Microscopic Technology (I)

Epilogue

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Defeat courses through my being, a bittersweet acceptance embracing me. The Technos, my victors, march me into the heart of their so-called prison. Their grip on my arms is vice-like, escorting me down the narrow path that slices through the morose landscape.

Glancing to either side, I'm greeted by the mocking chants of imprisoned fellow Malwares. Their taunts accompany me like a relentless symphony, each step a note of humiliation in my melody of shame.

At last, we halt between two cells—one teeming with occupants, the other, conspicuously empty. I lift my foot to kick open the door of the occupied one, but their directive halts me.

"Oh, no, no, no," one of them interjects, pointing with a wry smirk, "Not that one. This one is your new residence."

I follow the direction of his finger, settling my gaze upon a sprawling glass cell situated at the heart of the prison. The glass exudes an aura of imperviousness, an emblem of my impending captivity.

Of course, they continue their discourse as we tread the final steps. "This, my dear Malware, is your new abode," the taller one elucidates. "It's designated for the most wretched of your kind. A fitting dwelling for someone of your ilk."

As he finishes his explanation, my irritation simmers beneath the surface, but my response remains muted.

Undeterred, the Technos proceed, and the entrance to the cell yawns open. My confinement begins.

"Finally," I mutter, resigned to the inevitable.

Their amusement, however, has yet to wane. "Oh, but our dear conversation is far from over," the taller one assures me.

I find myself unceremoniously thrown into the cell, the impact a testament to their disdain.

"But wait," the smaller one chimes in, "we have an encore."

My gaze scales the cell's expanse, ultimately coming to rest upon three looming shackles affixed to the far wall. Two chains dangle from the higher shackles, while the third, a solitary shackle, adorns the lower portion.

A weary sigh escapes me. What else did I expect?

Before I can react further, the Technos seize my wrists and forcefully press me against the wall. My head turns, and the sight of the metallic surface jolts my senses. It's marred by scratches and etched with traces of dried blood. A quick glance to the opposite side reveals the same gruesome tableau.

Resigned, I look away and let a sigh slip free.

A metallic clang reverberates, an unmistakable sound that heralds the shackles being locked around my wrists and ankles. A glance downwards confirms my feet's suspension, my body's weight resting solely upon my shackled wrists.

The Technos release their grip, and my upper body drops—an act only to be thwarted by the chains that catch my wrists.

"Behave, Malware," the taller one sneers, the condescension oozing from his voice. "Struggle as you might, it won't avail you."

My response is nothing but a detached sigh.

With the Technos' departure, the glass cell door slides shut, sealing me within this austere prison. The air grows heavy, burdened by a sense of desolation that permeates every corner of the cell. An oppressive silence reigns, a stark contrast to the chaos I once thrived upon.

As I stand, trapped within this hollow shell, my eyes wander downward, settling upon the grimy floor. Its surface ripples with black and blue particles, remnants of the Worm Malware's essence.

Looking up, I'm confronted by a mirrored ceiling—a chromatic expanse that casts back my reflection.

And there, in that reflection, I see the pale, hollowed creature before me—a figure devoid of strength, teetering on the precipice of despair.

Unbidden, a smile curves my lips, and I close my eyes.

'I deserve this,' I acknowledge, the words a silent confession to a truth that's become impossible to deny.