Nier:063y
063y
Character Story
Story 1
The
in a terrible mood… It’s because I forgot her birthday, which, yeah, was a mistake. But does she need to be
angry? She’s not being reasonable—and I’m going to tell her so!
Uh oh. The moment I open my mouth, she launches into a rant about all of her woes: I don’t understand women. I’m crude. I’m insensitive. She starts unloading all sorts of stuff on me. Blah, blah, blah. Well, I’m sure as hell not going to just lie back and take all that!
“You know, this is what I hate about you!” I snarl.
“You’re always bringing up these stupid unrelated issues!”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve gone too far: one look at her face is all I need to realize that. She points to the door—and I know what
means. And while part of me is annoyed as hell at all of this… I decide to get out while the getting’s good.
Story 2
I escape to the mess hall. My friends come up to me and ask what’s the matter—guess I look a little pale. But when I tell them how I just had a blow-up with the wife, their concern dissolves into peals of laughter. After they have their fun, they tell me I’m the one at fault. Each one has a different strategy I can use to make amends. As they talk, I realize they’re pretty good pals, all in all.
I decide to put their plan into motion. I return to the room and pick my wife up off her feet. She seems perplexed, but intrigued—which is good. I then start spinning her around the room in a dance, showing off my strength as well as my moves. But of course, I take it too far. By the time I realize it, her face has progressed from confusion to downright fury. So before I can wreck it more, I dash out of the room.
Story 3
As I think about what to do, the unit commander appears. Word of our martial squabble has spread throughout the base. He warns me it will be a hindrance to our operations. Since he seems to care, I tell him what happened and ask for his advice. He chuckles a little. He then tells me he doesn’t have an ideas—and doesn’t care enough to think of any. But then he gives me a piece of “paper”—something people apparently used long, long ago in order to make amends. I don’t know what’s he’s thinking, but he’s not the kind of man to act without purpose. I decide his words must have
meaning. Apparently “paper” is a relic of the past used for writing. That’s when it comes to me:
Since I usually say too much. I’ll write a “letter” to my wife instead.
Story 4
But I’m not sure what usually goes into a letter. Maybe I should start with thanks for everything she does for me every day? No, wait. An apology is probably better. I write letter after letter as I think of my wife. I write, then erase. Write, then erase.
Write, then erase. After ten or so attempts, the letter is finally complete. I go home and hand it to my wife, whose eyes go wide. This could just be because a letter is so unfamiliar, but more likely it’s because I’m genuinely apologizing. Once she reads the letter, she smiles and looks at me. Then she wraps me up in a hug… It would seem all is forgiven. My messy writing on the crumpled paper was simple: “I will protect and love you with all of my life. This I swear…” No matter what the future may hold.
Dark Memories
Story 1
Operation: Black Lily Part 1
[
]
Test Record #1104
“Morning, sleepyhead. You getting up today?”
The man gently places his hand on his
wife’s
cheek as he speaks; her skin is cool to the touch.
Her temperature must drop while she sleeps
, he thinks. The woman does not so much as stir.
The only sound in the room is her deep, steady breathing. It is the only way he knows she still lives.
She has been asleep for nearly two weeks.
Ten days ago, they fought Flowers in the city ruins. It was a relentless battle, and many did not see it through to come out intact on the other side. His wife’s head was injured during the skirmish, and though the wound is healing nicely, she remains unconscious. The doctor said it was an after-effect of receiving a strong blow to the brain. He also warned the man she might never regain herself. He knows he should be happy she still lives. Nonetheless, he finds himself praying:
“Please wake up, honey.
Please.
“
The man had already lost his son to the Flowers. And now they threatened to steal his wife as well.
His body shivers in fear at the prospect, the anxiety boring a hole in his heart. The Flowers were taking everything from him.
Everything.
Hate swirls inside him as he unconsciously clenches his hands into fists. If only he could eradicate the Flowers…
If only he had the strength to kill them…
All right, enough of that. She’s going to wake up
. The man draws himself up straight, patching the hole in his heart through sheer force of will. Soon, a voice comes over the PA announcing mealtime. Even this dreary announcement, played at the same time every day, serves to take his mind from his troubles. For the first time ever, he finds the managed routines and strict rules of his lifestyle are granting him a sense of security and peace.
“I’m off to eat, honey,” he whispers.
“Be back soon.”
The man makes his way to the feeding hall. It is a simple space fitted with sterile terminals where people receive meals after scanning their IDs, as well as rows of small tables where they can eat. Right now, it is filled with prisoners who live in the man’s block. They line up in neat rows, receive the same food, plop down in assigned seats, and eat silently. The prisoners are treated like animals; it is an unnerving sight. But tools for war must be properly managed. The man looks at the empty seat beside him where his wife would typically sit. The food seems even more bland than usual this day.
Suddenly, the voice of their commander rings out.
“Eyes on, people!” Tension ripples through the prisoners; an appearance from the commander typically foreshadows a problem.
“We are currently recruiting testers for new equipment. Anyone who wishes to take part can apply at the terminal in their room. That is all.”
The message delivered, he spins on a heel and leaves. The prisoners breathe a sigh of relief. The R&D Department was constantly researching weapons and other gear that might be of use against the Flowers. They managed every aspect of the prisoners’ equipment, right down to what they wore in their daily lives. Their clothes heightened the wearer’s resistances and strength, but also allowed the commander control of their bodies and minds. Despite their ill feelings toward their garb, they all agreed the clothes had saved their lives on multiple occasions. For the man, however, the fact he is no better than a slave is something he has made peace with—for he will shoulder any burden and bear any pain to have his revenge. He will do whatever is necessary.
New equipment, eh? Interesting…
With more powerful weapons and equipment, they could inflict more damage on the Flowers and return from battle with fewer casualties. And maybe even end the war altogether. The man knows many people will apply to test the new equipment, because they all share this same goal. Plus, better equipment means a better chance of survival. The man thinks it over. Though he wishes to stay at his wife’s side, he knows he won’t actually be able to
do
anything for her. So when he returns to his room, he turns on his terminal and applies to test the new equipment.
Story 2
Operation: Black Lily Part 2
[
]
Several days later, the man finds himself walking toward the R&D training room. When he arrives, five prisoners are already there. These are the applicants who were chosen. There does not seem to be a particular type: he sees all kinds, from muscle-bound men to slender, wiry women. Once they are gathered, the commander begins to speak:
“Put your gear on and prepare to spar.”
The commander brings out six sets of bizarre clothing. They are called enhancement suits, and each one upgrades its wearer in different ways.
The man’s suit is called a “power model.”
It is designed to heighten the wearer’s physical strength. The outfit is completely black, and has a solemn, imposing air. It is made from a thick, heavy material that seems designed to function as a flexible suit of armor. He puts it on and closes the seals, noting with grim satisfaction how it encloses his entire body. The remaining five suits for the other prisoners consist of three combat-oriented models—speed, defense, and magic—and two support models: scout and medic. Today, they will be testing the combat suits.
His suit ready, the man walks to the middle of the room. Opposite him is a man in a speed suit. He can’t be more than twenty years old—little more than a kid. His suit is bright yellow, and appears only lightly armored.
Speed, eh? I wonder how fast we’re talkin’ here.
The two combatants face each other, muscles tense. After a few moments, a buzzer sounds.
“I’m coming for you, old man!” screams the kid.
The moment the words leave his mouth, he closes the distance between them in a blur. Before the man even knows what is happening, the kid punches him square in the face. He stumbles across the room before coming to a stop against the back wall.
“Oh, it ain’t naptime yet, pops!”
The kid races across the room before the man can even regain his feet. He begins dancing around him, always in his blind spot, pummeling him with a series of rapid blows and kicks. But the man feels no pain. The impact is intense, but lacks the power to penetrate his armor. The kid quickly seems to grasp this as well, and redoubles his attacks in an effort to pummel his foe into some kind of submission. His arms move too fast to be seen. His legs are streaks of yellow light.
“Give up already, you dog!” the kid taunts. With each strike the kid makes, he tosses in a barb of the tongue. The man can’t tell if his opponent is trying to goad him into sloppiness or is just always like this. Regardless, the kid clearly has the mindset of a warrior. The man places his back against the wall and raises his guard. Though each strike by itself does little damage, he knows the kid’s furious onslaught will eventually wear him down. The man looks for chances to strike back, but the kid’s speed shows no sign of slowing. Perhaps the speed suit also raises his stamina. Regardless, the power model is heavy, and unsuited to prolonged fights.
Time for a new plan…
“Was that you hitting me just now, kid? I thought a fly landed on me.”
“The hell did you say!?”
Taking the bait, the young man launches a roundhouse kick. His foot makes contact with the man’s side, sending a shockwave through his entire body…. But it also leaves an opening. Before the kid can recover, the man rears back and drives a fist into his gut. The young man stops moving. He stands in place, wobbling back and forth like a dying top, then slumps to the ground.
“N-nice shot, buddy…” says the kid as he fades into unconsciousness.
“But next time, I…won’t lose…”
“Heh. You fought well, kid.”
The man chuckles at his opponent’s unceasing confidence, even when staring down defeat.
His clouded heart feels a bit lighter.
The prisoners—including the kid—spend the next few days in their suits, pushing them to their very limits. Once this is done, they are ready to test them for true.
Story 3
Operation: Black Lily Part 3
[
]
Urban Residential District: Block One The prisoners stand in a line amidst abandoned buildings. Each one is clad in a different suit. Their mission is to eliminate all Flowers in the area. Though technically a capability test of the suits, it is still a genuine battle. If the test goes well, the enhancement suits would be officially rolled out as new equipment, and hopefully increase the survival rates of all prisoners. The six are determined to make the mission a success. The scout activates her sensors and scans the area. Ten Flowers are detected in Block Three. Flowers typically live in easily spotted clusters. However, there are also stealth types that do not show up on scans. They will have to keep their guards up at all times. The six slowly and carefully pick their way through the ruins.
Urban Residential District: Block Three The party receives visual confirmation of ten Flowers straight ahead. They are relieved to hear the scout’s information was accurate, and proceed to the next phase of the plan. The magic unit initiates the attack. She fires a heat ray from a massive gun, transforming a nearby Flower to ash. This model of suit is vulnerable while firing, but a surprise attack solves that problem.
“Go, kid!” yells the man.
“Do your thing!”
The kid leaps into a cluster of Flowers and begins raining blows down upon them. The man follows close behind, swinging a massive greatsword that mows down everything in its path.
The battle is over in an instant. The power of the suits is overwhelming. They will turn the tide of the war. But this overwhelming victory—and the hope it brings—makes them sloppy, and they drop their guard.
“Look out!” cries the scout.
“Something’s co—“
A Flower emerges from the ground under the scout’s feet. She is thrown to the side, where she lands with her neck at an impossible angle. Death is instantaneous.
“Everyone, behind me!” yells the defense unit.
He raises a shield as the others form up in his wake. More Flowers rip through the ground beneath them. The magic unit is torn in two, causing chunks of flesh and bone to rain down around them.
Don’t lose heart now
, thinks the man as he grips his sword. Over a dozen Flowers now loom around them—and a moment later, they unleash hell. The defense unit adjusts his position to take the brunt of the attack, while the medic does her best to keep him upright. Meanwhile, the speed and power units make their way through the chaos, cutting down one Flower before moving on to the next. It is a solid battle plan—at least at first. But while the medic can heal wounds, she is powerless against the pain that accompanies a broken bone or a dislocated joint. Slowly but surely, pain begins to overwhelm the defense unit. Finally, it becomes too much to bear. He turns to flee the battlefield, and is immediately set upon and torn apart by a pair of Flowers. Six of the creatures now remain, and the man in his power suit steps into place at the fore. Each time a Flower strikes at him, he responds with a vicious attack of his own.
I won’t die here. Not now. Not like this.
I won’t leave my wife all alone!
This thought is enough to carry him through the fight. The man hears a terrible sound—a cry of fear and pain and utter, complete rage. He does not even realize he is the one making it.
Time passes. Time stands still. Eventually the man emerges from his bloodlust and sees the kid resting on his knees.
“W-we did it…” whispers the kid.
“We actually did it.”
Only then does the man notice the shredded remains of Flowers all around them. There might still be more lurking underground. If so, he does not have the energy to fight. Suddenly, he hears a familiar announcement:
“Enhancement suit battle test complete.”
“Commencing phase three of the experiment.”
As though triggered by the voice, pain courses through his head. Suddenly, a voice rings out, blocking all other thought.
PROTECT YOUR FAMILY.
PROTECT YOUR FAMILY.
PROTECT YOUR FAMILY.
KILL THE ENEMY.
At the last line, the man loses consciousness.
Story 4
Operation: Black Lily Part 4
[
]
When the man’s eyes next flutter open, he finds himself lying on the floor. He struggles to his feet as the fog begins to lift from his mind… And he beholds a grisly sight. The floor is a lake of blood. In the center, hunks of flesh and a broken staff.
That staff… It’s the medic’s.
The man examines the chunks and finally finds what remains of the medic’s face. Her suit has been forcefully pried open and her skin peeled from her very bones. There’s not even enough left for a proper burial. The man feels nausea building inside him and turns away. But this only reveals a new horror: The kid—or what remains of him. He has been impaled on a massive greatsword. His arms have been plucked from the body and discarded; his face is little more than a ruined crater. It appears the corpse was pummeled into submission long past the point where the man who existed inside was dead.
No… No, this can’t be…
A horrible feeling crawls up his spine. Cold sweat runs down his face.
That sword… It’s mine.
“You killed him,” says a familiar voice.
The man whirls around to find the commander.
“I…killed him?”
His mind rejects this fact, as does his heart. But he cannot deny his bloody hands. Or his black suit—which is now a vivid red.
I did this… Oh god, I did this!
“Calm yourself. You are not to blame here.”
The commander proceeds to tell him everything.
It had all been an experiment. Command had set up the Flowers’ surprise attack—
and once it was over, they deprived the prisoners of consciousness and had them fight to the death. The commander had planned everything. After revealing this, he begins to regale the man with tales of all the data they gained from the experiment, his glee barely contained. But the man cannot hear him. His thoughts are a whirling vortex of rage.
“It appears to be somewhat dependent on the user’s mental state and personality,” continues the commander.
“But overall, the power suit was shown to provide the best balance of offense and defense.”
“We will begin mass-manufacturing it at once.”
The man’s rage compresses, finding a target in the commander.
“So my friends died for a goddamn
test
?” he growls.
“No progress is without sacrifice,” says the commander.
His tone is flat, as if the subject bores him. Enraged, the man rears back and launches a fist directly at the commander’s face. But his arm stops before it connects, his body refusing to allow it.
For all his power, he is still a prisoner.
“DAMN YOU TO HELL!” he wails.
The commander stares at the man impassively.
“I could dispose of you here and now, you know? It actually might be the smart thing to do, considering all that you’ve learned.”
An image of the man’s wife leaps into his mind.
I can’t die yet.
The man furrows his brow and slowly lowers his fist.
“Good. What happened here today will be our little secret.”
“We expect great things from your tenacity, prisoner.”
“No sacrifice is too great if it means victory over the Flowers.”
This said, the commander collects some bits of suits and departs. Silence fills the void.
I can’t die yet. I can’t die yet. I can’t die yet.
The man repeats these four words over and over.
I have to live for her. And the more of us who wear these suits, the more of us who will survive. He’s right. This is a
good
thing
. The man had killed them all—Flower and friend alike. Yet he felt a sense of might at his power. A sense of guilt for his actions. And a sense of excitement at the possibilities. All of these things eat away at him.
I am strong enough to protect. I am strong enough to kill.
The darkness inside him swells and writhes and expands until finally it consumes what remains of his heart.
Recollections of Dusk
Story 1
Story 2
Story 3
Story 4
Hidden Stories
Story 1
Ch. 1: Escape
[
]
The alarm shrieks throughout the base, disturbing the pristine silence of the night.
“ALERT. DESERTER DETECTED. CAPTURE ALIVE IF POSSIBLE.”
I hear the commander’s voice murmuring from the comms device I stole and know they’re talking about me. But just as I peek my head around the corner to see what’s what, a searchlight grazes my cheek.
Crap.
In front of me stand massive mechanical bodies twice the size of a human. Their eyes gleam ominously in the night as they sweep the area for prey. As I look, another appears. Then another. Then another. While they amass, I creep forward as slowly as possible so as not to catch their attention.
So how did all this happen? That’s easy: because of the Flowers. The appeared out of the blue one day and stole all of our happy lives away. My wife and I, we had a son, but… God, he was so young.
I volunteered to fight the Flowers in an attempt to find some kind of revenge, but humanity still hasn’t found the key to victory. My wife’s been in low spirits lately—she’s clearly exhausted by all the fighting—and I worry I may end up losing her at this rate. So that’s why I decided to conduct my own survey of the Flowers and find a way out of this no-win scenario.
As I delved into the depths of the base, I managed to download reams of data from a computer in a classified area. It was an incredibly risky move, but it ended up being more than worth it; hidden in all that data was the location of something called the Flower Den, which is the enemy’s main base. It was the kind of intel that could change everything.
But before I could even process what I’d found, I tripped an alarm and had to make a break for it. I spent so much time hiding in the shadows as I made my way inch by agonizing inch toward the exit. And now, an eternity later, I find myself so very close to my goal.
I reach up and touch my pocket to make sure the downloaded information is still there. The moment I do, a brilliant white light washes over me.
“DESERTER LOCATED.”
The voice is cold, and it grows louder as its mechanical owner moves toward my position. I can’t let them catch me here; if they do, all of this will have been for nothing.
“DROP YOUR WEAPON. LIE ON THE GROUND.”
Squinting under the light, I put my fingers on the grip of my greatsword. “All right, big fella, no need to get your panties in a twist. I’m not going to fight back.”
I toss my weapon, which clatters to the floor. “There. I’m unarmed. We good here?”
“APPREHENDING TARGET.”
The machine moves forward, ready to subdue me, but I have a surprise in store. Before it can grab me, I slip through its legs and heave myself up and onto its back, then yank the cover off the base of its neck and jam my device into the waiting socket.
“MALWARE DETECTED. COMMENCING FORCED SHUTDOWN.”
See, my sword wasn’t my only weapon—I’d also packed a self-replicating virus just in case. As soon as the machine grinds to a halt, I pick up my sword and run as fast as my legs can carry me toward the location of the Flower Den.
I’m going to end this war.
I’m going to end it tonight.
I will never lose anyone I care about ever again.
Story 2
Ch. 2: Exploration
[
]
My journey to the Flower Den continues. It’s a long trek, but I just put my head down, follow the stolen map data in my device, and try to trust that I know what I’m doing.
From everything I can tell, the army actually brought the den under our control some time ago, but command didn’t send anyone in to investigate. That strikes me as strange, considering it would be the perfect time to learn how the Flowers live, so I intend to find out for myself.
As night fades and morning comes, I arrive at my destination and find corpses scattered throughout the area—most likely the soldiers who were first sent in to take the place. But aside from signs of an old battle, what catches my attention is the building that stretches into the air almost beyond where I can see. Though weathered and grungy, there’s a strangely majestic air about the place, and I try to tread lightly as I slip inside through a shattered door.
The building is dim inside, and large enough that I can’t see the ends of the rooms. The walls are sturdy, their faces lush with vines. As I make my way further in, the only light comes from small streams of morning sunshine that filter in through broken windows. The hallway is a never-ending stream of shattered glass, splintered wood, and rubble. But then…
“PLEASE. PLEASE.”
I hear a woman’s voice—barely a whisper.
“Hello?” I ask. “Is someone there?”
The only response I get from the darkness is silence. As I carefully proceed forward, the far end of the building finally comes into view.
“MERCY.”
The next voice is male. Multiple survivors, maybe? I scan my surroundings, looking for human forms, when suddenly…
“Okay, what the hell?”
Resting at the far wall are a series of tiny Flower sprouts. The faces in the juvenile petals distort in agony as they attempt to speak to me.
“SALVATION.”
Several voices speak at once. I know this is what happens to people who are consumed by Flowers—they become a part of the whole, unable to express their own will any longer.
“They aren’t human anymore,” I tell myself. “They’re not human, dammit. They’re Flowers.”
The sprouts lower their petals to reveal a series of twisted faces. The way they droop toward the ground gives the impression they’re praying.
“MOTHER. SAVE US, MOTHER.”
After a moment, I realize the things are actually praying. The subject of their reverence is a dilapidated altar upon which rests a grand portrait. It’s dirty enough I can’t tell what kind of person it’s supposed to show, but it makes my heart beat in my chest for a reason I can’t explain.
Why do I feel this way?
But no one is there to answer my question, and the only response is the continued whisper of frantic prayers.
Story 3
Ch. 3: Elimination
[
]
“AHH. AHH. EVERYONE IS DEAD.”
In the dingy building, the smallest Flower sniffles. A medium-sized one speaks to soothe it.
“ALL IS WELL, LITTLE ONE. THE MOTHER WILL SAVE US.”
“THE MOTHER? SHE WHO CREATED US?”
Voices of prayer fill the building anew. How eerie it sounds. How horrific. The ones who stole happiness from me and my family have no right to look for salvation.
“NO. NO. NO.”
I approach silently from behind, cutting down the young Flowers with faces. I kick their remains aside and approach the altar, staring at the dirty portrait atop it.
“Hmm?”
I spy a book fallen behind the altar. Someone’s diary. It’s tattered, the writing faded in places, but some pages are still legible.
“A Flower…religion?”
I’d heard about such things before. People believed the Flowers would save the world, and so began to worship them. It seems I had found one of their temples.
I carefully turn the pages so as not to tear the fragile paper. For a time, those who worshipped the Flowers took in young Flowers and lived alongside them in this place. But they were all eaten in the end, leaving behind only a mass of Flowers to continue a meaningless prayer without end.
As my eyes continue to scan the diary, I spot the word “portrait.” My hurried hands come to a stop and I read, transfixed.
That portrait was apparently one of the religion’s symbols, one as revered and important as the Flowers themselves. But why did they find it so precious?
I find my answer on the final page. The people in the portrait were the ones charge of Flower research—the ones who brought those monsters into the world. Their names…
“No. I don’t believe this. It’s
impossible
.”
I walk up to the altar and wipe away as much of the dirt as possible. Faces slowly appear from beneath the grime. I’m greeted with cold, tense expressions. Though the air about her is different, she looks
exactly like HER
.
I reel, staggering to keep myself upright. As my hand comes to rest on the frame, I hear something fall.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
This building is a ruin; not surprising that it’s falling apart. But as I look to the ceiling, I see something writhing in the dark.
Those are…
I first thought the ceiling was covered in vines, but I was mistaken. Instead, an infinite number of juvenile Flowers have tangled together to create a roof.
They rush me as one, crying out in voices of madness. I cut them down as I run, barely escaping with my life. But it was all worth it, for I now have evidence for the theory that Flowers are sentient. This data will be a huge boon to our research—it might even be the thread that finally leads to use eliminating them once and for all.
And yet, even knowing this, I set fire to the church, burning the Flowers and erasing the portrait from existence. The crimson flames howl in the billowing wind. They swallow the building whole, reducing everything within to ash and bone.
Story 4
Ch. 4: Erase
[
]
Once I burn the church, I set off on the long road back to the base where my wife is waiting, arriving after the sun has set.
I can’t get caught. I
can’t
. They’re still after me because I’m technically a deserter. Cautious of my surroundings, I creep back to our room.
“You’re back!”
She’s been waiting for me the entire time, and looks exhausted as she leaps from her chair.
“We need to get out of here,” I reply. She’s bewildered, but I don’t wait for her to start gathering our things. I quickly pack the photo of our son, followed by his mementos. After that, I grab some portable rations I’d pilfered on a mission once, just in case.
“Get out of here and go
where
?”
“I don’t know.”
Her bewilderment grows at my answer.
“You can’t just vanish, then reappear out of nowhere and say we have to leave!”
I probably would have said the same in her shoes.
“Okay. I’ll keep this short, but you have to listen.”
I tell her what I saw in the church. I tell her about the bizarre Flower buds, the altar, and the portrait. The portrait of the woman who looks exactly like my wife—the one they call “Mother.”
“Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?” my wife asks quietly. “I mean, that’s just not possible.”
She’s right. She fights against the Flowers. She can’t be their mother.
“The superior officers are hiding something.”
They must have known what was in that church-turned-Flower den, yet they chose not to send a survey team. I can’t understand why; all I feel is an ominous sensation gripping my entire being.
“Let’s go.”
I zip the bag shut and hold out a hand. But then…
“He has admitted to coming across top-secret information.”
That’s all she says in return. A moment later, the door swings open and commanders fall into place behind her.
“I believe he found it sometime between the evening previous and this morning. But erase two days’ worth of memories, just in case.”
“Understood.”
The commanders do as she says and grab me.
“Wait! Why are you—!?”
Ordering around commanding officers? Trying to erase my memory?
Before I can ask, my mouth is gagged and I’m pinned to the floor. I realize my mistake then: It isn’t the superior officers who are hiding something.
“This is for your sake,” she whispers.
A cold rod stings to my neck as a shock courses through my body. In the instinctual fear of death, my life begins to flash before my eyes.
I see my wife’s smile.
Her tear-streaked cheeks.
Her face colored with anger.
I thought I knew everything about her, but the look on her face right now is cold and distant.
Just like the woman in the portrait.
As the darkness swallows my consciousness, I remain oblivious to her intentions—and her truth.
Story 5
Enthralling Love
[
]
A prisoner who fights Flowers for revenge…Wow! That story was like a movie, huh? I mean, he seeks revenge for love, and he falls into the pits of the abyss for love, too.
Human love sure is a strange thing! No matter how strong or smart someone is, love dulls their judgement and clouds their outlook. It’s almost like a poison that slowly eats them away from the inside, right?
But what makes the man so incredible is how he can get drunk off that poison. Some may think that foolish, but I quite like it. Heck, you know me—I ADORE pure humans like him!
Story 6
The Talkative Man
[
]
Hey there, friend. Up for some action today? I got the cards if you got the scratch!
How’s that? You think I got nothing to bet ‘cause I lost to 063y? Ha! You shouda seen the run I went on once the chips were down! I was pullin’ aces outta thin air left and right, and by the end of it…
Nah, I’m kidding. Guy took me to the freaking cleaners. Did that thing where he just stares at you without moving and you can’t ever tell if his hand is great or crap. But listen, here’s the weird thing: After he’d taken everything but my skivvies, he stood up, grabbed a single piece of paper off the table and walked away. Didn’t even look at all the other stuff I bet.
Weird guy, right? I mean, I know paper’s valuable as hell to us prisoners, but you think he woulda…
Wait, seriously? He needs the paper so he can write a letter to the missus and cheer her up? Well, ain’t that a hell of a thing. Almost brings a tear to your eye.
Story 7
Hymn 42: Become a Flower
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]
Become a flower and bless us with your presence
(Careful and slow here! Precise breathing!)
Bestow upon us the truth
(Make each note clear!)
We give you our hearts for salvation
(No stomach falsetto. I know it’s hard!)
Become a flower and bless us with your presence
(Harmony! Don’t rush!)
Come to us as we come to you
(Big finale! Make ‘em cry!)
I’m really nervous about the choir performance, but also quite excited. We’re meeting at the rear entrance of the prayer chapel at noon, then rehearsing after. Remember where you’re supposed to stand, everyone!
Story 8
Diary Found in an Empty Room
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Battles with the Flowers grow more int■nse by the day, and the prisoners are ■■■■■■ morale. Those who fight with partners ha■e higher stress levels than those who are single, and I beli■ve one particular male prisoner needs the most attention. He seems do■■■e at first, and is generally trusted by the other prisoners, but he often a■ts unpredictably in situations where his wife is in■■■ved.
How many more misconducts will he have to go through before he ■■ deemed an ■■■■■? Last time, an err■r I disposed of called me a “■■■■■,” but I knew that already. My superiors t■■l me prisoners are all expendable, but I ■■■■■ believe that. As I engage directly with them, I get the ■■■■■ they have wills and personalities of their own. To dispose of them is ■■■■■■■■ work. I t■■■ my coworkers about this, and they ■■■■ me such an em■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■■ might see
me
categorized as an error. I couldn’t t■■■ if they were joking, or if ■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■■■■ ■■■■■ ■■■■.
Is ■■■■■■■ fear and anxiety another sign of being an error? I’m ■■■■■■.
Story 9
Salvation’s Teachings: Bloom
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Verse 1: Festival
The Flowers spoke thusly to their five serving priests: Believe in Us and serve Us.
That was the first day.
The priests, along with all believers, promised to give all to the Flowers, and thus did pay a price most dear.
What came of it was this place of worship.
Entrust all to Them.
Give all to Them.
Only then will we become Flowers and reach a new world.