Chapter 279: Boiling Water
Day 1.
Sora opened her eyes at 06:00 sharp, synchronized perfectly with the digital
chime of the clock that had manifested on the wall. The heavy, sealed window was
now ajar, though no genuine wind entered the room.
The second hand ticked—a sharp, percussive click that felt like a whip against
her skull.
Sora lunged from the bed, beginning the "Bedding Alignment" protocol. She folded
the blanket into a precise, geometric square, centered the pillow with
mathematical symmetry, and smoothed the sheets until not a single ripple
remained in the fabric.
She glanced at the clock. 06:04.
The variance was within the four-minute threshold. Sora allowed herself a
shallow breath of relief.
Bochi was perched on a chair in the corner of the sector, tilting its head as it
watched her. "What is the logic behind the textile organization?"
"Aligning the bedding," Sora whispered.
"Objective?"
"The Protocol mandates it."
Bochi didn't press further, returning to its silent observation. Sora moved to
the hygiene sector. She brushed her teeth, cleansed her face, and donned the
outfit prepared by "Mama." It was a pink dress, the style antiquated and
smelling faintly of mothballs and old Od.
Sora stood before the mirror. The girl looking back at her looked like the ideal
template of a "Good Daughter."
At 07:00, Sora was seated at the desk in the study. A stack of heavy,
leather-bound tomes awaited her.
- Manual for the Ideal Daughter
- One Hundred Methods of Filial Piety
- The Harmonious Hearth: A Guide to Total Submission
Sora opened the first volume. The text was simple—a series of moralistic
lectures on the sanctity of parental authority. But every sentence felt like a
localized alchemical strike against her logic.
"Mama is the absolute locus of affection." "Mama's logic is the fundamental law
of your world." "Unconditional obedience is the only path to value."
As Sora read, she felt her cognitive processes beginning to slow, turning
sluggish and heavy. Is Mama truly acting in my best interest?
The thought barely formed before a counter-logic suppressed it. Of course she
is. Why else would she toil to maintain this sector for your sake?
Sora shook her head, returning to the text. Bochi stood in the doorway, watching
her back. Sora's posture was a taut line, like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
But the string was slowly, imperceptibly, beginning to fray.
Day 2.
The schedule remained absolute. 06:00 rise. Bedding alignment. Change. 07:00
study.
But this cycle, a sound drifted through the open window.
"Help! By the Gods, someone help me! Save me!"
It was a man's voice, saturated with the jagged frequency of terminal despair.
Sora's hand stalled over the page. Her pen hovered, a single drop of ink
staining the paper. Every fiber of her humanity screamed at her to stand, to
look, to act.
But she remained anchored to her seat.
[Rule: 07:00 – 19:00: Reside in the Study. You are prohibited from vacating your
seat.]
The man's screams drew closer, then faded into a choked, wet gurgle. A heartbeat
later, the sound of rhythmic, wet crunching echoed through the air.
Sora closed her eyes, forcing a deep, rhythmic breath. This variable does not
concern me. I am adhering to the protocols. I am being a Good Daughter.
Bochi walked to the window, peering out with detached curiosity. A man in a
tailored suit lay in a pool of dark ichor, his frame being methodically
dismantled by a human-faced spider the size of a carriage.
Bochi wrinkled its nose. Pests. Wretched, flavorless pests.
It turned back to Sora. The girl's hand was trembling, but she was writing. One
stroke. Two. Perfect, clinical calligraphy.
Day 3.
Sora's movements were now fluid, bordering on instinctual. She no longer
required the clock to track the intervals. Her internal rhythm had been
overwritten by the "Mama" template.
Today, another victim manifested near the sector. A girl, roughly Sora's age,
was pounding on the front door of the apartment.
"Please! Let me in! The things in the mist are coming! Open the door!"
Sora sat at the desk, listening to the frantic, hollow drumming against the
wood. Her hand remained steady. Her focus never wavered from the page.
The knocking persisted for five minutes. Then came the shriek. The plea. The
chewing.
Sora turned the page with an expression of total, glass-like indifference. Her
heart rate was a flat, unchanging constant.
Bochi sat in the second chair, propping its chin on its hands. Skele-Lust had
once lectured that humans were a fascinating species. They would make impossible
choices for survival—some brilliant, others pathologically stupid. In either
case, they revealed the raw data of the soul.
Skele-Greed had added that human desire was a "Fountain of Potential." They
would burn the world for a dream or sacrifice themselves for a belief.
The Master, too, often took Bochi into the crowds of the Iron Fortress just to
watch them "rattle," as he called it.
But Bochi didn't see the appeal here. This human is becoming a statue, the slime
thought. Stale data. Boring.
Day 4.
Sora began to actively anticipate Mama's needs. She ate exactly what was put
before her. She recited the lessons without a single error. She spoke the
scripted responses with perfect tonal warmth.
"Sora is such a treasure," Mama cooed, ruffling her hair. "Mama loves a child
who knows her place."
Sora smiled back. The curve of her lips was sweet, docile, and empty.
Outside the window, a chorus of screams erupted as a group of survivors was
liquidated by the street's Anomalies. Sora didn't even lift her head. She was
focused on her journal.
"Today, I attained a deeper resonance with the concept of Filial Duty." "Mama is
the singular sun of my existence." "I shall reside by Mama's side eternally."
Bochi watched the text and felt a phantom urge to take a nap. Humans are
exhausting when they stop resisting.
Day 5.
The adaptation was complete. The "Dissonance" had been smoothed over by the
weight of the routine. Sora no longer felt the crushing pressure of the cage
because she had accepted the cage as her natural habitat.
06:00. 07:00. 19:00. 20:00.
No thinking. No choices. No burden of Od-management. As long as she was
obedient, the "Love" of the Anomaly would shield her. It was simple. It was
effortless.
That evening, Mama arrived for the Lullaby.
"Sleep, sleep, my precious spark~" "Mama's hands shall still your heart~"
Sora kept her eyes closed, listening to the raspy, grating voice. Her mouth was
curved into a serene, satisfied smile. She looked like a child who was truly,
deeply loved.
Bochi stood beside the Anomaly, watching the scene. It recalled a phrase the
Sovereign had once whispered while observing a crowd of tired laborers.
"Bochi, humans are a paradox. They will bleed for liberty, yet they will
surrender their very souls for a 'Safety' that tastes like ash."
Day 6.
Sora rose. She cleansed her face. She prepared to comb her hair.
She stood before the mirror, the pink dress smoothed across her frame. Her hair
was tied into neat, submissive braids. She wore a wide, pleasant smile.
She looked like a ray of sunshine in a dark world.
Sora stared at the reflection for a long, heavy duration.
Is this sunshine... really my Od? Is this smile... a calculated output or a
genuine resonance? Is this face... mine?
She touched her cheek. The skin felt rough, dry—not the smooth, porcelain
texture of the girl in the glass. Suddenly, the words of Master Vahn detonated
in her mind like a magical trap.
"The most lethal element of a Rule-Based Scenario... is that you will forget who
you are." "You will, subconsciously, begin to process yourself as part of the
Anomaly."
Sora recoiled, her back slamming into the wall with a hollow thud. She gasped
for air, watching the girl in the mirror flicker and blur. The pleasant, docile
smile remained fixed on the reflection's face, even as Sora's own features
twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.
"I see..." she wheezed, the realization tearing through the brainwashing like a
blade. "I see it now!"
☆☆☆
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