The Restoration Protocol

47 || binary dreams

A blinding whiteness and the sensation of grass under her palms stir a reluctant consciousness in Mariko. Although, with the finicky, fluctuating nature of her senses, she hesitates to call it that. Consciousness. She doesn't feel conscious, though the very existence of these thoughts proves it. The weight of her body on nebulous ground that in itself feels weightless, the sound of something like a crying child echoing in the distance, only for her to realize the voice is coming from her own lips.

Mariko squeezes her eyes tighter for a moment. She curls and uncurls her fingers, scraping against the floor, but whatever the surface is made of lacks texture. It's solid, but she can't grab anything. A bizarre and upsetting feeling.

It's death, a voice in her head chimes. This sensation is death. A cold and unsettled state of being, as her body lies in a grave somewhere deep underground. She already she knew she was in a coma. Perhaps being struck over the head was all it took to silence that last nerve keeping her alive in her sleep. She really is cold. And Mariko has read stories about ghosts who, after waking up in the afterlife, discover one of the most difficult challenges they face is finding warmth.

She opens her eyes. There truly is nothing. No sky or ground, nor so much as a solitary dead leaf to suggest that life ever existed in this white hellscape. No door within sight. There is nothing at all except Mariko. She looks down at her arms. They're covered, yet a deathly chill travels to every inch of her skin. There's nothing around her. There's no one at all.

"Hello...?"

A broken whisper crawls from the back of her throat. She has a voice, at least. But for that voice to be lost the encompassing void, perhaps it would be better to have nothing. For a child, there are few things more terrifying than not being heard.

"A-...Alias...? Kasey?" Mariko scans the area around her. She sweeps her hand in front of her, just to see if it would touch something. "J-...Jugo? Mono?" No response. She clutches the clothes over her chest.

"Oh, my poor dear...why do you call for them?"

The first sound to greet her ears is Claude's voice. Of course it would be.

"This is a horrible place," he continues, surrounding her on all sides, yet she cannot see him. "I did not create this. It is a mirror, my dear. A reflection of the state of your heart, in its encompassing misery. I cannot begin to describe the ways in which it pains me...my daughter was your age, you know...."

With the absence of the man's physical form, Mariko has no choice but to picture his face hovering somewhere between the invisible spaces. That's when it starts to appear — as if triggered by the mere act of imagination. He comes into being like a series of wispy clouds passing in front of the sun, merging so that their silhouettes cast a massive shadow on the ground beneath them. Claude becomes a giant. Mariko grows smaller.

"When is it going to be enough??" she cries.

"Enough?" echoes the man's voice, shifting as it were into darker waters. Mariko braces herself. Claude's sunken eyes narrow as more creases form in his forehead. He sweeps his nebulous arm through the air, planting his chin gently in the palm of his hand. Sympathy like a flood pours from his gaze. "Yes, you have been through enough, haven't you? I really do apologize I couldn't reach you before you acquired an attachment to those characters. It wasn't my intention to draw things out this long. The whole purpose of ingesting that toxin was to grant myself a permanent workspace here, inside the dreamscape. But I suppose it was always the end goal anyway, to separate my mind and body completely from that harrowing reality..."

Mariko can't bring herself to move. Once more, by equal parts terror and intrigue, her feet remain where they are planted. Even now, she isn't fully convinced she isn't dead. The chill running through her veins hangs like a heavy, wet coat on her body. She tries to glare at Claude, but it amounts to nothing.