I woke up with the alarm. I had gone to sleep early for this.
3 AM.
I got up slowly and walked to the kitchen area.
Cold water. I washed my hands and face.
Dried with the towel.
I put on a sweater. Then thicker sweatpants.
I grabbed the gold card from the dresser.
Slipped it into the inner pocket.
My ID card around my neck.
Before leaving, I checked the fridge.
There it was. Another bottle of water.
I took the bottle and walked to the door.
The moment I opened it, The cold and darkness slipped on my face.
I stepped out and closed it behind me.
Even colder than yesterday.
If 220's theory about the black glass is correct--
then the yellow staircase might not be hot right now.
Perfect.
The whole temperature system...
Doesn't make sense.
What is the Brain actually trying to do?
And why me?
...Just don't let it get colder.
I hate the cold.
I reached the stairs.
With every step down--
the cold from the first floor grew sharper.
First floor.
The air cut deeper now. Night made it worse.
I didn't stop and kept going down.
After the next set of stairs, the cold faded.
Replaced by something milder.
...
Then lower.
Minus one.
Dim orange lights filled the corridors.
Barely enough to see. But enough.
My hands moved into my pockets by reflex.
Something about this place felt wrong.
The design was simpler.
Office rooms everywhere. Each door numbered.
And a faint smell.
Burnt sugar. Dark and rotten.
Black water on the edge of the corridor. Sliding down with speed.
At the end of each corridor, they were containers.
No idea what they were for.
I didn't stop. I moved forward straight to the stairs again.
The moment I stepped down to floor -2, the cold hit me hard.
It felt like my skin was burning.
My eyes watered immediately. Not from fear. From the cold.
I blinked hard and kept moving.
The corridor was white. Too white.
It stretched ahead of me like it had no end. White walls and white floor. White fog drifting into the distance.
Everything looked blurred.
Office rooms lined both sides of the corridor. Silent and empty.
Pipes ran along the walls and ceiling, feeding the cold through the floor.
From some of them, icicles hung down like teeth.
I swallowed. My breath came out in clouds.
That was when I remembered what Brain had written.
Go to the center.
The giant freezer.
I kept walking.
Step after step.
The deeper I went, the coder it got.
My fingers started to hurt. My eyes kept tearing up.
Then I saw it.
At the center of the floor.
A massive door.
A card reader beside it.
So this was it.
The reason of the cold.
I pulled out the golden card and held it for a second.
Then it scanned.
Bzzt.
A heavy sound echoed through the door.
White mist spilled out first. Thick and cold.
It rolled across the floor and into the corridor.
Then I saw inside.
...
My body stopped before my mind did.
There were bodies.
Frozen shapes everywhere.
Broken into pieces. Silent.
Then the smell of blood.
Disgusting.
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
I just stood there and stared.
For a few minutes, I didn't even breathe properly.
My mind went blank. I couldn't think anything.
Just cant process. Nothing.
Then my stomach stomach twisted.
I bent forward and threw up onto the floor.
My hands were shaking.
The cold sweats was forming.
My legs felt weak.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and--
No.
...Not here.
Not again.
My breath caught.
I looked down with dreadfull face.
My hands--
Were shaking excessively.
''...I told myself I wouldn't.''
A pause.
''...Sorry. Little sister.''
The wall met my back. Cold.
My body didn't feel right.
Too hot.
My head ached. Each pulse heavier than the last. My vision narrowed.
I heard a body collapsing. But didn't mind.
Sweat ran down my neck.
Not because of what I saw.
Because of what I remembered.
Something I burried.
Something I forced myself to forget.
And now--
it was back.
...
I walked back alone.
Slow.
Step by step.
The corridors felt longer this time.
Quieter.
...
I finally reached my room and scanned.
I entered and closed the door.
I didn't sit or rest.
Instead--
I took off my jacket.
Then the shirt.
Then everything.
One by one.
I folded them. Carefully.
While my hearth was pounding excessively.
Then unfolded them again.
I plugged in the iron.
The iron clicked.
Steam rose.
I pressed the fabric flat.
Again.
And again.
Every line ereased and every wrinkle gone.
The motion repeated.
Precise and controlled.
''...No.''
A pause.
''Not again.''
The iron pressed down harder.
''I won't let it happen again.''
The steam hissed louder.
...
...