The clock on the wall declared the time: 3:36 PM. More than just a timekeeper, it stood sentinel, its steady ticking a stark counterpoint to the horrors held within this subterranean chamber. Positioned to the left of the imposing double doors – the entrance to a realm of dread – it seemed to guard the very threshold of despair. Each tick echoed in the dim, stale air, a relentless reminder of time's passage in a place where it felt both fleeting and unending.
Then, with a delicate click, 3:37 PM arrived. A mere minute, measured in seconds, yet in this place, a lifetime could be crammed into such a small slice of time.
The fragile silence shattered as a man burst through the double doors, urgency radiating from him like heat. He moved with purpose, his path leading him down the corridor. His hands, once slick with blood that gleamed under the harsh lights, were now scrubbed raw at a sink. He rinsed them again and again as if he could wash away the deeds they had committed, but he knew this was a futile hope. He quickly turned away, leaving the faucet dripping slightly, and muttered a desperate plea under his breath.
"Fuck. Not again, please, not now...!" A prayer lost before it left his lips.
He strode towards a door on the right, identified by a nameplate: "Pharmaceutical Testing". He punched in a code on the security panel, his fingers flying across the keypad. The soft beep of confirmation was his cue. He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.
[[Next]]Determination hardened his features as he entered the room and began to search. Time was the enemy now, each passing second decreasing the chance of reviving his subject. Failure meant the irretrievable loss of invaluable data.
His presence stirred the stillness, creating a frantic symphony of rummaging sounds. "Come on, come on! Where the hell is it?!" His silent mantra was fueled by growing panic. He refused to succumb to the mounting pressure, not yet. Drawers were yanked open, their contents upended and sifted through with desperate haste.
The fluorescent lights hummed, casting a sterile glow on the room's contents. Rows of neatly arranged beakers, test tubes, and various scientific instruments lined the shelves, creating a chaotic yet organized tableau. The air hung thick with the scent of chemicals, a constant reminder of the grim purpose this room served.
His eyes darted frantically, scanning labels, tossing aside containers, each movement fueled by a desperate urgency. He mumbled to himself, a litany of curses and pleas through his panting breath. "Epinephrine...sodium chloride...where are you...?"
He threw open a drawer with such force that it slammed against the cabinet beside it. Inside lay a jumble of syringes, vials with faded labels, and crumpled sheets of paper filled with complex equations. He swept his hand across the contents, scattering them across the floor in his haste.
Suddenly, his eyes landed on a small, metal box tucked away in the corner of the drawer, partially obscured by a discarded lab coat. Hope flickered within him. He snatched the box and ripped it open. Inside, nestled in a bed of foam, were several ampoules labeled "Adrenaline Chloride."
A sigh of relief escaped his lips, quickly followed by a surge of renewed determination. He grabbed an ampoule, a syringe, and a vial of saline solution, his hands moving with a practiced efficiency born of countless repetitions.
He glanced at the clock – 3:38 PM. Two minutes. Two minutes to save his subject, two minutes to salvage his research, two minutes to potentially save himself from… he didn't dare dwell on the consequences of failure.
He sprinted out of the room, the adrenaline coursing through his veins mirroring the drug he held in his hand. The ticking of the clock seemed to amplify with each stride, a relentless countdown urging him onward...
[[Returning to his personal Hell that awaited.]]Back in the operating theater, the scene was grim.
A spectral figure unseen by the living watches the scene. Viktor studies his brother's guinea pig that had succumbed to his fate just a moment ago, right before Alphonse took off running through the double doors nearby after the repetitive beeps from the monitors had turned to a steady tone. Wires snaked across the stainless steel table, attached to various monitors displaying a chaotic jumble of numbers and waveforms. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sterile odor of antiseptic. The 'patient', a hulking figure covered in tattoos and scars, lay still.
"Patient 63." Viktor noted to himself. He had been counting.
The double doors suddenly bursted open as Alphonse returned to the patient's side. He didn't even flinch as he plunged the needle into the subject's arm. Viktor recognized the concoction, it was a synthetic adrenaline that when paired with the neuromodulator he had created prior, was intended to help bring Viktor out of his coma. However, given the effect it had on his current subject, it was clear the neuromodulator was nowhere near ready for use.
Casting the spent syringe off to the side, Alphonse picked up the paddles like before and pressed them to the man's chest, the jolt of electricity momentarily illuminating the room as the man's body arched violently. The monitors flatlined. Nothing. Again, he charged the paddles and repeated the process. The jolt of electricity coursed through the test subject's body, making him spasm once more against the restraints. Alphonse, or Alpha as Viktor used to call him, watched the monitor with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
[[The line remained stubbornly flat.]]
“Damn it!” Alphonse hissed, throwing the paddles onto the metal countertop with a clatter.
The underground lab, hidden beneath the facade of Sinner's Haven, was a testament to Alphonse's descent. The air hung thick with the smell of chemicals and antiseptic, a stark contrast to the cheap whiskey and desperation that permeated the lounge upstairs. Rows of gleaming surgical instruments sat alongside makeshift equipment cobbled together from salvaged parts. This was Alphonse's sanctuary and his hell at the same time.
He glanced at the stasis pod in the corner. Inside, Viktor lay motionless, suspended in a state between life and death. It had been a year since the accident, only slightly less than a year since Alphonse had made his pact with the black market. Each failed experiment, each stolen life, was a sacrifice on the altar of his desperate endeavor.
The fence on the table groaned and he opens his eyes to gaze down at his subject, who was growing colder with each passing second. Alphonse stepped back, his expression unreadable. As he ripped off his gloves and threw them onto the stainless-steel countertop, he stared at the dead man, a hollow ache resonating within him. Each failed experiment was a piece of his soul chipped away, leaving him colder, more ruthless.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him, momentarily eclipsing the obsessive fire that burned within. He closed his eyes, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. "Almost, Viktor," he whispered, his voice cracking with fatigue. He remembered their childhood, Viktor always trailing behind him, a bright, infectious energy he nicknamed “Alpha.” The accident… it was a blur of screeching tires, shattered glass, and the sickening realization that his little brother was slipping away.
The memory of Viktor, vibrant and full of life, was a painful contrast to the lifeless form that lay suspended in the chamber in the adjacent room. The accident had stolen everything. The hospital had given up. But Alphonse refused. He would not let his brother die.
He had been so sure this iteration would work. The new compound, carefully synthesized from rare herbs and illicitly acquired chemicals, was showing promise in the preliminary trials. But on a human subject, even a despicable one, it was proving disastrous.
He picked up the syringe again, his hand trembling only slightly. One more try. One more modification to the compound. One more descent into the darkness. He was so close on the first drug, all he needed was a breakthrough.
Viktor's spectral form watched from the corner of the room, his expression a mixture of anguish and resignation.
"It's not worth it, Alpha," Viktor murmured, his voice unheard by the living. "This isn't you."
The hum of the machines, the scent of chemicals, the weight of Alphonse's grief– it all pressed down on him, a suffocating reminder of the price of brotherly love, a price paid in blood and broken morality. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that Alphonse was nowhere near close. He was simply losing himself and all that Viktor once new.
[[Alpha's cellphone rang suddenly, cutting both of their thoughts short.]]Pulling his phone from his pocket, he glanced down at the bright screen as it displayed your first name. Which was...
<<textbox "$name" "" "Name Of Passage" autofocus>>
[[With a small sigh, he answered the call.]]"Sinner's Haven, this is Alpha speaking," Alphonse's voice crackled through the phone.
"Hey boss," you began, peering nervously out the window towards the flashing lights and mangled metal that signaled a major traffic incident. "I just wanted to let you know that there was a wreck on the only road that leads out of here, so I may be slightly late." The line of cars already stretched as far as you could see, a metallic serpent trapped on the asphalt.
Alphonse, on the other end of the line, paused for a while before giving a simple “Uh-huh.” It was clear that his years in management were turning him into a cynic. “You understand tonight is going to be quite busy, right?”
“I know...I swear I’ll be there, even if I must travel there on foot.”
“And there no other roads you can use as a detour?”
“No sir.”
Wary of his new-hire's claim, he pressed, "$name, this is your first day on the shift, this isn't going to become a habit will it? During the interview, I was under the impression you were more prompt and prepared."
"What? No--" you stammered, caught off guard by the immediate accusation.
“You’re sure?”
“No-- I mean y-yes. Yes, I’m sure, no it won’t become a habit.”
There was a long drawn out sigh on the other end of the line. That’s not good. You then hear him mutter under his breath before speaking to you again.
Here it comes...
"I need picture proof," Alphonse stated flatly, the distrust evident in his tone.
Wait...so....you're not fired?
You paused briefly as you processed this fact. He was giving you a chance, but you didn't have time to give it much more thought. He wanted a picture, right. You could do that, no problem.
You pulled the phone away from your ear. He really wasn't messing around. Navigating back to the home screen, you tapped the camera icon and framed a quick shot of the chaotic scene. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles painted a grim tableau against the backdrop of gridlocked traffic. Moments later, his phone buzzed with an incoming message notification. Alphonse scrutinized the photo, zooming in on the crumpled vehicles and the stoic figures of paramedics. After a thorough examination, he pressed the phone back to his ear. "Alright," he conceded, "but try to get here as soon as possible. I need you to show me you can be reliable." The hard edge in his voice softened slightly, yet the underlying expectation remained.
"Yes, I will be there as soon as I am able." You responded. "I'll see you soon."
[["I better." He said, though you could tell there wasn't any bite behind his tone.]]<div class="main">
<div class="titleintro">Like a White Moth to a Flame</div>
<div class="titlemenu-nav">
<ul class="titlenav">
<li class="titlenav-items"><<link "New Game" "prologue">><</link>></li>
<li class="titlenav-items"><<link "Load Game">><<run UI.saves();>><</link>></li>
<li class="titlenav-items"><<link "Resume Game">><<run Save.autosave.load()>><</link>></li>
<li class="titlenav-items"><<link "Settings">><<run UI.settings();>><</link>></li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>Meanwhile...
Alphonse stared at the phone screen, the illuminated image of your picture slowly dimming as the phone slipped into its usual sleep mode. A faint groan escaped his lips as he pocketed the device once more and pushed himself to his feet. It was time to perform the facade he'd grown so accustomed to, the practiced charade of normalcy that allowed him to navigate the world without revealing the darkness that churned beneath the surface.
Alpha exited the lab, the heavy steel door hissing shut behind him with a soft, final thud, sealing off the sterile environment from the outside world. He wandered down the silent hallway, the only sound his own measured footsteps echoing in the confined space. The corpse he left behind was no longer of use; its usefulness had dissipated along with the potential breakthrough he had been hoping for when his victim failed to stay alive.
The victim….Alpha knew him only as Harper. The name alone sparked a cold distaste within him, a resentment he felt the man didn't deserve to occupy even the smallest corner of his mind. Harper was accused of murdering his stepson in a drug and alcohol-fueled rage. He'd then allegedly concocted a story about a break-in, using his connections with law enforcement to solidify the lie. The irony wasn't lost on Alpha that Harper was ultimately apprehended not by the police, but by acquaintances in the black market to whom he'd carelessly confessed his crime. And what disturbed Alpha the most was the man's apparent lack of regret; he spoke of his actions with chilling indifference.
[[Another job that should have been handled by the law, but wasn't.]] 4:30 PM, $name's Residence
The click of the deadbolt echoed in the sudden quiet as you locked the front door, a familiar ritual that usually brought a sense of calm. Today, though, the calm was fleeting. Your phone screen lit up in your hand as you checked the time, a reminder of the impending shift. A quick glance at the screen brought a sigh of relief. Not too late at least, maybe by merely ten minutes. Just needed to hustle. You had decided to take another road, despite the closest one being quite a distance out of the way from your destination. You didn't care. You told him you would be there ASAP, and you were going to make damn sure of it.
You slipped the phone back into your pocket, pivoting to face the driveway and the familiar silhouette of your car. But your steps faltered. A figure at the far end of the sidewalk drew your attention, a silhouette against the backdrop of the persistent drizzle and flashing lights.
It was a woman, standing motionless, her gaze fixed on the mangled metal that was once a car, now a twisted sculpture of destruction wrapped around a tree a few houses down. The rain plastered her dark t-shirt to her frame, clinging to the jean skirt that barely reached her knees. A faded hoodie, pulled low over her head, offered minimal shelter, and her sneakers looked soaked through.
But it wasn't the rain that made you hesitate. it was the blood.
It coated her, a crimson sheen from the crown of her head to the tips of her sneakers. It darkened the fabric of her clothes, dripping from her fingertips onto the wet pavement. And beneath the gruesome spectacle of the blood, something else was profoundly, deeply wrong. Her posture was unnatural, contorted at an impossible angle. An arm hung limp, clearly dislocated. Her neck seemed twisted too far to the left. Broken. She looked broken in a way that defied simple explanation.
A wave of conflicting impulses crashed over you. Pity, horror, a desperate urge to help. you would ask her if she needed a ride to the hospital, or at least offer to call an ambulance. God, someone should call someone. But as you started to reach for your phone again, an awful realization surfaced within you.
Houses lined both sides of the street, so shouldn’t people be reacting? But no one was. No one was even acknowledging her presence. Aside from those surrounding the wreckage, others had already began to trudge away since they had places to be. Heads remained down, umbrellas firmly in place, as a few neighbors hurried past her to return to their houses. They seemed oblivious to her form standing in the rain, soaked in blood, radiating an aura of profound suffering.
[[Because you were the only one who could see her.]]
(That's all for now, this is a WIP. Check back for more later!)Alpha removed his pristine white lab coat and carefully hung it on the wall next to the narrow staircase leading up to the landing floor. A security code pad gleamed faintly in the dimly lit space, a final barrier protecting the secrets held within the lab below. He punched in the sequence with practiced ease, crossing the threshold and turning back to ensure the door was securely shut before moving on to the next set of stairs.
Once he had ascended them and reached the main floor, a brighter, more welcoming space greeted him. He grabbed his meticulously tailored waistcoat from a nearby coat rack and closed the heavy steel door behind him, the mechanism locking automatically with a reassuring click, leaving only a large, ornate mirror to disguise its true nature. Alpha turned to face his reflection and began to fasten the gleaming onyx buttons of his uniform, smoothing the crisp fabric with his palms. It was in that moment, as he perfected his image, that his phone buzzed once more, vibrating insistently in his pocket. With a low growl that spoke of weariness and irritation, he pulled the device out and glanced at the screen.
"What n--" He started to mutter under his breath, the word unfinished, a curse that died on his lips as he registered the incoming caller's name: Empyrean Vineyard. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering the call, composing himself and choosing his words with deliberate care.
"Roman, good to finally hear from you. You’ve been so quiet I was beginning to worry." His voice was smooth and controlled in an attempt to carefully mask any underlying emotion.
Roman's voice, a smooth, amused melody, filled the phone. "Alphonse, honey, you know I've been away." Though, he immediately caught the faint thread of disappointment in Alphonse's tone. "Don't tell me my superintendent has been neglecting his duties, leaving my favorite barkeep wanting in my absence?" He added, a playful pout practically audible over the line.
"Oh, not at all," Alphonse replied, the sigh almost imperceptible as he cradled the phone and straightened his tie. His practiced eye scanned his reflection, the meticulous man ensuring his image was impeccable. "Your employees have been perfectly attentive. However, I've been rather concerned about the Merlot's quality. The last batch was... disappointingly light-bodied."
"Oh?" Roman's tone shifted, the amusement replaced by a subtle curiosity – a telltale sign of his sharp intellect at work once he recognized the hidden message within Alpha’s words.
"Indeed. It wasn't up to standard, and you know how seriously I take my work. But I assure you, I still intend to pay the full amount. Such a minor misfortune won't affect our agreement. After all," Alphonse continued, each word laced with casual elegance, "you know I'm a man of refined appetites. And you're the only supplier I trust to meet my demands."
To any casual observer, it was a mere business exchange. But beneath the surface, Alphonse and Roman communicated in a secret code, honed by years of practice. Their words masked a darker truth, a clandestine language hidden in plain sight.
"My my, Alpha, you flatter me. I shall personally see to it that the next delivery lives up to your expectations," Roman responded, a soft chuckle rippling through the phone line before his tone took on a more playful edge. "Stay classy, Alpha, I’d hate to see you go soft on me before the fun truly begins." He followed it up with the sound of a kiss blown down the line. Before Alpha could protest or retort, Roman ended the call with another amused chuckle, leaving Alphonse staring at the darkened screen with a mixture of annoyance and resignation.
Alphonse clicked his tongue in irritation and shoved the phone back into his pocket, retrieving a hair tie from his waistcoat. He held it between his teeth as he ran his fingers through his long, dark hair, gathering it into a neat ponytail that draped elegantly over his shoulder. The final touch to his meticulously constructed persona.
Roman’s voice was on replay within his mind. Alphonse wouldn’t mind his flirtatious behavior if not for the fact that he was to blame for the accident that lead to Viktor’s current condition.
As much as Alpha detested his supplier’s provocative behavior and blatant flirtation, Roman was still his best option within the clandestine world of crime. He was utterly ruthless, discreet, and less likely to arouse suspicion, especially considering how private they’ve kept their business dealings.
[[For now, at least, he was a necessary evil.]]