice together with the black-haired kid and the short Chou one.

She excitedly announced my presence and invited me to sit with her.

Then Alice went on to explain how she was recruiting them into her agency. UltraMan's League, of course.

But why did she bother here to bring me here?

" As I was saying my..... Friend here William will also be joining the league after we finish our substitution." She's talking about who? When do we talk about that? Ahhh, probably one of those many times when I spaced out while she blabbered on about heroes. Damn.

" He isn't a hero yet?" It was the black-haired kid.... Ulkip? Yeah that was his name. You are surprised to hear I wasn't officially a fighter. His surprise made sense considering what I did while technically not being trained.

"Well, not actually. It's his first time officially being a superhero." Way to talk instead of the person at question Alice. I didn't know I elected you as my official representative. These bricks already rom or that we are in a relationship and now what will they say, that I am in your leash? No way.

" So he was a vigilante?" It was the Asian girl bringing herself into this nonsense. I call her Chou, but I don't know if she even comes from the eastern principality.... She doesn't have the accent the chef has so she probably grew up here.

" So why did you call me?" I want to get out of this place.

" Nothing much, I just wanted to present you to the students joining us. I'm not sure if you ever bothered to talk to students in your classes, heheh...." She was embarrassed? But why? Was I supposed to care about these people? To build a special bond or some kind of relationship? I was going to teach them only for a month..." So I want you to make sure we got to a good start."

"Suure." I looked around as if waiting for someone to ask me anything. If not I would just leave. Sadly the boy brought himself back into the discussion

"How old are you exactly?" What? Was he perhaps one of the few to recognize my actual age? I'll be honest, it feels strange to be thought of as a young guy just out of college. It gets old.

Sadly he corrected himself." Sorry, what I mean is that you are the same age as Alice, right? But you didn't go to the academy... You so how did you reach this level of skill?"

Now that was a good one. I could finally correct someone myself.

" I don't know where everybody got that idea but I am older than Alice. And how I trained? This Academy isn't the only place where you can learn how to fight... Well I guess you'll know it in a real world once you get out it"

Alice took back the initiative and continues to talk about her meaningless mentorship stuff. I'm sure she was very happy to have sidekicks. Or where they going to be sidekicks? Or fledgling heroes? I really didn't care.

I got out of that place and went to the library to relax a little.

I read a book about AI, but it was so old it considered the concept fiction so it was kind of useless. There are surprisingly few books about machinery considering this is the superhero school. Was this the Monopoly the Matthew and Mundi heroes had over equipment? I heard they are the only reliable sources of good gadgets and armor.

You'd think there would be more students trying to learn to make this stuff themselves considering how big the community is.

I think they are some of them with this kind of interest, but they should probably be fished by the bigger players, in apprenticeship programs? I'm really not sure.

Whatever the case was I was tired.

I went to bed early passing by Alice talking with some other teachers. I think Sasha also was with them.

That night I slept quite fine. It was clear. I some exhaustion I never got to get rid of from the past days.