Chapter 2

I woke to pain.

It wasn't a dull ache. It was a searing fire that consumed every nerve in my body. My arm felt like it was detached, my leg a mess of shredded meat. I could feel the rough, grimy floor against my cheek. The coppery smell of my own blood filled my nose.

I was still alive, somehow.

And I could still hear them. The voices from the system.

"Host, the pain levels are critical," the synthetic voice said, a hint of urgency in its tone. "Her vitals are dropping rapidly. We should terminate the simulation."

Simulation? This wasn't a simulation. The torn flesh, the broken bones-it was all real.

Mark's voice came through again, sharp and irritated.

"No. Not yet. The full seventy-two hours. That was the agreement."

He was talking about me. He was watching this, monitoring my suffering. He had set a timer on my agony. Seventy-two hours. Three days of being torn apart by monsters he had sicced on me.

A bitter, cold laugh tried to form in my throat, but it came out as a pained gurgle. All my work, all my sleepless nights perfecting the vaccine that saved hundreds of people, that saved him, and this was my reward. I had dedicated my life to preserving humanity, and the man I loved was treating my life as a disposable asset in some cruel game.

I remembered him praising me in front of the council, calling me the savior of their new society. He held my hand, his touch warm and reassuring, his smile so convincing. What a performance. He was a masterful actor, and I was his most devoted, most foolish audience.

A fresh wave of agony ripped through me. One of the creatures sank its teeth into my shoulder, shaking its head like a dog with a toy. A scream tore from my lungs, raw and inhuman. The sound echoed in the small, dark lab, a testament to my private hell.

The stench was unbearable now. The smell of rot and filth from the creatures, mixed with the metallic tang of my blood. It was the smell of death, and it was all around me, inside me. I was drowning in it.

Through the haze of pain, a memory surfaced. A different time, a different place. Our small apartment, before the world fell apart. We were sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, planning our future. Mark was talking about kids. He wanted a daughter. He said she would have my eyes and his determination. We'd picked out a name: Lily.

The memory was so clear, so warm, it was a special kind of torture. The hope I had felt then, the love, the dream of a family-it was all gone. It had been a lie, a carefully constructed fantasy he had sold me while planning my destruction. Our child, the one we never had, felt like another ghost in the room, a dream that had died before it could even be born. The thought of it, of the family I would never have, hurt more than the teeth and claws ripping at my flesh.