Inauguration – Issue #09

Sydney

Sydney’s senses were the first to return, though she wished they hadn’t. Her head swam with disjointed fragments of memories—corridors stretching endlessly, rooms filled with horrors she could barely comprehend, and a final descent into suffocating darkness. But as consciousness fully gripped her, it wasn’t the visions that sent a spike of panic through her—it was the cold.

Her body was cold, exposed.

The first thing she registered was the clammy, slick sensation against her skin. A viscous substance clung to her like a second layer, its sickly sweet, metallic scent making her gag. Her limbs were splayed wide, strapped tightly to a cold, metal table. The restraints cut into her wrists and ankles, leaving raw impressions on her pale skin.

She tried to move, her muscles screaming in protest, but the bonds held firm. The table beneath her felt damp, the liquid pooling beneath her and trailing sluggishly down her sides. Her breathing quickened, each gasp echoing in the sterile, cavernous room. The lights above flickered erratically, casting distorted shadows across the walls, which seemed to close in around her like a predator stalking its prey.

A raw, choked noise escaped her throat as her mind pieced together her situation. {Where am I? What did they do to me?} Panic surged as she craned her neck, her eyes darting frantically across the room. The surroundings were stark, clinical, but wrong in ways she couldn’t quite define. The walls seemed to hum faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the flickering lights. Machinery stood in shadowed corners, bristling with tubing and needles, their purpose alien and terrifying.

It was then she noticed him.

A boy stood across the room, his presence startlingly out of place amidst the horror. Barely older than her, his face was a mask of neutrality, his features smooth and emotionless. His unnatural silver-blond hair hung neatly, framing piercing gray eyes that regarded her with the same indifference one might reserve for a lab rat. He stood rigidly still, dressed in a pristine white coat that seemed untouched by the filth surrounding them.

Sydney’s voice cracked when she finally managed to speak. “Who… who are you? What’s going on? What happened to me?”

The boy tilted his head slightly, as though considering her questions for a moment longer than necessary. When he spoke, his tone was devoid of inflection, each word precise and cold. “I am Dyame Koma,” he said simply, his hands clasped behind his back. “You went through the process. Your body was… prepared.”

“Prepared?” Sydney’s voice rose, her breath hitching as her mind raced. She tugged at the restraints again, harder this time, the metal biting into her skin. “For what? What the hell are you talking about?”

Koma’s gaze didn’t waver. “For your purpose,” he replied. “You are transitioning. If you survive the next few days, you will be granted an extraordinary gift. The process… must be endured.”

“Endured?” Her voice cracked as fear turned to rage. “What the hell does that even mean? What did you do to me?”

“You were chosen,” Koma said, his tone as flat as ever. “To receive something beyond your comprehension. You should be grateful.”

Sydney let out a strangled laugh, equal parts hysteria and disbelief. “Grateful? You think I’m supposed to be grateful for this?” She yanked at the restraints, her body writhing against the table. The viscous liquid clinging to her made each movement feel sluggish and unnatural. “Let me go! I don’t want whatever you’re talking about!”

Koma blinked, as though her defiance was an anomaly he hadn’t accounted for. “It is not a matter of want,” he said coolly. “It is already within you. The entity. The bond. You are now… Diaotic.”

The word landed like a blow, its unfamiliarity making it all the more ominous. “What—what does that even mean?” Sydney’s voice trembled as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Koma stepped closer, his presence unsettling in its calm. “Your soul was merged with a being from another dimension,” he explained, as if reciting from a textbook. “Your body had to be… adjusted to withstand the trauma. Few survive. If you do, you will be powerful, unique. Purposeful.”

Sydney’s stomach lurched as she stared at him, her mind rejecting the words even as the sickly hum of the room seemed to validate them. She couldn’t suppress the sob that escaped her. “Why me?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Because you were here,” Koma replied simply, as if that explained everything. “And because you could be used.”

The cold detachment in his tone snapped something inside her. Her fear boiled over into fury. “You bastard!” she screamed, thrashing against the restraints with everything she had. “You think I’m just some experiment? Some thing you can use?”

Koma didn’t flinch, his gray eyes as steady and unfeeling as the machines surrounding them. “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “And your struggle is pointless. Rest. Save your strength. You will need it.”

Before she could respond, a sharp hiss filled the room. Sydney froze, her breath catching as the sound grew louder, reverberating through the metal table beneath her. The machinery in the corner had come to life, its needles and tubes shifting with a sickening precision. Koma turned away, his attention now focused on the humming equipment.

“You will understand soon,” he said, his voice fading into the mechanical din. “If you survive.”

Sydney’s scream echoed in the sterile chamber as the lights above her flickered once more, plunging her into darkness.