HSR: A Passing Crimson

'How long... have I been in here...?'

He asked himself that question, amidst the overwhelming... nothingness... countless times. Yet, each time, he received no answer.

He felt himself floating in some kind of strange liquid yet he couldn't move. If that wasn't enough, even his eyes refused to open up, locking him behind a perpetual darkness.

As for his limbs, he could feel them yet they couldn't respond to his calling, as if they became a foreign attachment to his body.

He was clearly alive... yet he felt the opposite.

He felt trapped in his own body.

'Did I... get paralyzed?'

He grimaced, his mind wandering off to the most recent memory he had prior to waking up to this nothingness.

He was running not too long ago— not because of an exercise or an errand, but rather, out of necessity.

After all, he just killed someone.

A notorious serial killer had been living as his neighbor for a long time now, unbeknownst to himself until recently. And, when he found out about it...

He played a game.

He thought that, to fight a lunatic like that, he needed to be on their wavelength— as deranged as they were. As such, he devised a carefully planned trap that would put an end to the maniac.

Amidst that plan, however, he questioned himself why he even went out of his way to do such a thing. He was putting himself in danger, knowing very well of the consequences of his action... yet still proceeded with it.

Because he knew deep inside that this was something that far exceeded something like the concept of justice.

Lofty ideals like justice were morally the right thing, he knew that, yes... Yet those thoughts never once crossed his mind. All he thought was...

The curiosity of the result of this little game.

He had always been like this since he was a child. Whenever he finds something or someone interesting, he'd be overly mesmerized by it and try a lot of things to keep them interesting through a game. It's just that, as he grew older to his adolescence, the nature of those games changed accordingly.

So when he stood against a lunatic, he devised a game... A wondrous, game that substituted for ample justice.

Was what he did something a madman would do? Well, he knew that much.

This appalling trait of his... as harrowing as it was, it had been with him for as long as he could remember. Somewhere along the way, during his childhood, he had developed this trait. It was a way for him to see the world in a much better way; one might even say that it was his own unique coping mechanism.

Regardless what it was, it was still a part of him.

And in the end, with this trait of his, he won that game, albeit it ended in a pyrrhic victory.

As he ran through the dark woods during a storm, the sirens of the officials tailing not far from him, he suddenly slipped and fell, tumbling towards... somewhere in that lightless forest devoid of any other humans.

And that was where his last memory ended.

The next thing he knew, he had lost his sights.

Floating amidst that strange liquid, he persistently struggled against his paralysis, trying to figure out what had happened.

'Am I in a river right now? No... I'm upright and there's no current... It's more like...'

As his thoughts wandered, something else suddenly happened. Speedily, he felt something run through his entire body, bypassing all of his defenses and attacking his senses.

'?!'

It was as if he touched a live barbed wire, instantaneously electrifying himself. That excruciating feeling of a high voltage sensation... It was unbearable.

'Argh?! What the... It... It hurts!'

He wanted to yell in agony yet, once more, he couldn't yelp out a bit of sound. It was as if he was deprived of the very right of making a sound.

He had no mouth, but he wanted to scream.

Before he knew it, he— at least from what he could tell— passed out.

It was only after he regained his consciousness and was met with that same perpetual darkness did he know that he was once more awake.

'Just what is happening...'

If he could feel his teeth, or rather his jaw right now, he would have gritted them due to frustration.

Yet his moment of tranquility quickly dissipated, as the familiar electrifying feeling had once more resurfaced, threatening to put him out of consciousness once more.

'Not again...! A-Argh!'

Soon, that same, blasted feeling once more ran through his senses, prompting him to cry inwardly. He couldn't even cry out loud— all he could do was do everything internally.

'S-stop it... Damn it...'

And, once more, he woke up dazed in that utter darkness. Sure enough, that same excruciating feeling would come again whenever he woke up.

That same, damned cyclical process repeated over and over again, chipping away his sanity with each repetition. He would wake up, be subjected to electrifying torture, be knocked out, and wake up once more.

He repeated that torture over and over again... Countless times... Until he couldn't even count anymore.

There was a limit to human tolerance, and he...

He had already lost count of how much tolerance he lost.

And replacing that last bit of tolerance were varying emotions. Pain, fear, anxiety, and, most prominently... anger.

His mind was riddled with questions every time he woke up. Before that same torturous process begins, he would always ask himself...

How much had he experienced that gruesome torture? What was happening to him? Who was doing this to him? And...

Is he even truly alive?

The thought of him going to hell for the sins he committed when he was alive crossed his mind once during one of the many cycles. If that were the case, then was this his punishment?

Well, that didn't truly matter. Derived of his vision, senses, and even movement, he knew he couldn't do anything about his pitiful fate.

However...

He could never accept it.

Among the burning emotions he currently possesses, pain was the strongest. Yet, not falling far behind it was something equally greater— hatred.

His overwhelming hatred for this situation consumed him. Was it madness? Perhaps so. But this madness had been, ironically, the one keeping him sane until now.

That unfiltered, raw hatred he had for whoever subjected him to this kind of torture... It was one of the few things he had driving him forward.

And his only hope.

Then, one day, during one of the many torturous cycles, an anomaly occurred. It took him an innumerable amount of time, and bearing inhumane amounts of torture, but he had achieved something that could save him.

He could now feel his limbs.

'Ah... Clinging to hope... Truly was the best decision.'

His mind shattered and tormented, he slowly regained control of his body. One limb, two limbs, then three, and four... Then more?

He didn't know why, but he felt like he had more limbs than usual. But he didn't care about that right now.

As scattered and unfocused his mind is right now, a clear opportunity in front of him was enough to drive him towards it.

Even if his mind was on the brink of collapse, his primal instincts of survival kicking in and making no room for a modest human morality to seep in and record memories, his body moved to preserve itself— to save himself.

Gradually, he gained full control of all of his limbs. The only thing missing now were his sights. Yet those didn't matter to him, who had now devolved to his primal urges.

It was just like when he first woke up to this morbid reality.

He couldn't see... Yet he could feel.

But now... He could move.

And with movement... comes freedom.

At that moment, inside a research vessel belonging to the Technology Department of the IPC, an unknown specimen creature which was kept inside a large ampule— which the researchers on board had been studying via its stimulus reaction— moved.

Then, convulsing violently, one of its many tendrils moved. Fueled by raw hatred and animalistic primal urge, with no semblance of any humanity, a creature that knew nothing but to devour... woke up.

Gone was the human that endured that torture. Now... There was only "it".

 - Crack

It was on that day that the crew and researchers of that vessel breathed their last sigh, their fate sealed.

And the nightmarish creature that grows with each organism it devours was released.

---

'It's... warm.'

He thought to himself as the sense of warmth spread through his body. It was... a rejuvenating feeling as if he had just found a blanket after spending the whole night in the cold.

'So comfortable... I want to keep sleeping like this...'

It was a surreal feeling. He felt so comfortable that he didn't ever want to wake up again. He longs to forever be embraced in this tantalizing warmth that seemed to protect him from the untold dangers of the world.

Wait, "feel"?

'Huh...?'

Amidst his fervor, a flash of thought suddenly intruded his mind, prompting him to spiral down on it.

'Why can I... feel? I— agh?!'

His mind felt muddled when he thought of the concept of feeling and sensation. However, when he attempted to think more about it, it was as if a blunt item collided with his head— no, it was as if a dull knife had pierced his head!

His mind was falling apart— he could feel it. Insurmountable stimulus barraged his fragile mind, threatening to fully destroy it.

His body stiffened as he started to tremble— no, convulse violently.

'Stop it, stop it, stop... It hurts! Please...'

"It... It hurts... Help... Anyone..."

Then, a small cry of help escaped his lips, a testament to the pain he was experiencing. It was so intense that he felt like passing out again.

This type of pain he experienced in that strange liquid paled in comparison to this kind of pain he was currently experiencing. It was unbearable that he wanted to knock himself out.

However, remembering that traumatic feeling of passing out in darkness and waking up in darkness, only to repeat it endlessly terrified him.

He wanted it to stop.

But his raving mind prevented him from doing so. He was stuck in a perpetual loop of agony, one that he was sure would be his end.

That was what he presumed. However...

"It's alright. I'm here. The lingering regret... shall no longer trouble you."

A voice reached out to him. It was a flat voice with no sign of intense emotions, yet that voice somehow reaffirmed him.

It was as though that person's voice had a certain special effect on them— because the moment the young man heard them, his raving mind that was eating away his consciousness... vanished.

No, it wasn't as if they vanished completely, it was more like they were locked up behind a barrier, with the reaffirming words of that person keeping them at bay.

The young man, who had been spared from his mind's collapse, took a moment to acclimate himself. Then, slowly and weakly, he opened his eyes— something that he had never been able to do for a long time now.

His eyelids parted, and he saw an unfamiliar environment.

He was laying down on a white bed with a similarly white pillow on his head. The room, from what he could tell, was a small clinic. There was equipment hanging on one side of the black, metallic walls, and, beside his bed, was a monitor that was monitoring his heartbeat and other vitals.

But what caught the young man's attention the most was the person sitting next to his bed.

There, sitting down and looking at him with a deadpan expression, was a beautiful woman with long, dark purple hair. She wore a black bodysuit, and, on her lap, laid her long white overcoat.

Her eyes, which instantly tantalized him amidst his stupor, bore a unique pattern that the young man was sure anyone who gaze upon would also marvel at. 

Looking at her with half-open eyes, the young man spoke. However, as a result of him being unable to speak for a long time, he stuttered.

"Wh-who are you...?"

"You can think of me as your savior."

"I-I see..."

She replied succinctly, her deadpan and straightforward mannerism staying consistent. In response to her, the young man could only reply meekly.

"Then... Where am I?"

"You're currently aboard my Space Vessel, in the clinic. As for where we are on the Astral Charts... Forgive me, but I'm unsure myself."

'Space vessel... Astral charts... Huh?'

His mind felt numb at the words spoken by the woman. It wasn't at the level of the mental pain he experienced earlier, but it still troubled him.

'Aren't those... Sci-fi terms...?'

He had grown up consuming all types of media since he was a child, as such, he naturally knew of the scifi genre. Still, there was a reason that it was a subgenre under the fictional genre— so hearing someone say all those sci-fi terms in real life felt... weird for him.

'Just what is she saying...?'

While the young man was in the middle of his contemplation, the woman, who had been observing him since the beginning, noticed his expression and soon spoke.

"Don't worry. Although I'm not good at directions... I'm certain that we'd be arriving at the nearest Space Station for you to reunite with the nearest IPC delegates. At that point, you should be able to be taken under their care."

'Why do those sound familiar...'

At her words, the young man grew even more confused, faintly remembering those terms from somewhere. Then, having had enough of guessing, he asked her with an unsure tone.

"What are... The IPC? And... Astral Charts?"

"...?"

In response to him, the woman looked at him with her usual deadpan expression. However, a hint of curiosity managed to mix in.

"You... have you lost your memories?"

'That question...'

At her words, his eyes slightly narrowed as his mind raced.

The young man knew that he was in an unfamiliar environment. And he knew that this was all too believable to be some sort of sick, elaborate prank.

As such, when confronted with an opportunity to learn more about this foreign environment, he needed to do what he had done best.

"Y-yes? I... I can't seem to remember much..."

Lie.