Time passed. Kobeni had lost track over whether she was truly awake, or had passed out from a panic attack. Her hands and knees were numb from the cold. The clothes she wore were clinging to her skin, constricting her in a freezing embrace. Sometimes, if she shifted her weight this way and that, she would hear the wooden chair creak the slightest from the shift in weight.
How she wished hypothermia would take hold, and spare her from this hell. Sure, she hadn't stopped shuddering since the door had closed behind her captors, and the feeling in her hands and legs was flickering between numbness and acute pinpricks, but at least when she croaked, it would all be over.
She shouldn't be wishing this kind of thing, not after all that had been done to keep her alive. Denji surely would not appreciate her wishing this, not after taking that spear in her stead. So instead, she wished she could finally apologize—a sincere apology, one that he was at least alive and able to hear. Words meant nothing to lifeless corpses, and everything to those with a heart still beating.
But it hurt so much, to be here. It hurt, not knowing how many hours have passed, or maybe days have come and gone already—time was measured with each shudder of breath, each errant twitch of the muscles. It hurt knowing there was nothing left to cling to, other than a solemn promise.
Some noise came. The clicking of a lock. The sound of the door's handle being turned.
Light spilled from the outside world, and Kobeni scrunched her eyes shut at the stinging brightness. This fluorescent glow was replaced with the dull orange hue of the lightbulb above, and she shivered, but not from the cold.
She's back, oh god no—
The devil is back, the devil is back again!
What terrors now lie within reach of her, here in this cold and desolate place? The subtle clatter of wheels on tile gave way to a plethora of possibilities. A tray it was, stainless steel and shining under the light. Craning her head, she caught the glint of something sharp upon this little tray and knew it was a matter of time—the machinations of these puppets and their puppet master would make her cry before the cold could take her.
Kobeni seized up and felt her heart pound at the assortment of surgical needles that lay there on the tray. Teeth chattered with dreadful anticipation, as dreadful eyes flickered to the golden serum in the vials, and the golden irises staring her down.
"Hello, friend."
A whimper replied, and hands curled around the edge of the chair's arms, fingers digging their nails against the wood.
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long," Control strutted calmly up to her little mouse, who looked back down at the leather straps holding her wrists in place, "I've been occupied with other matters, but I figured it to be fair that I spend some time with you."
Kobeni said nothing. Only shivers gave away the fact she still lived.
Makima seemed unperturbed by the silence, and decided to get comfortable on the desk nearby. She sat down on its surface, one leg over the other, facing the still-shivering girl, the devil's chin resting on a supporting hand. The puppets could be heard setting up the vials in the other corner of the room.
"Have I ever told you about what happened to Power?"
Against her better judgement, Kobeni turned her head in acknowledgement, and wheezed through chattering teeth, "What?"
"She's not with us anymore," the redhead bluntly explained, "It was a sudden tragedy for all of us."
Only then did Kobeni look up to the devil, sitting so prim and proper. A noticeable amount of smugness crossed those devilish lips of hers, her face that was devoid of moles and dimples. It truly was a perfect face, and a perfect smile, removed of any faults—it was something so unnatural to her human eyes, and Kobeni squeaked out, "What happened to her?"
"I thought you did not like her," came the knowing reply.
"I didn't. I-I don't—"
"And yet you wonder. Are you really that curious?"
Kobeni gulped, "You brought her up."
"I did."
"Then why are you asking me?"
"I find it endearing, this…subtle empathy, that you all have," the devil cocked her head, as the human realized what it spoke of, "you could hate the other person so vehemently, you could curse them to a thousand vices, and yet still you would ask of their fate, like they were a good friend. It's so…fascinating."
The presence of the puppets snapped Kobeni from her stupor, and with trembling eyes she noted the items in their hands.
"Look at me, Kobeni."
Panic seized her heart, and she cried out as the iron grip of those puppets clutched her arms, "Ah-ah-ah, wait—!"
Golden eyes glowed with teeming anticipation, and commanded over the pathetic squeaks, "Look at me."
There wasn't much she could do otherwise. What good was it, to fight the inevitable? Though nothing may be set in stone, what good was it to her, to squirm as if she had a chance to escape? Already they had ripped apart the sleeves of her button-up shirt, and the needles glistened under the dull orange light.
She looked into Control's hypnotizing gaze, tears forming in her eyes.
For her part, Makima made no indication to consider the woes of her little mouse. But the fear that beset the poor soul strapped to that chair, it was intoxicating. It was a wonderful experience, to feel such a vibrant display of what she embodied most. It was only a fraction of a larger whole that made up her power as the Control Devil, but the sheer irony of it was not lost to her. Yet even now, this source was not at its full potential.
That will change, starting now.
The door to the outside world opened up, and a thin, skittery man in a doctor's coat stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind him.
"Do pardon me, I got lost on the way here," he muttered quickly, and his gaze snapped between the both of them, "So, the uhm—is that the patient in the chair?"
"Yes, it is," Makima replied, yet she did not look to him. She had Kobeni enraptured in her gaze, firmly and figuratively in the palm of her hand, and would not risk the girl giving the doctor a scare.
She didn't want Kobeni to ruin the doctor's administration of the dosage, after all.
The finicky practitioner took his time, a bit intimidated by the broad-shouldered puppets hovering directly over the frail subject in the single cone of light and set his small briefcase upon the desk beside the redhead.
"I have it on word from the brass, that there's to be a degree of confidentiality about this—but they didn't specify beyond using the word, "very," like they always do," he glanced over his shoulder at Makima, "Would you happen to know?"
"Clearance Theta-One, no one knows of this except the higher-ups and members under my command," she clarified, "you're in the know, so now you're under my jurisdiction. Not a word gets out unless I say so."
"Right," he obliged, and having prepared his kit, set about to receive the first dose. A meaty hand gave the first syringe, and the doctor checked it once, then made to swab Kobeni's left arm.
The girl was shivering, ever so slightly. She was paralyzed—not even her eyes could beg the doctor to stop, for Control's snare was constricting. The glow of golden orbs shone with a magnificence in the shadows of Makima's bangs, glowing with absolute superiority. A sweet smile accented the sinister intent of the devil's gaze, and Kobeni could do nothing except stare back.
All that's left is to give her the serum—
"So, uhm—she's got enough fluids, right?"
Makima blinked, and could not help but look at the skinny specimen with incredulity.
"…what?"
"Sorry, I'm just wanting to make sure," he laughed off, earning a confused glance even from the puppets, "This stuff will kick in almost immediately upon entering the bloodstream, and if she's not hydrated enough, then the aftereffects are going to hit even more so—"
"I-I don't want it, I don't—!"
A puppet's hand clasped over her mouth, and whatever words were lost as Makima spoke over the muffled pleas, "Then give her a smaller dose. Stop wasting time."
"…yes, ma'am," the doc muttered, enraptured at the two puppets calmly orienting in their spots beside the patient's chair, even as their charge resorted to thrashing with all her might against their steady hold.
The needle pierced skin once the arms stopped flailing about, and suddenly the world was spinning from Kobeni's perspective. Not even the tears could account for the swift tug that was felt, as she went limp. The puppets let her slump into the chair, her head lolling off her left shoulder, watching as colors filled the dull space.
Vibrant colors, flowing and burning with brightness, burning so warm in her heart that the fringes of the cold were left behind, and a euphoria washed over the pain. Soreness, exhaustion and the like, dissipated with every heartbeat. A haze fell over her vision, and the dull orange glow simmered into static.
It was…wonderful. It was so fleeting and comforting, a weightlessness befitting a feather fluttering in the wind! How the feeling on her shoulders was whisked away, how her heart's drumming was finally put at ease—this tranquility was beyond anything she could imagine before. It was perfect.
It's perfect, and the realization of this perfection made that creeping, gnawing dread swell so viscously.
Kobeni was in vertigo, the colors falling like cascades. Wait, no—she was falling. A hand reached out to touch the pastel and neon hues swirling within reach, and yet nothing came to her senses. There was nothing to touch, nothing to cling onto.
Kobeni.
She blinked. The world was black, tar-like and suffocating. Where vibrancy had lived, there now existed the unfathomable tendrils of ichor. Her hands clasped at her head, and she wailed, yet no sound could be heard. The vertigo may have ceased, but the voices had only just begun.
Remember for me, friend. Remember the past. Remember all that you are.
Get out of my head! Get out of my head—!
Kobeni's eyes squinted shut, and she curled in on herself, desperate for silence. The voice held too much power over her, in this silent hellscape of black. She lay there for seconds, for centuries, the tears stinging so badly from their salt concentration. Golden hues flickered into being, and when Kobeni brushed her tears away, she felt this golden warmth more than she saw it. Though her nerves sung with fright, she tried to calm herself, and rolled up to a sitting position, her head slouched to the ground.
"Look at me, Kobeni-dear."
It was her mother's voice. Not the one that would hiss at her about forgetting to do chores around the house, not the one that shouted at her when she'd spilled a whole pot of ramen on the living room carpet, no—this was the voice that sang a lullaby to her when she was stuck in bed with a cold. She missed that voice so much.
She raised her weary head and opened her eyes so that she might see someone—anyone—that would save her from this terrible nightmare.
Oh, please take me back home—
Two giant, colossal eyes towered over her. Their pupils were black as the void, and rings of red circled around these pupils on their golden irises.
These eyes looked down at her, and Kobeni felt them smirk with malicious glee.
Remember.
Kobeni's own wide eyes rolled up to her head, and she fell on her back.
