Punishment Halls

“So how far away exactly is that intersecting point?”

Though he tried hard to evoke warmth in his voice, Claude’s question hung in the air devoid of his usual cheer.

The group spirit had dwindled considerably since resuming their path, the impact of missing a member weighing heavily on their collective morale. The air itself seemed thicker, laden with unspoken fears and regrets —crucial moments before Cole’s separation replaying inside Claude’s head, searching for the misstep, the oversight that led to this.

“We’ll get there, Claude.” Jagdhund chimed in, severity softening in an attempt at comfort. “It wasn’t your fault.”

While he appreciated his support, it was hard to take it at face value. Guilt was like a persistent ache that refused to subside. He should’ve noticed Cole’s displacement earlier, try and prevent his outburst if possible, find a way to keep them all together.

Claude felt responsible, those precious seconds of hesitations having now felt like a sentence, with a life potentially hanging in the balance.

A defeated sigh escaped from the young detective’s lips, heavy with the burden of self-recrimination. He ran a hand through now partly untied hair, fingers catching on tangles formed by sweat and dried blood now flaking off.

Sensitive or not to the oppressive mood, Samantha found the timing there to finally answer his question.

“Um… I’m sorry to say this, but I’m not super well-acquainted with this part of the mansion.” She said with a nervous smile, her previous exuberance temporarily dimmed by the grim tension that had fallen over the two men. “From here onwards… You really start risking encountering a monster.”

The still enigmatic nature of this place, as well as the mention of monsters, as alarming as they were, presented Claude with an opportunity to redirect his troubled thoughts. He latched onto them, his natural inquisitiveness reaching surface despite the dire circumstances.

“They limit themselves to this place?” Claude followed up, brow furrowed in concentration. “That’s odd.”

“Well, not exactly…” Samantha replied, raising a hand to her chin as she tried to tap into her memories. “It’s more like… They always return to this place.”

>> “As if there was something they’re drawn to.”

Claude tried to deduce the possibilities. What could exactly be anchoring these entities here?

“I wonder…” He mused, detective instincts kicking into motion. “We’re talking about the corrupted ones, right?”

>> “Would you say their monster state is only because they were caught by the paint one? Or are there other factors that might be relevant?”

A very important question, since they needed to do everything in their power to prevent ending up like that. Samantha, who looked as normal as ever, might have some clues of what she had done differently —implying, of course, that it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her.

“Beats me!” She said with a childish smile and a shrug of her shoulders, the gesture eliciting a slight tremble in one of Claude’s eyebrows. “That kinda complicated stuff is beyond me. How should I know?”

While her answer made sense on a surface level, he truly would’ve preferred she took the situation more seriously. He had a lot of patience, he truly did, but even that wore itself thin at times.

Before he could rephrase his question, hoping to coax out a more useful response out of Samantha, the girl turned the tables on him. She spun on her heel, walking backwards with a grace that seemed at odds with their treacherous surroundings. Her face bore an expression of innocent curiosity, tinged with something that Claude couldn’t quite place.

“Are you worried about your friend?” She asked, her tone light, almost playful. It was like the place had no toll on her mind whatsoever, her recovery from earlier scares seemingly complete.

… Was she that good at coping with the surreal horrors of this place?

“I am.” Claude admitted, the growing unease in his chest belied with a soft smile, not wanting concern to twist into apathy or anger. “I just want us all to get out of here safe and sound.”

Samantha’s face clouded over as his words hung in the air, a fragile hope in the oppressive atmosphere of the underground mansion, brighter shades of red from the artificial lighting changing into mute, darkened grays and yellows.

She appeared pensive for a fleeting moment before turning away in a silence pregnant with unspoken implications. When she finally spoke, her words fell like lead weights in Claude’s stomach.

“That might be difficult.”

A chill ran down his spine, screaming at the nonchalance in her voice. How could be so cavalier about their situation? About Cole’s fate? He searched in her steps for any sign of empathy, of human concern, but found only an unsettling blankness.

“You see, that path the black guy took?” Samantha continued, her tone disturbingly matter-of-fact. “There is just one monster there…”

Claude’s jaw clenched, anger flaring at how she spoke of Cole —not as a person, but as some abstract concept, a piece in a game she seemed detached from.

“… But her presence alone is enough to ward off all the others.” She trailed off, her gaze distant. “I’m sure she’s been here the longest.”

Venturing deeper into the mansion brought along gradual changes in the hallways’ ambiance. The wallpaper, previously adorned with refined curved shapes, now bore blunt brutalist patterns that reminded Claude of abstract cogs —the fabric peeling off at times to reveal thick blocks of concrete underneath, blackened under stains of humidity.

“Not like we’ll have an easier time, though.” Samantha added with a sigh that spoke more of mild inconvenience than fear. “Every other monster is pushed to this side, so…”

The ceiling opened into several floors, the structure now making him feel small in contrast to its previous claustrophobic spaces. Alcoves above held strange sculptures, tangles of inanimate hands fighting for jewels and coins; and golden picture frames held canvases that depicted grand heists and daring escapes, their subjects always obscured by shadows.

Whatever deeper significance that they might held, the urgency of the ongoing conversation pulled Claude’s attention away. He couldn’t afford distracted now, considering the importance of finding Cole —so the younger detective allowed the unsettling imagery to loom in his peripheral vision.

“Listen, missy. I’ve been a real good sport ‘till now, staying quiet during all the nonsense.” Perhaps having finally taken enough, Jagdhund growled dangerously. “But you’re pushing your luck.”

>> “I’m getting real tired already. Fix that attitude of yours, or you’ll be leaving this place in cuffs. Y’hear?”

Claude tensed, ready to intervene, to play the mediator as he so often did. Yet he didn’t find it in him to play the good cop now, a part of him understanding and even sharing Jagdhund’s frustration.

“Didn’t I say this was a bad idea from the get-go?” Samantha retorted, unfazed by the threat as she walked several steps ahead of them. “Don’t shoot the messenger, grampa.” She turned flashing an impervious smile. “I also want to get out of here as much as you do.”

>>"There was a cool con I missed while trapped in this hellhole, plus I'm worried my fans might start to get bored too. Look-alike hallways can only do so much after all." She continued, further complicating their discussion as she pulled out her dead phone, tapping absentmindedly at the darkened screen. “Gosh, I hope they’re still watching.”

>> “I can’t afford to lose followers over this.”

The disconnect between their reality and Samantha’s words made it hard for Claude to fully suppress a groan. What could he do now that she was ‘scrolling’ through her lifeless device, muttering something or other about engagement rates and livestream schedules?

Regardless of how right or wrong it might’ve been to humor such defense mechanisms this far, Claude took a cautious step towards her, deciding that it was about time to start unraveling the mess.

“Samantha, your phone…” He began, though he wasn’t given much of a chance to finish the sentence.

“Ugh. Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” She quickly silenced him, her eyes quivering before being forcibly rolled. Whether the trembles were caused by confusion or fear, all was hastily buried under whatever argument she could conjure out of thin air. “Just use Sami if you have to use a cringe legal name.”

>> “I swear, it’s almost like you’re not fans at all.”

“You’re right, we’re not.” Jagdhund finally clarified, undoing the net of comforting lies that Claude had woven. At the very least his imposing tone couldn’t be interrupted under her fast retorts. “We’re the police.”

>> “And I won’t hesitate to confiscate that dead phone if I have to.”

The younger detective braced himself for impact. Be it a violent outburst or a frantic chase… Yet… She simply smiled back, as if she wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“Honestly? Skill issue.” She laughed back at the threats, even if it was a hollow, brittle thing. “Of course it’s working, silly. I’ve been updating my followers this whole time. They’re counting on me to share all the truth!” While speaking, her fingers moved frantically across the black screen, a frenzied pantomime of connection. “Can’t you see?”

The desperation in her voice made Claude’s chest constrict. How much of this performance was genuine delusion, and how much of it a farce?

>> “They love me. I can’t let them down.” Samantha’s voice cracked, the polished persona fracturing under the pressure. “I can’t… I can’t…”

For a terrible moment, Claude considered perpetuating her fantasy. It would be easy to nod along, to spare her the pain of confronting reality this soon… But to do so would be to trap her further in this prison of imagined relevance and adoration. Sometimes… Compassion required cruel honesty.

“Sami, listen to me.” Claude tried again, finally able to close the distance between them. His hands found her shoulders, grip gentle but grounding. “It’s okay. We’re here, and we’re real.”

>> “There’s no need to pretend anymore.”

His eyes were met by hers, wide and vulnerable. This was the last push needed to challenge her perception, to finally help her see the truth even if it only left raw, terrified humanity behind.

But sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.

Before Samantha could utter another word, an echoing howl reverberated through the gallery, far too close for comfort. It was a haunting sound that spoke of madness, of savagery, but more importantly…

… Of the distorted beast now staring down at them from above.

Claude’s heart stuttered as his neck snapped upwards. There, perched in the alcoves, he found… It.

Such a creature was nothing but a grotesque mockery of humanity, straddling the line between man and monster like nothing Claude had ever seen before. Though its shape retained a burly, masculine outline, patches of torn clothes revealed something grimier than flesh underneath, almost oily in its mass.

Even more disturbing still was its face. One side retained recognizable human features —in a bloodshot, suffering eye and the remnants of a jaw. The other, however, was perverted beyond recognition, a darkened pupil-less orb bulging outwards like a chameleon’s, paired with a mouth that stretched into a fanged maw.

Predatory intelligence gleaming within, the mismatched eyes of the beast locked onto the group. In a leap that betrayed its uneven anatomy, it launched itself down, howls warping into a visceral shriek.

“What in god’s name is—” Jagdhund’s composure shattered as he fumbled for his weapon, too stunned to coordinate his hands properly.

It was all happening too fast, with even Claude’s years of experience waging a losing war against the sheer impossibility before them.

“Samantha! We need to move, now!” The younger detective screamed.

Yet she remained rooted in place, raising her phone as if it could shield her from the descending abomination.

“Wait, wait! This is perfect content! I need to record this!”

The absurdity of her inaction in the face of mortal danger left Claude reeling. Even now, with a nightmare made flesh bearing down upon them, she clung to this delusion of an audience.

And more surprising, somehow, was his own stubborn refusal to abandon her. Claude wrapped his arms around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her down alongside him —carrying the hope that his body could offer enough protection from the impending onslaught of teeth and claws.

“You pair of stupid brats!” Jagdhund roared, charging in their direction as the younger detective closed his eyes, bracing for pain.

Whatever happened next, Claude couldn’t tell much aside from the blur of sound and sensations not entirely his own. Bodies colliding, the tearing of clothes and flesh, the monster’s shriek, followed by a sickening crunch of meat and metal —the drumming of his hammering heart almost drowning it all out.

“Don’t even think about playing the hero.” His mentor’s gruff, yet somehow calmer voice managed to cut through the shock. “You’re still far too green for that.”

>> “I’m not going to give Ione bad news right after her birthday.”

The words hit Claude harder than any potential blow from a vicious beast ever could. He was right, there was somewhere, someone, he had to return to —a reason to fight tooth and nail for a life he couldn’t afford to lose.

“I apologize… It won’t happen again.” He managed to reply, panting.

His misstep now bore undeniable consequences. Four deep gashes stretched down from Jagdhund’s shoulder, tearing through his trench coat and flaying the skin beneath. Blood trailed down his arm in thin, understated trickles, marring the floor carper.

Despite the wounds, the veteran kept his firm, proud posture.

“No time for that. We still have to deal with whatever the fuck this thing is.”

As Claude pushed the now-silent Samantha behind them, his gaze returned to the monstrosity, contorting back to its feet after most likely been tackled by Jagdhund.

Its movements were uneven with spasmodic twitches, as if a human still tried and failed to fight against a newer, more savage nature. Claude’s analytical mind whirred, cataloging details even as survival instinct screamed at him to flee instead.

Fragments of rusted chains adorned its misshapen body, hanging from its neck and wrists, each laden with innocuous items —like a half-conscious collection of pilfered treasures. Rings, watches and other pieces of jewelry had also sunk into swollen, graying flesh, clinking softly with each erratic motion.

What had this thing once been, and how long had it been trapped inside this place to end up this warped? Questions that would have to wait as the creature tensed once more, preparing to strike.

“We’ll have to take it down, won’t we?” Claude asked hesitantly, the jewel-encrusted body of the beast glinting ominously under the dim light.

He still wanted to find a solution that didn’t end in bloodshed, for despite its horrific appearance, the younger detective was certain that somewhere beneath those layers of corruption a human heart still lingered.

“Can’t see any other way.” Jagdhund dictated grimly, the two detectives readying their weapons for the inevitable confrontation.

Adrenaline had already begun surging through his bloodstream, heartbeats accelerating from locking eyes with the creature alone.

Yet despite the dire circumstances… He had to try.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Claude called out, his voice quivering faintly as they held the creature at gunpoint. “If there’s any part of you that can still understand, please—”

Pleas were cut short under the edge of a bone-chilling roar, the detectives finding themselves at the other end of the monster’s savage rush. Compassion quickly made way for survival instincts.

Jagdhund’s gun barked first, its blast deafening for a fleeting instant before its echoes were swallowed by the sprawling gallery. Claude’s own shots followed not soon later, muscle memory overriding reservations —whatever necessary to stop the creature’s advancement.

Bullets tore into the grotesque form, not quite the trump cards they expected. Instead of blood, a viscous black substance sprayed from the wounds, staining walls and the carpet alike —flesh pierced by the cold ruthlessness of firearms.

It wasn’t enough.

Grievous wounds being callously dismissed the creature showed no sign of slowing, driven by a wild drive beyond human limitations.

Claude’s hands trembled, the weight of his gun suddenly unbearable. Reduced to spectator, Jagdhund set forward in a determined grimace, throwing his weapon aside to intercept the beast directly —arms outstretched as they collided in a tangle of muscle and fury.

The skirmish was a brutal, chaotic affair, of blurs of necrotic flesh and glinting jewelry. Though Jagdhund’s experience and physical prowess allowed him to hold his own, or even strike back at times, the creature’s monstrous anatomy and savage attacks swiftly took their toll.

Fresh cuts diced across his mentor’s frame, crimson streaks staining his already tattered coat. At one point, the beast’s maw snapped shut on the old man’s right shoulder, eliciting a painted grunt from the stoic detective.

Each thump inside his chest was but a painful reminder of his pitiful inadequacy at this crucial moment. He tried to line up a shot, but the frantic movements of the two made it impossible to fire without risking Jagdhund’s safety. The scene before him was one of absolute disaster —punctuated by snarls, the impact of fists, and the sickening sound of claws tearing flesh.

Standing there, paralyzed by indecision, Claude’s heart cried out. His thoughts turned to Ione, to her smile and laughter when the three of them shared dinner.

… She had already lost so much.

Kristen, a woman his teenage self had barely even gotten to know, abandoned them shortly after Ione’s birth. Though he didn’t bear his own grudge against her, it was depriving his daughter of a mother what he truly couldn’t forgive —or was he only shifting blames?

Ione’s grandma, Lydia, had also passed away, having only a few years in her to imprint in his daughter the mystic legacy of their bloodline.

He didn’t want to do it again, to have to explain to Ione that their already small family would shrink even further. The thought alone was unbearable.

To tell her that uncle Jagdhund would never visit again, when she was old enough to understand already —that he’d be the one to blame, the one who failed to protect the old mutt.

It was something he couldn’t allow to happen… And so he wouldn’t.

With a surge of conviction, Claude steeled himself to join the fray. He may not have Jagdhund’s imposing physique, but he had to try —at least to find a spot from where to shoot at point blank.

For Ione. For their family.

The detective took a step forward, ready to throw himself into harm’s way if it meant surviving together… But before he could close the distance, a sharp, lacing pain exploded inside his skull. It was as if someone had driven an ice pick directly into his brain, an agony so sudden and intense that it drove him to his knees.

Whispers darted across his consciousness like a storm of unintelligible words. Why this? Now? Again? This quickly? Why? Why!?

Why so strong that it snuffed out all reason left in him!?

In the primordial darkness where his senses were plunged, Claude understood that this message was very different from all the others, words coalescing into a shape before his mind’s eye.

The white pupil searched frantically across the corners of his soul… Until fixating straight onto him. Claude clutched his head, a strangled cry forced out of his lungs as the world around him warped and distorted back into a diffuse focus.

From there onwards, his body moved on its own accord, propelled by an instinct deeper than thought. Everything around him blurred, focus narrowing down to one singular point —the creature.

Pendulum’s rope materialized from his chest and was swiftly clutched by his palms. The death blade swung in a graceful arc, its obsidian edge hungering for the corrupted flesh before it.

Like regaining full control of a limb that had been missing, Pendulum whistled through the air as a haunting melody of impending doom. Striking from its back, the living weapon bit deep into the creature’s misshapen form.

Black and red ooze erupted from the deep wound as an inhuman cry was forced out the creature’s throat, eyes bulging wild with pain and fury as Claude wrenched it off Jagdhund.

The detective pressed forward once more, his motions fluid and precise, swinging Pendulum in wide, deadly arcs that left ghostly afterimages in its wake. Each strike found its mark, tearing through corrupted flesh as the spectral rope writhed and tensed, guiding each devastating blow with uncanny precision.

Though what should’ve been lethal wounds continued to pile up with each passing moment, the monster still attempted desperate counterattacks. Any claw that managed to strike the blade ended ruthlessly brutalized by Pendulum, which danced and weaved around Claude in a phantom sword dance —disappearing and reappearing according to each new arc of his arms, only the thread linking the two of them remaining.

With each consequent slice, the creature’s movement grew sluggish and weak, unable to match their lethal tango. A particularly vicious slash across its chest sent it crashing down to the floor, its body threatening to split into two.

But its twitching limbs signaled to Claude that the threat was yet to be fully neutralized —so in a final, decisive motion, Pendulum manifested itself high above his head.

The living blade fell like the ancient judgment from a dark god, a vertical guillotine cleaving through skull and sinking into the carpet without anything close to resistance. Only after confirming the head had split into two did Claude finally recall it, the rope receding into his body like an anchor line.

Silence regained its domain in the hallway, broken by Claude’s ragged breathing alone. Pendulum hung limply at his side, a blade larger and thicker than both his arms combined —and in that moment he took its full splendor in.

An obsidian surface that devoured the dim light around it, leaving the faintest shimmer along its sharp edge. Intricate patterns of veins and tissue pulsating across its length, conforming into a fleshy rope that disappeared inside his being. A single, large and unsettling white eye bulging on the base of the blade, its inhuman pupil now staring back at him.

For a moment, Claude simply stood there, chest heaving and dazed as his mind grappled with this new presence —this was… Pendulum.

¿But how did he know that?

His introspection was abruptly cut short by a high-pitched squeal that briefly put the detective back on edge. Its origin was the pink-haired girl.

“Holy shit, that was epic!” She exclaimed, any semblance of fear completely left behind. “Can barely believe I’ve got all that on video!”

>> “You’ve been holding on us, Claude. Once we’re out of this creepy funhouse we totally gotta do an encore.”

The experience still had him reeling, muscles trembling from exertion and mind struggling to process everything. Around him, the walls were scarred by deep gouges where Pendulum had scraped against them, the hallway full of aftermath signs of the battle.

“What in… What was that?” Forcing himself back on a firm posture, the tone in Jagdhund’s voice was unable to conceal the concern and confusion. “How did you…”

>> “Was it this place’s wind? Light trickery?”

“Wind? Light? Are you going blind, old man?” Samantha chided mockingly. “It’s right there in front of your silly face, that sick-looking blade thingy.”

As the pink-haired girl approached, hand outstretched to touch Pendulum, a sudden surge of protectiveness overtook Claude. With barely a thought, he mentally called the living weapon back —and so it vanished in an instant, leaving no trace of its existence.

Claude blinked, startled by how naturally he was able to command it. How was he even doing that?

“A blade? Where? What blade?” Jagdhund’s confusion was transparently obvious, his eyes scanning the now empty space where Pendulum had been long ago. He doubted the veteran would lie now… It was easier to believe that he truly was unable to see it.

Swallowing hard, the younger detective forced his features into a mask of calmness he didn’t feel.

“Haha… I’m not entirely sure what’s going on either.” He admitted, trying to recover his lighthearted attitude. “Maybe it’s some sort of shared delusion caused by this place?”

>> “Or maybe the beginning of corruption?” The implication tensed his mentor’s shoulder immediately, so Claude quickly tried to change the topic. “Whatever it is, there’s nothing to gain by puzzling it out now, is there?”

>> “Shouldn’t reuniting with Cole take priority?”

It was easier this way; the alternative being confronting the possibility of reality starting to slip through his fingers like sand.

“You might be right…” Jagdhund muttered, his narrowed eyes etched with suspicion. “But don’t think for a second this is the end of that talk.” As he spoke, the veteran detective brushed past Claude with purposeful strides, coming to a halt before the corpse —a sight he had been subconsciously avoiding until now.

Like a wax sculpture left to the mercy of a furnace, the corruption that had warped the monster’s form had begun melting away. Deviant limbs and muscles slowly deflated, misshapen bones pushing through liquefying flesh as they realigned into a more recognizable human visage.

What remained was little more than miserable. The man’s original body lay splayed in a broken heap, limbs twisted in unnatural angles. Deep smooth gashes, Pendulum’s handiwork, carved a grisly roadmap across its mutilated body. A split cranium spilled its content pitifully, mingling with the rapidly cooling blood, now a normal hue of red. Scattered around the corpse were fragments of the jewelry and trinkets that had been fused to flesh, though even those too were dissipating into the miasma that clung to the mansion’s walls like a sentient fog.

“We know this poor sap, don’t we, Claude?” Jagdhund stated, more observation than an inquiry.

Indeed, despite how his features had suffered a gruesome fate by his hands, the face was unmistakably one in their watch list —that of a man directly tied to the disappearance rumours that had first kindled the mansion’s online infamy.

“That’s LaCaze, there’s little mistaking him.” The younger detective confirmed, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth knowing he had been the one responsible for his death “A thief likely lured in by the radio silence of the affluent Seagraves.”

“Member of a gang that works in packs.” Jagdhund finished the explanation —the two of them arriving at the same, ominous conclusion.

And as if summoned by their realization, a chorus of inhuman howls echoed far ahead, their distance hard to measure in the treacherous geometry of the underground gallery.

“We’ll return to the last junction.” Jagdhund straightened unwaveringly, refusing to acknowledge all the sustained wounds. “This path is only going to get more dangerous.”

Claude thought for a moment then nodded, it was better than dealing with the things making those noises. Samantha’s reaction, however, caught him off guard.

“Eh? No!” She exclaimed, her eyes wide with a disproportionate panic. “We can’t go back! This is the only way forward!”

“Nonsense. Weren’t you the one who claimed all paths converged?” The hound cut her off, eyes narrowing. Claude never even questioned the girl’s guidance this far, having only followed her absentmindedly. The older detective, though, appeared to have been doing so in a more discerning fashion.

“You don’t understand.” Samantha insisted, her carefree, almost flippant attitude completely gone. “We have to keep going like this… It’s…”

>> “It’s for the content! My followers would get angry if—”

“That’s enough.” His patience wearing thin, Jagdhund’s tone allowed no room for objections. “We won’t rely on Claude doing all the fighting for us.”

>> “We’re going back. And that’s final.”

It was hard not to feel a twinge of pity, but regardless of it Jagdhund had already made his choice and began walking without waiting for them. Not without some sulking and verbal resistance, Samantha followed the group in the retracing of their steps.

The return trip wasn’t all that substantial, they didn’t go all the way to the place where they had separated with Cole, but enough for the gray lighting and concrete to recede into the usual ambiance of the lavish gallery. Sure enough, as Jagdhund intended, they broke from the path Samantha had guided them halfway into a brand new intersection.

Along the way, Claude couldn’t keep himself from noticing Samantha’s increasingly erratic behavior. Her eyes darted around wildly, as if searching for escape routes or hidden dangers. Fingers moved restlessly at her sides, occasionally reaching for the dead phone in her pocket before jerking away as if it burned.

“No, no, no…” She muttered under her breath, barely audible. “It’s not supposed to go like this…”

>> “The algorithm… The engagement… They’ll forget about me.”

Whatever delusion had taken hold of her mind now, she was clearly deeply entrenched. He wondered, not for the first time, just how long she had truly been trapped inside this place. Two or three days shouldn’t have that severe a repercussion in someone’s psyche —though, of course, that was assuming she was sound of mind to begin with.

Rounding one more corner amidst so many, the environment began to shift once again. The red hues of the hallway’s lighting became more dim, scarce artificial illumination interrupting the dark with a cascade of shifting colors like liquid crystal drifting fluidly, like that of a gaming keyboard in motion.

Instead of canvases, walls were lined with countless screens of various sizes, each displaying fragmented images and snippets of unstable video. Some displayed Samantha’s face, frozen in expressions of joy or shock and over-edited to the point of exaggeration. Others showed empty halls and bedrooms, though Claude was unable to decipher their origin or meaning.

Between every other screen rapidly scrolling text darted, their message lost under a corrupted font; and the floor beneath their feet was a dizzying mosaic of icons and glitching emojis, rippling under their steps like disturbed digital water. Every now and then, their silence was interrupted by the sounds of notifications played on a loop —likes, shares, new followers… All of it a little too much for Claude.

Just like how the environment had changed before encountering LaCaze, or what was left of him, these new surroundings too were likely to be reflections of someone’s inner world. Its owner... Not exactly hard to pinpoint.

Had Samantha intentionally steered them away from this place? A hard to ignore thought, especially when considering the uncharacteristic silence that had fallen over their relegated guide —her expression unreadable beneath the flickering, deceptive light of the countless screens.

Her slow steps already made her fall behind them by the time they reached another compact, circular chamber, its center dominated by a monument to digital narcissism. Hundred of smartphones fused together in a vaguely humanoid sculpture that stretched towards the ceiling, each screen looping some clips of Samantha’s carefully presented life. Thick cords, beating with an eerie blue iridescence connected the devices, giving the impression of a technological nervous system.

But it was the base of this chimera that sent a wave of anguish through Claude’s spine. There, partially submerged in a pool of viscous, dark paint that clung to her like living, hungry gossamer webbing was… Samantha, again.

Without hesitation, Jagdhund wasted no time before approaching the motionless figure, Claude watching his dread as his mentor knelt beside the body. The replica’s pink hair obscured most of her face, lending an air of macabre enigma to the already morbid scene.

Gently, the old man brushed aside her hair, intensifying Claude’s nausea as a result. The paint clung to her skin, pulsing and writhing as if desperately trying to claim more of her, inch by inch. Tear tracks carved paths through heavy makeup, frozen on a now inert face.

A tense silence fell as Jagdhund’s fingers found her neck, delivering the verdict after an agonizing moment, cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

"She's dead."

Unable to reconcile with this heart-rending paradox, Claude’s mind was left reeling. The confirmation of the replica’s lifelessness should have brought relief, but instead, it only intensified the growing suspicion and fears for the worst. If this Samantha was dead, then what did that mean for the girl who had been guiding them? The one who now stood silently behind them, a dark silhouette against the artificial glow?

“Samantha…” Claude’s voice wavered, a tremor of uncertainty seeping through his usual composure. The soft click of Jagdhund’s gun safety being disengaged echoed ominously across the chamber. “… What is this?” He asked, slowly turning to face their guide, heart pounding so furiously that he felt his legs might give way.

He paused, swallowing hard.

The next question felt heavy on his tongue, its delivery prolonged like the looming of a vulture heralding demise.

“… Who are you?”