"What the…?"
My jaw dropped, literally. I was, for lack of a better word; gobsmacked.
A game. This place was from a game.
A game I poured hundreds of hours of playtime into. One that I, at some point, had contemplated what it would be like to live in.
Was this some sort of cosmic joke?
…
The voice of a Skeptic surfaced, awakening for the first time since I arrived here.
'It could be a setup you know, props and the like.'
I batted this stray thought away with sound reasoning. 'A setup? No. Did we not see the world outside the window? That is far to elaborate to be a mere setup.'
The Skeptic attempted to argue back, however I was finished indulging its obsessive paranioa - my moment of weakness had past.
'What if it's a-'
'Silence.' I said inwardly, clamping down on my fluctuating emotions; and putting them into check once more, causing the voice to vanish abruptly.
Other voices bubbled silently in the recesses of my mind, trying to surface.
I wouldn't let them.
The realistation that I had most likely changed realities was messing with me on a deeper level than I was comfortable with. So, like many of my problems, I pushed it to one side until I was ready to address it with the proper attention.
For now there was far too much to do.
I completely abandoned the idea of changing my shirt, forgetting about it entirely.
Instead, I impatiently walked towards the translucent door separating me from the stash room; reaching up and barely tagging the 'Open' button with the tip of my index finger as I jumped for it.
The panel beeped, and a pneumatic hiss escaped the door's frame as it slide open.
Inside was definitely not what I was expecting.
There was no 'stash room' for the varying pieces of weaponry V owned; the walls were devoid of soundproofing, guns or knives. No desk or chair either, only a large pink beanbag that took up the left half of the interior and a TV hanging from the wall opposite it.
This did throw me off balance slightly, as it seemed like my meta-knowledge from playing the game wasn't applicable here.
Perhaps V hadn't yet installed it, which would mean they weren't a mercenary at this point in time. That would make sense.
Feeling a little more stabilized by my newfound discoveries, I strode back over to the washroom. My intention was to finally remove this bloody shirt and dump it into whatever space lay beyond the partition, be that a bathing or showering area.
I tucked my hands under the base of the shirt, pulling it over and off my head; the action leaving a faint trail of blood across my front.
Ok, this was getting a bit ridiculous now.
How many more times was I going to fail to notice something important? I can't even blame this on my defective vision anymore. This was literally on the body I was inhabiting; and I still hadn't noticed or felt it until now.
A small latice of thin scars covered my front half and conjoined at a very nasty looking welt situated above my stomach. They were faint, but somehow more prominent than the blood now covering them which had transferred from the shirt as I took it off.
I dropped the shirt to the floor, using both hands to feel the slight bumps on my skin around the scarring. I was disguted by this abbhorent imperfection on my body.
The blood I could stand but this? Fuck no. I wanted it gone. Now.
Using a tremendous amount of willpower, I crushed my feelings of panic and disgust before they could fully run wild, calming down slightly.
I gritted my teeth tightly; thinking hard, trying to relate the scars to my situation in some way.
"They're old, months or years kind of old. So not related to the blood, however it does raise the question of how did they, or should I say 'I', get them in the first place?"
'Fights? Abuse? Maybe an accident?'
All very probable answers I could be satisfied with as temporary explanations.
'With how faint they are and how little they impact the current me it doesn't really matter what I think of them.' This last part was more of a snarl than calm reasoning, as my repulsion towards the scarring was far too much for me to fully handle.
The vein in my temple throbbed angrily at this thought, my head heating up in supressed anger.
I took a slight moment to close my senses and calm the silent rage brewing inside of me before continuing.
Bending forwards, I picked up the shirt from the ground and stepped into the washroom; glancing towards the mirror as I did so. It had returned to being the silky black, non-reflective decoration it was prior to being activated.
I reached for the door in front of me, pulling it slightly ajar with my right hand.
"Your're fucking with me." I said aloud, my temples beginning to heat up again as I noticed a pair of human feet lying on the ground inside of this new area.
I slammed it open with all the strength this pre-prebuscent body could muster, causing the door to clatter loudly as I did so.
There was a naked corpse lying face down in the shower, its dark red blood mixing with now disturbed water underneath it. A large gash was present from one side of the woman's neck to the other. The only thing stopping her from being fully beheaded was her spinal cord, which looked to be too tough for whatever was used to cut her.
On her lower back was a speckling of white fluid which I sincerely hoped it wasn't what I thought it was.
I closed the door slowly, watching 'it' disappear from view.
This was too much, even for someone like me.
I fell to the floor, leaning against the door as my arms clasped tightly around my legs in a fetal position. Hot tears stung the corner of my eyes, unable to hold my despair back any longer.
I was trapped in a crippled body with no way home, no idea what was going on and a raped corpse lay dead in my shower.
A high-pitched hissing sound escaped my throat as I tried to supress the scream building in my throat.
The voice of the Cold spoke to me in an uninterested and weary tone, "There was a knife on the floor next to her. Maybe we should give up and join her in death, its not like we could accomplish much anyway.'
My despair quickly gave way to more anger, which was aimed my complete lack of self control. I unclasped my arms and smashed my right fist into the door I was leaning against.
The cheap plastic bent under the impact, so I turned around hit it again, and again; until it shattered inwards.
I then grabbed particularly jagged shard and then scraped it along my palm. Hard.
The feeling of my skin being slowly torn apart was grounding. It cooled my unnerved spirit; the pain becoming a focal point that I could zone in on, which helped bring clarity to my chaotic mind.
The voice of the Cold faded into nothingness once more.
I clenched my hands tightly, knuckles whitening under the force applied.
I took a breath, relaxed my grip and then looked forwards again.
The small hole in the door I made had sent a few small pieces of plastic cascading onto the body. I stared at it, having no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do next.
I saw the knife the voice mentioned laying on the ground next to her feet.
My decision to open the door again was one I was reluctant to follow up with, but I did so anyway.
I stepped closer to the legs that blocked my path forwards, reaching down to grab the knife. After retrieving it I moved backwards, trying my best not to look at the body in front of me.
I shut the door again, turning away to examine the knife. I had grabbed it with my non-bleeding hand as I did not feel like explaining to any law enforcement why my own blood was on the hilt of the murder weapon.
It was a basic combat knife, sharp on one side, ridged edges on the other; truly unhelpful to my investigation.
Thankfully I could rule out the possibility that the previous owner of this body had done this deplorable act, as 'I' was definitely not of the age to accomplish the stain situated on the woman's back.
This slight comfort meant nothing in the long run however. The act was still commited in 'my' house, meaning I would have to explain this situation to anyone who arrived.
I abandoned the knife, leaving it to clatter into the sink as I dropped it. The mirror's activation triggered from the slight impact, turning on and then off when it could not detect my presence there.
By this time I was already back in the living room, searching for any clues as to who the hell this woman was.
Looking to my left I saw the bed area. The first personal items I had seen in the apartment sat on a low shelf parallel with the edge of the matress, obscured from any oblivious onlookers.
On it was few cat ornaments, incense burners, a nightlight; and then finally a single digitized photo, immortalised in a metal frame.
It had a picture of a young woman smiling fondly at the small toddler perched on her shoulder, bright sunlight shining down on the both of them.
'A mother and son perhaps, it certainly looks that way.'
The toddler was me. From the brief glimpse I took at myself in the restroom mirror I knew that this body was the one in the photo. It had the same messy hair, same androgynus features, and the same misshapen pupils; which is what led to my partial blindness.
'I think the corpse lying in the bathroom is the same person as the mother in the photo, but I can't be sure until I look at her face.'
My conclusion was recieved very unhappily; I dreaded the eventuality of returning and having to manouver the body in order to see its face.
What else was I supposed to do? I had to confirm whether it was my mother or not before notifying anyone about the murder otherwise it would be way too suspicious.
I decided to do this 'heroic' action of turning in the crime only because I was a child, and therefore incapable of being held responsible. After all, I had fallen asleep when I first woke up in this room for who knows how lonh and I don't know how much time 'I' spent here before that.
'I' could very well have been present at the time of death.
I took a deep breath. No more stalling.
"Alright, time to go."
I spoke my intention aloud, forcing myself to get up from the bed and return to the washroom.