Part I
Sometimes, creaks resonate in a steel cell. Inside, darkness prevails. The prison containing this cell is designed to detain individuals impossible to eliminate.
This time, the cell creaks open, allowing light to penetrate, welcoming a man. Hands in the pockets of his suit jacket, he stands tall and confident.
"I see you," declares the informed voice of a woman from the back of the room. "Aren't you afraid? Afraid of death?"
"It'll be fine," calmly replies the suited man.
A brief silence ensues. The man eventually reveals the purpose of his visit.
"Roseline Galaad, accused of premeditated murder, kidnapping, genocide, and other charges. You have the ability to erase anything you look at with a snap of your fingers. That's why we'll need you..."
The woman is surprised, slowly emerging from the darkness. Her eyes are covered with a blindfold, her body clad in a straitjacket, only her red hair protruding. Despite having her eyes covered, how could she see the man ? The question remains unanswered as she ask :
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"Oh, interesting. Does that mean I'll leave this cell without being pursued?"
"Exactly," the man responds.
Part II
A faucet releases its stream. Water splashes the edges of the sink where it lands, and a woman stands. Staring at her own reflection in the mirror, she seems to contemplate her face as if it were the first time. A missing eye, a scar horizontally crossing her face. Cracked lips and freckles. The woman delicately touches her face while keeping her gaze on the mirror, exploring the elasticity of her cheeks. She slides her slender fingers along her eyelashes.
"These are colors. Pale beige. Copper orange. Sky blue... Ah~ It's so beautiful."
She lingers for a few minutes then decides to take a shower to refresh herself. She savors every passing second, enjoying the caress of her soft skin, the touch of her smooth skin, the scent of shampoo, the warmth of the hot water flowing over her body.
Upon emerging, a smile lights up her lips.
Part III
Rose stands, hands behind her back, facing a desk where her new superior sits—an overweight man with gray hair, almost casually dressed. His shirt isn't even properly buttoned.
"I've read your file, miss. A psychopathic sadistic witch indifferent to the distress of others. It's absurd that you're standing near me."
"Yet here I am," Rose replies, while flashing her silly, almost naive smile.
The superior doesn't seem affected. He even allows himself a break to poison his lungs by lighting a cigarette he just took from the desk.
"You work in a government agency that employs the suicidal and death row inmates to serve as cannon fodder for entities called Necros. What do you know about them exactly?"
"Not much, sir. But I do know that smoking isn't allowed in this place."