"I'm sorry..."
The words hung in the sterile air, fragile and utterly useless. Erika lay collapsed on the cold tiles, his breath still ragged, his single arm trembling against his bruised ribs. He stared at Sister Sela's white shoes, waiting.
Sorry? The concept bounced off the smooth, empty walls of his conditioned mind. It wasn't a command. It didn't tell him to stand, to kneel, or to hold his breath. It was just a meaningless sequence of sounds.
"You shouldn't... you shouldn't be..." Sela stammered, her voice cracking. Taking a hesitant step forward, she stopped, her hands hovering helplessly in the air. "Get up... No, don't move. You're hurt. I... I should..."
Blood dripping from his chin onto the floor, Erika blinked slowly. His brow furrowed in a microscopic display of confusion. Get up? Don't move? The instructions were contradictory. A broken command sequence. The 'furniture' didn't know how to execute conflicting orders. Opting for the default state—absolute stillness—he remained frozen on his side, his hollow eyes waiting for a clean override.
"Oh, Light..." Sela choked out a sob.
Her flawless composure finally shattered. Dropping to her knees, the pristine white fabric of her habit soaked up the blood and sweat pooling on the tiles. Without another word, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Erika's battered, trembling body.
It was a desperate, crushing embrace. She buried her face into the crook of his uninjured neck, her tears hot and wet against his cold skin.
Erika stiffened. The sudden warmth, the smell of clean soap mixing with his own copper blood, sent a violent shockwave through his dulled nervous system. He didn't hug her back. He didn't have a right arm to do so anyway. Rigid and trapped in her arms, he simply stared blankly over her shaking shoulder at the heavy oak door.
Click.
The mechanical lock of the door disengaged—a sound sharper than a gunshot.
Sela gasped, instantly ripping herself away from the boy. She scrambled backward, hands flying to her face to wipe away the tears, stark terror erasing all traces of her previous guilt.
Erika's eyes remained locked on the opening door.
Lynus was stepping backward into the room. The arrogant, sadistic Blue Cloak who had just treated Erika like a footstool was currently bowing at a perfect, rigid angle. His head was lowered submissively, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
"Yes, Your Eminence," Lynus murmured, his voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet, sycophantic reverence. "It will be handled exactly as you instructed. I understand the timeline perfectly. May the Light guide your path."
A low, indistinguishable murmur answered from the dark corridor outside.
"Of course. Completely flawless," the Blue Cloak replied, bowing even deeper, practically trembling with forced respect.
Taking one final step backward into the room, he pulled the heavy oak door shut. Clack. The lock engaged with finality.
For a single, suspended second, the room was dead silent. Lynus stood facing the closed door, his head still bowed, hands still clasped.
Then, the clockwork snapped.
"GAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
A screech of pure, unhinged animalistic rage ripped from Lynus's throat. It was so loud, so sudden, that Erika flinched involuntarily on the floor.
Spinning around, the Blue Cloak's face was completely unrecognizable. Those handsome, aristocratic features were twisted into a horrifying mask of demonic fury. His pale blue eyes were blown wide, the pupils dilated to pinpricks. Saliva flew from his mouth as he let out a shrill, hysterical laugh that sounded like tearing metal.
"Old! Rotted! Fucking! BONES!"
Launching himself across the room, Lynus violently kicked the solid wooden chess table. CRASH! The heavy furniture flipped over, sending polished ivory pieces exploding across the room like shrapnel. A black rook bounced off Erika's cheek, but the broken boy didn't dare make a sound.
"Timeline?! Exactly as instructed?!" Lynus shrieked, mocking his own subservient tone from seconds ago. Grabbing handfuls of his perfectly styled blonde hair, he pulled until his scalp turned red, pacing frantically like a rabid dog in a cage. "They know nothing! Sitting in their high towers, breathing dust! Telling me how to refine the weapon! Me!"
He stopped abruptly. Chest heaving, his wild eyes darted around the room until they locked onto the bleeding, one-armed boy lying on the floor.
The manic pacing ceased. The shrill laughter died in his throat.
Tilting his head slowly, a terrifying, twitching smile stretched across the Blue Cloak's face. The subservient dog was gone. The sadist was back, and he was starving for a distraction.
"You..." Lynus whispered, his voice suddenly dropping to a dangerous, icy purr. Unclasping his blue cloak, he let it drop carelessly to the floor and began rolling up his sleeves. "You are going to help me burn off some of this... frustration. Aren't you, little dog?"
Erika watched with dead, hollow eyes as the madman advanced. Lynus's index finger was jammed rigidly, violently against his own chest. He took slow, deliberate steps toward the broken captive, his breathing ragged and loud.
"Am I a person?" Lynus muttered, his voice trembling with a toxic cocktail of rage and profound, pathetic insecurity. "Am I even a fucking human being?!"
Erika's gaze flicked desperately past his tormentor, seeking the only anchor he knew in this room.
In the background, Sister Sela was kneeling on the pristine tiles. Her head was bowed, completely hiding her face. Her trembling hands were meticulously, silently picking up the scattered ivory chess pieces.
Clack. Clack.
The sound of the pieces dropping into her palm was methodical, detached. She didn't look up. She wasn't going to intervene. She had abandoned the "furniture" to the storm.
SMACK!
A sudden, stinging slap across his already bruised cheek snapped Erika's head forward. The pain flared instantly, but before he could even process the strike, vicious fingers clamped onto his left ear.
"Ngh—!"
A violent, upward yank nearly tore the cartilage from his skull. The sheer force dragged Erika halfway off the floor, forcing him to rise awkwardly onto his knees, his neck craned at a sickening angle.
Pulling the boy in until their faces were inches apart, Lynus's pale eyes were blown wide with manic fervor. Erika could smell the sour stench of sweat and ozone rolling off him.
"Answer me!" the Blue Cloak screamed, spittle flying onto Erika's pale face. "Look into my eyes, you piece of meat! Answer me!"
Panic, cold and unstructured, seized Erika's chest. His conditioned mind scrambled for a script, for a rule he was supposed to follow. He desperately strained to look over his shoulder at Sela—he needed an instruction, a nod, anything—but the agonizing grip twisting his ear kept his vision locked squarely on the monster.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"
It wasn't a question anymore. It was a raw, deafening howl of pure, unadulterated madness ripped directly from Lynus's throat, blasted straight into Erika's face.
The sheer volume vibrated against Erika's eardrums, making his vision blur and the white walls spin dangerously. The ringing in his skull drowned out the faint clack-clack of the chess pieces.
And as the horrific, ear-splitting sound washed over him, tearing at his exhausted nerves, a bizarre, utterly detached thought floated through the absolute emptiness of his broken mind:
Why is he screaming?
He hung there by his ear, a one-armed, bruised, and bleeding captive trapped in a straightjacket, staring blankly into the howling maw of his abuser.
I am the one who should be screaming.
The deafening scream cut off as abruptly as it began.
The ringing in Erika's ears continued, a high-pitched whine that blurred the edges of his vision. Suddenly, the terrifying grip on his ear vanished.
Lynus let go.
Without support, Erika collapsed heavily back onto the tiles, gasping for air, his hand instinctively twitching toward his throbbing ear but restrained by the straightjacket.
The manic, bulging-eyed monster had disappeared in a fraction of a second, seamlessly replaced by the smooth, smiling aristocrat. Dusting off his pristine hands, Lynus looked down at the bewildered, trembling boy with genuine affection.
"You know what I find most satisfying about you, Erika?" Lynus murmured, his voice soft and melodic once more. "Your absolute composure. Look at you. Not a single word of complaint. A perfect, unbroken stillness in the face of chaos. It's exquisite."
Turning on his heel, the Blue Cloak adjusted his collar. "Come with me," he commanded lightly, walking straight toward the heavy oak door without looking back. "It's time to put that lovely composure to the test. Let's see if you can remain this quiet in the pit."
Erika pushed himself back up onto his knees.
Turning his head slowly, he found Sister Sela still kneeling on the floor a few feet away.
But the clack of the chess pieces had stopped.
Near Erika's knee, a single ivory pawn lay abandoned on the white tiles. Using his only arm, he clumsily picked it up. His fingers were shaking slightly from the adrenaline and pain. Crawling awkwardly toward the nun, he held the small piece out to her.
Sela didn't take it. She didn't even look up.
Erika stared at her hands. They were completely empty. She had already gathered all the pieces within her reach, yet her trembling fingers were still scraping against the bare, smooth tiles.
Scrape. Scrape.
Over and over, she was trapped in a relentless, phantom loop of picking up chess pieces that were no longer there. Her mind had simply detached, fleeing from the terror of the room into a safe, mechanical repetition.
Watching her empty, frantic hands for a long moment, Erika quietly placed the real ivory pawn on the floor, right next to her sweeping fingers.
He forced his battered body to stand. His legs felt like lead, his right side alarmingly light. Turning his back on the broken nun, he took a step toward the open door, following the Blue Cloak into whatever hell awaited him.
"Erika."
The voice was so thin it was almost a ghost, barely piercing the lingering ringing in his ears.
Erika paused, though he didn't turn around.
Behind him, Sela kept scraping her empty fingers against the floor, her head still bowed.
"Protect yourself," she whispered into the sterile white void.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. Simply adjusting his balance, he dragged his heavy boots across the tiles, and walked out of the room.